At this moment, a black limousine was speeding through the city.
And inside this limo was a suffocating cocoon of luxury, something majority of the people couldn't enjoy even if they work hard for the rest of their lives.
But for Kurosaki Kirei, at this moment, it felt more like a prison of agony.
He was slumped against the leather seat, his breathing shallow and ragged, every bump in the road sent a fresh, searing hot spike of pain through his mangled wrist, where the bone had been jaggedly displaced by Seijirou's casual, monstrous strength.
His face was a contorted mask of sweat and bile, his features twitching with a volatile mixture of physical suffering and wounded pride.
"Sir, I have already contacted the hospital... the emergency wing is prepared for your arrival," the driver spoke up, his voice trembling as he watched Kirei's reflection in the rearview mirror.
