The ambulance lights painted the ruined football field in frantic strokes of red and blue. In the center of the massive, smoldering crater, Takumi's body lay motionless, already cooling in the night air. Around him, the ground was scorched black, grass vaporized into a perfect circle of devastation.
A paramedic knelt, pressing two fingers to the boy's neck, then shining a light into unseeing eyes. He shook his head, voice flat with professional detachment. "No pulse. He's gone."
Nearby, officers strung yellow tape between metal stakes, their faces grim beneath the flashing lights. One of them, a veteran with salt-and-pepper hair, surveyed the scene with a low whistle. "What the hell happened here? Looks like a bomb went off."
His younger partner consulted a notepad, her hand trembling slightly. "Witness statements all say the same thing. Self-defense. The deceased attacked first with… with some kind of weapon. The others were trying to stop him."
Their flashlights swept over the four stretchers being loaded into waiting ambulances.
Hiro, naked but for a tattered pair of jeans someone had draped over him, lay unconscious, his body a roadmap of bruises, burns, and deep, weeping lacerations. One paramedic shook her head as she secured an oxygen mask. "How's he even breathing? Rib cage is like gravel."
Luna was next, a thick bandage already soaked crimson at her throat. Each ragged breath fogged the clear plastic of her mask. Her fingers twitched, as if trying to reach for someone no longer there.
Kaede was ghostly pale, her fox ears limp against blood-matted hair. An emergency pressure bandage was cinched tight around her abdomen, but her vitals, while weak, held steady.
Lolo, conscious but dazed, stared at the night sky as they lifted him. His eyes were glazed with pain and shock, multiple sets of stitches holding his torso together. "The others…?" he slurred to a paramedic.
"We've got them, son. Just hang on."
The doors slammed shut, one after another, and the sirens wailed into the darkness, carrying the shattered pieces of four lives toward Kurokawa General Hospital.
The emergency room was a storm of controlled chaos.
"Multiple trauma, incoming!" a nurse shouted as the automatic doors hissed open.
Four gurneys rushed through in a grim procession, surrounded by a flurry of green scrubs.
"Female, seventeen, deep laceration to the anterior neck, possible arterial nick!"
"Female,eighteen, penetrating abdominal wound, hypotensive!"
"Female,eighteen, multiple stab wounds to torso, stable for now!"
"Male,eighteen, major blunt-force trauma, full-body impact, unresponsive!"
The team splintered, each patient swept into a separate trauma bay. The cacophony of beeping monitors, shouted orders, and the squeak of rushing shoes filled the sterile air.
In the waiting room, time stretched into a formless, agonizing thing.
Yuki, the rabbit-eared friend, sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her usual cheer extinguished. Takeshi paced like a caged animal, running a hand through his hair every few seconds.
Luna's parents arrived first. Her mother, Yuki—a wolf beast-folk with the same silver hair as her daughter—collapsed into a chair, her husband's strong hand on her shoulder doing little to steady her trembling. "My little girl," she whispered, over and over.
Kaede's mother, a elegant fox demi-human with worry lines etching her beautiful face, stood statue-still by the window, watching the ambulances.
Then came the Mizukis.
Hiro's mother, Akari, burst through the doors, her eyes wide with primal fear. "My son—Hiro Mizuki—where is he?!" Her voice cracked on his name.
A weary nurse looked up from her chart. "He's in surgery. We'll update you as soon as we can."
Akari swayed. Hiro's father, caught her, his own face ashen. Behind them, Hiro's grandparents, Daiki and Hanako, entered more slowly. Daiki, the former beast-hunter, took in the scene—the devastated friends, the weeping parents—and a deep, old understanding settled in his eyes. He placed a firm hand on his daughter-in-law's shoulder.
"He is strong, Akari," Daiki said, his voice a low rumble. "His will to live is stronger than any injury."
But as he met his wife Hanako's gaze, the silent worry passed between them. They had seen the aftermath of beast-fueled battles before. The cost was never small.
Luna woke to the sound of a steady, rhythmic beeping and a sterile, antiseptic smell. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from her throat. She tried to swallow and winced.
"M…mom?"
The word was a raw, painful scrape, but it was enough. Yuki, who had been dozing fitfully in a chair beside the bed, jolted awake. Her silver ears shot upright.
"Luna!" The name was a sob of relief. She was careful, so careful, as she leaned in to embrace her daughter, avoiding the tubes and bandages. "Oh, thank the spirits. You're awake. You're here." She wept openly, her tears dampening the hospital blanket.
"Hiro…?" Luna managed to whisper, her hand lifting weakly.
Her mother's expression flickered. "He's still in surgery, sweetheart. He's fighting. Everyone is."
Kaede surfaced from the fog of anesthesia to the feel of a warm hand clutching hers. Her mother's vulpine features were pinched with exhaustion, but her eyes lit up.
"There you are," her mother said, voice thick. "Don't you ever, ever scare me like that again."
Kaede tried a smile, but it felt fragile on her face. "Sorry… Where's…?"
"Luna and Lolo are awake. They're going to be okay." Her mother's grip tightened. "But Hiro… his injuries were much more severe, Kaede. He's still unconscious."
A cold knot formed in Kaede's stomach, colder than any anesthetic.
Lolo was already sitting up when Yuki (the rabbit) peeked into his room. His torso was a canvas of bandages, but his eyes were clear.
"You're up!" Yuki exclaimed, rushing to his bedside.
"Barely," Lolo grunted, shifting and immediately regretting it. "Feel like I got run over by a truck. Then it backed up for a second pass."
"The doctors say you're healing incredibly fast. Beast genetics, they think."
Lolo's smile faded. "The others?"
Yuki's ears drooped. "Luna and Kaede are okay. Talking and everything. But Hiro… he hasn't woken up yet."
Hiro's room in the ICU was a garden of quiet machines. He lay encased in a complex web of casts, braces, and bandages, a ventilator tube taped to his mouth. The only visible skin was a patch on his right hand.
It was to that hand that Luna came, three days after waking up herself. She was in a wheelchair, her own throat heavily bandaged. A nurse pushed her to the bedside, then quietly slipped out.
The rhythmic whoosh-click of the ventilator filled the silence. Luna reached out, her fingers gently covering his.
"Hey," she whispered, her voice still a ragged shadow of itself. "It's me."
She told him about her day. The horrible hospital Jell-O. The physiotherapist who made her try to hum. The way the sunlight cut across his floor in the afternoon, almost reaching his bed.
"The doctor says your scans are… impossible," she continued, her thumb stroking his knuckles. "Your bones are knitting back together faster than they can explain. They're calling you a medical miracle." A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. "I just call you stubborn."
She leaned forward, wincing at the pull on her own healing wound, and brought her lips close to his ear.
"You have to come back," she breathed, the words barely audible. "You have to come back to me. Because I'm not… I'm not done loving you yet, Hiro Mizuki. I haven't even started."
She didn't see it. But beneath her palm, his fingertip twitched—a tiny, almost imperceptible spasm of life.
Three weeks. The casts on Hiro's limbs were smaller now, replaced by sturdy braces. The ventilator was gone, leaving only a nasal cannula. The deep bruises had faded to sickly yellows and greens. He looked less like a shattered statue and more like a sleeping boy.
Luna was reading to him, her voice now regaining its melody, though it tired easily. She held a well-loved fantasy novel.
"...and so the knight, though wounded, returned home," she read. "His quest complete. His heart at peace. For he had learned that the greatest strength was not in the sword, but in what he chose to protect."
She closed the book with a soft thump.
"Good line, huh?" She set the book aside and took his hand, the now-familiar ritual. "I think you'd like this knight. He's grumpy. Doesn't like to ask for help. Sounds familiar."
She traced the lines of his palm, her tone shifting from gentle teasing to raw vulnerability.
"The doctors say any day now. Your brain activity is normal. Your body… your body's basically rebuilt itself." She swallowed, the action still slightly painful. "So what are you waiting for? A written invitation?"
Her composure cracked. A tear fell onto their joined hands.
"I miss you," she confessed, the words trembling in the quiet room. "I miss your stupid, serious face in the morning. I miss you pretending not to laugh at my jokes. I miss feeling your hand in mine and knowing, just knowing, that I'm safe. Please… just come back. We're all here. We're waiting."
A long, silent moment hung in the antiseptic air. The heart monitor beeped its steady, indifferent rhythm.
Then.
His fingers curled. Not a spasm, but a deliberate, slow contraction around hers.
Luna's breath caught.
His eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. They opened.
His eyes were not the terrifying, void-like red of the beast. They were his own warm, golden brown, clouded with confusion and drug-induced haze. They drifted around the room before settling on her.
His lips moved. A dry, soundless click. He tried again.
"Lu…na…?"
It was the softest, most broken whisper. To Luna, it was a symphony.
A sob ripped from her throat, equal parts agony and elation. She leaned forward, burying her face against his shoulder, careful of his injuries, her body shaking. "You're awake. You're awake, you're awake, you're awake."
The nurse, alerted by the change in the monitor's rhythm, rushed in. Soon, the room was filled with efficient, gentle chaos—vitals checked, reflexes tested, questions asked in soft, professional tones.
"Can you tell me your name?"
"Hiro…Mizuki."
"Do you know where you are?"
"Hospital…"
"Do you remember what happened?"
At this, Hiro's eyes darkened. A fragment of memory—red heat, a sickening crunch, a grin that wasn't his own—flashed through them. He gave a slight, pained nod.
The head doctor, an older man with kind eyes, showed him an X-ray on a tablet. "Mr. Mizuki, you've been with us for just over three weeks. You suffered catastrophic injuries. By all medical logic, you should not have survived, let alone be conscious right now." He tapped the image. "Yet here you are. Your bones have regenerated at an unprecedented rate. It's remarkable."
Hiro absorbed this, his mind still slow. He turned his head, his gaze finding Luna again, anchoring himself in her silver eyes. "Everyone… else?"
"They're okay," Luna said, smiling through fresh tears. "We're all okay. Thanks to you."
A profound exhaustion, deeper than the physical, washed over Hiro. But beneath it, a fragile ember of relief glowed. They were safe. He had held the line.
A month after the battle on the field, Hiro stood at the hospital's main entrance, squinting in the sunlight. He wore ordinary clothes that felt strange after so long in gowns. The discharge papers were in his hand.
He pushed the doors open.
A chorus of voices erupted. "WELCOME BACK!"
A small crowd had gathered: his parents, his grandparents, Kaede (standing tall, though still a bit pale), Lolo (grinning without any visible wince), Yuki and Takeshi, and Luna's family. Balloons bobbed in the breeze. A handmade banner flapped, reading "OUR HERO".
For a moment, Hiro was stunned, overwhelmed by the sheer, vibrant normalcy of it. Then Luna broke from the crowd. She didn't run, but her walk was swift and sure. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him as if he might vanish.
"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely into his ear, her voice now fully her own.
He hugged her back, feeling the solid, real weight of her. "I'll try my best," he murmured into her hair.
The following weeks were a study in gradual reclamation. There were physical therapy sessions, shared lunches where the silence was comfortable, and the slow return to school.
Their first day back was a quiet event. Students stared, but the stares held less suspicion now, and more awe, even gratitude. Whispers followed them, but so did shy smiles and the occasional thumbs-up. They were the students who had faced the monster and lived. The story, sanitized and mythologized, had already spread.
On the rooftop at lunch, surrounded by their friends, it almost felt normal. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle.
"So," Yuki said, nibbling a carrot stick, "what did I miss while you lot were on your extended vacation?"
Takeshi scoffed. "Nothing. School was depressingly boring. No explosions, no dramatic speeches, just… algebra."
Kaede elbowed him, her fox ears twitching with amusement. "Admit it, you missed us."
"I missed the free drama," Takeshi retorted, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him.
Laughter floated on the spring air. Lolo recounted a particularly stern nurse, and Kaede imitated the doctor's bewildered expression over Hiro's scans. Hiro watched them, this circle of people he'd fought for, almost died for. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with his beast.
Later, walking Luna home, the bustling sounds of the town settling into evening around them, a comfortable quiet settled between them.
"It does feel different," Luna said, breaking the silence. Her shoulder brushed his as they walked.
"How?"
"Like…we saw the edge. We looked over it. And now that we've stepped back, the colors seem brighter. The stupid stuff seems… stupider. I don't want to waste a single, ordinary moment."
Hiro stopped. He turned to face her, the setting sun painting her silver hair in hues of fire and gold. He saw the resolve in her eyes, the lingering shadow of fear, and the overwhelming love that outshone it all.
"Me too," he said, the simple words carrying the weight of his promise.
He didn't kiss her. Not yet. But he took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers in a way that felt both new and like coming home. They stood there for a long moment, in the middle of the sidewalk, two survivors holding onto something beautifully, perfectly ordinary.
That night, in the safety of his own room, the ordinary fractured.
The dark was too quiet. The familiar shapes of his furniture seemed to morph into the jagged silhouettes of a broken field. The scent of clean sheets was overpowered by the phantom smell of ozone and burnt earth.
He lay in bed, the memory surging up unbidden, not as a flashback, but as a visceral, full-sensory reliving.
The cracking of his own bones reshaping. The volcanic heat in his veins. The taste of copper and raw power on his tongue. Takumi's face, not in fear, but in dawning, horrifying realization. And his own voice, but not his own—a deep, grating resonance that vibrated in his skull: "MINE." The feeling of impact. Not a punch. An eradication. The glorious, unrestrained release of absolute force… and the cold, silent aftermath.
Hiro's hand flew to his chest, clutching at the unmarked skin beneath his shirt where the beast-mark lay dormant. A cold sweat soaked his temples.
"I killed him," he whispered to the darkness, the confession swallowed by the quiet room. "I felt his life… stop."
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memory played on. The worst part wasn't the violence. It was the exhilaration. For one pure, terrifying moment, he had enjoyed it. The beast's fury had not been a foreign possession; it had been a key turning in a lock inside him, opening a door he never knew existed.
"I wanted to," he breathed, the truth acid on his tongue. "For that second… I wanted to destroy him completely."
He turned onto his side, curling in on himself. The hero's welcome, the relieved smiles, Luna's loving touch—they felt like costumes laid over a creature he no longer recognized.
Was that the real me? The question echoed in the hollow of his mind. Is the kindness, the restraint… is that just the lid on the box? What happens if the lock breaks?
Downstairs, his family moved about, their muffled voices a comforting drone of normal life. Upstairs, Hiro Mizuki stared into the abyss that had opened within himself, and for the first time since waking up, he felt truly, deeply wounded. The body had healed.
The healing of the soul, he understood now, had only just begun.