Healing

For the next few days, Seiji lived just as he had before Hideaki appeared.

Eat - Sleep - Code - Repeat

It was another evening.

Seiji, exhausted, collapsed onto his bed and let out a deep sigh.

"At last, this project is finished... So many fixes... so many errors and lines of code to repair, but finally, it's done..."

After a moment, he glanced at his phone.

"I can't imagine how long this would've dragged on if that idiot were here. Knowing him, he'd come up with something stupid to interrupt my work, or he'd hover over my shoulder, whining about something. Or trying to kill me."

After a moment, Seiji got up, walked into the kitchen, and made himself a coffee.

"Maybe I'll start liking life in solitude again," he muttered to himself.

[Rehabilitation Room, Early Morning.]

Hideaki sat in a chair, his bandaged hands gently supported by a nurse. The physiotherapist stood beside him, watching every movement.

"Try to bend your fingers," the physiotherapist said calmly. "It may hurt more now, since you're no longer on the stronger painkillers you had right after the surgery."

Hideaki clenched his teeth. His hand twitched, and the fingers bent reluctantly.

The physiotherapist adjusted the position of his wrist. "Don't jerk. Every movement must be controlled. Remember — if you strain the channels, you could damage them permanently."

A surge of frustration welled up inside Hideaki.

'I-I know that! Tch! Idiot!'

Suddenly, Hideaki stopped and hissed in pain.

"Don't give up," the physiotherapist said evenly.

"But... it h-hurts!" Hideaki roared at him.

"Hey, easy. I know it's painful right now, but the more you push through, the faster you'll recover. Take a deep breath. Now exhale."

Hideaki let out a heavy sigh, clenching his bandaged fist and slowly, slowly began performing the exercise as instructed.

The nurse gently moved his hands, fingers, and shoulders to prevent muscle atrophy.

Daisuke jotted something down in his notebook. "Hmm... His responses to commands are quick, though tinged with pain and frustration. Magic Ability unstable, but growing day by day. I'm surprised that he didn't attack anyone. But I guess he just doesn't have enough strength to do it right now."

---

[Office, Afternoon]

The hum of the air conditioner and the click of keyboards blended with the quiet laughter of a few employees. Touga leaned against Seiji's desk, peering over his shoulder.

"Hey, Sekiguchi, sitting over that report like you're saving the world again? Huh?  How much longer is this going to take? An hour? Two?" she snorted, and the others in the back chuckled.

Seiji didn't look away from the screen. His fingers struck the keyboard in a steady rhythm, his expression neutral.
"More like fifteen minutes. Assuming no one interrupts me."

For a moment, silence fell, then laughter returned. Touga walked away, but called over her shoulder:
"You really will never learn to joke. Pft pathetic idiot. No wonder everyone avoids you, Magicless."

Seiji sighed quietly and returned to his work. The screen gleamed in his glasses, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

'Hideaki is probably struggling with breathing exercises right now. I wonder if he's following the instructions... or scheming again.'

He opened another spreadsheet, but stared at it blankly. In his mind, he ran the equation:
'Rehabilitation = patience. Hideaki = lack of patience. Result: risk of disaster. But I left supervision to the doctors. That's not my role now.'

He adjusted his glasses, took a deep breath, and returned to the report. The office hum brought him back to work.

---

[Night, Hospital Room]

At night the ward ran thin. Only two nurses covered the entire floor, the paramedic had gone home, and security made a slow round every hour — doors remained locked, most rooms on timer-controlled shutters. Patients were monitored by cameras and a single central station; anything whispered low enough could vanish into the static between checks. That was why only Daisuke — the lone patrol on duty — ever caught what others missed.

The corridor was silent, the smell of disinfectant clinging to the air. Hideaki sat by the bed, his bandaged hands resting on his knees.

His body ached. Every movement was heavy.

'Why is this so hard?'  His thoughts started circling paranoically. 'What if the doctors do something wrong? What if my power never comes back?'

Hideaki stared at his bandaged hands. Slowly, he unwrapped the gauze. The material fell to the floor, and he gazed at his trembling fingers. He tried to force a nosebleed on himself.

The instant he attempted to make his magic work, a sharp pain shot through the center of his hand.

He hissed in pain and immediately stopped.

His hands shook like those of a paralytic.

"Shit..." he cursed. "It hurts so bad... F-fuck!"

He gritted his teeth 'I'm gonna fucking kill that guy who made me suffer, for sure!'

Daisuke watched him on the camera. "The guy looks exhausted... He tried to use his Magic Ability but failed instantly... But it's no surprise. He's been training all day. He could easily be drained. For now, he's behaving like a typical post-injury patient... Except it's only been a week of rehabilitation. Later, he'll get used to the effort, grow more confident, and with that... The worst may come."

[Second Week. Afternoon, Room with Soft Lighting, Magic Channel Monitoring Equipment.]

The rehabilitation therapist stood by the computer, monitoring Hideaki's magical energy levels.

"Focus the energy in your fingers. Don't release it outside," he instructed calmly.

Hideaki took a deep breath. A flickering red glow appeared in his hands.

'This... isn't like before... I feel a block... Tch'

The therapist leaned in slightly. "Slow down. Carefully... good, maintain your focus."

Hideaki's fingers trembled as he battled the rising panic. But after a moment, the glow stabilized. His eyes brightened with a hint of triumph.

The physiotherapist smiled as well. "See? You're getting better and better!"

'Ehehe! Soon... very soon I'll be able to control blood again! Ehehe! I'm gonna kill! I'm gonna torture!'  Hideaki grinned. 

Unsettlingy too wide.

Physiotherapist noticed it, and raised his eyebrow, conceed.

"Miyahara-san, everything's alright?"

Hideaki only grinned more "Y-yes! Hehe! Everything is fine. I'm just happy with the progress we made!"

In the corner of the room, almost unnoticed, Daisuke sat, noting every detail:

'That expression... that spark in his eyes, that smile... it's not a patient pleased with progress, but a predator waiting for his weapon to return.'

Daisuke paused his pen over the notebook, staring at Hideaki.

***

At the same time Seiji sat at his desk in his apartment, laptop open, notebook beside it, but his eyes weren't on the screen at all. 

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the desk. He reached for it lazily, but froze when he saw the hospital’s number.

The call lasted only a minute.

"Miyahara-san is making progress. The magic channels are stabilizing. You can come and pick him up in a week."

His thoughts circled around Hideaki's upcoming discharge and the hospital reports.

'He'll need supervision. If he slips... if he'll use his magic recklessly, he may have more to worry about than only trouble with controlling magical energy.'  he analyzed in his mind.

He leaned closer to the notebook, sketching a diagram of Hideaki's body and marking the areas of damage: hands, ribs, shoulder, head. 

'These should be healed by now. If the rehab went well. He shouldn't have problems with functioning. But judging from how severe it was, he probably will get a advice to keep exercising at home...'

He added a reminder: observe response to exertion, monitor physical and emotional stress, gradual rehabilitation.

After than he leaned back on his chair and sighed heavily.

'Although we've only known each other a short time... I can't let anything go wrong. Not now, when I'm so close to disappearing from this hell once and for all...'

Seiji set the pen down, closed the notebook, yet his eyes stayed locked on the empty wall. 

In his thoughts, Hideaki was no longer just someone he had known for a month and a half. He was a project, an experiment, a responsibility — and Seiji had no intention of failing him.

Suddenly 

A reminder on his phone buzzed: Akemi – two weeks.

His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment, but his hands quickly returned to the keyboard. The lines of code demanded precision, and Seiji drowned himself in it, letting the rhythm erase everything else.

Meanwhile, far away in their family house in Chichibu, Akemi leaned over her desk, colored pens scattered everywhere. She was already scribbling lists in a cheerful notebook: places to visit, food to try, things to buy.

"Two weeks! Finally, I’ll see him again! I wonder how he has been after that breakup with Aoi? I hope he found someone new. He works too much. It’s vacation time. He needs a rest. I remember how worked up he got last year, but this time, I won’t let him hide behind his laptop!"

Her phone chimed with a message from a friend, and she quickly sent a string of excited emojis, practically glowing with anticipation.

[Third Week of Rehabilitation, Magical Coordination Exercises.]

Hideaki was supposed to gather energy and move the blood in the air between two points. His hands glowed with a red, unstable light.

'Just a little more... I can go faster...'  His hands began to shake, the spark in his fingers growing stronger.

The therapist approached immediately. "Stop! Halt! If you push yourself... you'll damage the channels!"

Hideaki looked away, anger mingling with fear.

"Tch!" He hissed.

He stared at his palms, feeling as if faint blood seeped through reopened cuts and bandages.

"H-huh!?" he panicked.

The red glow suddenly dimmed, blood splashed on the floor and he fell to his knees, clutching his wrists. 

The therapist knelt beside him, calmly stabilizing his hands.

"See?" he said quietly. "Only control gives you power. Not strength, not haste. You'll understand this... before it's too late."

Hideaki exhaled heavily, yet ragged.

"Miyahara-san, we'll do a quick break and then later, we'll do breathing exercises." The nurse pointed to the chair, smiling warmly.

"F-fine..." Hideaki murmured and then sat on the chair, trying to compose himself.

'Sh-shit...'  he cursed.

The physiotherapist left with the nurse to other pateints. Hideaki was left alone.

He leaned his hand on his cheek,

The smell of bandages was coming to his nosetrils.

He exhaled through his nose and in a moment, he held a small piece of metal — the handle of the chair frame — close to his face and inhaled deeply.

The metallic tang made his lips curl into a smile.

"Iron... blood... almost the same... and yet... it's smell was always stranegly calming me down..." he whispered, voice trembling with euphoria.

From the corner of the room came the sound of water dripping, plip... plip... plip... — a careless faucet left half-closed.
Hideaki froze, listening. His pupils widened.

"Drip... drip... like veins emptying... the sound of life leaving the body... eheh..."

His laugh bubbled out, first a breath, then a low, cracked chuckle, finally breaking into manic joy.

He pressed the metal tighter against his nose, almost reverently.

And then...

He heard footsteps.

He panicked and let go off his nose from the chair, looking innocent. As he was patiently waiting.

The physiotherapist, the nurse, and Daisuke entered the room one after another. 

The man looked around the room, monitoring the patients entering, as well as Hideaki himself.

The nurse approached Hideaki with a smile.

"Alright, Miyahara-san we'll do breathing exercices as we said!" She took a quick glance at his hands "All bloody wounds has healed in remarkingly quick time! Are you sure you didn't use your Magic Ability while we were gone?"

"N-no... I didn't." Hideaki replied quietly.

The physiotherapists sat near him and wrote something down on his notebook.

"Okay, Miyahara-san. Breathe deeply. Focus on the flow in your hands." he said.

Hideaki nodded slightly and obediently tried to do exercises.

A delicate red sparks flickering faintly in his palms. Hideaki looked up and asked calmly,

"What if the energy starts pulsing too quickly? Should I slow my breathing then, or stop the exercise?"

Therapist smiled.

"Slow your breathing," the therapist replied with a warm smile. "Let the energy calm down. Very good question, Miyahara-san."

Hideaki nodded like a model student. 

Daisuke took notes silently, but his eyebrow twitched.

“A serial killer obeying the authorities orders. Could it be that he is desperately fighting for health like any other patient?”

[Night]

Daisuke was on routine patrol. He made his way through the quiet hospital corridor that smelled faintly of metal and bleach. 

He was passing by next and next patient's rooms.

His flashlight beam swept across the floor. The building was still, save for the ticking of a distant clock.

Suddenly, he heard a voice. Low, hoarse, but filled with manic energy. Daisuke paused, frowning. 

He made his way to the room - 199, where the voice came from... 

The room... where Hideaki was.

He peeked through the small crack in doors, and there he saw him.

Inside, Hideaki sat hunched over on the bed. The room was dim, lit only by the little bedside lamp and a faint red standby light of the monitoring machine. His bandages had loosened.

He stared at his palms, where faint blood seeped through scratched and  reopened cuts.

"Just a little more... just a little more, and I'll feel blood on my hands again..."  he whispered, faster and more manically.

He gazed at his hands that were bleeding on the bandages.

"It fucking hurts! But I'll be able to make knives again... sharp, red...  I'll shapeshift blood in whatever weapon I would want! I can't wait to make people shake with fear again... Ehehe! And finally... I'll find this fucker who put me in here, and I'll kill  him for good! Ehehehehe! I'll make his blood pour from his hands! From his neck! From his insides! So he can feel the same pain as he did to me! But even worse!"

After a moment, laughter rang out. It was not a laugh of relief or simple joy, but something dark, sadistic, tearing through the silence like a blade.

No one stirred. The night staff remained in their posts; doors shut tight. Only Daisuke on patrol heard. He froze, breath shallow, pulse racing.

Daisuke froze in place, his heart involuntarily racing. 
'This isn't ordinary rehabilitation. He's not fighting for health. He's fighting to regain the tool he used to kill. And when he regains control... who will stop him then?'

He clutched his flashlight even tighter and reached for his notebook.

His hand trembling, but he wrote one final word, in large, heavy letters, as if the word itself were a warning:

"DANGEROUS."

In the meantime, Hideaki didn't notice how his fingers spontaneously glowed with a red glow, and the wounds... closed up themselves.