Chapter 64: White Room and Warm Tears
[Central Hospital - Intensive Care Unit]
Consciousness did not return all at once. It reassembled itself like shattered glass shards, piecing together slowly and painfully.
The first thing to return was his sense of smell.
A sharp, sterile, cold scent. The unmistakable odor of strong antiseptics, rubbing alcohol, and floor wax that burned the nostrils and announced, without a doubt, a hospital environment.
Next came hearing.
Beep... Beep... Beep...
A rhythmic, monotonous electronic pulse, the single thin thread anchoring him to the world of the living amidst a dark void.
And finally, sensation returned.
It was a biological paradox of pure agony. Deep within his marrow, Aokiji felt an absolute, bone-deep cold, as if his skeleton had been replaced by rods of dry ice—a lingering phantom of the Awakening and self-freezing. Yet, on the surface of his skin, specifically along his left arm and the side of his neck, there was a pulsing, searing heat. The memory of Dabi's blue flames refused to fade.
Aokiji tried to open his eyes. His lids felt heavy, as if weighted with lead. With immense effort, he forced them apart.
White.
Blinding, clinical white.
The ceiling tiles were blurry at first, and the fluorescent lights emitted a low hum that vibrated inside his skull.
He tried to move his hand, but it was heavy, restrained by tubes and wires. He looked down slowly. His left arm was completely encased in thick bandages and immobilized in a medical sling. His chest, too, was wrapped in gauze.
"You are awake."
The voice was calm and professional. A doctor wearing a white coat entered his field of vision, checking the digital monitors.
Aokiji tried to speak, but his throat was as dry as a barren desert. His voice came out as a raspy croak: "Water..."
The doctor brought a plastic straw to his lips. The liquid was cool, but to Aokiji's turbulent internal temperature, it felt like boiling water. He swallowed it with great difficulty.
"Easy now, Mr. Kuzan," the doctor said, making notes on a chart. "You have been unconscious for eighteen hours. You have severe internal hypothermia, third-degree burns on your arm and neck, and three fractured ribs. Frankly... it is a miracle your heart didn't stop from the thermal shock."
Aokiji closed his eyes for a moment.
Memories flooded back like a deluge. All Might... All For One... The shattering statue... Shigaraki's face...
"Is... everyone...?"
The doctor anticipated his fragmented question: "
The evacuations were successful. The villain was completely obliterated; there was nothing left of him to arrest. All Might is alive. And your classmates are safe."
Aokiji exhaled a long breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The tension that had knotted his shoulders since the summer camp finally melted away.
"However," the doctor looked at his watch, then regarded Aokiji with a look of rare human sympathy. "You have visitors. They have been waiting in the lobby since last night. They refused to sleep, and they refused to leave. I told them I wouldn't allow them in until your vitals stabilized."
The doctor adjusted the IV drip, then said:
"I will give you thirty minutes for the pain medication to take full effect. Then, I will let them in."
[30 Minutes Later]
The door to the private room did not burst open. The latch clicked, and then the heavy door swung inward slowly, hesitantly, as if the people on the other side were terrified of what they might find.
Aokiji turned his head on the pillow.
The "Ice Clan" entered.
Usually, the Kuzan family was a picture of absolute perfection. Tailored suits, composed expressions, flawless posture. They were like statues carved from cold, impeccable marble.
But today, the statues were cracked.
His father entered first, the businessman upon whom a speck of dust had never been seen. His expensive suit was chaotically wrinkled. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His hair, usually styled with surgical precision, was disheveled. And his eyes... his eyes were red-rimmed, encircled by dark rings that told the story of a long night of terror and sleeplessness.
His mother clung to her husband's arm as if she would fall without his support, her face pale and devoid of makeup, revealing raw, exhausted human features.
His grandfather entered, leaning with immense weight upon his cane, his knuckles white from the pressure, his steps slow, dragging behind them a wounded dignity. Beside him, the grandmother clutched a handkerchief anxiously.
And finally... Sayuri.
She was no longer a small child. At fifteen, she was only a year younger than Aokiji. She didn't hide behind anyone. She stood frozen near the entrance, her eyes fixed on the bed.
She saw the tubes. She saw the burn bandages covering half of her brother's neck. She saw the pale, blueish tint staining his skin.
Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in an involuntary motion.
She didn't scream. She made no sound.
Tears simply flooded from her eyes instantly and profusely, in total silence. Her shoulders shook violently as she stared at her brother with a look of heartbroken shock.
The silence in the room was thick, suffocating.
Mr. Kuzan took a step forward. His shoe scuffed clearly against the floor. He stopped by the bedside, looking down at his son.
His eyes fell upon the hideous burn on Aokiji's neck.
The mark left by the villain who had threatened them for weeks. The brand his son had taken with his own body so that no harm would touch them.
The father's lip trembled. The mask of the CEO, the mask of the Ice Man, crumbled completely and disintegrated.
"Son..."
Mr. Kuzan's knees betrayed him. He didn't sit in the chair. He collapsed onto the floor beside the bed, burying his face in the white sheets near Aokiji's uninjured hand.
A grotesque, painful sound erupted from his throat—the suppressed sobbing of a man who had been holding his breath in fear for years. His entire body shook as he wept without reservation.
"Forgive me..." Mr. Kuzan wept, his voice muffled by the sheets. "I am so sorry, Aokiji..."
Aokiji stared at the ceiling, his own eyes stinging with tears. "Dad..."
The father raised his head, his tear-drowned eyes looking directly into his son's.
"You chose the real family..." he choked out, grasping Aokiji's hand with both of his own and pressing his forehead against it. "You fought for us. While I... I only chose the image for the public. I was scared for our status, while you were facing monsters."
He kissed his son's hand, hot tears falling onto Aokiji's cold skin.
"Forgive me. I was a coward father."
Aokiji felt the heat of his father's tears. It was a sensation he had never experienced before. The ice that had separated them for so many years didn't just crack... it evaporated.
"It's okay," Aokiji whispered hoarsely. "It's over now, Dad."
His mother couldn't take it anymore. She rushed forward, bypassing her kneeling husband, and wrapped her arms carefully and tenderly around Aokiji's shoulders, burying her face in his chest.
"You foolish boy..." she cried, her voice trembling. "You foolish, brave boy."
She squeezed him slightly, desperate to feel that he was real, that he was alive.
"Mom..." Aokiji groaned, a small hiss of pain escaping through his teeth. "My ribs... they're broken..."
She pulled back instantly, panic flashing in her teary eyes, but then she saw that faint, pained smile on his face.
She laughed—a wet, broken sound—and then cried harder, resting her forehead gently against his. "I'm sorry... I'm just... so happy you're here."
Then, there was movement at the edge of the bed.
Sayuri stepped forward. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, trying to be strong, but failing. She looked at the wires, afraid to touch him and cause pain. The girl who always bickered with him playfully now looked lost.
Aokiji moved his good hand slightly, crooking a finger.
"Come here, Sayu."
She didn't climb up like a baby. She sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, then leaned her torso forward until her forehead rested on his sound shoulder. She gripped the fabric of the hospital gown tightly, her body shaking with silent, agonizing sobs.
"You idiot..." she whispered chokingly. "You big idiot. How dare you..."
Aokiji rested his chin on top of her head. He closed his eyes.
This warmth... he thought. This is what I fought for. This is what was worth burning for.
In the corner of the room, the grandparents watched.
The grandmother looked at the scene—the weeping father, the collapsed mother, the embracing siblings. Her mind drifted back to a conversation she'd had with Aokiji months ago in the mansion garden.
Flashback:
"Grandma, how do you stand the cold in this house?" he had asked.
"We wait for the spring, my dear," she had replied back then. "But sometimes... the ice around the heart is too thick for any spring to melt."
Present:
She looked at him now. Broken, burned, but alive.
You did it, my boy, she thought, wiping a tear from her wrinkled cheek. You didn't wait for spring. You brought the fire yourself. You melted the ice for all of us... You are our family's true hero.
Beside her, the Grandfather moved.
The stern patriarch, the man who never showed weakness, who saw everything in terms of strength and perfection.
He walked until he reached the side of the bed.
He didn't say a single word.
He shifted his cane to his left hand.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he bent at the waist.
He bowed.
It wasn't a casual nod. It was a deep, prolonged, profound bow of respect. A bow from a man acknowledging that his grandson had surpassed him in honor, manhood, and the bearing of responsibility.
Aokiji's eyes widened slightly.
"Grandfather..."
The old man straightened up, his eyes glistening with a wet sheen, though his face remained composed. He nodded once—a silent communication carrying more pride than words could ever hold.
For fifteen minutes, the room was filled with the sounds of weeping and the murmurs of reconciliation. For the first time, they were not a corporation or an ancient dynasty. They were just a family who had almost lost their son, and had snatched him back from the jaws of death.
CLACK.
The door opened with decisive professional energy. The doctor entered again, checking his watch, then looking at the emotional exhaustion in the room and Aokiji's elevated heart rate on the monitor.
"Alright, alright," the doctor said, clapping his hands softly but firmly. "That's fifteen minutes. No more drama here. He needs absolute rest, or those burns will never heal. Come on, let's go..."
He began ushering them toward the door.
"Out, please. You can come back tomorrow when he's stronger. Go home. Sleep."
Mr. Kuzan stood up, wiping his face with a handkerchief, regaining a thin thread of his usual composure. He looked at Aokiji with a gaze full of gratitude.
"Rest, son. We will handle everything outside."
Sayuri squeezed his hand one last time before letting go.
"See you later, Nii-chan."
One by one, they filed out. The room emptied, leaving behind only the hum of the machines and the scent of antiseptics.
But the chill... the psychological coldness was completely gone.
Aokiji laid his head back on the pillow. His body screamed with pain, throbbing with every heartbeat. But his chest... his chest was lighter than air.
He looked out the window at the clear blue sky.
No more terrifying phone calls. No more veiled threats. No more secrets weighing him down.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. His eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion.
And for the first time in his life, he closed his eyes without worrying about what tomorrow would bring.
And he slept.
.
.