Tokyo Medical University Hospital, seventh floor of the inpatient ward. The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, cutting stripes of light and shadow across the polished floor.
The air carried the scent of hospital food, and a faint, cloying sweetness.
Yuutenji Minoru was sprawled idly on the bed nearest the door. His left arm was still in a cast, suspended across his chest, but the cast on his right leg had been removed, and he had it propped brazenly on a pile of blankets.
He had a straw in his mouth, slowly sipping an iced soda, his eyes fixed on the TV screen mounted on the wall. On the screen, brightly colored Kemono Friends characters were embarking on an adventure full of "friendship" and "miracles".
For a while after he woke up, he felt his luck was strangely good.
Firstly, the nurses who came to check on him and change his dressings every day were all gentle and beautiful, one after another, making the needle pricks seem less painful. Secondly, although he had been in that damned car accident, his recovery speed was so fast that even his attending physician was amazed.
Now, apart from some lingering soreness, his right leg was mostly functional, and although his left arm was still in a sling, he knew the bones were healing very well.
Finally, and most crucially, Tokyo TV was re-broadcasting his childhood favorite, now his spiritual solace, the masterpiece—"Kemono Friends"! It started promptly at 3 PM every afternoon, rain or shine.
It seemed as if timing, location, and people were all on his side.
However, Yuutenji Minoru still lay comfortably in his hospital bed, ready to enjoy the treatment of a "seriously injured person" for a long time. The reason was simple: money.
At this moment, he was penniless and alone, arguably Tokyo's most pathetic "lucky man."
His thoughts inevitably drifted back to that nightmarish day.
After being forced to take on that hot potato – harming Togawa Sakiko, the eldest daughter of the Togawa Family – a strong sense of crisis immediately triggered his highest level "escape procedure."
Using his Stand ability, he successfully converted all his belongings into cash within a few days, from his high-end gaming setup to a few decent clothes, plus his previous savings, all becoming thin banknotes and a few heavy small gold bars.
He stuffed them, along with his phone, all his identification, bank cards, personal seal, a lottery ticket supposedly capable of winning the grand prize, and most importantly, the RiNG Live House exclusive [Matcha Parfait Unlimited Enjoyment Voucher] he'd spent a fortune on, all into that bulging wallet, carrying it close to his body.
That was all his worldly possessions for fleeing, his only hope for a comeback.
Then, everything was reduced to nothing in that "accidental" car crash.
The mission failed, his Stand ability suffered an inexplicable backlash, and the immense impact violently threw him onto the cold road. Before losing consciousness, his last memory was of the wallet containing his life's savings flying out of his torn pocket, disappearing beneath the chaotic wheels and footsteps of pedestrians.
When he woke up, he was already in the hospital.
The wallet? Gone. Gold bars? Lottery ticket? Matcha parfait voucher? All vanished into thin air.
The medical bills were astronomical. Fortunately, the driver he had "scammed" was a kind and decent person who, in addition to the insurance payout, voluntarily covered a portion of the costs, preventing him from being kicked out as soon as he woke up.
After paying the remaining medical expenses, this "compensation" was almost gone, only enough for him to barely survive in this double room, buying some cheap snacks and soda.
As for asking his parents in his hometown of Kumamoto for help? That thought was extinguished as soon as it arose.
Shame burned his heart like a hot iron. Who was it who left his hometown full of youthful vigor, thumping his chest and telling his parents, elder brother, and younger siblings, "Just wait, I'll make a name for myself in Tokyo and give you all a better life"?
And now? Disheveled, penniless, almost losing his life, becoming a useless person who needed the pity of strangers just to lie in a hospital bed.
Ashamed! Two hundred percent ashamed!
Thus, under the impetus of this extreme shame, Yuutenji Minoru once again, uncontrollably, slid into complete, complacent decadence.
His daily routine was a model of "depravity":
Noon: Struggling awake amidst the bland smell of hospital food, yawning, he laboriously tackled the overcooked broccoli and chicken breast on his tray with his functional right hand.
Afternoon: After the nurses' rounds, he would magically pull out hidden cream puffs, chocolate pies, and other high-sugar, high-fat "contraband" strictly forbidden by doctors from under his pillow and deep within his bedside table drawer, devouring them with gusto.
Iced soda was a mandatory companion: orange, cola, grape… the stimulating fizz exploding in his mouth could temporarily numb his nerves.
3 PM: The moment of bliss! He would punctually turn on the TV, switch to Tokyo TV, and immerse himself in the carefree, "friends"-filled utopian world of "Kemono Friends". Watching the lively figure of Serval-chan and listening to the gentle singing of Crested Ibis, he could temporarily forget the coldness of reality.
Evening: He would eat the hospital's equally bland dinner, which tasted like chewing wax.
Late Night: The real party began! Hidden potato chips, fried chicken nuggets, and various puffed snacks came out in full force. By the light of the only source in the ward—the flickering glow of the TV screen—he would stuff junk food into his mouth while aimlessly flipping through channels, watching boring variety shows, late-night shopping commercials, or even static.
Early Morning: Junk food wrappers littered the floor, his stomach heavy and churning with grease and sugar. The TV screen's light reflected in his hollow pupils.
Looking at his own mess and the chaotic surroundings, immense regret and self-loathing engulfed him like a tide.
"Yuutenji Minoru, how could you be so depraved!" He would silently scream in his heart, or simply bury his face in his sweat-stained pillow, letting out suppressed sobs,
"Ugh… but there's nothing I can do! I'm a despicable scumbag! A good-for-nothing!"
Then, exhausted in body and mind and under the hypnotic effect of junk food, he would fall into a deep sleep.
The next day at noon, he would wake up, and the cycle would repeat.
Today was another ordinary day in this cycle. On TV, the ending theme of "Kemono Friends" played melodically.
Minoru watched the credits roll with a sense of loss, his last bit of false comfort disappearing.
Emptiness and familiar self-loathing fiercely attacked him again. He irritably turned off the TV, and the room instantly fell into a suffocating silence. On the bedside table, empty soda bottles and snack wrappers piled up like a small mountain, exuding an air of decay.
"Yuutenji Minoru… you useless piece of trash…"
He cursed himself in a low voice, his right hand unconsciously clutching the bedsheet. Intense shame made him burn all over, worse than the pain of his wounds when he first woke up from the car accident.
He abruptly buried his face deep into the pillow, like an ostrich escaping reality, trying to block out this world that made him feel so ashamed.
Muffled, desperate sobs came from under the pillow, his shoulders slightly shaking.
"Ugh… you bastard…"
Just as this familiar, self-destructive ritual of repentance reached its climax, and Minoru was immersed in the mire of self-loathing, unable to extricate himself—
Click.
The ward door was gently pushed open.
A figure stood silently at the doorway, silhouetted against the corridor light, its outline somewhat blurry. But that head of soft purple short hair, like a lavender field, stood out even in the dim light, and the casual attire, clearly showing signs of a long journey yet still meticulously put together, instantly made Minoru, buried in his pillow, stiffen all over, his whimpers caught in his throat.
Only his heavy, panicked breathing remained in the ward, along with a faint, elusive scent emanating from the person at the door—a unique mix of fresh Kumamoto countryside air and subtle cosmetics.
Then, a clear, familiar voice, laced with undisguised disdain and disbelief, precisely pierced the decadent air of the ward:
"No way, you… you…"
The owner of the voice paused, as if confirming that the sight of this mess was not an illusion, each syllable drawn out, full of contempt.
"You're still so… disgusting."
Yuutenji Minoru, as if hit by a high-voltage shock, sprang up from the pillow, ignoring the pain in his arm, and looked towards the door in terror.
Against the backlight, the delicate contours of the girl's face gradually became clear. Her pink eyes scrutinized him, from his greasy purple messy hair to his food-stained hospital gown, and then to the mountain of trash and snack wrappers piled by the bed.
That look was like she was staring at a pile of unrecyclable hazardous waste.
Yuutenji Nyamu—his sister from his hometown of Kumamoto—stood at his ward door, arms crossed like a judge, declaring his crimes.
She had just arrived in Tokyo, hadn't even put down her luggage, and had come straight to the hospital. And this scene before her was clearly ten, no, a hundred times more unbearable than the worst she had imagined!
"Pathetic!"
"Guwaaaah!"
Yuutenji Minoru's last remaining shred of self-respect was completely destroyed; he couldn't recover and was utterly defeated.
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