Chapter 68 — The Doctor
Mira's consciousness returned in slow, agonized waves, dragged up from an abyss where time and light didn't exist.
At first, there was only darkness. A cold, suffocating void.
Then came the sound—a high-pitched, persistent ringing echoing inside her skull, like the dying resonance of a struck tuning fork.
Her body felt impossibly heavy, leaden and drained, as though someone had poured wet sand into her veins and left her to sink into the floorboards. Every muscle throbbed with a dull, hollow ache. The lingering drain of overusing her ability had stripped away her energy down to the bone.
Mira tried to flex her fingers. They barely twitched against the rough sheets beneath her. Her breathing was shallow, a faint flutter in her chest.
Come on, she forced herself to think. Move.
She tried again. This time, her fingers curled, scraping lightly against fabric.
With a low, involuntary groan, her eyelids fluttered open. Everything was a swimming blur. A pale, antiseptic ceiling hovered directly above her, distorted by the heavy haze in her vision. The harsh florescent light overhead bled into her eyes, burning with a painful intensity that forced her to squint and turn her head away.
Mira blinked. Once. Twice.
The haze slowly receded, and the sharp edges of the room settled into focus.
White, sterile walls stained with faint water marks near the ceiling. A rusted metal cabinet tucked in the corner. A small wooden desk cluttered with medical paraphernalia—coiled tubing, rolls of gauze, amber glass bottles, unused syringes, a manual blood-pressure monitor, and a stack of neatly folded towels.
The air was heavy with the sharp, chemical sting of antiseptic, underlying the faint, metallic scent of blood that seemed to permeate the entire building.
Mira swallowed hard. Her throat felt lined with dust.
As she shifted, something cool and damp slipped slightly against her forehead. She lifted a sluggish hand, her fingers brushing against a wet towel. She stared at it for a moment, her brow furrowing, before carefully removing the cloth and dropping it into a small stainless-steel bowl resting on the bedside table.
She turned her gaze toward the rest of the room.
Empty. A single metal folding chair sat beside the heavy closed door.
For several agonizing seconds, Mira simply lay there, staring at the ceiling as her disoriented mind fought to piece together the silence.
Where am I?
Memory returned not as a clear picture, but as violent, disjointed fragments.
The chaotic roar of the emergency ward. The screams of the wounded. The smell of copper and rot. Hundreds of desperate, dying eyes tracking her every move. The agonizing burn of pushing her limit—and then, the overwhelming, ethereal bloom of pink petals drifting through the air, carrying her life force out to heal the dying.
And after that… blackness.
Mira braced herself and tried to sit up.
The moment her back lifted off the mattress, a sharp wave of vertigo crashed over her. Cold sweat instantly broke out across her forehead. Her arms shook violently, her elbows threatening to give out beneath her weight. The room spun on a wild tilt.
She froze, biting her lower lip until the nausea passed.
Click.
The brass door handle turned, and the door swung inward. Mira snapped her head toward the sound, her posture instantly guarding up despite her physical weakness.
A woman stepped into the room.
She wore the same dark tactical uniform as the guards Mira had seen patrolling the complex corridors, but her presence was entirely different. She wasn't holding a weapon. Her hands were relaxed at her sides, and her expression held no hostility—only an immediate, flickering warmth.
When her eyes landed on Mira sitting upright, genuine relief swept across her feature.
"Oh," the woman breathed out, her tone soft as she closed the door behind her and hurried over. "You're awake."
Mira watched her closely, every sense on high alert.
The woman offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Thank God."
Mira gritted her teeth and tried to leverage herself fully upright. "I..."
"Please. Lie down," the woman urged gently, reaching out a hand without making forced contact. "Don't push yourself."
"I'm fine," Mira rasped, though her voice sounded paper-thin, raspy from dehydration.
"You're not fine," the woman countered, her tone firm yet brimming with unspoken respect. "You collapsed."
Mira paused, her eyes searching the guard's face. "I... fainted?"
The woman nodded solemnly. "At the emergency ward. You completely drained yourself."
Mira dropped her eyes to her own lap. Her clothes—previously stained with dirt and dried blood—had been meticulously cleaned. Someone had wrapped a thin, wool blanket over her legs to keep the chill away.
"What happened?" Mira asked quietly.
The woman reached out, dragged the metal chair closer to the bed, and sat down. Her posture relaxed, though her eyes remained sharp. "You healed almost everyone in that ward."
Mira's breathing hitched slightly. "The patients...?"
"They're alive," the woman answered immediately, leaving no room for doubt. "Every single one of them."
A long, trembling exhale escaped Mira's lips. The knot of anxiety tightly coiled in her chest finally dissolved, leaving behind a profound sense of relief.
"You used your ability on every suffering soul in that room," the woman continued, watching Mira with a mixture of wonder and concern. "Broken bones, deep lacerations, systemic infections, severe blood loss... you didn't stop. You kept giving until your body simply gave out."
Mira lowered her gaze, her fingers clutching the thin blanket. "I don't remember... collapsing."
"We carried you here," the woman said, gesturing around the quiet, secluded room. "This room is usually reserved for critical recovery. We wanted you somewhere quiet, somewhere away from the chaos where nobody would disturb you."
Mira looked around the sterile space, processing the care that had gone into her recovery. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank us," the woman replied warmly. "It's the least we could do."
Mira studied the woman's face, taking in her features—the sharp jawline, the intelligent, steady dark eyes, the subtle posture of a trained combatant who carried no cruelty. A memory flickered in Mira's mind.
"You," Mira said softly.
The guard tilted her head slightly. "Hm?"
"You were one of the guards in the hall earlier. When they brought us in."
The woman's expression shifted, a subtle flicker of regret passing over her features. "Yes. I was."
Mira kept her gaze fixed on her. "What's your name?"
The woman hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if calculating the weight of giving away her identity, before her lips curved into a genuine smile. "Chisato Akane."
Mira repeated the name under her breath, testing its weight. "Chisato Akane..."
"You can just call me Akane," she offered.
"Okay. Miss Akane." Mira leaned her back carefully against the cold wall behind the bed, letting out a steadying breath. She looked straight into Akane's eyes, dropping all pretenses of casual conversation. "Listen to me."
Akane's posture shifted instantly, her smile fading into an attentive, serious expression. "I'm listening."
"I need your help," Mira said, her voice growing firmer as her resolve returned.
"With what?"
"Understanding what is actually going on in this place," Mira said immediately. "No lies. No guard talk."
A heavy silence settled in the small room. The distant, muffled echoes of the facility outside seemed to fade into the background. Akane glanced briefly toward the locked door, checking the heavy deadbolt, before turning back to Mira.
"How about I tell you the truth?" Akane suggested, her voice dropping an octave.
Mira narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. "The truth?"
Akane nodded, pulling her chair a few inches closer until she was leaning in toward the bed. "If you're sick with worry about your friends... don't be."
Mira straightened up, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as a spike of adrenaline hit her. "What?"
"Your friends are alive. All of them."
Mira stared at her, searching Akane's eyes for any sign of a lie. "All of them?"
"Yes," Akane confirmed.
Mira felt her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, a immense weight lifting off her shoulders. But before she could fully process the relief, Akane's expression hardened further.
"However..." Akane continued, "there is something much larger unfolding inside these walls. And your friends are rapidly becoming the center of it."
Mira's sharp eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Akane leaned in even closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "In fact... you're already part of it too."
"I don't understand," Mira replied, her brow furrowing. "Part of what?"
Akane took a breath, checking the door one last time before speaking the word that changed everything.
"We're planning a coup."
Mira's eyes widened in sheer shock. "A... a what?!"
"A coup," Akane repeated firmly.
"I—I'm sorry, a coup?!" Mira's voice hit a sharp, disbelieving spike.
"Keep your voice down!" Akane muttered sharply, holding a finger to her lips.
Mira instinctively clamped her mouth shut, taking a ragged breath to force her voice into a whisper. "To put it in simpler terms... you're talking about overthrowing the leadership?"
"We are planning to take back the apartment complex," Akane clarified, her gaze steady and resolute.
"Take it back?" Mira asked, struggling to grasp the political reality of the massive, fortress-like building. "Take it back from who?"
Akane didn't answer immediately. Instead, she took her time, laying out the ugly reality of the complex piece by piece.
She explained that the current regime running the complex—the tyrant who called himself leadership—were not the original surviving residents. She spoke of how Jin, the bloodthirsty leader, had seized control through a violent, midnight slaughter weeks ago. How he had turned a safe haven into a militarized prison.
She told Mira about the original residents who were still trapped inside—some thrown into lower-level holding cells, tortured, or executed as examples, while others were forced into grueling labor just to earn meager rations. Many had simply learned to keep their heads down, hiding behind closed doors in silent terror.
"But beneath the fear," Akane whispered, "a small network of us has been quietly preparing to strike back. Waiting for the right moment."
Mira listened intently, her shock slowly giving way to a calculated understanding.
Then Akane dropped the next piece of information.
"Aoi and Nezuko have already been brought into the loop," Akane revealed. "They were brought through a hidden maintenance route inside the complex and taken to a secure resistance meeting."
Mira's heart skipped a beat. "Aoi and Nezuko? You contacted them?"
Akane nodded. "They know everything."
"What did they say?" Mira pressed.
"They didn't just nod and fall in line," Akane said with a subtle grin.
A faint, wry smile touched Mira's lips despite the tension. "That sounds like Aoi."
"She was ruthless," Akane admitted, her admiration clear. "She immediately demanded conditions before she would even discuss cooperation."
"Of course she did," Mira said, leaning forward. "What did she want?"
"Full structural schematics of the entire building complex," Akane listed off. "Guard patrol schedules, weapon cache locations, and primary exit routes."
Mira nodded to herself. Classic Aoi—analytical, cold, and always planning three steps ahead. "And?"
"She demanded direct, unmonitored access to you," Akane added. "She refused to move a finger until she knew you were alive and safe."
Mira lowered her eyes, a warm prickling behind her eyelids. Aoi...
"And she demanded to see the boys," Akane finished.
Mira's head snapped back up, her pulse quickening. "Tokita? Kaito? Natsuki?"
"Yes."
"Did she agree to help your resistance?" Mira asked, her breath catching in her throat.
"Not yet," Akane replied, shaking her head. "She told our leader that your group isn't a military unit where one person gives orders. She said everyone in your group needs to be brought together in the same room. Everyone hears the truth. And then—and only then—you all decide your next move together."
Mira sat in silence for a moment, a profound sense of pride swelling in her chest.
That was Aoi. Suspicious of everyone, fiercely protective, and unwilling to gamble the lives of their family on the words of strangers.
Mira looked back up at Akane, her eyes sharpening as she scrutinized the guard. "It's a convincing story. But how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
Akane offered a faint, tired smile. "I was wondering when you'd ask me that."
"Of course I'm suspicious," Mira said coldly. "After what your people did to my friends when we walked through those doors, why should I believe a single word coming out of your mouth?"
"Fair point," Akane agreed without a hint of defensiveness. Her eyes flared with a sudden, sharp anger. "But point of correction—we didn't do shit to your group. That was that bastard Jin and his personal enforcement squad."
Mira seized on the detail. "So the leader's name is Jin. The one who shot Natsuki."
"Yes," Akane spat, the name clearly leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. "Jin."
Mira kept her gaze locked onto Akane, refusing to break eye contact.
Then, Akane dropped a statement that caused the air to leave Mira's lungs.
"The boy who was shot," Akane said smoothly. "He's fine."
Mira froze. The world seemed to stop moving around her. "Natsuki?!"
"Yes," Akane confirmed. "He's alive and recovering."
Mira stared at her, utterly bewildered. "How? He was shot point-blank in the chest! The blood—"
"I know," Akane interrupted, shaking her head in genuine confusion. "That's the part none of us can figure out."
Mira gripped the bedsheet tighter. "Was there another medical user here? Another healer?"
"No," Akane answered flatly. "We don't have anyone with a healing ability. If we did, that emergency ward wouldn't have been overflowing with dying people."
"Then how is he alive?!" Mira demanded, her mind reeling.
Akane looked directly into Mira's eyes, her voice deliberate. "Because someone from your group healed him."
Mira's mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. She stared down at the scuffed linoleum floor, her brain working at lightspeed.
Natsuki had been shot. She had seen the entry wound herself—the blood pooling beneath his torn shirt, his life slipping away in seconds. It was a fatal injury. And Mira knew every single ability of the people she traveled with. She knew Aoi's sharp tactical mind, Nezuko's immunity,Kaito's and Natsuki's capabilities...
She knew all of them.
Except...
Her thoughts slammed into a wall, halting on a single image.
Tokita.
Mira's breath hitched. She had seen Tokita use his power before. Twice, under extreme pressure. Both times, she had witnessed bizarre, terrifying phenomena that defied every known rule of abilities. It didn't follow logic, science, or standard classification.
He had never properly explained what his power was. Whenever the topic came up, he deflected, brushed it off, or retreated into his quiet, distant shell.
She knew it was abnormal. Something far beyond the natural order.
Mira slowly lifted her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Tokita..."
Akane raised an eyebrow, observing the shift in Mira's demeanor. "You think it was him?"
"I don't know," Mira murmured, her mind swirling with unanswered questions. "I really don't know. But if I had to guess..." She let the sentence hang in the air.
Akane smiled faintly, standing up from her chair. "Well, then you'll just have to ask him yourself."
Mira blinked, startled by the movement. "Wait."
Akane paused, looking down at her.
"Are you... taking me to them?" Mira asked, her voice laced with sudden disbelief. "Right now?"
"Yes," Akane replied simply.
Mira's expression softened with genuine surprise. "You are?"
Akane nodded, though her sharp eyes swept down Mira's frail frame. "But first... can you even walk?"
A small, weary smile touched Mira's lips. "I think so."
Carefully, Mira shifted her weight and swung her legs over the side of the metal bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floorboards, sending a shiver up her spine. Slowly, she pushed off the mattress.
The moment her weight transferred to her feet, her knees buckled. Her body felt horribly unstable, like standing on a floating dock in a storm.
Akane shot her hand out instantly, catching Mira firmly by the elbow to stabilize her.
Mira took a deep breath, planting her feet wider and gripping Akane's forearm until the world stopped spinning. "I'm fine," she gritted out.
"You sure about that?" Akane asked, watching her closely.
"Yes."
Mira stood upright. Her legs were trembling like guitar strings under tension, but she refused to sit back down. She took a tentative step forward. Then another.
Slowly, as blood pumped back into her muscles, her strength began returning piece by piece.
Akane kept a loose, supportive grip on her arm, walking at her agonizingly slow pace. "Take it easy. Slow steps."
"I know," Mira murmured, taking a long, steadying breath.
Together, they moved toward the heavy exit door.
When Akane turned the handle and pulled the door open, the muted silence of the room was instantly shattered. The overwhelming roar of the emergency ward rushed back over them like a breaking wave.
Shouting medical staff. Cluttering metal carts rolling across concrete. The rhythmic beep of monitors. Dozens of overlapping conversations.
Mira stepped over the threshold into the wide, cavernous hall.
And suddenly—the noise began to die down.
It started with a woman sitting against the far wall, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around her shoulder. She froze, her eyes widening as she caught sight of Mira.
"The doctor..." the woman gasped out.
A man sitting on a nearby bench snapped his head over, pushing himself to his feet. "She's awake!"
Across the room, an old man point a trembling finger toward her. "The doctor is back!"
Mira stopped dead in her tracks.
The chaotic movement of the ward ground to a complete halt. Dozens of eyes—weary, bruised, battle-scarred, and bandaged—turned toward the doorway.
They began moving toward her. Not aggressively. Not with the frantic, terrified desperation from before.
They approached with overwhelming, raw gratitude.
"Thank you!" a woman cried out, clutching her healed arm to her chest.
"You saved my life!" a man yelled from a cot.
"Thank you for saving my son!" a mother sobbed softly, holding a young boy close to her side.
"My grandfather would have died without you!"
"Thank you! Thank you!"
Mira's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. She took a half-step back, her heart pounding against her ribs. She hadn't expected this. She hadn't expected any of it.
Suddenly, a tall, heavily built man separated from the crowd and rushed toward her. Mira recognized him immediately—he was the same desperate, frantic man who had fallen to his knees earlier, begging her to save his dying younger brother.
His eyes were already brimming with fresh tears. He stopped two feet in front of Mira, his massive frame trembling.
Then, he dropped his head and bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching his knees. "Thank you," he choked out, his voice cracking violently. "Thank you so much."
Mira's expression melted, her defensive posture vanishing. "You... you don't have to do that—"
"You saved my brother," the man sobbed, unable to contain the grief and joy tearing through him.
Mira looked past his shoulder. Standing right behind him was a young boy, no older than nine, wearing a clean shirt over where a fever had been just hours before. The boy looked nervous under Mira's gaze, rubbing the back of his neck, before breaking into a bright, innocent smile.
"Thank you, ma'am," the boy whispered softly.
Mira stared at the boy. Slowly, she stepped forward, reaching out with a trembling hand to cover the boy's smaller hand.
"You don't have to thank me," Mira said softly, her voice filled with a quiet, undeniable warmth. "I was only doing what any doctor should do."
The boy's smile broadened, and around them, the surrounding crowd began to swell with emotional murmurs.
"Our savior!" a voice echoed from the back.
"She's our savior!"
"She's the goddess who saved everyone in the dark!"
"A goddess!"
The word caught on like wildfire, ripples of desperate hope spreading through the crowd.
"Goddess!"
Mira's eyes widened, and she frantically shook her head, holding up her hands. "No! Please, no!"
The crowd fell quiet, listening to her every word.
"I am not a goddess," Mira said, her tone gentle yet carrying an absolute, unshakeable authority. She looked into the eyes of every person standing before her. "I am just a doctor. I was simply trying to help my patients."
The people smiled, tears streaming down dirt-streaked faces. Her modesty didn't diminish their awe—if anything, it cemented their devotion to the woman who had given her own life force to pull them back from the brink of death.
Mira glanced sideways at Akane.
Akane was leaning against the wall, watching the crowd with a quiet, knowing expression. As Mira caught her eye, Akane leaned in close to her ear.
"These people are with us," Akane whispered softly.
Mira looked back at her, stunned. "What?"
"The people in this room," Akane gestured subtly with her eyes toward the crowd of survivors, wounded, and families. "They know."
Mira looked out at the faces again. The wounded soldiers who had refused Jin's orders. The families who had lost loved ones. The workers who bore the scars of cruelty.
"They're... part of the resistance?" Mira asked in a low whisper.
"Most of them," Akane replied silently. "And the ones who aren't are just waiting for someone to give them a reason to stand up."
Mira slowly absorbed the reality of her surroundings. These weren't just random patients she had patched up in a hospital. These were oppressed people living under a tyrannical boot. People who wanted their home back.
Her natural suspicion didn't vanish completely—she was too smart for that—but the cold wall around her heart weakened significantly. She had touched their sick bodies. She had felt their agonizing fear. She had heard their dying prayers.
And now, they were looking at her not as an enemy intruder, but as their beacon of light.
Akane turned fully toward her, her posture straightening. "Miss Mira?"
Mira broke her gaze from the crowd and looked at the guard. "Yeah?"
"Come with me," Akane said softly. "It's time to meet your friends."
Mira hesitated for a fraction of a second. She turned back one last time, taking in the grateful smiles of the people she had saved. Then, her eyes shifted toward the dark, sprawling corridor stretching into the depths of the complex.
Somewhere down those hidden passages were her people.
Aoi. Nezuko. Kaito. Natsuki.
And Tokita.
Mira still had a hundred unanswered questions burning in her mind. Too many secrets, too many mysteries surrounding this place and her own allies. But as she took a deep breath, settling her weight onto her feet, she knew the answers were finally waiting for her.
"Okay," Mira said, her voice steady and resolute. "Lead the way."
Akane gave a sharp, decisive nod.
Together, they stepped away from the crowd and turned into the long hallway. Mira followed her deeper into the shadows of the complex, her strides growing firmer with every passing second.
With every step forward, she felt herself drawing closer to the truth—not just about the war brewing inside the building, but towards her group.