The streets at this ungodly hour were practically deserted—which, given our current circumstances, was actually a blessing.
The empty roads meant we could zip through the city without the usual traffic nightmares that plagued Tokyo during normal hours. Our taxi driver took full advantage of the clear lanes, getting us to the hospital in what felt like record time.
After the car rolled to a stop outside the emergency entrance, I hopped out from my side and quickly circled around to continue my role as human transportation device, hoisting Tomoko-san back onto my shoulders.
Thanks to my recent finger fiasco—what feels like a lifetime ago but was actually just a few weeks—I'd become surprisingly familiar with this hospital's layout and procedures.
My first stop was the service desk, where I borrowed a wheelchair with the confidence of someone who'd navigated this bureaucratic maze before.
"Here we go, Tomoko-san. Your chariot awaits," I said, helping her transfer from my back to the significantly more comfortable wheelchair.
I pushed her through the sterile hospital corridors toward the imaging department, our footsteps and the squeak of wheelchair wheels echoing in the otherwise silent halls.
Since we were practically the only customers at this late hour—because apparently normal people don't get injured during gymnastic demonstrations at midnight—we were able to start the X-ray process immediately.
While we sat in the waiting area for the results, I could see that Matsumoto Tomoko was struggling with more than just physical pain.
On one hand, she was clearly embarrassed about making me run around playing caretaker for her injury.
On the other hand, she was genuinely worried about the severity of her ankle situation.
What if she needs surgery? Should she call Sachiko back from her trip? God, she really doesn't want her daughter to worry...
Fortunately, the results came back relatively quickly—otherwise I'm pretty sure Tomoko-san would have worried herself into a full-blown anxiety attack.
After retrieving the X-ray films, I wheeled her over to the emergency doctor's office for the verdict.
This time we got a young male doctor who looked like he'd probably started his residency sometime last week. He clipped the X-ray images onto the light box and studied them with the intense concentration of someone trying to prove he knew what he was doing.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only thirty seconds, he delivered his professional diagnosis:
"It's not a fracture—just a simple sprain. Apply ice initially, then use this anti-inflammatory spray. Rest it for a few days and you'll be good as new."
Those brief, clinical words hit Matsumoto Tomoko's ears like a symphony from heaven. I watched as the tension drained from her shoulders and the worried frown that had been creasing her forehead finally began to smooth out.
"That's wonderful news! Thank you so much, doctor," she said with the kind of heartfelt gratitude usually reserved for life-saving surgeries.
While the doctor pecked away at his computer, entering medical records and printing prescriptions, I wheeled Tomoko-san through the familiar routine of medication pickup and bill payment.
This was my second trip through this particular medical obstacle course in just a few months. Although my role had shifted from patient to caregiver, I was definitely hoping this would be my last visit for the foreseeable future.
"How are you feeling now, Tomoko-san?" I asked gently as we waited outside for our return taxi, leaning down to check on her condition.
"Much better, actually. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did earlier, and the swelling seems to be going down a bit," she replied, her voice noticeably less strained than it had been.
"I can't thank you enough, Sosuke-kun. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you tonight."
The genuine gratitude in Matsumoto Tomoko's voice as she looked at her bandaged ankle made something warm spread through my chest.
"No need to thank me, Tomoko-san. If anything, this is my fault—if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gotten injured in the first place," I replied, my tone lightening now that I knew she was going to be okay.
However, the moment those words left my mouth, I could see Matsumoto Tomoko's mind racing back to the events that had preceded her gymnastic mishap. Her ears turned bright red almost instantly.
Oh right. THAT's how she got hurt. I can practically see her replaying the whole thing in her head.
"What on earth was I thinking, doing something like that in front of Sosuke-kun...?"
"Even if my ankle heals completely, how am I ever going to face him again...?"
I could practically read her thoughts as embarrassment and mortification cycled through her expression.
Our taxi finally pulled up to the curb. I carefully lifted Tomoko-san from the wheelchair and settled her into the back seat, then jogged back to return the borrowed wheels before climbing in beside her.
The late-night streets were a stark contrast to their usual bustling chaos—empty asphalt stretching endlessly ahead, broken only by the occasional streetlight and the steady rumble of our taxi's engine.
As we rode through the quiet darkness, I noticed that Matsumoto Tomoko kept stealing glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking.
From her perspective, she was probably taking in my profile in the dim car lighting—the way shadows and light played across my features, creating what she might generously call "artistic" contrast.
Maybe she was noting my build, the muscle definition that came from regular training, the way I carried myself with a maturity that seemed beyond my college years...
Perhaps she was thinking that fate had brought us together—that among all the millions of people in this massive city, somehow we'd found each other and ended up living in the same building.
Sharing meals, going shopping together, and... other activities...
The woman who had been agonizing over how to face me just minutes earlier was gradually finding her equilibrium again.
Now, instead of worrying about awkwardness, she seemed to be contemplating how to spend even more time with me...
With a final squeal of brakes, our taxi delivered us back to the familiar sight of our apartment building.
I repeated the evening's transportation ritual one last time—scooping Tomoko-san onto my back, carefully navigating to her door, fumbling with keys while maintaining my human cargo, and finally depositing her gently onto her bed.
"Let me grab you an ice pack and get that medication ready. Then you need to rest, Tomoko-san," I said, already mentally organizing the post-hospital care routine.
"Yes, of course. Thank you for everything tonight, Sosuke-kun," she replied with the obedient tone of someone who was finally ready to let herself be taken care of.
It's strange—usually she's the one taking care of me, and now our roles are completely reversed.
But honestly, I don't mind being the responsible one for a change.