The stillness of Naea's room was shattered by the persistent vibration of her phone. Groggy and disoriented from her restless sleep, she answered to find Dr. Takshi on the other end, his voice strained with professional urgency. "Naea," he began, "Kenji is in the emergency ward. His condition is critical. Grandma is here, and she's completely distraught—she shouldn't be alone in this state."
The news acted like a cold bucket of water, snapping Naea into a state of forced composure. "Is there a morning train from Osaka to Tokyo?" she asked, her mind already racing through the logistics of the journey.
"Yes, there's one at 5:00 AM," Takashi replied.
"Fine. Stay with Grandma until I get there," Naea commanded. "Yumi and I will be on that 5:00 AM train." She hung up and immediately went to wake Yumi, whose heart sank at the grim news. Though their relationship with Kenji was fractured, the gravity of a life-or-death emergency cast a dark cloud over the household.
Naea then sought out Hikari, her voice steady despite the chaos. "Hikari, I need you to stay here and look after the house. I have to go to Tokyo immediately—Kenji is in a bad way." Hikari's face paled with worry. "Should I come with you? You shouldn't have to face this alone," she offered, but Naea firmly shook her head. "No, I need you here. Stay safe."
The next thirty minutes were a blur of frantic packing and hushed whispers. Yumi gently woke the children, Sui and Shuzo, who were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes as they were ushered toward the car. With Hikari in the passenger seat—there to drive the vehicle back home once they reached the station—Naea navigated the deserted morning streets with grim determination.
At the station, the air was biting and sharp. After a hurried goodbye to Hikari, Naea, Yumi, and the two children boarded the 5:00 AM express. As the train lurched forward and began its long journey toward Tokyo, Naea stared out the window into the grey dawn, her heart heavy with a premonition that the man she was rushing to see was no longer the only person whose life had been irrevocably changed that night.
Yumi had already reached out to Ryu, dialing the emergency number Kenji had once provided for such crises. The connection was brief, a frantic exchange of details confirming their departure. Roughly three hours later, the express train screeched to a halt at Tokyo Station, the morning sun finally beginning to pierce through the urban haze. Ryu was already there, his face a grim mask of exhaustion and secrets, waiting at the platform to intercept them.
The transition from the station was swift and silent. At Naea's firm insistence, the group split up immediately upon reaching the city limits. She couldn't bear the thought of the children witnessing the sterilized chaos of the emergency ward, nor did she want Yumi caught in the crossfire of the Takahashi family's grief.
"Take them to the Mansion," Naea commanded, her voice hollow but unwavering. "They need to be away from the hospital."
Ryu nodded, understanding the silent plea in her eyes. After dropping Naea off at the towering, glass-fronted entrance of the hospital, he steered the car toward the Takahashi Mansion, leaving Naea to face the white-walled corridors alone. As she stepped through the sliding doors, the scent of antiseptic hit her—a sharp reminder that the man who had stolen her father's life was now fighting for his own, and the woman who had sought to protect her was likely the reason he was there.
The sterile atmosphere of the hospital felt suffocating as Naea stepped into the waiting area, where the flickering fluorescent lights cast long, jagged shadows against the white walls. Grandma Takahashi sat huddled in a plastic chair, her face a map of deep-set wrinkles and agonizing worry, while Takshi stood like a silent sentinel by the heavy double doors of the Emergency Ward.
The silence was suddenly broken by the sharp click of a door latch. A surgeon emerged, his surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck, his eyes heavy with the weight of the news he carried. Takshi was at his side in an instant, his voice a frantic whisper. "Doctor? How is he? What's the status?"
The surgeon took a deep breath, his professional composure barely masking the gravity of the situation. "The patient's condition is extremely critical, Dr. Takshi. We had no choice... we had to amputate the hand. The damage was too extensive to save it."
Takshi's breath hitched in his throat, his face draining of color. "And?" he pressed, his voice trembling. "What else?"
"We did our best, but Mr. Kenji's injuries are severe," the surgeon continued, his tone solemn. "He suffered multiple gunshot wounds and has clearly been subjected to a brutal, physical assault. At this stage, he is entirely unresponsive. It's too early to tell if he is simply unconscious or if he has slipped into a coma. We have to wait and see."
The words hit Takshi like a physical blow. He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Naea as she approached from the far end of the hallway. Her steps were slow, her eyes fixed on him with a haunting intensity. Takshi met her halfway, his voice breaking as he relayed the surgeon's grim report—the loss of the hand, the bullets, the possibility of a coma.
Naea listened, her expression remaining strangely hollow, as if she were viewing the tragedy through a thick pane of glass. When he finished, she leaned in closer, her voice a mere ghost of a whisper. "Don't tell Grandma about the details yet," she cautioned, her eyes darting toward the frail woman in the chair. "She's already on the edge. She doesn't need to know the full extent of the horror right now."
Takshi nodded slowly, a profound sadness clouding his features. "I understand," he murmured, the weight of their shared secrets hanging heavy in the antiseptic air.