The transfer to Yokohama had been smooth and almost clinical in its precision.
When Shuuji opened his eyes after the long trip, he found himself in a new hospital room. It was wide and quiet. Everything was too white. The walls, the sheets and even the curtains.
The faint scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. It was sharp enough to sting his nose. But still, the staff were polite, efficient and expressionless. The machines also hummed steadily beside him.
It was supposed to be the best hospital in the prefecture. It was modern, well-funded and a place where recovery was certain.
But to Shuuji, it felt dead.
He hated the smell. He hated the sterile quiet that filled every corner. He hated the faint echo of footsteps down the hall that reminded him of something empty.
A hospital should have been a place where lives were saved. But to him, it felt like a graveyard that just happened to have walls and lights.
He often stared out the window and watching the rain drizzle over the city. The drops would slide down the glass like tears and tracing crooked lines that vanished before they reached the bottom. He thought of his mother's hand brushing his hair. His father's steady voice. His sister's laugh.
None of them were here.
He was the only one here.
Because of his inner injuries, the doctors said he needed at least a month of strict confinement. His ribs had cracked in several places, his left leg had suffered deep tissue damage and his lungs were still healing from the smoke inhalation. But none of that stopped him from trying to leave.
He didn't want to stay here.
He didn't want to recover.
He wanted answers.
The first escape attempt was clumsy. He had barely managed to walk without falling. But still, that didn't stop him from slipping out during a shift change. He made it as far as the stairwell before his legs gave out.
The second was more calculated. He waited for night and pretended to be in a deep sleep. Then he used the thin wire from one of his monitors to pick the lock. He learned it from his father when he accidentally saw him doing it. That one ended with Hirotsu himself standing in the hallway and looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Shuuji had glared at him before collapsing again from exhaustion.
On his third attempt, he almost made it. Shuuji reached the parking lot gates until his reopened wounds gave way. He fell to his knees and his vision spinned. His blood was soaking through his bandages. The guards reached him before he could crawl another meter.
After that, the entire hospital changed.
The hallways grew more crowded. But not with patients, but with strangers pretending to be civillians. Men reading newspapers on benches, women in plain clothes watching every door. Even the nurses were different. They were polite but alert and always keeping him in sight.
And outside the hospital, there were more of them. Standing near the trees. In the parking lot. At the corners of every exit.
Shuuji knew what they were.
Guards.
The boss's men.
Hirotsu didn't hide it, either.
No one dared to underestimate a small child anymore knowing he is the son of Gen'emon and Tane.
"I'm sorry." Hirotsu had told him one afternoon. "But orders are orders. You can't leave yet."
Shuuji had said nothing. He had simply turned his face away.
He didn't blame Hirotsu. The man had always been loyal to his family and Shuuji could sense that same loyalty now extended to him although it came wrapped in duty and regret. He could trust Hirotsu to a point. But it was not enough. Not when his sister was still missing.
Mariko.
Even the sound of her name in his head was enough to tighten something in his chest.
The last thing Hirotsu had told him about her was that she was sent to America and placed under the care of one of the boss's distant relatives. He said she will be looked after properly. But the way Hirotsu had said it was heavy, as if he himself doubted the truth of it.
But after that, there was nothing.
No letters.
No calls.
No updates.
Nothing at all.
It was as if she had vanished into thin air.
Shuuji lay awake most nights and staring at the ceiling. He told himself not to think too much and not to let fear poison his mind. The boss was powerful. Maybe he truly was protecting her. Maybe Mariko was safe somewhere and laughing with other children. They were unaware of the nightmare their family had fallen into.
But deep down, something told him otherwise.
A strange weight pressed against his chest every time he thought of her. It was a restless ache. It felt like a string pulled too tight between them. Sometimes, Shuuji could almost feel her, as if she were calling out to him in silence.
That was what scared him most.
He didn't want to overthink.
He didn't want to imagine the worst.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong.
That somewhere far away, Mariko needed him.
-/-/-
The day of his discharge finally came.
The nurses whispered among themselves as they passed by his room. Their footsteps were echoing faintly against the polished floor. Outside of his room, a cluster of men in dark suits stood pretending to read newspapers or talk on their phones.
'Guards, of course.' Shuuji thought.
He was already memorized their faces. He knew which ones were pretending to be janitors and which ones were pretending to be hospital staffs.
The hospital in Yokohama was huge, cold and filled with the faint metallic scent of sterilized tools and the bitter sting of antiseptic. To anyone else, it was clean and safe. But to Shuuji, it smelled like something dying.
He already spent a month here while lying under white sheets and watching daylight crawl across the blinds. His wounds had healed. But there was something in him that never healed. Every night, he would wake up sweating and feeling like the world was folding in on itself.
And every day, he asked the same question in his head.
'Where is Mariko?'
No one answered him anymore.
When the door opened that morning, it wasn't Hirotsu-san or a nurse.
It was him.
The boss.
The old man entered with slow and deliberate steps. His black cane was tapping lightly against the tiles. His silver hair was neatly combed back. And his eyes...
Those sharp and serpent-like eyes seemed untouched by age.
He still wore that same expression Shuuji remembered from before. It was calm, unreadable and terribly dangerous.
For a brief second, Shuuji almost forgot to breathe. The old man looked the same. But he was also different. Something about his gaze made the room colder.
He didn't look like a grandfather coming to visit a sick grandson.
He looked like a man inspecting a weapon he once ordered to be built.
"Shuuji."
The boss's voice was deep, smooth and steady.
"You've grown."
Shuuji said nothing. He just stared at him. Then the old man smiled faintly but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I came to give my condolences. Your parents' deaths were... unfortunate."
Unfortunate.
That was what he called it.
"It's a pity Gen'emon died so early. And with such a lousy death at that." the boss added almost lazily. "I didn't trained him to die just like that."
Shuuji's hand tightened on the bedsheet. He didn't look away although his blood simmered in his veins. Ignoring him, the boss glanced at Hirotsu-san who was standing quietly near the door.
"You'll come with me once the discharge papers are done." the old man said.
But Shuuji ignored that. His voice was quiet when he finally spoke to his grandfather.
"Where is Mariko?"
The old man tilted his head slightly as if amused by the question.
"She's in a good place." he said. "Far away from all this violence."
"I don't believe you."
The boss smiled again.
"It's up to you whether you believe it or not."
Then he leaned closer and resting both hands on his cane.
"But you should be grateful. I adored that little girl. I intend to keep her safe."
Shuuji's jaw tightened.
"But me...?"
The boss's eyes flickered with something that wasn't quite warmth.
"You're different from her."
That was enough for Shuuji.
He stood up and walked toward the door while ignoring the dull ache in his ribs. But before he could step out, one of the guards moved.
The man extended his hand and used his special ability. There were shimmering threads erupted from his fingers like silver webs. It darted toward Shuuji's limbs.
The threads touched him.
And then...
His tiny body was bathed in a soft and cool blue glow.
The threads then dropped to the ground.
The guard froze. His face went pale when his special ability simply stopped existing.
Shuuji blinked. He hadn't done anything.
The old boss, Hirotsu-san and the guard all stared at the floor where the useless threads lay.
"Is that an... ability?" Hirotsu asked almost to himself.
"B-But I heard they don't have any abilities?!" the guard asked.
"A nullifying ability, huh..." the boss mused to himself.
He had never heard of such abilities. According to what the boss was told, the laboratory from the west was attempting to investigate and test a number of ability users in order to create a device that would limit or stop their abilities when necessary.
But...
The boss simply looked at Shuuji. When they were born, they told him they were normal and possessed no abilities. As a result, the boss never forced his son to start training them right away.
And now...
"Hah... Hahaha..."
The boss started laughing.
At first, it was just a low chuckle. Then it grew louder and echoing off the white walls of the hospital room until it sounded almost like madness. When he finally stopped, the old man straightened and looked directly at Shuuji.
"I see... So that's it." he whispered while his eyes glinted. "Now I understand how Gen'emon and Tane died."
He stepped forward and grabbed Shuuji's arm tightly.
Shuuji flinched.
"You..." the boss said. His voice was filled with something dark and thrilled. "You are truly a gifted one, Shuuji."
His grip tightened.
"You are not like your sister. You can surpass Gen'emon if you receive the proper training."
Shuuji didn't answer. He only met the old man's gaze without blinking his eyes.
Somewhere deep inside, Shuuji could finally understood what kind of world he had been born into.
He could clearly see what kind of monster his grandfather really was.