""Sandra…"
His voice was barely more than breath.
"…couldn't you say something a little more delicate? Considering what I am doing right now… breathing my last."
The boy lay broken on the cold floor, gasping weakly for air. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, not because he was crying, but because his body had reached its limit.
Scars covered him from head to toe. Deep gashes. Burn marks. Crushed flesh. Even the nails on his feet had been torn open. Blood pooling beneath him with no sign of stopping.
Yet none of that compared to the wound that truly sealed his fate.
A single, merciless slash starting just above his waist and ending at his right shoulder. Clean. Diagonal. Executed with overwhelming force. A sword strike meant to kill.
"Delicate?" she scoffed.
"To think you'd still say something like that… after everything I've done to you."
She stepped closer, her shadow stretching over his mangled body.
"I suppose your brain suffered the worst during those hours of brutality." she continued mockingly. "Though it doesn't seem completely damaged yet. You're still breathing, after all."
A soft, cruel laugh escaped her lips.
He should have been broken by now.
And yet...
Despite the agony tearing through every nerve in his body, despite knowing he was moments away from death, he smiled.
Calm. Genuine.
That smile made her expression twist.
"…Tch."
She was annoyed. Frustrated.
"Good."
"I really have reached my wit's end this time," he said quietly. His voice cracked, and he coughed blood splattering onto the floor.
"How could I not?"
His breathing grew uneven, but his eyes never left hers.
"The so-called lover of mine," he continued, "the only person I could be myself with… the only one I trusted…"
His lips trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion.
"…played her cards for years. Right until the end. Just to guide me so kindly towards my own death."
Silence hung heavy. Then he laughed.
Not loudly.
Not mockingly.
A laugh of despair.
Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth as tears streamed freely down his bruised face. The smile he wore was bright, too bright like a beautiful painting layered with grief, betrayal, and something darker beneath.
A face that seemed to say:
I was ready to die for you.
And now… I die by you.
His vision began to fade. Colors dulled. The world blurred.
His eyelids grew heavy.
"So poetic," she said coldly. "You deserved this ending... my dear." She said mockingly.
The very next moment, she turned away, walking towards the door.
"See you in another life. I'll miss you… on my worst days," she added with a chuckle, "when I feel like beating something to a pulp."
He heard every word and yet he kept that calm expression as darkness slowly wrapped around his consciousness.
"Goodbye, Saito."
She spat onto his blood-soaked body and left without looking back.
"This isn't the end, Sandra." He wanted to say it. He truly did. But his voice refused to answer his will.
Realizing there was nothing left to fight for, he loosened his grip on the sword hilt. His fingers slipped free as numbness overtook him completely.
And just like that, Saito let go. The world vanished.