The aggressive sterility of the hospital room was an assault. After the organic filth of the warehouse—the coppery tang of blood, the sour reek of fear-sweat, the damp chill of decay—this clean, white world felt profoundly wrong. It was a place scrubbed clean of truth, and Samantha felt like an open wound in its pristine environment.
Ren lay propped against a mountain of starchy pillows, looking small and fragile in the oversized bed. The violent purple and blue mottling his face was a grotesque mockery of a sunset. A thin, clear tube snaked beneath his nose, feeding him the oxygen his bruised lungs couldn't draw on their own, a constant, fragile hiss that underscored how close they had come to the edge. But his eyes, one nearly swollen shut, were open. And in them, a flicker of his old, familiar light still stubbornly burned.
"Onii-chan!" Samantha's voice was a choked, broken thing. Relief, so sharp and potent it was almost painful, lanced through her, stealing her breath and buckling her knees. She surged forward, a desperate, clumsy rush to his side, her hands finding his, her fingers twining with his own. She held on as if she could physically anchor him to the world of the living. "You're okay—"
"Barely," he rasped, the sound punctuated by a weak, rattling chuckle that vibrated through his entire chest. It was the most beautiful, most agonizing sound she had ever heard. "You, by the way, drive like a bat out of hell."
A wet, broken laugh bubbled up from Samantha's own chest, mixing with the tears that now streamed freely down her face, carving clean paths through the grime and dried blood. "Takes one to know one," she managed, squeezing his hand as if her grip alone could mend his broken bones.
Kurosawa Akemi entered last, her steps silent and deliberate, a stark contrast to Samantha's frantic, graceless scramble. She was a panther gliding into the room, the raw, murderous fury she'd unleashed in the warehouse now leashed, banked behind a mask of chilling composure. But Samantha could still feel it, a low-level hum of contained violence that made the air around her feel colder. Her dark eyes, sharp and unnervingly perceptive, met Ren's across the short distance.
A faint, tired smile touched his swollen lips, a warmth blooming on his bruised face that was meant only for her. "Hey, you."
Akemi moved to the other side of the bed, her glacial facade cracking just enough to reveal the deep, terrifying worry beneath. "Hey yourself." She didn't say more, not at first. She didn't need to. The raw relief in her gaze, the subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand as she reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, spoke a language far more profound than words.
Samantha, still clinging to Ren's hand, felt a hot flush of awkwardness creep up her neck. She was practically sprawled across the bed, a snot-nosed, tear-stained mess, while his girlfriend—the terrifyingly beautiful, terrifyingly competent Ice Queen—stood there like a silent, regal guardian.
A faint, shimmering blue light, visible only to her, pulsed excitedly at the edge of her vision. Ohoho! The emotional reunion arc has been activated! The stoic warrior reveals her soft side for her wounded love! This is a classic S-tier scene! Give them some space, contractor! Mochi's psychic voice was practically vibrating with glee.
Samantha mentally swatted at the spectral dumpling, but she pulled back, reluctantly loosening her grip on Ren's hand, though his fingers tightened around hers for a second, unwilling to let go completely. "Right, um… sorry, Akemi-nee," she mumbled, gesturing awkwardly. The honorific felt both right and woefully inadequate for the force of nature who had saved them.
Akemi gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, her attention already zeroed back in on Ren. Her hand, the same hand that had shattered bone and torn flesh, was impossibly gentle as it cupped his cheek. "I was just… finishing a workout when Sami-chan messaged," she said, her voice a low, steady murmur. "You had me worried, Ren." She leaned down, her face close to his, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead, a gesture of such profound tenderness it felt almost intrusive to witness.
Ren's eyes fluttered shut, a shudder of relief and exhaustion running through him. When he opened them again, his gaze shifted from Akemi back to Samantha, his brow furrowed in a pained, confused frown. "Wait… Akemi," he rasped, his voice still thin and reedy. "Those bastards… back at the warehouse… you didn't… you didn't kill them, did you?"
A small, humourless smile touched Akemi's lips. The ice was back in her eyes. "For the second time tonight, no. I did not," she said, her voice flat. Her gaze flicked to Samantha for a fraction of a second, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them. "You Kisaragi siblings have a one-track mind. Your sister asked me the exact same thing."
See? Mochi chirped in her head. Great minds think alike! Or, you know, terrified-out-of-their-skulls minds.
Akemi's attention returned to Ren, her voice dropping to a casual, conversational tone that was somehow the most terrifying thing Samantha had ever heard. "But they deserved it, Ren. They deserved far worse than a quick death. They were animals." She paused, her eyes darkening as the memory of the warehouse replayed behind them. "I thought about it. I thought about all the things I could do to them. Breaking every bone, starting with their fingers. Cutting off their ears so they'd have to listen to their own screams echoing inside their heads. Flaying the skin from their backs. I wanted to make them understand, on a cellular level, the kind of fear they tried to inflict on you. On her."
Ren's eyes widened, the last vestiges of colour draining from his face. He swallowed hard, the apple in his throat bobbing. The casual, methodical brutality in her voice was more horrifying than any monster from a horror movie. He had seen Akemi fight, but he had never seen the predator she kept caged inside. "Okay," he interrupted, his voice weak and shaky. "Okay, that's… that's enough. I've heard enough." A profound, soul-deep relief washed over him again, pushing back the horror. The danger was past. Akemi was here. Samantha was safe. He was safe. He managed to lift a trembling hand, cupping her cheek in turn. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion that went far beyond simple gratitude. "For saving me. And for saving Sam." His gaze met Akemi's, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them. "You're incredible, Akemi. Both of you are."
For the first time since Samantha had known her, Akemi's legendary composure cracked. A faint pink blush dusted her high cheekbones, a startling splash of vibrant, living colour against her pale skin. It was barely there, a fleeting ripple on a frozen lake, but it was a testament to the power of Ren's words. She was flustered.
Click! Click! Mochi was going into a frenzy in Samantha's head, making imaginary camera shutter sounds. A historical moment! The Ice Queen blushes! I have witnessed a miracle! Archive this memory, contractor! This is blackmail material for generations!
A genuine smile, small and shaky, touched Samantha's lips. It was absurd. Here they were, surrounded by the wreckage of the night, and she felt a strange, buoyant sense of camaraderie with the blushing, terrifying girl at her brother's bedside.
"So…" Samantha began, eager to steer the conversation onto safer, more practical ground. "What… what happened, Onii-chan? How did they even get you?"
Ren's expression clouded over. He closed his eyes, a wince of pain and memory crossing his features. "I… I don't know, not really," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I was leaving the Kinokuniya in Shinjuku… just scrolling on my phone, waiting for the train." He took a shallow, rattling breath. "The next thing I remember is a strange smell. Something sweet and chemical, like almonds and paint thinner. It came from behind me. I turned, and then… everything went gray." He paused, his breathing hitching. "I woke up in that chair. In the dark. They… they kept asking about you, Sam. Over and over. 'Is your sister really as fragile as they say?' 'Where does she hang out after school?' They said… they said someone wanted you. Hired them to grab you."
He opened his eyes, his good one locking onto hers, filled with a deep, troubled fear that wasn't for himself. "They wouldn't say who. Just… 'the client'. And that the client wanted you brought to them… after they had some 'fun' with you first. To 'break you in'."
A knot of ice tightened in Samantha's gut. The vague, terrifying mission prompt from the System—[The Jounan High Purification]—slammed back into the forefront of her mind with sickening clarity. This wasn't a random attack. This was targeted. Her brother was just collateral damage. Someone was hunting her. Who? And why? This was bigger than a simple gang of thugs. This was organized. And it was just getting started.
They fell into a tense silence, the gravity of Ren's words settling over the room like a shroud. They filled in the rest of the night in quiet, clipped sentences, carefully editing out the most gruesome details for Ren's sake. Akemi gave a sanitized version of her arrival, omitting the symphony of screams and snapping bones. Samantha recounted her frantic search and the race against time, carefully omitting any mention of a floating dumpling, a cosmic gacha wheel, or the fact that she now possessed the combat skills of a seasoned martial artist.
The minutes crawled by, measured in the steady drip of the IV bag and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Forty minutes felt like a lifetime.
Then, the double doors at the far end of the hallway burst open with a pneumatic hiss, and the fragile peace of their small bubble was shattered.
"Samantha! Ren!"
Elena Kisaragi's voice, sharp with a terror that clawed its way past her usual composure, echoed down the hall. She and their father, Kenjiro, rushed towards the room, their faces masks of raw, undiluted panic.
Samantha was on her feet instantly, meeting her mother halfway in a crushing, tearful embrace. "Mom! Dad! We're okay! I'm so sorry, we're okay!" she babbled into her mother's shoulder, clinging to her with a childlike desperation.
Akemi, who had been standing like a stone sentinel, moved with a surprising, fluid grace. She stepped forward, a picture of polite deference, and performed a perfect, deep bow towards both parents. "Kisaragi-sama," she said, her voice quiet and respectful, the formal address a stark contrast to the dried blood spattered on her jeans. "I apologize for the late hour and the circumstances."
Elena, startled by the sudden, formal appearance of the girl she only knew as her son's quiet, intense girlfriend, could only stammer. "Oh, Akemi-chan. My goodness. Thank God you were with them."
"Are you alright, Akemi-chan?" their father asked, his brow furrowed with concern as his eyes took in the state of her clothes.
"I am uninjured, Oji-san," Akemi replied, her gaze unwavering. "I merely… assisted in resolving a difficult situation."
Her parents' attention snapped back to Ren, their relief instantly warring with abject horror as they took in the full extent of his injuries. They swarmed the bed, a whirlwind of panicked questions and hushed, worried whispers, their hands hovering over him, afraid to touch.
Then, Elena turned back to Samantha, her eyes wide with a new, redirected wave of fear. "Oh, Sami," she murmured, pulling her into another hug. "Your brother told us a little on the phone… you drove him here on that… that death machine." She held Samantha at arm's length, her hands scanning her daughter's face, her body, searching for injury. "You shouldn't have strained yourself like that! Your heart! The doctor said you need to be careful! Your aplastic anemia…"
The words, the diagnosis that had defined and confined Samantha's entire life, hung in the air. Aplastic anemia. The ghost at the feast. The reason she was fragile, weak, always on the verge of collapse.
But she wasn't. Not anymore.
A new kind of resolve, cold and clear as diamond, cut through Samantha's emotional turmoil. She had been given a gift. A terrifying, violent, miraculous gift. And with it came an opportunity. A way out of the gilded cage of her family's worry.
"Mom. Dad." Her voice was steady, firm, cutting through their frantic energy. She gently pulled away from her mother's grasp, meeting both their gazes head-on. There was no room for doubt. "I'm okay. I'm not just okay. I'm… better."
She saw the confusion, the disbelief in their eyes. She had to sell this. She had to make them believe.
"I think… I think I've been cured," she said, the lie tasting like truth on her tongue. It was, in a way, the truth. She had been cured of weakness. "My illness… maybe the stress, the adrenaline… maybe it just… burned it away. I don't feel weak. I don't feel tired." She took a deep breath, letting them see the strength in her posture, the clarity in her eyes. "I'm not the same person I was yesterday."
She let the statement hang in the air, a challenge. "If you're really worried about me," she pressed, planting the seed of the idea, her one chance to build a cover story for the impossible. "Then let's find out for sure. Let's have the doctors here run the tests. A full blood panel. Check my red cell count. Check everything."
She held their gaze, her own unwavering, radiating a newfound, unshakeable confidence. "Let's see if the aplastic anemia… is really gone."