(Inside Jiro's Golden Suite)
The air in the room was no longer filled with the calm hum of medical drones; it was shattered by Zen's raw, guttural screams. On the velvet couch, Zen's body contorted in agony, his muscles twitching violently as the dense Orvex syrup forced his biology to rewrite itself at a cellular level.
Jiro finally stepped out of his walk-in closet, casually entering the living room where the Supervisor and Aiko were waiting. Aiko spun around, her face pale with worry as Zen's cries echoed off the marble walls.
"Jiro! What took you so long? He's been screaming like that for minutes now!" Aiko demanded, her voice trembling.
Jiro didn't look at her immediately. His focus was entirely on his own reflection as he opened a polished mahogany jewelry box. He began sliding ten heavy gold rings onto his fingers, one for each, adjusting them with practiced precision.
"What do you want me to do? He's supposed to be screaming," Jiro said coolly, admired the shine on his knuckles. "His muscles are reconnecting, his bones are fusing, his entire nervous system is being re-knit. My part of the job is done. Now, it's just up to Zen's will to hold his mind together while his body fixes itself. I literally can't do anything else."
He sat down swaggishly in a designer armchair, crossing his legs and leaning back as if he were watching a movie.
The Supervisor stepped forward, frowning. "I thought you said it would only take a few minutes before he was okay."
Jiro nodded slowly, tapping a gold ring against the armrest. "True, true. My bad. That was a bit of a miscalculation on my part. You see, I usually only heal Elite members. Since they are masters of Orvex Respiration, they can force the treatment to circulate instantly, healing them in less than five minutes. I accidentally applied Elite-level conditions to Zen out of habit."
He glanced over at the thrashing boy on the couch. "Actually, a normal person with this level of injuries (Directed to Zen's injuries) isn't even supposed to survive my treatment. The sheer trauma of the rapid healing usually causes the heart to stop from the pain. That's why I stick to the Elites."
Aiko's eyes widened in horror. "He could die? If that's the case, why did you even bother healing him this way?!"
Jiro looked up at the ceiling, his mind racing. In reality, he had injected the syrup just to see if Zen—the "Mr. Prodigy" everyone was talking about—was tough enough to survive a gamble with his life. It was a twisted experiment born of boredom. But he couldn't exactly tell Aiko he was playing a game with her teammate's soul.
"Because..." Jiro started, letting the word hang in a long, dramatic pause.
"Maybe it's because Zen's injuries were too fatal to reach a standard doctor in time," the Supervisor interjected, trying to make sense of the reckless medical move.
Jiro's eyes brightened as he latched onto the perfect excuse. He pointed a gold-clad finger at the Supervisor with a winning smile. "Yes! Exactly. What he said."
A sharp sound of leather straining caught their attention—Zen's fists were gripping the sofa with white-knuckled intensity. His veins bulged like thick cords beneath his skin, and for a fleeting second, his eyes flashed a predatory red.
"My body... it hurts," Zen managed to rasp. He tried to force himself upright, but his legs gave way immediately, sending him crashing to the floor.
"Wait! Don't move!" Aiko rushed to his side, her hands hovering over him, terrified to touch him. "Just hang in there, it's going to be alright!"
Zen suddenly doubled over, coughing violently. A spray of dark, clotted blood hit the floor. Aiko instinctively stepped back, letting the purge finish as Zen hacked and gasped. The Supervisor and Jiro watched from a distance—one with worry, the other with clinical curiosity.
Slowly, the coughing subsided. The bulging veins receded into his skin, the bruising vanished, and his breathing leveled out. Zen stared at his palms, his eyes wide with a strange clarity.
"I don't understand," Zen whispered. "A moment ago, it felt like the inside of my body was at war... but now? I feel so free. So light."
Jiro let out a few forced chuckles as Aiko shot him a lethal glare. "Would you look at that? Twenty minutes. That's impressive," Jiro said, quickly trying to fix his tone when he saw Aiko's expression. "I mean... you're cured! That's great. Next time, try to avoid life-threatening damage, kid. You might not be so lucky."
Zen frowned, squinting at the flashy man in the gold rings. The memory of the Elite rankings flashed in his mind. "Wait... aren't you Rank 9?"
"Where are my—" Zen began, looking around for his gear, but Aiko helped him to his feet.
"I'll explain everything later," she promised softly. "Just try to relax first."
The Supervisor stepped in front of Zen, making the boy flinch back instinctively. The man quickly examined Zen's frame. "You're okay, right? No pain? Nothing... weird?"
Zen opened and closed his hands, feeling a surge of strength that felt even more refined than before. No doubt this is Rank 9's doing, Zen thought, a small smirk playing on his lips. I must have lost to Zanka, and my only chance was this guy. Whatever he did, I feel better than I ever have.
The Supervisor let out a massive sigh of relief, his shoulders dropping. "Thank God. I'm not going to get fired after all." He turned to Jiro with a wide smile. "You're a miracle worker, really. Hey, is it possible for that syrup to regrow lost limbs?"
Jiro shrugged, standing up with a swagger. "Hell no. I'm a medical specialist, not a magician." He started walking toward the back of the suite. "Glad you're alive. You can thank me later—or now—whatever works. You can go; I've got yoga to do."
"Thank you, Jiro," Aiko called out. "And don't worry about the bill; Raizen will handle it."
"Visit anytime, babe," Jiro waved a tired hand without looking back.
But before Jiro could leave the room, a hesitant knock sounded at the entrance. The door creaked open just a quarter of the way. Fujimura (Rank 8) peeped through the crack, his hands trembling with visible anxiety.
"Oh... I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't mean to intrude," Fujimura stuttered, his voice filled with a cowardly fear, as if he expected them to attack him for being there.
"Oh, no, we were just finishing up. Is there a problem, Fuji?" Jiro asked.
Fujimura nodded slowly, looking like he was on the verge of tears. "Yes... I fell in the kitchen and now my knee is bleeding. I think it might kill me. I can feel my breath leaving my body. I'm so sorry for being a burden..."
Everyone looked toward his knee through the gap in the door. There was a bright red smear on his pants.
"I think that's just tomato sauce," Zen said blankly.
Jiro let out a heavy, exasperated breath. "Fuji... just wipe it off. You'll be fine."
Fujimura wiped the spot and looked at his hand. "Oh. No wonder I wasn't feeling any pain. This is so embarrassing... I want to crawl away and die."
"Are you okay?" Aiko asked, staring at the Rank 8 Elite in total confusion.
Fujimura's eyes locked with hers, and his terror seemed to double. "Oh great, Ayumu's sister is here too. I might as well just die. Sorry for the disturbance!"
[Narrator: As you can see, Fujimura is not exactly a social person.]
As he turned to flee, slamming the door shut, Zen's sharp eyes caught something. For a split second, he saw a double-sickle Kama strapped to Fujimura's back. Zen narrowed his eyes, the image of the lethal weapon contrasting sharply with the man's cowardly behavior.
"I apologize," Jiro explained. "He's too anxious. He expected me to be alone."
"It's fine," Aiko said, guiding Zen toward the exit. "We're leaving now."
The Supervisor led them out to the car, ready to drive them back.
(At Oborozaki Village)