"Haah...! Haah...!"
The boy stood suspended in the corridor, his breathing heavy and fractured, gasping like a fugitive fleeing a disaster zone. Behind his torn eyelids, his eyes scanned the polished hallway, astonished by the sudden havoc echoing within his own mind.
Mira screamed, her professional composure completely shattering. "Ahh! Someone catch and lock away that zombie! Is that not your job, bodyguard?!" In her panic, her glasses slipped from her face, clattering onto the linoleum floor.
Nakajima took a sharp breath, trying to process the impossibility of the scene before him. He moved to step toward the boy, but before he could advance, a senior clinician bypassed him. With striking, heavy force, the doctor drove a serum deep into the boy's back, plunging the serum home.
The boy had already exhausted whatever phantom energy had driven him from the theater; it was a sheer medical miracle that his collapsed skeleton had carried him this far. Yet, as the chemical agent hit his bloodstream, he unleashed a scream so violent and agonizing that it echoed into the furthest and all corners of the facility, vibrating through the walls. Reiji winced, clapping both hands over his ears.
A team of orderly staff rushed the corridor with a stature, lifting the boy's limp, charcoal-colored body onto the stature.
Himika didn't hesitate. She dashed directly to the tall doctor with round glasses who had administered the shot, her face contorted with rare, freezing rage.
"WHAT WAS THAT?! WHAT DID YOU ALL DO TO HIM?!" Her shout cut through the panicked murmurs of the staff.
"We don't know, Himika-Sama." The tall physician, Dr. Kail, replied rapidly. He adjusted his coat, trying to mask his trembling hands. "He was on the operating table undergoing baseline stabilization and post-blast skeletal scanning. Suddenly, his eyes opened—just as they had during the initial intake. We didn't think it was physiologically possible under that level of sedation. For a second, we thought it was an autonomous muscle spasm, but then he began rising from that bed, screaming in pure agony. We had already saturated his system with a heavy nerve block to numb all nociceptors and pain pathways. Sensation should have been impossible. We weren't even performing a surgical procedure!"
"I am sorry to interrupt, Himika-Sama, but you need to see the trauma ward immediately." Another doctor called out, running up from the double doors where the boy had emerged.
"What is it now?" Himika snapped, her voice dripping with annoyance.
"It is as Dr. Kail said, but worse." the breathless physician reported. "Ryoho-Sama didn't just tear himself away from the surgical table. The monitoring equipment, the intravenous stands, the arterial lines, the pressurized blood bags, all machines —he tore them all out of their sockets with his bare hands, destroying all of that as he forced his way out."
"What?!"
"Yes, Himika-Sama. The entire surgical bay is ruined. The automated diagnostic machines have been reduced to scrap metal and rubble."
Himika glared at Kail. "I am asking you how a nine-year-old child with a shattered skeleton is capable of doing this!"
"We don't know!" Mira interjected loudly from the floor, scrambling to retrieve her glasses. "He threw a tantrum like we were trying to harm him! We were trying to preserve his life, and this is how he thanks us!"
"MIRA! KNOW YOUR PLACE!" Kail roared, silencing her instantly.
Mira clenched her jaw as she retreated into silence.
Nakajima stepped forward, his eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. "How exactly did he reduce multi-ton medical housing units to rubble? A child?"
"He simply destroyed them." Kail explained, his voice dropping into a mix of exhaustion and awe. "He must have been in a state of profound post-traumatic psychosis, but to practically tear down the bay... good grief." He sighed, rubbing his temples.
"But how did he physically achieve that?" Nakajima pressed, his bodyguard instincts taking over. "Your previous report stated his bones were suffering from severe crepitus and his muscle tissues were shredded by blast fragments. He was supposed to be completely powerless."
"He was lifting the secondary ventilator units onto his shoulders." Kail said, his voice flat with disbelief. "He slammed them into the main processing consoles, threw heavy monitoring blocks across the floor, and smashed the smaller telemetry units. He ripped every line out of his arms, spilling the AB-positive reserves across the entire room and over himself. Frankly, Officer Nakajima, even a trained operative of your caliber would struggle to cause that level of structural destruction in a blind rage. Taking his physiological trauma into account, it defies every known law of musculoskeletal limits. It is absolute insanity."
"Could it not be a localized hyper-adrenaline spike?" An assistant doctor muttered from the back. "A fight-or-flight response breaking his psychological inhibitors?"
"This isn't a fictional story." Kail shot back coldly. "Adrenaline doesn't mend a broken spine or give a nine-year-old the leverage to lift industrial machinery."
"But what were you all doing there?!" Himika asked. "Shouldn't you or any of you had stopped him!? And you yourself admitted it is a mystery, Dr. Kail." Himika said, her eyes turning into cold serpentine slits. "Ensuring his condition remained stable was part of your directive, was it not?"
"We couldn't have taken any measure. Physically stopping him would've just make the toll on his body far worst. It is still mystery how he got all that strength but if we had taken any step that includes physical force than it was a risk if he might just had more worse. We had to wait for the instant sleep serum so we could stop him. We apologize, Himika-Sama. This was an entirely unprecedented, an unpredictable, anomalous event." Kail said, bowing deeply. "But we will adjust our protocols. I will devised a chemical restraint method to ensure it never occurs again. Most of all, it is safe for him. I will detail it in the report."
Himika sighed. "Good. I hope you do."
Himika waved her hand, dismissing the surrounding staff. She gestured slowly to Mira. "Mira-san, come with us."
They walked toward the heavy glass elevator bank at the end of the hall. As the doors slid open, Himeka turned her gaze to the trembling doctor. "Mira-san, calling my son a zombie and labeling him disgusting... don't you think that was a bit much?"
Mira swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I-I... I deeply apologize, Himika-Sama. It was a visceral reaction to the trauma. My brain couldn't process the visual state of his injuries. I assure you, it will never happen again."
"Don't worry." Himika smiled smoothly, a calm expression crossing her face. "It isn't going to happen again."
Mira blinked, misinterpreting the statement completely. She puffed out her chest, straightened her glasses, and offered a proud posture. "You place so much trust in me, Himeka-Sama! I am honored!"
"There is a specific facility I want you to visit immediately." Himika continued as the lift descended.
"An essential medical emergency? Do you require my specialized surgical knowledge?"
"Yes... something like that."
"Rest assured, Himika-Sama. I will do whatever is necessary to assist Leo Corporation!"
"I am grateful." Himika said, her voice dropping an octave as the doors chimed open on the ground floor. "Nakajima will guide you there."
She threw Nakajima a brief, calculated look. The head bodyguard caught her drift instantly. He knew exactly what private facility she was referring to—the corporate sanitarium equipped for high-level information suppression.
"Understood." Nakajima said.
They stepped out into the main lobby. Within minutes, Nakajima and a still-smiling Mira departed in a sleek Leo Corporation car. Himeka watched through the glass doors as the car pulled away, Mira's proud, oblivious face disappearing into the traffic.
Himika and Reiji moved toward their own vehicle—a long, armored black limousine waiting at the curb. Once inside the quiet, leather-lined cabin, the car pulled smoothly away from the hospital complex.
Reiji looked over at his mother, his brow furrowing. "Mother... why did you let her go when she was insulting Nakajima earlier, but now you are sending her to have her memories altered?"
Himika let out a brief, dry cough. "Oh? You noticed?" She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed on the passing city lights. "Reiji-san, you must learn to calculate your timeline of utility. She possessed clinical value while Ryoho was in acute distress. But no one—absolutely no one—who insults this family or the integrity of Leo Corporation is permitted to walk away freely. Forgiveness or tolerance is never an option for such behavior."
Reiji looked down, a small, tentative light flickering in his eyes. "So... you were worried about Ryo?"
Himika offered a cold, sharp smile. "Of course. To the public eye, he is my son. More importantly, he inherited your father's intellect. That man's brain... We cannot afford to lose such an asset. Letting his baseline value degrade is out of the question."
Reiji turned his eyes back to the front seat, his expression flattening. Himika leaned closer to Reiji, her voice administrative.
"Remember, Reiji-san: you must always know who holds value and who is merely overhead. Keeping worthless people within your inner circle yields nothing but zero. A person of true value can yield everything. This lesson will shape your future administration of the corporation. Train yourself to see people through that lens."
Reiji kept his gaze fixed ahead. "So, Ryo is valuable to you?"
"He should be valuable to you as well," Himika replied indifferently. "Utilizing an effective tool while discarding trash isn't just standard practice—it's common sense. There is no risk in investing capital to repair his condition. As long as his cognitive functions remain intact so he can speak and utilize that brain, it represents a net profit for us. If he turns out to be a total loss..." She tapped her crossed arms rhythmically with her fingernail. "...we will see it then."
Reiji remained silent, feeling the weight of her words. The logic wasn't working against him, but it didn't feel like a good path either.
"What are your plans for Mira once the memory alteration is complete?" He asked.
"Well, despite her intolerable lack of manners, her medical license and experience is highly prestigious, so her work. She is intelligent, if undisciplined. She simply needs to be reallocated to a position where her lack of tact cannot damage our core brand."
Reiji's eyebrows knit together. He knew Leo Corporation owned LDS—the Leo Duel School—along with full authority over Miami City's elite medical clinics. "So you are reassigning her? What will the hospital board say about her sudden disappearance?"
"It will be handled through legal channels. And if anyone asks too many questions, that is precisely why we developed the memory-altering technology. It standardizes corporate security."
"I thought you despised using that machine. That method" Reiji muttered.
"There is no sense in maintaining an emotional bias against an effective tool. Even if i hate... loathe it as we speak." Himika said smoothly.
It wasn't a direct answer to his moral query, but it was the exact corporate response Reiji had come to expect.
"She will be transferred to the residential female medical staff at the LDS health clinic." Himika continued, looking out the tinted window. "LDS students frequently suffer injuries or exhaustion during high-intensity training. Having a top-tier trauma surgeon on-site will increase our institutional validation and secure the trust of wealthy benefactors. Furthermore, her harsh disposition will serve well in correcting undisciplined students. Our status must remain absolute. No one is permitted to match us."
For the first time since the explosion, Himeka turned her head, looking down into Reiji's eyes with absolute intensity. That exceed a mother's warmth and love.
"Remember, Reiji-san: securing status and validation is mandatory. But building an empire begins with small reallocations. Small decisions lay the foundation for massive ones. There is never a place for emotion in execution."
Reiji nodded slowly, his young face remaining completely expressionless as the car carried them into the dark. The LDS.
# Hospital Ward
Two days passed in quiet, clinical isolation.
Deep within the secure wing of the Leo Corporation medical complex sat a massive, reinforced life-support pod. It measured nine feet long and three feet wide, hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration, and was sealed behind thick, reinforced ballistic glass. Inside lay the boy, his charcoal-burned skin now covered by clean, white garments. He was kept under a medically induced, deep REM sleep state to facilitate cell regeneration.
The vault-like room was monitored 24/7 by high-definition security cameras, with security teams rotationally checking the feeds from the control room. Beside the pod, a broad, sweeping observation window offered a starkly beautiful, refreshing view of the outside world: flowers blooming in the courtyard below, birds cutting through the clear sky, tranquil and soothing gusts passing through, and the soft glow of the afternoon light. And warm light of moon at night.
But the boy remained trapped in his artificial slumber, oblivious to the world outside. His treatment, joint adjustments, and nutritional feeds were managed entirely while his consciousness was suppressed.
The heavy door chimed, and a man walked into the silent room. He wore a traveling coat and carried himself with an easy, theatrical grace, though his eyes were heavy with concern. It was Yusho Sakaki. He walked over to the side of the pod, looking down at the ash-shaded boy suspended in the nutrient fluid.
"They told me you've been asleep since that day." Yusho said softly, his voice echoing slightly against the sterile walls. "Oh... sorry. I must apologize first. I am Yusho, a friend of your father, Leo. We worked together on the early development phases of Real Solid Vision. You probably wouldn't recognize the version of your father from back then, heh."
He paused, looking up at the security cameras in the corners of the ceiling, knowing the monitoring team was watching his every move. He deliberately avoided mentioning Leo's recent, mysterious disappearance; he knew that dropping the weight of a missing father onto a critically injured nine-year-old child—even one under deep anesthesia—was a terrible thing to do.
"You might not remember me." Yusho continued, leaning closer to the glass. "You might have heard my name around the house, though truthfully, I'm not all that famous. I used to drop by Leo's estate to talk shop or just reminisce about the old days. Reiji was around your age when I last saw you... you were so little, and now you've grown so much. I know you're nine years old now, yet looking at you, it feels like no time has passed at all."
He waited, half-hoping for some microscopic sign of life from the boy behind the glass. He knew it was clinically impossible under this level of chemical sedation, but the entertainer in him couldn't help but try.
"I wish I could have foreseen this... I wish I could have done something to prevent that blast, but I was away from the city and just came today. When I was informed I rushed here to help you somehow, or at least be here to make you smile now." He whispered but a sudden soft smile formed on his face." Your name, Ryoho... your dad and everyone always shortened it to Ryo. I remember when Leo first told me your full name. I wondered what he was thinking back then. Ryoho isn't a common name for a person. It means 'both'—the Japanese concept for a two-way connection or a double metonymy. In different Kanji writing it also means 'Herb' or 'Medicine'— as well in as writing in different form of Hiragana writing style. I never asked Leo why he chose it; it felt like crossing a personal boundary. But I wonder if you know the reason. I wish I could tell you if you don't. A 'name' is a profound piece of shorthand, after all. It defines your coordinate in the universe."
A small, melancholic smile crossed Yusho's face.
"I have a son myself, you know. He's ten years old now. You two never actually got the chance to meet... it's a real shame I never brought him along on those visits. I am absolutely certain you two would have hit it off. He's always smiling, always full of this ridiculous, infectious energy. His name is Yuya—silly me, I forgot to introduce him properly. Once you're fully recovered and back on your feet, I'll bring Yuya here to meet you. You two will become best friends in no time."
Yusho's eyes softened with a warm, nostalgic light.
"Why after... why not now...?"
The voice was terrifyingly low, sounding like the dry, uneven scraping of charcoal against concrete. It was rugged, broken, and completely devoid of moisture.
Yusho froze, his breath catching in his throat.
"Just like all the others... you think I am something to be hidden away." the raspy voice continued from inside the pod "You think trying to make me smile will somehow fix what is broken... everything? Y-you think your son will look at me and feel disgusted. That he won't sleep at night once he sees what the fire did to me. That he will carry that horror for the r-rest of his life. That's why y-you didn't bring him today... because you knew he would run away. You foresaw it."
The voice didn't shake the room or echo into the hallway, but it hit Yusho with the force of a flying bullet.
The professional Dueltainer stood entirely paralyzed, stunned, unable to move a single muscle or pull his gaze away from the glass. His shock wasn't just born from the impossibility of a comatose patient speaking—it was because the boy was looking directly back at him directly, eye to eye. Behind the thick glass, within that ash-shaded, scarred and injured body, his eyes had not lost their color. Ryoho's eyes were open. They were a vivid, piercing red, devoid of tears or childish emotion, staring out into the bright light of the ward with absolute clarity.
But there was a feeling, a feeling that could be seen even in full brightness. Such darkness and light they had in them. The feeling they carried in. The gaze they gave off. As if Ryoho had no need to speak, his eyes could deliver all his thoughts to the person.
Yusho couldn't move a muscle. He was intimated, not just the gaze but the boy with that state himself. He couldn't look away.
Suddenly, the automatic sliding doors hissed open, and three, Doctors and medical technicians rushed into the room, their faces flushed with panic.
"Is everything alright in here?!" The lead technician shouted.
Yusho snapped out of his daze, gasped, blinking rapidly as he stepped back from the pod. "What... what happened?"
"The camera feeds and telemetry signals from this room were completely cut off." The technician explained, checking the diagnostic terminal beside the door. "Every monitor went dark simultaneously. We don't know what caused the interference, but it happened about two minutes ago."
Yusho's eyes widened. Two minutes ago... right before the voice started.
Yusho looked at the boy again. He saw that the boy was in very, very deep sleep. No strange movement.
The technician's radio chirped, and a voice from the central control room spoke through the static: "Hey, disregard the alert. The signal just popped back to normal. Every feed is clear."
"Seriously?" The technician sighed, shaking his head. "Guess we still have to run a diagnostic test on the line. We can't take risks with a high-priority patient."
The lead doctor looked at Yusho curiously. "Sir, did anything unusual happen in the room while the signal was down? We need to log any environmental changes."
"N-no..." Yusho said smoothly, his voice cracking slightly before he caught himself. "Nothing happened. I was... just talking to him."
"Ah, I see. You must be very close to him if you came all this way to talk while he's under heavy anesthesia."
The second technician chimed in with the help of the doctor, adjusting a valve on the pod's secondary fluid intake. "He means the medical coma, sir. It's a chemically forced state. He's under a massive dosage of neurological suppressants right now. He can't hear you, and his subconscious can't process auditory input— anything he hears—, even if he were out of the containment pod."
Yusho stared at them, his mind spinning. "What do you mean... out of the pod?"
"Well, this pod is constructed from reinforced, acoustic-dampening ballistic glass." the doctor explained, tapping the thick pane. "Sound waves from the outside cannot penetrate the interior; we can't have external hospital noise disrupting his neural recovery, after all. However, the system is designed to be one-way for safety—the internal microphones are always active so the outer monitors can pick up if he makes any reflexive sounds or struggles during a medical shift. We have to monitor him and hear anything if he says or makes a sound after all."
Yusho stood entirely frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Sound can't go inside..."
If the glass was completely soundproof, and the boy was under a level of anesthesia that paralyzed the cognitive mind, then Ryoho shouldn't have been able to hear a single word about Leo, about the name 'Ryo', or about Yuya.
"But it's clear he matters a great deal to you, if you're speaking to him like this." the technicians and Doctor added kindly, breaking the heavy silence.
"Yeah." the other agreed. "It's good for family friends to visit. Gives the room a bit of humanity. And it's good for patient as well."
"Thanks..." Yusho managed a weak, performing smile, forcing his stage presence to mask his profound unease. "Would it be alright if I stayed and talked to him a bit longer? Just to finish my thoughts?"
"Of course, Mr. Sakaki. Take your time, but please try to wrap up within twenty minutes. His cellular cycle requires minimal environmental disturbance." The doctor explained.
Yusho bowed his head slightly to express his gratitude. "Thank you."
The technicians and doctor left, the door sliding shut with a soft click.
Yusho remained in the room for exactly eighteen minutes. He didn't dare speak of his son or his missing friend again. Instead, he filled the silence by talking about his life on the stage, the mechanics of his specific cards, how he and Leo did all the work on Real Solid Vision, how they become friends and worked together, his philosophy as a Dueltainer, and the theoretical beauty of Action Duels. And everything about Duels and cards. He detailed the joy of turning a battlefield into a theater, purposefully keeping his title as the Action Duel Champion out of the narrative.
Throughout those eighteen minutes, the boy behind the glass didn't move an inch. His eyes were shut, his scarred chest rising and falling in perfect, mechanical rhythm. No more sound came through the intercom.
When the twenty-minute mark approached, Yusho turned and quietly exited the room, just as the monitoring team was preparing to inform him to leave. He walked down the long, sterile corridors of Leo Corporation with the phantom image of those piercing, emotionless red eyes burned into his memory.