Chapter 9: Poison and Doubt

BEEP

BEEP

BEEP

The heart monitor marked every second with mechanical precision.

The operating room was bathed in cold, white light. Takeru lay face down on the table, motionless. The wound on his left shoulder was small, but its edges had already darkened—the poison had infiltrated the surrounding tissue.

"Respiration?" the surgeon asked without looking up from his work.

"Labored," the nurse replied, checking the monitors. Her voice was tense.

"Blood pressure?"

"Normal. No problems for now, but..." The nurse paused, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "The sweating keeps increasing, and the molecules in his body have changed their paths because of the poison."

The doctor gripped the scalpel tighter. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

"Good. Proceed with the operation. Immediately."

Time was running out. Every second counted.

. . .
. .
.

SOME TIME LATER

"How is the boy doing now?" the Headmaster asked.

The nurse closed the medical chart and sighed. "The poison has been removed. It was thanks to the professors who reacted quickly with the necessary actions—otherwise, the poison was one hundred percent lethal."

"Hmm. Good. But his condition?"

"He's alive," the nurse said cautiously. "But we can't say anything for certain. We can't confirm that everything is fine. It will only become clear when he wakes up."

"How long until he might wake up?"

"We can't give an exact date."

"I see."

. . .
. .
.

"It's been almost two weeks since Aragiri-san's incident," Kobayashi said.

"Yeah, you're right," Sato replied.

"Any updates?"

"Nothing. He still hasn't opened his eyes."

"Hmmm. And Midorikawa?"

"She's under supervision."

Kobayashi shook his head. "They made a mistake bringing her there in that condition. They knew about her situation, how dangerous it was because of her trauma."

"You're right."

"But to me, it seems like she's faking it. Like she made up this whole story."

Sato shrugged. "I don't know. Only she and GOD know what the truth is."

. . .
. .
.

"Why did you do this?" the guard asked.

Midorikawa remained silent, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"I don't know," she finally answered, her voice barely audible.

. . .
. .
.

MORE DAYS LATER

Hmmm...

Hmmmmm!

Hmm...

A sound. Low. Confused.

"DOCTOR! COME QUICKLY!

THE PATIENT IS WAKING UP!" the nurse shouted.

The doctors ran toward Takeru's room, their footsteps echoing through the corridor.

"Quick, check everything! Heart rate, blood pressure, respiration! EVERYTHING!"

The colleagues began working rapidly.

Meanwhile, Takeru only made sounds without moving a muscle or opening his eyes.

His voice gradually grew louder, as if he were screaming inside a nightmare.

The doctors began to sweat.

They couldn't understand what was happening.

Then, suddenly, his body started moving uncontrollably—like a fish pulled out of water.

The doctors looked at each other, uncertain what to do.

Sweat began forming all over Takeru's body.

His skin turned red.

And then—

HE SAT UP ABRUPTLY.

Not gradually. No.

He jerked forward with full force, as if someone had bound him with chains and he was trying to break free.

His eyes flew open.

His vision was slightly blurred, but he immediately recognized the white ceiling above him.

I'm not in the courtyard.

He tried to get up.

His body wouldn't respond.

His arms, his legs—everything felt like lead.

His heart was beating fast, so fast that he felt a strange heaviness in his chest. A pain that was there but wasn't, almost unreal.

And the rage.

The rage burning inside like fire.

Where is she?

His hands began to tremble.

Where...

"Haaah..."

"Haaaah..."

"Haah..."

Takeru breathed heavily, his reddened eyes scanning around frantically.

"W-Wh... Where am I?"

No one answered.

"Where am I?"

The doctors looked at each other.

"WHERE AM I!?"

"I ASKED WHERE AM I!?" Takeru's voice rose sharply. His breathing was heavy, his veins pumping blood violently.

"Calm down! You're in the infirmary. We're the doctors taking care of you," the doctor said, approaching slowly.

"Where is she?"

"She who?"

Takeru's eyes became even redder.

"WHERE IS SHE!? I'LL KILL HER WITH MY OWN HANDS!"

Takeru tried to move, to get up from the bed, but—

He couldn't.

His arms wouldn't respond.

His legs were too heavy.

His feet seemed glued to the mattress.

"What's happening..." he said in a low voice, more to himself than to the others.

"What do you mean?" the doctor asked.

Takeru looked at his own hands, his fingers barely moving.

"My arms... my legs... my feet... my whole body. I can barely move, like I have no strength in them. They feel like weights."

"That will be the effect of the poison. Please lie down again and let us run all the necessary tests."

"P... poison..." Takeru murmured, trying to make sense of it all.

He lay down slowly, every movement a battle against his own body.

The doctors began their examinations.

. . .

A BIT OF TIME LATER

The room was almost empty.

Only Takeru lay on his bed, staring out the window.

Students were having their practical lesson in the courtyard.

Everything seemed normal.

But he wasn't thinking about anything.

In fact, he didn't want to think about anything yet.

Just total silence.

Waiting for what the doctors would say.

And they arrived shortly after.

"So?" Takeru asked without looking at them.

"The reports have arrived. No critical or life-threatening issues were detected. This all happened thanks to the people who acted immediately, and so you're out of danger."

"Hmm... good. But this weakness I'm feeling?"

"That's expected. Your body survived such a massive attack. That poison was extremely strong. It will take time to return to your former strength."

Takeru nodded slowly.

"Fine... But I want to ask: why? Why did this happen to me? What did I do to her? I don't even know who she is... And why did she do this act?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "I understand what you mean, Aragiri-kun. Soon I'll send the psychologist who will explain everything to you. Right now, he's with Midorikawa, asking questions and trying to get to the bottom of this."

Takeru didn't respond.

He saw the room door opening.

Sato and Kobayashi entered.

The doctor, seeing them, left the room.

"Aragiri-san! How are you? We heard you woke up," Sato said with a smile on his face.

"I feel weak."

"Come on, it's nothing. With the will of GOD, everything will be fine. You should be happy you survived! We were so worried. Almost the whole school was in shock. It was thanks to the professors who intervened immediately, otherwise, who knows what could've—"

"WHERE IS SHE?" Takeru asked, raising his voice slightly.

Sato and Kobayashi looked at each other.

"Honestly, we don't know. We haven't seen her around since that incident. The last time was when the professor was taking her away, holding her by the arm. From that day until today, we still don't know anything," Sato said.

"Hmm..."

"But they're saying she didn't do it on purpose," Kobayashi said in a low voice.

Takeru immediately turned his head toward him, staring with eyes full of rage.

"I'm not saying it—other people are saying it," Kobayashi quickly clarified. "The professors say she did all this because she has PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder, which forced her to commit this act."

"What's this PTSD?"

"From what I understand, in simple terms, it's an event that happened in the past and was so traumatic that you couldn't get over it, and it took hold of part of your brain. Because of this, if the person finds themselves in the same situation, they can react that way," Kobayashi explained.

"Hmm..." Takeru remained silent for a few seconds. "Let's say that's true. But the poison? Where did the poison on that knife come from?"

No one answered.

"She has some other motive that I still don't know. But whatever they are, she shouldn't have done this. Especially TO ME. And for this, she'll pay the consequences. Definitely."

Sato and Kobayashi said nothing. They changed the subject and talked about something lighter.

. . .

Later, the homeroom teacher and Professor Kazuki also came to talk with him, saying pretty much the same things.

But Takeru didn't feel at ease.

He was certain something was wrong.

Something deeper than simple trauma.

Something that wasn't clear yet.

. . .
. .
.

A few days later, the psychologist arrived.

He sat in the chair next to Takeru's bed and opened a folder.

"Aragiri-kun, I'm here to explain what happened and why Midorikawa-san acted that way."

Takeru looked at him without saying anything.

"The girl was fourteen years old when a thief broke into her house."

Takeru listened in silence, his hands gripping the sheet.

"She was alone. Her parents had gone out to celebrate their anniversary. When she saw the thief, she froze. The thief didn't know she was home—he was stealing calmly. The girl tried to send several messages to her parents, but they didn't see them. She didn't call the police because she was afraid the thief would discover she was home."

The psychologist paused.

"But she forgot about her parrot, which was in the living room. Her bedroom was upstairs. Without thinking twice, she went downstairs to get it. The cage was in the middle of the living room, on the table."

Takeru continued staring at him.

"Once downstairs, she saw the thief was heading straight for the bird—it was an expensive breed. But the girl didn't want anything to happen to her pet. She thought... she didn't want anything bad to happen. And in desperation, she grabbed a kitchen knife and, quietly, without the thief noticing, went behind him and stabbed him repeatedly in the neck, killing him."

The psychologist closed the folder.

"That event left her with severe trauma. And when she saw the same situation with you, Aragiri-kun, her brain—"

"You can go," Takeru said suddenly.

His voice was flat. Empty.

"Aragiri-kun, I understand this might seem—"

"You can go."

The psychologist hesitated, then nodded and left the room.

The door closed with a click.

Takeru remained motionless, staring at the white ceiling.

Silence filled the room.

Only his breathing. Heavy.

A parrot.

She killed a thief to save a parrot.

And now everyone believes stabbing me was because of trauma?

His hands clenched the sheet.

Nonsense.

To strike someone from behind requires calmness. Requires waiting for the right moment. Requires hiding your intention until the last second.

I've seen enough to know when someone truly wants to kill you.

If Midorikawa had gone crazy from trauma, she would've screamed. Trembled. Hesitated.

But no.

She struck me with precision. Without a word. Without a mistake.

This isn't trauma.

Takeru's breathing grew even heavier.

So then... what is that girl really hiding?

His eyes fixed on the ceiling, unblinking.

Whatever it is, I'll find out.