The Next Morning
The pale light of dawn crept into the hotel room as Misaki paced nervously in the hallway. She clutched the tray of breakfast tightly, her knuckles white. Kenshiro had refused food since yesterday, and her worry gnawed at her like a relentless beast.
Taking a deep breath, she approached his door and hesitated before knocking softly. "Kenshiro-sama? I've brought breakfast. You must be hungry."
No answer.
Her heart sank further. With a trembling hand, she turned the knob, expecting resistance. To her surprise, the door creaked open effortlessly.
"Kenshiro-sama?" She called again, stepping inside cautiously.
Her breath hitched at the sight before her. Kenshiro sat on the windowsill, his slender frame silhouetted against the soft morning light. His face, pale and drawn, bore the exhaustion of someone who had fought unseen battles through the night. His eyes were bloodshot, shadowed with dark circles, and his posture was rigid, as though he had been rooted there for hours.
Misaki placed the tray on a nearby table, rushing to his side.
"Kenshiro-sama!" Her voice quivered, and without thinking, she knelt and wrapped her arms around him tightly.
Kenshiro stiffened at the touch but didn't pull away. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his expression unreadable.
"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" Misaki's voice was thick with worry. "You haven't eaten. You're hurting yourself. Please…talk to me."
A heavy silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of the curtains.
"I'm fine," Kenshiro finally murmured.
"You're not fine," She countered, her grip tightening. "Kenshiro-sama, I know you're strong. But even the strongest need is to eat and rest. Please…"
He finally shifted his gaze to her, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a glimpse of the turmoil within him—grief, anger, and something darker, more resolute.
Misaki gently guided him to the small table, her hands trembling as she uncovered the breakfast she had brought.
"Just a few bites," She pleaded, her voice soft. "For me, Kenshiro-sama."
His lips pressed into a thin line, but after a long pause, he picked up the chopsticks and began eating mechanically. Misaki watched him closely, relief washing over her as he ate more than she had expected.
"Thank you," She whispered, her eyes glistening. She reached out, smoothing his unruly hair. "You don't have to shoulder this alone, you know."
Kenshiro didn't respond, but his silence wasn't dismissive. It was heavy, contemplative.
Once he finished, Misaki cleared the dishes and rose to leave. Before stepping out, she hesitated at the door. "If you need anything, anything at all…just call for me."
He nodded faintly, his gaze once again distant.
After Misaki left, Kenshiro stood and stretched, his muscles aching from sitting still for so long. The morning air felt cold against his skin as he entered the bathroom.
The shower hissed to life, steam filling the small space. As the water cascaded over him, Kenshiro closed his eyes, letting the heat wash away the physical fatigue. But the ache in his chest remained, a weight he couldn't shed.
His thoughts wandered to the doctor. He hadn't expected the man to break so easily, nor had he expected him to crumble so completely under pressure. The information he extracted had only deepened the mystery. The doctor was merely a pawn, a disposable piece in a much larger, more sinister game.
By the time Kenshiro emerged from the bathroom, his resolve was steel. He dressed quickly, and his movements were efficient and precise. Stepping into the sitting area, he found Daisuke already waiting for him.
"Kenshiro-kun," Daisuke greeted, his voice calm but tinged with concern. "How are you feeling?"
"I need to go to the cemetery," Kenshiro said bluntly, skipping pleasantries.
Daisuke nodded. "Of course. I'll have the car ready immediately."
----
The news of the doctor's untimely death exploded through the capital like a thunderclap, sending shockwaves of dread.
Within hours, it was all anyone could speak of, a storm of rumors and theories surging through the crowded streets and shadowed alleys.
At the hospital, the atmosphere had turned suffocatingly tense. Staff members spoke in hushed, hurried tones, their voices tinged with disbelief and growing fear. Even the most seasoned physicians wore expressions of barely concealed horror.
The official report read like the stuff of nightmares: the doctor's internal organs had been pulverized beyond recognition, his bones reduced to jagged shards, as though subjected to an inconceivable force. Yet, inexplicably, his skin was pristine—untouched by the violence that had ravaged his insides. There were no bruises, no cuts, not even the faintest discoloration. It was a grotesque impossibility that defied every law of biology and physics, leaving the coroner and investigative team reeling in stunned silence.
The bizarre circumstances surrounding the death quickly took on an almost supernatural aura, sparking wild conjecture. Some whispered of dark sorcery, others of monstrous creatures that could kill without leaving a mark.
Panic brewed in the hearts of those who dared to imagine what force could wreak such devastation without a single external blow.
But for Misaki and Daisuke, the grim reality remained a mystery. Unaware of the storm brewing in the capital, they walked alongside Kenshiro toward the cemetery, their minds preoccupied with far simpler, mortal concerns. Little did they know, the shadow of this horrifying event would soon stretch its claws into their lives.
The cemetery was quiet, the early morning mist still clinging to the gravestones. Kenshiro stepped out of the car, his expression unreadable as he approached his parents' graves. Daisuke and Misaki hung back, giving him the space they instinctively knew he needed.
He knelt before the gravestones, his fingers tracing the etched names of his mother and father. The cold stone beneath his touch was a harsh reminder of their absence, and for a moment, his composure wavered.
"I'm sorry," He whispered, his voice barely audible. "I wasn't strong enough to protect you."
His hands clenched into fists, the weight of his guilt and anger pressing down on him. "But I swear…I will make them pay. Every single one of them. No matter how far I have to go, no matter what it takes…"
His voice dropped to a cold whisper. "I will send them to Hell."
The wind seemed to still be around him, the air heavy with his vow. Kenshiro bowed his head, his fingers brushing the earth as though to ground himself.
In the distance, Misaki wiped at her eyes, her heart breaking for the boy she had cared for all these years.
Daisuke placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his own expression grim.
They didn't know the storm brewing within Kenshiro, nor the depths of his resolve. But they both silently vowed to stand by him, whatever may come.
Kenshiro rose slowly, his face once again a mask of calm. He turned to Daisuke and Misaki, his voice steady but firm. "Let's go."
As they left the cemetery, the mist seemed to thicken, swirling around the graves like a shroud. But Kenshiro didn't look back. His path was set, and nothing would deter him from seeing it through.