Where the Heart Lies

Following the address she’d been given, Nozomi arrived at what remained of an old commercial building.
  Its entrance loomed ahead—decrepit and defiant, mottled with peeling warnings no one had read in years. A tangle of heavy chains still clung to the gate long forgotten, but the padlock had already been tampered with and left dangling—a deliberate invitation.
  She pushed open the rusted gate with her bare hands. It shrieked in protest, threatening to fall apart at its rough treatment.
  Nozomi stepped inside without hesitation, scanning for a way up.
  The foyer reeked of smoke and damp rot. Cracked tiles were littered with cigarette butts and stale dust. Graffiti clawed across the walls in colors long since resigned to decay. Her sandals crunched through broken glass as she made her way deeper into the ruin. The building had been abandoned for years, but there was no doubt—
  This was the place.
  She checked the elevator panel anyway.
  Nothing operational.
  As expected.
  That left the stairs.
  Only one thought occupied her now.
  Azusa.
  No time to waste.
  Up she went.
  Each step struck the metal stairwell with a discordant clang, ringing out like a broken alarm bell. Not that stealth had ever been part of the equation.
  Her yukata snagged around her ankles with every few steps, the fabric resisting her attempts at urgency.
  The climb was brutal. Her feet ached. Her lungs burned and begged for air. Reflex demanded she breathe—but that was only as far as it went.
  Breathing was less of a necessity when it wasn’t a requirement to stay alive.
  A convenience reserved only for her.
  The top floor opened into a wide, hollow space with a tall ceiling—reminiscent of Yamada’s old office. The skeletal windows let the night bleed in through cracks in the walls, dragging with it the sour scent of rust.
  In the middle of it all lay a small figure.
  Azusa!
  She seemed to be unconscious, but thankfully, alive. A faint bruise discoloured her cheek.
  A slow, drawn-out clapping caught Nozomi’s attention.
  Yamada emerged from behind a pillar, a nasty grin carved deep across his face, twisted with something proud.
  “Well, well. Finally. I was beginning to wonder if you'd chicken out.”
  She met his gaze with a cold, measured step forward.
  “Yamada.”
  Her voice held steady, but her thoughts scrambled.
  How was he still alive?
  “What’s the matter? Surprised to see me up and breathing?” he drawled, pacing with exaggerated flair. “I bet you thought it was all over. But sometimes, the universe tosses you a bone.” He spread his arms like a game show host waiting for applause. “They don’t call me the ‘Demon of the Underworld’ for nothing! As you can see, I’ve been given a second chance! What is this if not divine intervention?”
  Her amber eyes glinted in the low light without a trace of kindness.
  “How laughable. You speak of divine intervention as if it were your birthright. You’re dead wrong.” Nozomi’s expression didn’t waver, but her gaze flicked briefly to Azusa’s still body behind him. “I don’t know what sick point you’re trying to prove, but this ends here.”
  Yamada let out a scoff and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
  “You’re cute when you try to act tough,” he mocked in reply. “But when did you start thinking you were anything more than a monster?”
  The words didn’t shake her. There was nothing he could say that she hadn’t already whispered to herself a thousand times over.
  “Let Azusa go,” she ordered.
  “So impatient,” he said, his grin sharpening. “But this isn’t some morality play. You ruined me. Took away everything from me when you showed up. Today, I return the favour.” He tapped a finger to his temple, as if making a point. “An eye for an eye. Or in your case, a sister for a sister.”
  His hand reached into his jacket—where she knew a weapon waited.
  “It was your own actions that led to your downfall,” she countered but her words didn’t get to him.
  “She turned out to be the perfect insurance,” Yamada sneered. “I’m not falling for any more of your tricks. You try something, she dies.”
  There was nothing else Nozomi could say to convince this man.
  Petty. Pathetic. Scum.
  In her mind, that was all he was.
  Yamada’s hand moved fast, levelling his gun at her chest. Nozomi tensed but didn’t so much as flinch.
  “Tsk. You’re no fun.” He jerked his chin toward Azusa. “What if I shot your little friend instead?”
  This time, Nozomi couldn’t completely conceal the flash of panic that betrayed her. Yamada caught that fraction of a second—and was clearly savouring the moment.
  She didn’t even want to imagine what twisted little plays were running behind that malicious grin.
  “That’s more like it. Guess you do care about her, huh?”
  “She has nothing to do with this.,” Nozomi retorted.
  “And yet, here she is, because of you.” He gave a cold-blooded snicker. “Don’t take it personally. Nobody takes from me and gets away with it.”
  He thumbed off the safety, finger brushing the trigger like he was teasing it. In that instant, Nozomi stepped forward.
  “You want me alive, don’t you?”
  “Oh, I know that.” He shrugged. “But you see, I don’t need this lass anymore. What should we do about that?”
  Contrary to what anyone might’ve assumed, Nozomi did not have a plan.
  Not with Azusa lying helpless in his sights.
  She clenched her fists, frustration and shame flooding in tandem. Then, bitterly, she forced out a single word.
  “…Please.”
  A glint of triumph lit Yamada’s face.
  “What was that?” he jeered, cupping a hand to his ear. “Speak up! Cat got your tongue?”
  Of course he’d heard her the first time. He just wanted her to squirm.
  She forced herself to stay composed—to give him what he wanted even if it meant swallowing what was left of her pride.
  “I said… please.”
  “Put some heart into it, little girl! You aren’t even trying. Or would you like me to give you a better reason?”
  Her jaw locked. Her nails dug crescent moons into her palms.
  And then—she let go of whatever shred of dignity she had left and dropped to her knees.
  “Please… Don’t hurt her.”
  “There we go… Not so hard if you tried, eh?”
  His smile contorted, soaked in sadistic pleasure at the shape of her surrender.
  Without warning, his hand lashed across her face, snapping the air like a whip.
  “…!”
  Nozomi withstood the strike, once again with barely as much as a flinch, which made Yamada click his tongue.
  “Maybe I should try a little harder,” he muttered to himself, clearly dissatisfied by Nozomi’s apparent lack of reaction.
  His boot slammed into her ribs, sending her sprawling. Breath escaped her lungs in a single ragged gust.
  He crouched beside her, gripping the front of her yukata.
  “Doesn’t feel too great, crawling on the ground, does it? Seems like our positions have reversed now, eh?”
  She said nothing. Her silence was the last shred of defiance she still owned.
  He snarled and flung her down unceremoniously like a ragdoll.
  “Is all you can offer? Pathetic.” he spat in a mixture of disappointment and disgust.
  BANG!
  The sound of the first shot reverberated through the building without warning.
  “Ack!”
  Nozomi gasped sharply at the white-hot pain lancing through her foot as crimson bloomed from the wound.
  “Aha, there it is—looks like you can feel pain after all!”
  Yamada rejoiced. He had witnessed the suffering he’d been planning for all this while. But his satisfaction was short-lived.
  A strange phenomenon was happening before his eyes.
  The blood that pooled beneath her foot began to move as if it were a collective entity responding to an order to gather—flowing back into the wound like ink being pulled into paper. And the bullet lodged her flesh, ejected itself cleanly, hitting the floor with a metallic clink.
  Nozomi’s torn skin knitted itself back together until not a single trace of a scar remained.
  By now, Yamada’s expression had done a 180. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
  “The hell… was that?”
  Nozomi rose to her feet slowly, brushing the dust off her yukata with an unnatural calm. The amber eyes that pierced him carried an intense pressure behind them. He instinctively took a step back.
  “What’s the matter? Are you afraid?” Nozomi asked softly.
  Yamada could only laugh in false bravado.
  “So you can heal a little—?! Big damn deal, let’s see how long you can keep that up!”
  A shot was fired.
  The bullet punctured her shoulder, the force of it rocking through her. Pain seared through her body, but it only felt fleeting.
  Then came second—
  And then a third.
  One burrowed into her thigh. Another hit her knee.
  She lurched each time, but never fell.
  Just like before, her wounds unraveled. Bullets spat themselves from her skin like rejected impurities.
  Blood that dared to spill reversed, slithering back into the wounds it came from.
  Yamada staggered backward, his weapon trembling in his grasp. He had witnessed something that made even a freak show look quaint.
  Unbeknownst to him, his frantic pulse and ragged breathing were a stark contrast to the stillness inside Nozomi—inside the grotesque mimicry of life that Nozomi considered her body.
  She could practically sense it: Yamada’s trepidation.
  He fears me. Who wouldn’t?
  She still felt nothing.
  The bullets that should have ripped through her body, tore muscle and sinew—she barely acknowledged them anymore. The pain had dulled into something distant like an afterthought.
  To her, death was merely transient—a fleeting inconvenience, if anything.
  And pain was a simply a by-product of the countless ‘deaths’ she had experienced.
  She had come to fear neither by now.
  Yet each time she came close to dying, she felt a part of her slipping further away.
  A piece of something human—
  A piece of something she was still desperately trying to hold on to.
  How much of it still remained?
  How much more can I afford to lose until there is nothing left of me?
  She reckoned Yamada was halfway into his descent to madness by now.
  “You freak—” he hissed in rage, gun poised to fire again. “What the hell are you?!”
  Nozomi only stared, her expression unfathomable.
  I wish I knew, too.
  Such was her body that could blush, bleed, and shed tears—just like any other human’s.
  And yet, she had never once heard the sound of her own heartbeat.
  “You asked me… what I am,” she began softly, “I don’t think you’d like the answer.”
  “Damn it… just go down already, you wench!!!” he shrieked maniacally, pinning her to the ground once more, holding her forehead at gunpoint.
  The fear reflected in his eyes reminded her of what she wasn’t.
  “Did you really think you belonged here?”
  Some cruel voice—one she’d stopped pretending wasn’t her own—rose again. It whispered what she’d buried countless times. It never let her forget.
  “Did you really think you could keep pretending?”
  A bitter ache bubbled in her chest.
  Why does my chest hurt so much when no blade or bullet can harm me?
  Was this divine intervention after all?
  This must be the punishment for a fraud like me. For daring to pretend to be something I wasn’t…
  “…Go ahead,” she breathed, daring Yamada to pull the trigger.
  Unlike before, Yamada was hesitating with shaking hands.
  “You want me to beg again? Or will you just get it over with?” she questioned in a voice so hollow and indifferent.
  Death was staring at her in the face, and she was reacting as if Yamada were a mere insect on her sleeve.
  Despite his instinctual fear, it angered him to no end.
  “No—you don’t get to look at me like that!” he screeched. “Die, little bitch!”
  I guess it can’t be helped…
  Nozomi drew a breath and braced herself for the inevitable that would come for her once more—
  Instead, A loud crash shattered the moment as something barrelled through the window, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor.
  “Nozomi!”
  Yamada whirled around, startled by the figure—one Nozomi recognized instantly—as it leapt into the room and tackled him with enough momentum to send him stumbling backwards. The gun slipped from his fingers and clattered clumsily onto the floor.
  “Kaoru?!”
  How he had managed to show up from the windows was beyond her expectations.
  Something tightened in her chest.
  Despite everything—despite the pain, the exhaustion—
  Relief found her anyway.

*          *          *

My entry through the window had been a gamble—one built on luck, half-baked courage, and the emergency stairwell I'd taken three steps at a time. But I’d made it.
  “Nozomi! Azusa! Are you okay?”
  My voice came out sharper than intended. Nothing says calm and reassuring like yelling at injured people.
  Nozomi didn’t say a word. Her brick-wall expression stared back at me like I’d crashed-landed from a low-budget superhero flick.
  It helped that she gave a small nod when our eyes met.
  Minimalist communication at its finest.
  Fair enough.
  I turned back to Yamada—who, unfortunately, was still very much conscious and casually checking his jaw like I’d been an unexpected mosquito.
  His sneer implied I’d done some damage.
  At least, I chose to believe that—out of sheer optimism.
  Hope sure is a funny thing.
  “You punk… That little stunt of yours got me good. Where the hell did you come from?”
  “Don’t you know?” I squared my stance, still riding the high of reckless adrenaline. “Superheroes always come flying through the windows.”
  Unfortunately, street brawls had never quite made it into my very amateur resume—and I had a feeling it showed.
  “Heh. Cocky brat.” Yamada scoffed, cracking his neck like this was just foreplay.
  He lunged, faster than I could track, throwing what looked like a wide hook. I moved to dodge—right into the trap.
  A feint?!
  His other fist ploughed into my ribs with the force of a freight train.
  No time to marvel at the literal breath-taking experience.
  I gritted my teeth, bit back a curse, and swung for his jaw—
  “Too slow!”
  Another punch buried itself in my gut. I staggered, practically gift-wrapping my face for him.
  Damn—he was fast. Definitely final boss tier without needing an audition.
  “Not so tough now, are you? Thought you’d play hero? Think again!” he sneered, flexing his fingers like the opening act had just wrapped and I was the encore.
  I forced myself upright. Every nerve in my body was writing hate mail to my brain.
  “Hero or not,” I managed between breaths, “I’m not letting you lay a hand on them.”
  “Bold words for someone who can barely stand.”
  He came at me again—fast. But this time, I was ready.
  I sidestepped. His fist skimmed my shoulder, and I twisted, ramming my elbow into his ribs with every once of spite I had left.
  He hissed—then drove his knee into my gut before I could blink. My vision exploded into white sparks.
  Then his fist found my cheek, lighting it up like a slot machine jackpot—right before someone yanked the blackout lever.
  Pain. Pain everywhere.
  Every. Single. Cell.
  I hit the ground hard—cherry on top of the reality-kick sundae.
  If agony were a university, I’d be valedictorian—full scholarship, majoring in getting my ass kicked by lunatics in scenic, structurally unsafe locations.
  “Kaoru!”
  Nozomi’s scream broke through the static of my consciousness like a fire alarm in a dream.
  I forced my arms to move. Pushed myself up, lip bloodied, chest burning.
  Yamada towered over me, still smug.
  “Stay down, brat. You’re wasting my time.
  I dragged myself to my feet and swiped the blood from my mouth with the back of my hand. Yamada clicked his tongue as if I’d just scuffed his favourite shoes.
  “Seriously?”
  “Hit me all you want. I’m not moving—and you’re not taking another damn step.” I was still standing, bleeding and breathless, held together mostly by a cocktail of grit and what little remained of my fight-or-flight response.
  All of that had sounded way cooler in my head.
  Thirty seconds of glory before I go down in the dumbest rescue attempt of the year.
  “Fine. Since you insist on getting in my way, I’ll deal with you first.”
  He grabbed me by the collar, knuckles poised like a judge’s gavel.
  My face was about to become a before-and-after poster.
  But before the punch could land—
  A voice so small, that it could’ve been imagined, stopped the world cold.
  “…Kaoru…”
  All eyes snapped to the girl whose lips had barely moved—whose voice hadn’t spoken in years.
  Azusa.
  Her body had made the smallest stir—nothing more than a twitch, but to me, it might as well have shattered the laws of reality.
  My pulse drummed in my ears, and whatever was left of my adrenaline surged like wildfire through my veins.
  Yamada’s grip had slackened.
  I didn’t wait—I tore myself free.
  “What the—?” His face contorted in disbelief.
  This time, restraint wasn’t even in the equation.
  I grabbed the first thing I saw on the floor—a broken metal pipe—and swung.
  It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crunch.
  He staggered back, dazed—but still standing.
  Figures. He didn’t seem like the type to fold in one hit.
  Which was exactly why I didn’t stop.
  Another swing—right to his chest.
  With every last scrap of strength I had left, I rammed the end of the pipe straight into his face.
  His balance gave out. With a disgruntled yell, he stumbled backward—straight into the crumbling scaffolding.
  The structure gave way with a deafening crash, rusted beams and splintered planks collapsing in a cloud of dust, swallowing him whole.
  The ground jolted under my feet like it might cave in after him.
  I stayed still, watching the pile of debris, heart pounding.
  No sound.
  No sign of movement.
  Is it over…?
  The pipe slipped from my fingers, hitting the ground with a hollow clatter. My chest heaved, lungs still trying to catch up.
  Then it hit me.
  Azusa!
  I spun and bolted toward the girls.
  She was unconscious, but breathing. Steadily.
  Nozomi knelt beside her, her face tense as if she wasn’t sure what to do next.
  “…Your sister is fine. I made sure of it…” she murmured—though it felt more like she was trying to convince herself than me.
  I was ready to call it quits right there—until I noticed the blood trailing down her shoulder, soaking into the fabric of her yukata.
  A jagged shard of glass was embedded in her skin.
  “Nozomi—your shoulder—!”
  She lifted a hand, silently stopping me before I could say anything else.
  Without hesitation, she gripped the shard with her bare fingers and yanked it out in one motion, discarding it like it was nothing more than a splinter.
  Blood streaked her hand, dripping from both the wound and her fingertips.
  Then it stopped. Mid-motion.
  I watched with eyes wide enough to double as satellite dishes as the blood reversed course—sliding back into her skin in an act defying nature.
  This wasn’t time-rewinding—let’s not kid ourselves. And I doubted good old quantum physics had anything useful to say either.
  The wound closed seamlessly, leaving nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. It might as well have never existed.
  I’d be raising pitchforks and calling for an exorcism if this were the medieval age. Whether it was sorcery or just premium nightmare fuel—who could say?
  For me, it might’ve just been another average weekend.
  My jaw would've hit the floor if it hadn’t already lost the will to try.
  Honestly, I had no idea what I’d just seen. Confusion might as well have been my whole brand by now.
  “Nozomi… how…?” My voice scraped out hoarse.
  She averted her eyes instead, as if the truth would sting less if she didn’t have to look at me.
  “Now you see, Kaoru? This body of mine… it’s not like yours…”
  A tight knot formed in my throat.
  I would've loved to blame this on head trauma or stress-induced hallucination—maybe even a concussion-powered fever dream. But it wasn’t. It was real. And the truth in all its smug cruelty, had chosen now to get personal.
  Her breath came out quiet, fragile—as if even the air wasn’t sure how to carry what came next.
  “It had always been this way.”
  Always?
  The word sank like stone in my stomach.
  How long… had she been living like this?
  I tried to speak, but she beat me to it.
  “Forget about me Kaoru.”
  “What?”
  Whose idea was it to roll with this script?! I want a word with the writer—preferably with a baseball bat. Heck, a metal pipe would do just fine.
  “I promise… once this is over, I’ll disappear from your life. So please… just forget me. Forget all the pain I’ve caused you.”
  “What are you even saying?” I shot back. “You’re not making any sense!”
  “You saw it yourself,” she murmured, forcing her lips into what might’ve passed for a smile—if it had made it all the way. “Aren’t I revolting?” Her voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “This body—it heals. It regenerates with unnatural speed. What kind of human can do that?”
  “Nozomi…”
  I moved closer, but she instinctively withdrew.
  “Don’t,” she said sharply. “I was never meant to be among you.”
  “That’s a goddamned lie and you know it!”
  The crackle in my voice wasn’t planned—and it made her recoil. But I wasn’t done.
  “Again with disappearing act. You really think I’m going to let you ghost yourself out of the picture and call that a resolution? Hell no.” The words were tumbling out now. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Cause that’s clearly not the face of someone who wants to be forgotten—you’re not fooling anyone! So don’t try to play the villain and pretend you never existed just to make the rest of us feel better. It’s not your fault, Nozomi. Not even close.”
  I braced myself for her usual rebuttal—some sharp-tongue deflection, maybe even a shove.
  Instead, she reached out wordlessly.
  Her fingers closed around my hand and, with the gentlest insistence, pressed it to her chest.
  Huh?!
  As soon as my fingers compressed upon the curvature of fabric, I was greeted by a strange, foreign sensation.
  An invisible pressure pushed against my palm and sanity with soft, delicate resistance. But beneath the exterior, there was nothing.
  By nothing, I meant a strange emptiness not in terms of substance, but something more… fundamental that was hard to fathom.
  She has no heartbeats…
  “Do you understand now?”
  Her voice thinned to a whisper, balanced between bravery and collapse.
  She offered a smile, but the best she could manage was an imitation—one that looked ready to fall apart if you so much as breathed on it wrong.
  I couldn’t hear her anymore—not over the riot in my own head, spiralling somewhere between infinity and absolutely nothing.
  “I’m a monster, Kaoru.”
  I didn’t offer words of condemnation or consolation.
  My body just moved—acted before any instruction—pulling her into my arms.
  She stiffened on contact, frozen like she hadn’t been touched in years.
  Typical me—
  Not the part about hugging girls—let’s clear that up for the record. But the part where I act first and rationalize later?
  Right, that tracks.
  Too late to second-guess myself now.
  “Kaoru, why—”
  “Shut up—” I muttered softly.
  She didn’t make any attempt to move, but she was shaking.
  “Just shut up for a second.” I pressed my chin on top of her head and held her closer. “I don’t care what you are. I don’t care what you think you are. I’m not letting you go.”
  “…You shouldn’t. It’s not right—”
  “Screw what’s right—the greater good can be damned for all I care. Who even gets to decide that crap?”
  I said it.
  Might’ve been the most recklessly embarrassing thing I’ve ever blurted out—probably the kind of line you only throw when the world stops making sense.
  Either way, I meant every word of it—and I wasn’t taking any of it back.
  A muffled sound escaped her throat as her body trembled in my grasp. Her fingers dug in to the back of my shirt, and her head sank against my chest—as if she’d found salvation.
  Thump. Thump. Thump.
  My heart was pounding wildly, pleading to be heard.
  “Can you hear it? The sound of my heartbeats?”
  “…Mhm.” She gave a tiny nod, face still buried in my clothes as if she was listening not with her ears, but with the whole of her being.
  “You’ve heard my answer, Nozomi. So please… don’t say anything about wanting to disappear again. You’re not alone anymore.”
  For a second, her silence almost convinced me she'd vanished into it. But then her voice rose—small, but defiant in its return.
  “…Is it really okay for me to be selfish?”
  A subtle motion passed through her hands, packing a certain anticipation like she was holding her breath through her fingertips.
  “If it means letting me stay by your side? Then yeah. Be selfish.”
  Whatever tender moment we shared between us was short-lived as something scrapped through the rubble behind us.
  Nozomi went rigid in sync in me, as if the same bloodlust had grazed our spines.
  Yamada had emerged from the rubble, less man now than something hatred refused to let die. His eyes burned with a violent, feral madness that sought us out like prey he’d sworn to drag down with him.
  No way.
  Nothing’s more terrifying than staring down a man who’s already discarded everything—fear, reason, even his own life. Though frankly, I was almost impressed he could still stand.
  We both knew what came next. He wasn’t here to escape. He was here to finish it—whatever it took.
  Instinct took the wheel. I shoved Nozomi aside just as he charged.
  “Grrgk—!”
  A breathless cry stuck in my throat as pain seared through my side like cold steel. I stumbled back, having been stabbed with something that buzzed through every nerve like electric vengeance.
  A hidden knife…
  “Kaoru!!!” Nozomi’s scream exploded behind my eardrums.
  “Take that… you fools…” Yamada slurred, collapsing with the blood-stained knife still slick in his hand. That last spiteful act had wrung out the last of him.
  I pressed my hand to my side. Warm blood pulsed out in rhythm with my heartbeat, each throb draining me faster.
  “Oh crap…”
  Strength was leaving me fast. My knees were giving up on me.
  Nozomi had moved swiftly and snatched up Yamada’s gun that had been on the ground, levelling it at him with surgical coldness.
  “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” she said. Her eyes weren’t just aiming—they were already mourning the shot.
  Even on the ground in his weakened state, he still grinned. Blood painted his teeth as he spoke.
  “Finally… showing your true colours…?” Just like… the murderer you are?”
  “You mustn’t, Nozomi…!” I rasped, each word mangled by pain and urgency.
  “…Kaoru? Why are you trying to stop me?”
  “If you pull that trigger… you’ll become exactly what he’s imagined you to be. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” A violent cough tore through me, as blood pooled in my mouth. “Don’t stain your hands for this… He’s already done for.”
  A ragged wheeze clawed out of Yamada’s throat. Even at death’s door, he still laughed.
  “You see it now, don’t you…? You… can’t save him… You can’t save… anyone…” he croaked before his body turned limp.
  “…You don’t deserve such an easy way out,” she muttered, her eyes dark with judgement.
  There was no time to feel relief. The second I let my guard down, my legs gave out, along with my vision.
  For some reason, the ground felt softer than I expected. Warmer, too.
  “—Kaoru! Stay with, Kaoru!”
  I forced my eyes open. Everything was swimming, but I could still make out the panic-stricken beauty hovering over me.
  “Nozo...mi?”
  “Don’t speak! You’re losing too much blood!”
  My body was shutting down, my ears full of sludge—and somehow my brain picked this exact moment to yell: “Hey, lap pillow!”
  From a beautiful girl, no less.
  Seriously—what the hell.
  Of all times, my inner monologue had the gall to trigger a fan-service event.
  I’d probably be a lot more excited if I wasn’t actively dying on said heavenly thighs.
  Priorities thoroughly out the window, I figured now was as good a time as any for famous last words.
  “I’ll stop the bleeding—I’ll do something—I’m begging you, stay with me—you can’t just back out now!” Nozomi cried, frantically pressing both hands to the wound.
  My consciousness was slipping away again.
  Is this really it?
  The protagonist isn’t supposed to die right after the confession scene, dammit. That’s a total cliché.
  At least let me kiss the girl. Or ride into the sunset and not just bleed out in someone’s lap while contemplating metaphysics.
  Still, if there’s an afterlife, I hope it has better pacing.
  Darkness spilled in from the corners of my vision.
  Guess I’m about to find out what comes after the fade to black.

*          *          *

Kaoru’s body slumped against her arms like dead weight.
  No.
  Too much blood.
  “Stay with me Kaoru! Don’t you dare close your eyes!” Nozomi screamed in a voice she never knew she could make.
  Blood pooled between her fingers, warm and sticky. It stained her hands, soaked through her yukata, and smeared the floor beneath them.
  No, no, no.
  This wasn’t supposed to happen.
  “Kaoru…?”
  A dense, suffocating silence swallowed her hope whole.
  She had survived again.
  But what good was survival if she was always the one left behind?
  I’m sorry.
  I’m sorry.
  I’m sorry.
  Her bloodstained fingers fumbled for his wrist, searching for warmth—
  For motion—
  For anything.
  Please, let me find something!
  Nothing.
  Not even a flutter beneath her fingertips.
  Only stillness.
  A void as hollow as the space inside her chest.
  It was happening again.
  Someone slipping away in her arms.
  That awful, familiar feeling.
  Just like before.
  “Aah… No…”
  The sound that left her throat barely resembled a voice. Her eyes burned, and her lungs felt as if they were shrinking.
  What do I do?
  What do I do?
  What do I do?
  She couldn’t accept it.
  There had to be something—anything—she could do.
  Her thoughts spun wild, desperation gripping her like a vice. If only she had direction.
  Until—
  A single, reckless answer surfaced from the chaotic whirlpool of her mind.
  Not a plan.
  Not a solution.
  Just a gamble.
  A cheat only her undying body could afford.
  Her hand moved before doubt could catch up.
  Her fingers found their way around the gun once more.
  This time, she wouldn’t wait for death—
  She would chase it down herself.
  “Wait for me,” she whispered, brushing blood-matted strands from Kaoru’s face.
  I’ll bring you back.
  She pressed the barrel to her temple and drew a steady breath.
  Even if I have to steal you from a god—
  I’ll bring you back with my own hands!
  With nothing more than resolve sharpened by loss—
  Nozomi pulled the trigger.
  The world answered with a single, thunderous bang.
  And she followed him into the dark.

*          *          *