3:15 am. Sakura General Hospital, ICU Room 407.
The hospital room was a sterile cage; its white walls and beeping monitors a stark contrast to the blood-soaked chaos of Paulo Satoshi's house.
The air smelled of antiseptic and ozone, the fluorescent lights harsh against the darkness outside.
Paulo lay in the ICU bed, unconscious, a labyrinth of tubes and wires tethering him to life.
His red hair was cleaned but dull, splayed across the pillow, his face a battlefield: right eye closed, left eye socket covered by thick gauze, stained red where blood and fluid seeped through.
His cheek was stitched, the gash a jagged line of black thread, his sliced arm bandaged, IV lines pumping blood and fluids into his veins.
His chest rose and fell under the thin hospital gown, shallow but steady, the monitor's rhythmic beep a fragile lifeline.
Mizaki Kirazaka sat in a chair pulled flush against the bed, her bubble-gum-pink hair loose, framing a face pale with exhaustion and blood loss.
Her right arm was heavily bandaged, the knife wound stitched but throbbing, her black crop top and jeans replaced by a hospital gown, stained with dried blood at the hem.
Her violet eyes were red-rimmed, unblinking, fixed on Paulo's face.
Her hand clutched his, her fingers interlaced with his limp ones, her nails digging into his skin as if anchoring him to the world.
Paulo was alive, barely. The paramedics had stabilized him in the ambulance, his breathing normalizing, but the blood loss, the trauma, the ruined eye had pushed him to the edge.
The doctors' words echoed in Mizaki's mind: Critical condition. Possible brain damage. Infection risk. She did not care about the odds. He would live. He had to. He was hers.
Her yandere heart had fully awakened, a dark flower blooming in the hospital's cold light.
The rumours, the sunducker taunt, her obsession, they had led to this, but Paulo had protected her, lost his eye for her.
No one else could have him. Not Miya, not the doctors, not the world. Only her.
A nurse entered, a middle-aged woman with a clipboard, her eyes softening at Paulo's condition. "Miss Kirazaka, you need rest," she said gently. "We'll take good care of him."
Mizaki's head snapped up, her violet eyes blazing with a manic intensity that made the nurse freeze.
"Don't touch him," Mizaki hissed, her voice low, venomous, "No one gets close. Only the doctors to whom need. Understand?"
The nurse hesitated, then nodded, backing away. Mizaki's grip on Paulo's hand tightened, her other hand resting on his chest, feeling the faint rise and fall.
"You're mine, Paulo-Kun," she whispered, her voice trembling with love and possession, "I will not let anyone take you. Not again."
A visitor appeared at the door, a classmate, a boy from Class 3-B, his face pale with worry.
"Is he… okay?" he stammered, stepping forward.
Mizaki stood, her hospital gown swishing, her bandaged arm dangling but her posture towering.
"Get out," she snarled, her eyes wild, unhinged, "You do not get to see him. You do not deserve to."
The boy fled, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Mizaki returned to Paulo, kneeling beside the bed, her forehead pressed to his hand.
"Live," she begged, tears falling onto his fingers, "You have to live, Paulo-Kun. For me."
Her yandere resolve was iron, her love a cage no one could breach.
***
4:02 am, Sakura General Hospital. ICU Room 407.
The hospital room was unchanged, the monitors' beeps a steady drone, Paulo's condition unchanged, unconscious, bandaged, teetering on the edge of life.
Mizaki had not moved, her chair a throne, her hand still clutching Paulo's, her violet eyes unblinking despite the exhaustion pulling at her.
Her bandaged arm ached, her hospital gown loose, but she was a statue, her yandere obsession a force field around the bed.
The door creaked, and Shizuka Suzuki and Marina Satō entered, their footsteps hesitant.
Shizuka's black hair was pulled back, her green eyes wide with worry, her Sakura High uniform swapped for a sweater and jeans.
Marina's long blue hair was tied with a ribbon, her red eyes luminous with concern, a Sakura hairpin glinting in the light.
They carried a small bouquet of cherry blossoms, a fragile offering in the sterile room.
"Mizaki," Shizuka whispered, her voice soft, "we heard… is he…?"
Mizaki's eyes flicked to them, softening slightly.
She knew them, her friends, loyal, discreet. They had seen her obsession with Paulo, never judged, never interfered.
"You can stay," she said, her voice hoarse but firm, "But do not touch him. Do not get too close."
Marina nodded, placing the bouquet on a side table, her hands trembling.
"He looks…" She trailed off, tears welling at the sight of Paulo's bandaged eye, his stitched cheek, the tubes snaking into his arms.
"Don't say it," Mizaki snapped, her violet eyes flashing.
She leaned closer to Paulo, her lips brushing his knuckles, "He is going to wake up. He is strong."
Shizuka knelt beside Mizaki, her green eyes gentle.
"We know you love him," she said quietly, "We are here for you. For both of you."
Mizaki's tears fell, but she did not release Paulo's hand.
"I can't leave him," she whispered, her voice breaking, "Not even for a second. They will try to take him. Miya, the others… they do not deserve him."
Marina's red eyes darkened at Miya's name, but she said nothing, her hand resting on Mizaki's shoulder.
The three sat in silence, the monitors' beeps the only sound, Mizaki's obsession a palpable weight. She would not leave Paulo's side, not for water, not for sleep, not for anything. He was hers, and she would guard him with her life.
***
5:30 am, Sakura General Hospital, ICU Room 407.
Dawn crept through the hospital window, pale light illuminating Paulo's broken form.
The gauze over his eye socket was freshly changed but already spotted with blood, his stitched cheek stark against his pale skin, his chest rising and falling under the monitors' steady rhythm.
Mizaki was a shadow of herself, her pink hair tangled, her violet eyes bloodshot but fierce, her bandaged arm cradled against her chest.
Shizuka and Marina sat nearby, their presence a quiet support, the cherry blossom bouquet wilting slightly.
The door opened, and Miya Mori stepped in, her chestnut brown hair loose, her black jacket replaced by a navy coat, her eyes sharp but guarded.
She carried no flowers, no offerings, just the weight of her role in Paulo's destruction.
Shizuka and Marina tensed, their eyes narrowing, but Mizaki was a storm.
"Get out," Mizaki hissed, standing so fast her chair scraped the floor.
Her violet eyes were molten, her hospital gown trembling with her rage, "You don't get to be here."
Miya froze, her hands raised, her voice calm but strained. "Mizaki, I just want to see him. I called the ambulance. I—"
"You!" Mizaki screamed, stepping forward, her bandaged arm forgotten, "You did this! You betrayed him! You got him jumped; you let them throw him in the river and now look at him!"
Her finger jabbed toward Paulo, tears streaming down her face, "He lost his eye because of you! You do not get to pretend you care!"
Miya's face paled, her manipulator's mask cracking. "I didn't want this," she said, her voice low, almost pleading, "I didn't know it would—"
"Liar!" Mizaki spat, her yandere fury unleashed, "You wanted him gone! You, Rin, Shin, and Alexis, you broke him! Stay away from him!"
She moved to block the bed, her body a shield, her eyes wild with possession.
Shizuka stood, her green eyes hard.
"Mizaki's right," she said quietly. "You shouldn't be here, Miya."
Marina's red eyes were cold, her voice sharp, "Leave."
Miya's jaw tightened, but she did not move closer, her eyes flicking to Paulo's ruined face. Guilt, or something like it, flashed across her features, but Mizaki did not care. "Get out," she repeated, her voice a snarl. "Or I'll make you."
Miya backed away, her coat swishing, and left without another word. Mizaki collapsed into her chair, sobbing, her hand reclaiming Paulo's. "You're mine," she whispered, her tears falling onto his hand. "No one else gets you."
***
6:45 am, Sakura General Hospital, ICU Room 407.
The hospital room was bathed in morning light, the monitors' beeps steady, Paulo's condition unchanged, unconscious, critical, but alive.
Mizaki was a wraith, her pink hair a mess, her violet eyes hollow but fierce, her bandaged arm limp.
Shizuka and Marina dozed in chairs, their loyalty unwavering, the cherry blossoms a faint scent in the sterile air.
The door opened, and Principal Kirazaka entered, a towering figure in a tailored suit, his silver hair gleaming, his presence commanding.
His eyes, the same violet as Mizaki's, softened at the sight of his daughter, then hardened at Paulo's condition. He carried the weight of authority, Sakura High's king, and the room seemed to shrink under his gaze.
"Mizaki," he said, his voice deep but gentle, "you need to calm down."
Mizaki's head snapped up, her eyes blazing.
"No," she snapped, her hand tightening on Paulo's, "I am not leaving him. No one is taking him from me."
The principal sighed, stepping closer, his polished shoes silent on the tile. "You are exhausted. You are injured. You cannot stay like this."
He glanced at Shizuka and Marina, who stirred, their eyes wide with respect and fear, "You've done enough."
"No!" Mizaki shouted, standing, her hospital gown trembling, "He protected me! He lost his eye for me! I am not leaving him!"
Principal Kirazaka's eyes softened, a rare crack in his stoic facade.
"I know," he said quietly, "I have spoken to the doctors. Paulo Satoshi is under your care now, Mizaki. Officially. No one will interfere. Not the staff, not his classmates, not anyone."
Mizaki froze, her tears slowing, her violet eyes searching her father's face.
"You mean it?" she whispered, her voice small, hopeful.
He nodded, his hand resting on her shoulder, "You are my daughter. I know what he means to you. He will be transferred to a private room, under your supervision. But you need to rest, Mizaki. For him."
Mizaki collapsed into her chair, sobbing, her hand never leaving Paulo's.
"Thank you, Daddy," she whispered, her yandere heart swelling with possessive relief. Paulo was hers, officially, legally, forever.
Shizuka and Marina exchanged glances, their loyalty to Mizaki unshaken.
The principal left, his presence lingering like a promise. Mizaki leaned over Paulo, kissing his forehead, her tears falling onto his bandages.
"You're mine, Paulo-Kun," she whispered, her voice fierce. "Forever."