2:26 am. Paulo's House, Hallway.
The hallway of Paulo Satoshi's house was a visceral nightmare, a canvas of blood and ruin.
The walls were smeared with crimson handprints, plaster cracked from impacted skulls, the hardwood floor slick with a glistening pool of blood, vitreous fluid, and sweat.
Shattered furniture lay scattered, coffee table reduced to splinters, couch gutted, the black notebook with its list of names-soaked red.
The air reeked of copper, fear, and desperation, the silence broken only by ragged breaths and Mizaki Kirazaka's choking sobs.
Paulo stood, barely, his body a monument to defiance.
His black hoodie hung in tatters, revealing blood-soaked bandages around his fractured ribs.
His red hair was matted with gore, his face a grotesque mask: right eye blazing blue, left eye a mangled socket, the ruined orb leaking blood and fluid down his cheek, mixing with tears and snot.
His sliced arm dripped steadily, his cheek gashed to the bone, his lips split and bleeding.
Yet he stood over Rin Itō's unconscious form, Rin's face pulped, nose shattered, cheek caved, blood pooling beneath his violet-purple hair.
Shin Takahashi knelt nearby, his broken nose a bloody ruin, his wrist snapped, barely conscious.
Alexis Smith was a crumpled heap, his face swollen, blood crusting his chin.
Mizaki knelt in her own blood, her right arm slashed deeply by Rin's knife, the wound gaping, flesh parted to reveal muscle.
Her black crop top was soaked, her jeans-stained crimson, her bubble-gum-pink ponytail limp with sweat and tears.
Her violet eyes were wide, fixed on Paulo, her obsession warring with guilt and terror.
She had caused this, her rumours, her sunducker taunt, her need to own him.
And he had protected her, thrown himself in front of Rin's blade, lost his eye for her.
Miya Mori and Watsu Mori stood at the hallway's edge, Miya's chestnut brown eyes wide with shock or calculation, Watsu's scarred knuckles twitching, his leather jacket hiding a blade.
The scene was frozen, a tableau of betrayal and bloodshed.
Paulo swayed, his remaining eye locked on Miya. "You… see… now," he rasped, blood bubbling on his lips, his voice a wet growl, "This… is… you."
Each word was a battle, his strength ebbing with every drop of blood that hit the floor. His knees buckled, the world tilting, his vision a red haze.
He took one step, then another, refusing to fall, his body screaming in protest.
"Paulo-Kun!" Mizaki screamed, her voice raw, shattering the silence.
She scrambled forward, ignoring her own wound, blood trailing behind her.
Paulo's legs gave out, his body collapsing like a marionette with cut strings.
He hit the floor hard, a sickening thud, blood spraying from his ruined eye socket, his arm twisting beneath him.
Mizaki threw herself onto him, wrapping her arms around his broken form, her blood mingling with his.
She pressed her face against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, her tears soaking his hoodie.
"No, no, no!" she wailed, her voice cracking with despair, "Paulo-Kun, why? Why did you do that? You protected me!"
Her fingers clutched his shoulders, slick with gore, her body shaking as she rocked him, "I am sorry! I am so sorry! I did not want this! I love you!"
Paulo's head lolled, his remaining eye half-open, unfocused.
Blood poured from his eye socket, his arm, his cheek, pooling beneath them.
His chest hitched, shallow, erratic breaths barely sustaining him.
Mizaki's sobs grew louder, her guilt a tidal wave.
She had broken him with rumours, turned him into a monster, and still, he had saved her.
Her Paulo-Kun, her perfect boy, was dying in her arms.
Miya's face was pale, her manipulator's mask crumbling.
Watsu's eyes narrowed, his hand still in his pocket, but he did not move.
Shin groaned, barely conscious, while Rin and Alexis lay still, lost to the world.
Mizaki kissed Paulo's forehead, blood smearing her lips, her tears falling onto his ruined face.
"Don't leave me," she begged, her voice a whisper, "Please, Paulo-Kun, don't leave me."
His body was limp, his breaths fading.
The ghost of Sakura High was slipping away, and Mizaki's world was collapsing with him.
***
2:28 am, Paulo's House. Living Room.
The living room was a slaughterhouse, the hallway a grave.
Paulo lay unconscious in Mizaki's arms, his blood soaking the floor, his ruined eye a constant stream of gore. Mizaki's sobs were deafening, her slashed arm bleeding freely, her pink ponytail drenched with tears and blood.
Rin, Shin, and Alexis were scattered like broken dolls, Rin's face unrecognizable, Shin's nose a pulpy wreck, Alexis's breathing shallow.
Miya Mori stood frozen, her black jacket stark against the carnage, her chestnut brown eyes flickering with something, regret, fear, or cold calculation.
Watsu Mori loomed beside her, his 6-foot 4 frame a silent threat, his scarred knuckles twitching, his gaze scanning the room like a predator.
Miya's phone was in her hand, her fingers trembling as she stared at Paulo's body.
Blood pooled around him, too much, spreading like a dark halo.
His chest barely moved, his breaths wet and ragged, each one weaker than the last.
The gashes on his cheek and arm, the mangled socket where his eye had been, they were fatal if untreated.
He was dying, and fast.
"He's going to die," Miya said, her voice flat, but a crack ran through it.
She knelt, avoiding the blood, her eyes locked on Paulo's ruined face, "If we leave him, he is gone. Blood loss… he has got minutes."
Mizaki's head snapped up, her violet eyes blazing through tears.
"Then do something!" she screamed, her voice hoarse, "You did this! You and your fucking dogs! Call someone!"
Watsu's jaw tightened, his hand shifting in his pocket.
"Let him bleed out," he said, his voice low, cold, "He is a problem. Rin and Shin fucked up, but he is done."
Miya's eyes flicked to her brother, sharp and commanding.
"No," she snapped, her manipulator's tone returning, "He is not dying here. Not like this."
She dialled 119, her fingers steady despite the chaos, her voice calm as she spoke to the operator, "Ambulance. Now. 23-17 Minami-cho. Male, seventeen, severe blood loss, stab wounds, eye trauma. He is unconscious. Hurry."
Mizaki sobbed harder, clutching Paulo tighter, her blood mixing with his.
"You don't get to decide!" she hissed at Watsu, her voice venomous. "You don't get to let him die!"
Watsu's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his gaze shifting to Rin and Shin's bodies.
Miya hung up, her face unreadable, and knelt closer to Paulo.
"You wanted revenge, Paulo," she whispered, almost to herself, "Look where it got you."
Sirens wailed in the distance, faint but growing louder.
Mizaki rocked Paulo, her tears falling onto his bloodied face, her slashed arm forgotten.
"Stay with me," she begged, her voice breaking, "Please, Paulo-Kun, stay."
Miya stood, stepping back, her boots leaving bloody prints. Watsu watched her, his expression dark, but he did not argue.
The ambulance was coming, and Paulo's life hung by a thread.
***
2:32 am, Paulo's House Hallway Floor.
The sirens were closer now, a piercing scream cutting through the night.
Paulo lay in Mizaki's arms, his body limp, his blood soaking her clothes, the floor, everything.
His ruined eye socket was a constant drip, blood and fluid pooling beneath his head, his sliced cheek exposing bone, his arm a mangled mess.
His chest hitched, breaths shallow and wet, each one a miracle.
Mizaki's arm bled freely, the gash deep, but she did not care, her violet eyes locked on Paulo's face, her sobs a constant, broken rhythm.
Miya stood nearby, her phone clutched tightly, her chestnut brown eyes fixed on Paulo, unreadable. Watsu was in the living room, his movements quiet, purposeful, dragging Rin and Shin's bodies toward the back door.
Their blood left trails, Rin's pulped face dragging across the floor, Shin's broken wrist flopping uselessly.
Alexis remained unconscious, unnoticed for now.
Paulo's lips moved, a faint twitch, blood bubbling with each word.
Mizaki leaned closer, her ear to his mouth, her tears falling onto his cheek.
"Paulo-Kun?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hope and fear.
His remaining eye fluttered, barely open, the blue dulled by pain and blood loss.
"Sorry… Mizaki," he rasped, his voice a wet whisper, barely audible, "I guess… I will not be… your handsome crush… anymore."
The words were a knife, cutting deeper than Rin's blade.
Mizaki's sob caught in her throat, a choking, desperate sound.
She shook her head violently, her ponytail whipping, tears flying.
"No!" she cried, her voice raw, breaking, "Do not say that! I do not care! I do not care about your eye, Paulo-Kun! I love you! I have always loved you!"
She pressed her forehead to his, blood smearing her skin, her hands clutching his face, "You are still you! You are still mine!"
Paulo's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile, but his eye closed, his breaths slowing.
Mizaki screamed, shaking him gently, her bloodied hands leaving prints on his hoodie, "Stay with me! Please! You saved me! You cannot leave me now!"
Miya's face softened, just for a moment, her manipulator's mask slipping.
Watsu's shadow moved in the background, the back door creaking as he hauled bodies into the night.
The sirens were loud now, red, and blue lights flashing through the windows.
Mizaki kissed Paulo's bloodied forehead, her sobs unrelenting.
"I love you," she whispered, over and over, a prayer against the dark. "Even like this. Always."
***
2:38 am, Paulo's House to Ambulance.
The ambulance screeched to a halt outside, red, and blue lights painting the blood-soaked house in eerie strobes.
Paramedics burst through the door, their shouts sharp and urgent.
"Where's the patient?!" one barked, a woman with a ponytail, her eyes widening at the carnage.
Mizaki was still cradling Paulo, her cries raw, her arm bleeding heavily now, her strength fading.
"Here!" she screamed, her voice hoarse, "Save him! Please!"
The paramedics swarmed, two kneeling beside Paulo, their gloved hands moving fast.
"Severe blood loss, eye trauma, multiple lacerations," the woman barked, applying pressure to his eye socket, gauze soaking red instantly, "Get the stretcher! He is crashing!"
Paulo's chest was still, then hitched, a faint rattle. They lifted him onto the stretcher, IV lines piercing his arms, oxygen mask over his bloodied face.
Mizaki stumbled to her feet, her slashed arm dangling, blood dripping.
"I'm going with him!" she demanded, her violet eyes wild.
The paramedic hesitated, then nodded, "Fine, but we are treating you too. Get in."
Mizaki climbed into the ambulance, collapsing beside Paulo's stretcher, her hand clutching his bloodied one.
The doors slammed shut, the siren wailing as they sped toward the hospital. Inside, monitors beeped erratically, paramedics shouting over the noise, "BP's dropping! He is hypotensive! Push fluids!"
Miya stood in the doorway, watching the ambulance pull away, her face pale.
Watsu was beside her, his leather jacket flecked with blood, his hands clean but his eyes dark.
The living room was eerily empty, Rin and Shin were gone, their blood trails ending at the back door.
Alexis was still unconscious, unnoticed by the paramedics in the chaos.
"Where are they?" Miya asked, her voice low, her eyes on the trails.
Watsu's lips curled, a cold smile.
"Gone," he said, "Backyard shed. Locked. They are not breathing, Miya. Rin's skull's caved, Shin's neck is wrong. I checked."
His voice was flat, ruthless, "They fucked up. Paulo wanted them dead. I just… helped."
Miya's eyes widened, but she did not argue, "And Alexis?"
"Leave him. He is not a threat," Watsu wiped his hands on his jacket, though they were clean, "Paulo's problem now. If he lives."
In the ambulance, Mizaki sobbed, her hand on Paulo's chest, feeling the faint rise and fall.
The paramedics worked frantically, blood bags dripping into his veins, gauze piling up, soaked red.
His face was a ruin, his eye socket packed but still leaking, his body pale from blood loss.
Suddenly, the monitor steadied, a stronger beep cutting through the chaos. Paulo's chest rose, deeper, more even.
The paramedic's eyes widened, "He is stabilizing! BP's climbing!"
Mizaki gasped, her tears falling anew, hope flaring in her violet eyes.
"Paulo-Kun," she whispered, squeezing his hand.
But his eye remained closed, his body still, the monitor's steady beep the only sign of life.
Was he coming back, or was this a fleeting reprieve? The ambulance raced on, the hospital minutes away, Mizaki's love and Paulo's fate hanging in the balance.
Paulo's breathing normalized, a fragile spark of hope, but his survival was uncertain, his body and mind broken beyond repair, or were they?