The Vessel Second Chance

Author's Note:

Hey everyone 🤗. You might be wondering why the sudden update. Well, I just had a conversation with my sister, and she said something that really stuck with me: "It's great to take your time with your writing, but you also need to learn how to compete with others."

So, here's the deal—I'm going to update more often. The schedule may be a bit irregular, but I promise I'll upload at least once a week, if not more. Thanks for your patience and support!

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Megumi could feel the warm sunlight gently caressing his face, the soft rays a stark contrast to the lingering fuzziness in his mind. He let out a long, sluggish yawn and blinked his bleary eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. But as he tried, he found his eyelids stubbornly stuck together, weighed down by the crusty remnants of sleep.

"Finally awake?" A deep, familiar voice broke through the fog in his mind, warm and steady.

Megumi's heart skipped a beat. That voice—there was no mistaking it. He hesitated for a moment, still groggy, his voice hoarse as he managed to croak out, "D-Dad?"

His small, tired hand instinctively reached up to rub at his eyes, but before he could get very far, a much larger, rougher hand gently stopped him. The hand was warm, the kind of calloused comfort he had known his whole life. Without a word, it moved to wipe his face with a damp cloth, the coolness of it soothing against the heat of his flushed skin. Megumi let out a small sigh of relief as the sticky remnants vanished, his eyes slowly opening again, still blinking against the morning light.

Squinting, he glanced around, his vision slowly adjusting to the brightness spilling in from the nearby window. 

As Megumi's eyes fully adjusted, the hazy blur of the room began to come into focus. The soft, sterile smell of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of freshly laundered sheets. He recognized the white walls and the soft beeping of machines around him, their rhythmic sounds soothing in their own way. It wasn't his room at home. The sterile, impersonal feel of the room made it clear that he was in a hospital.

The bed beneath him was different too, firm and narrow, not like the comfort of his own. The thin, scratchy hospital blankets were tucked around him, but he felt oddly warm, cocooned in the layers. He noticed the IV drip hanging beside him, the small tube running into the back of his hand, and a slight pressure in his arm where the needle had been inserted.

To his left, the curtains around another bed were pulled halfway, revealing the silhouette of another occupant. A soft snore came from that direction, but the person—whoever they were—seemed to be asleep, the space between them almost eerily quiet. There was a soft hum of equipment coming from various machines around the room, but nothing too distracting, just a constant reminder of where he was.

His gaze shifted to the right, where his dad stood beside him, still holding the damp cloth. Megumi could see the tiredness etched into his father's face, the faint lines of stress around his eyes that had only deepened over the past few days. His dad's presence, though, was still as comforting as ever. Megumi tried to smile, but it came out as a tired, half-hearted curve of his lips.

"How long have I been here?" Megumi asked softly, his voice still raspy, but stronger now, more awake.

His dad's hand moved from his face to gently ruffle his hair, his fingers brushing through it with a familiar, absent affection. "A few days," his dad said, his voice low but steady. "You had us all worried there for a while."

Megumi blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of memories that floated around in his mind. Flashes of worried faces. There were whispers, too—whispers he couldn't quite make sense of. Had something happened to him? Something bad?

"How are you feeling now?" His dad's voice broke through Megumi's swirling thoughts, soft yet steady, as he gently stroked his hair. The tender touch grounded him, bringing him back to the present.

Megumi blinked, focusing on his dad's face for a moment before his parched throat reminded him of its discomfort. "Thirsty," he rasped, his hand instinctively going to his neck, feeling the dryness there.

His dad chuckled quietly, the sound warm and rich, filling the room with a familiar sense of comfort. It echoed softly against the sterile walls, almost out of place in the quiet of the hospital room.

"Alright, I'll get the nurse for you," his dad said, rising from his seat with a fluid motion. His figure was silhouetted against the pale light from the window, casting a long shadow across the floor. As he straightened, he looked down at Megumi with a reassuring smile. "For now, just rest up, okay?"

Megumi nodded, though he wasn't sure how restful he could be with his thoughts still tangled in confusion. His dad's voice, so calm and sure, helped a little, but there were still so many things he didn't understand.

His dad gave him one last glance before stepping toward the door. "It won't be long," he promised before disappearing out into the hallway, his footsteps fading with each passing second.

Left alone in the room, Megumi tried to settle back against the pillow, but his mind refused to quiet. The steady beeping of the machines and the occasional murmur of voices from down the hall seemed to intensify in the stillness. His eyes flickered once again to the bed beside him, where the other occupant still lay, their form barely visible behind the thin curtain.

He shifted slightly, wincing as the slight movement tugged at the tenderness in his body. He felt so… fragile, as if the strength he normally took for granted had been stripped away, leaving him with an unsettling sense of vulnerability. But there was also something else—a quiet, creeping fear that wouldn't let him rest. Something had happened. He couldn't remember all of it, but he could feel the weight of it.

His hand subconsciously moved to the small bandage on his arm, the one that was still fresh from the IV.

What was going on?

But as soon as Megumi tried to settle into the quiet, the thought of what had happened—the events that led him here—seemed to claw its way to the surface of his mind, as if the very act of thinking about it was a forbidden thing. It was like opening Pandora's box, the kind of thing you could never truly close once it was out. His stomach tightened, and before he could stop it, an acute pain shot through his head, sharp and sudden, making him gasp.

His vision blurred for a moment, and the room around him seemed to warp, the soft hospital lights flickering. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out, but the memories came rushing in, violent and unbidden, crashing over him like a tidal wave.

The warehouse.

He saw it in his mind's eye, the broken concrete, the eerie quiet before everything had gone wrong. He remembered the weight of the air, heavy with tension, and the chill of dread that had gnawed at him from the moment he stepped inside. He had been there for a reason. There was something he needed to do, something he couldn't back out of.

The pain in Megumi's head flared again, sharper this time, as if the very act of confronting the truth was tearing him apart from the inside out. The memories surged, flooding his consciousness in an overwhelming rush.

The price.

The cost of the binding vow, the one he had made in the cold, grimy warehouse. His breath hitched as the details of the bargain became clearer, as if the chains of his past were finally unraveling and the consequences of his choices were now taking shape before him.

He had given up so much. His cursed energy. His ability to use it—gone for three years. All so that he could unlock the truth of his other life. The truth of his other self.

The name Fushiguro Megumi echoed through his mind, cold and unfeeling, like a ghost he could no longer outrun. It wasn't a name he chose, not one he had earned—it was a legacy that haunted him, an inheritance that bound him to something much larger than himself.

The vow had promised knowledge, knowledge of this other life. Of the man—no, the person—he had been before. The memories were hazy at first, indistinct fragments like a shattered mirror, but with the binding vow came something else: understanding. The moment he recalled the first fragment, the moment he pieced together the truth of his past existence, everything clicked into place.

He had lived before. In another life. A life that wasn't his yet was his all the same.

Megumi's chest tightened as the memories flooded in. The life of Fushiguro Megumi was not just a name—it was an identity with power, with purpose, with knowledge. And with that knowledge came the understanding of how to wield the power he had been born with, the cursed energy he had once been so accustomed to using, now untouchable.

But the binding vow hadn't just given him memories—it had unlocked something far more dangerous.

He remembered the surge of power, the overwhelming wave of cursed energy that coursed through his veins the moment he grasped the full extent of what he had become. It was like a fire that had been smothered for years, suddenly reignited in an instant. His divine dogs had been with him, too, their presence becoming more vivid, more powerful. They responded to the raw energy pulsing through him, just as he had felt their connection in the deepest part of his soul.

The power… it felt both exhilarating and terrifying, like something alive and untamed, just waiting to be unleashed. His body had been a vessel for it, trembling under the weight of so much energy, so much force. The sensation of it had been too much to handle at first, like a storm that was raging just beneath his skin.

And then, when he had finally taken control, when he had learned how to direct that power, he had seen it—felt it—through his divine dogs' eyes. The bond they shared, their instincts to protect and fight, had been heightened, sharper than ever before. They were not just tools to him; they were extensions of his own will, bound to him by more than just cursed energy. They were tied to his purpose.

The roar of power echoed in his mind, the sound of his own voice merging with the barks of his divine dogs as they surged into action at his command. He could feel the rush of cursed energy—the raw potential of it, and the immense responsibility that came with it. But with that power had also come something else: an insatiable hunger.

The feeling of losing himself in that surge of power was terrifying. He had almost lost control, almost given in to the primal instinct that lurked just beneath the surface of his newfound strength. The power was addictive. 

And that—that was the price he had paid for the knowledge, for the understanding. It had come with a warning: Don't lose yourself. The cursed energy, when wielded improperly, could consume him entirely, turning him into something he feared more than anything—something out of control, something monstrous.

As Megumi's head throbbed, the memories and sensations spinning wildly through his mind, he felt an overwhelming urge to push them away. Not now. Not yet. He couldn't afford to lose himself to the weight of it. Not in this moment, not when he was still trying to understand everything. Not when he was still trying to piece together the fractured parts of his own existence.

His breathing became shallow as he slowly closed his eyes, trying to force the memories back down into the corners of his mind. Focus. Focus on the present.

Megumi took a deep breath, slowly inhaling through his nose as he tried to center himself. The memories, the surge of power, the overwhelming sense of who he had been and what he had become—it all clawed at him from the edges of his mind. But he couldn't afford to lose control, not now. Not here.

He exhaled, his breath steadying as he consciously relaxed the tension in his shoulders. His fingers moved to his forehead, wiping away the cold sweat that had gathered there, a silent attempt to reclaim some semblance of calm. The last thing he wanted was for his dad to see him like this—vulnerable, unsteady, as if the weight of his past life was about to crush him.

No. Not for them.

He didn't want to drag his family into this—didn't want them to feel the gravity of what he was dealing with, what he had sacrificed, what had been taken from him. They had enough to worry about already. 

Just as he finished wiping the last of the cold sweat from his brow, the door creaked open.

Speak of the devil.

His dad entered first, his presence steady and calm, like a quiet anchor in the storm. Behind him was the nurse, her professional demeanor bright but softened by the slight concern in her eyes as she looked at Megumi.

Then his dad reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a glass of water, handing it to Megumi. "Here, drink this."

Megumi took the glass without hesitation, appreciating the cool weight of it in his hand. He drank slowly, letting the water settle in his stomach. It was simple, but it felt good. When he finished, he handed the glass back to his dad, who placed it on the nightstand beside him.

"Thanks," Megumi muttered, feeling a little awkward at the gesture.

"No problem," replied his dad.

"How are you feeling?" His dad's voice was gentle, but it carried that protective undertone, the one Megumi had known all his life. The same tone that had always made him feel like, no matter what, his father would always be there to take care of things.

Megumi forced a small smile, nodding to his dad before quickly shifting his attention to the nurse. "Better," he answered, his voice slightly strained but growing more controlled with each passing second. "Just a bit... disoriented." The words didn't come easily. They never did when it came to things like this. But it was the truth, in a sense.

His father nodded, not pushing him for more, though Megumi could see the sharpness in his gaze, the faint edge of worry that never quite disappeared. "Alright, I'll leave you in her hands for a bit. I'm going to grab a quick bite. You've been sleeping for hours, so I think it's about time you woke up fully."

Megumi couldn't help but smile at his dad's attempt to lighten the mood, though it was bittersweet. He wasn't sure how much of this "waking up" was really about him being physically okay. It felt like waking up was more about the things he was trying so desperately to avoid—the memories of his other life, the price of the vow, the curse of his power.

His dad clapped him gently on the shoulder before turning toward the door, the nurse stepping forward as he left.

"I'll check on you again soon," his dad said over his shoulder. "Just relax for now."

Megumi's dad paused by the door, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile. "I'll call your mom and let her know you're awake," he said, his voice steady, though there was a warmth beneath it that made Megumi feel both comforted and uneasy. Comforted because his dad's calm presence had always been a source of reassurance, but uneasy because it reminded him of what he was hiding—what he couldn't let his family know.

His dad's expression softened, as though sensing the subtle shift in Megumi's mood. "She'll want to hear it from me. You know how she is—she's probably been pacing around the house, wondering when you'd wake up."

Megumi managed a small smile at the thought of his mom's worry. He could almost picture her now: fussing over the smallest things, always anxious about his well-being, always protective. He had spent most of his life trying to ease that worry, but this... this was something he couldn't explain to her. Not yet. Not ever if he could help it.

"Thanks, Dad," Megumi murmured, though his voice was tinged with a quiet sadness.

His dad, catching the subtle change in Megumi's tone, gave him a quick, reassuring nod before turning to leave. He said nothing, but Megumi could hear his steady steps as he exited the room.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Megumi let out a slow breath. His dad's departure left the room a little emptier, the quiet settling in around him once again. But even though his father was gone, Megumi couldn't shake the sense of unease gnawing at the back of his mind.

He didn't want to involve his family in this. The curse. The binding vow. The surge of power he had barely been able to control.

He couldn't let them know what he had become—or what he was still becoming.

The nurse turned her attention back to Megumi, her gaze warm but professional. "Now that your dad's gone, let's get you checked out. We just need to make sure everything's in order."

Megumi nodded, still feeling a little distant, but the nurse's calmness helped to ease the edge of his thoughts. She was here to take care of him, not to pry.

The nurse checked the IV first, making sure the fluid was flowing correctly, her fingers skilled and precise. Then she moved to check his vitals, and for a brief moment, the routine nature of the examination allowed Megumi to push the remnants of the past into the background. He focused on the small things—on the nurse's soft, rhythmic motions as she worked, on the steady beeping of the heart monitor, on the gentle hum of the air conditioning in the background.

It was only when she asked him to shift slightly so she could check his back that the reality of his body's condition settled back in. He winced when he moved, the tenderness in his muscles and joints reminding him that the battle wasn't just in his mind—it was also in his physical form. The bruises and aches from the events at the warehouse, the price of the vow, still lingered beneath his skin, signs of the sacrifice he had made.

The nurse glanced at him with a knowing look as he shifted uncomfortably. "You're recovering well," she said, her voice gentle. "Just make sure you take it easy for now. We don't want you pushing yourself too hard."

Megumi didn't respond immediately, his thoughts drifting back to what he had just recalled—the bargain, the lost years, the curse that had twisted his life. His connection to his divine dogs, the overwhelming rush of power, and the price he had paid for it all. The memories were still fresh, still raw. They didn't feel like his own, but at the same time, they were undeniably his.

"Yeah," he muttered after a moment, his voice distant. "I'll be careful."

The nurse gave him a small, approving nod and turned her attention back to her work, checking off a few things on the clipboard. For a while, the room was filled only with the soft sounds of her movements and the rhythmic beeping of the machines. It was a strange peace, but a peace nonetheless.

Megumi closed his eyes for a moment, just letting the moment stretch out, trying to push the overwhelming weight of his past aside for a little longer. He didn't know how long he could keep it at bay, but for now, he was safe. His father was nearby. The nurse was here. And most importantly, the storm in his mind had quieted, if only for a moment.

For now, it would have to be enough.

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After what felt like an eternity, the nurse finally finished her work. She checked everything off her clipboard with a calm efficiency, her movements quiet and practiced. When she was done, she smiled softly at Megumi, her voice kind but professional.

"If you rest properly, you'll recover well," she said, her tone warm with reassurance. "We'll be keeping an eye on you, of course. But I'm sure you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Megumi nodded absently, still feeling the lingering weight of the memories, the knowledge of his other life pressing against him. The nurse gathered her things and, before she left, added, "I'll notify your dad that I'm finished. You're in good hands, okay?"

"Thanks," Megumi muttered, though his attention was already drifting, consumed by thoughts he couldn't push away.

As she closed the door behind her, the quiet settled in again, and Megumi let his eyes drift closed for a moment. His mind wandered, the conflicting memories of his past life and the overwhelming surge of power still making him feel unmoored. His father's calm words were a distant comfort, but they didn't erase the storm that raged inside him.

Not long after, there was a soft knock at the door. It creaked open, and Megumi's eyes fluttered open as his father stepped in first, his presence steady and reassuring. But behind him, Megumi saw the familiar figure of his mother—and everything inside him stilled.

The moment his mother laid eyes on him, her expression shifted in a way Megumi had seen countless times before, but never quite like this. Her eyes, always seemingly so sharp and alert, softened instantly. The color drained from her face, and for a split second, it looked like she might collapse right there in the doorway.

Then, in an instant, she was at his side, her hands reaching out to him, trembling slightly as she wrapped him in a gentle but firm hug.

"Oh, Megumi!" she exclaimed softly, her voice catching with emotion. "You're awake. Thank goodness…"

Megumi's heart tightened as his mother held him, her arms warm and secure around him, pulling him close as if she were afraid he might slip away. Her breath was quick, a subtle sign of her own relief, and Megumi could feel the strength of her emotions, her worry finally lifting just a little as she held him.

He hadn't realized how much he had missed this—the feeling of being held, of being surrounded by her warmth, her presence. In this moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. His mother's embrace grounded him, pulling him back from the chaos of his thoughts, even if just for a little while.

"I'm fine, Mom," Megumi said quietly, though his voice was strained, still raw from the memories that clung to him. He returned her hug, his arms tentative, unsure of how to fully react. The last thing he wanted was to worry her, but he knew she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the lingering trace of something unspoken.

"I know you are," she murmured into his shoulder, her voice breaking slightly. "But seeing you like this… after everything that happened…" Her voice trailed off, and Megumi could feel the tightness in her chest, the weight of her worry, pressing against him.

His father stood quietly by the door, watching the reunion with a soft smile, though Megumi could see the trace of concern in his eyes, too. He hadn't said much when he'd first entered the room, knowing his wife needed this moment with their son. But now, he cleared his throat softly.

"We're just glad you're safe, Megumi," his dad said, his voice steady but filled with that familiar undercurrent of care. 

Megumi's throat tightened at his father's words. He wanted to tell them everything, wanted to explain what had really happened, the vow, the price, the power that was still clawing at the edges of his mind. But he couldn't. 

For now, he just let himself be held by his mother, letting her warmth wash over him. He could feel the pressure of her worry melting away, replaced by the fragile joy of seeing him awake and alive. And that, at least for the moment, was enough.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice quiet and thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to worry you both so much." His words felt hollow, but they were all he could offer, all he could say as the weight of everything pressed down on him.

His mom pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She reached up and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "Don't apologize," she said, her voice soft and full of love. "You don't have to explain anything right now. We're just… so relieved to have you back."

Megumi could feel the lump in his throat grow, threatening to choke him, but he swallowed it down. For now, he allowed himself to simply be in this moment with them. The world outside was still waiting—his memories, his power, his fate—but for just a while longer, he could let it all fade into the background.

His mother's hands were warm on his arms, her presence grounding him, and in that simple, quiet embrace, Megumi felt something he hadn't realized he had missed so much—home.

But then he remembered of other people that was held hostage by the cursed spirit in that warehouse that night. He remembered Hana being injured. His face shifted in worry and he looked at both of his parents.

"Mom, what about Hana and others. Are they all alright?"

Megumi's parents exchanged a quiet, knowing glance, the kind that spoke volumes between them. There was a brief moment of shared relief, the weight of the past few hours settling in, and then they both turned to Megumi with soft, reassuring smiles. It was the look of parents who had weathered storms and come out the other side, grateful for the safety of their child, no matter the cost.

His mom's smile was warm, though her eyes still held traces of worry. She reached out, gently brushing her hand against his arm. "Well, Hana is right beside you," she said, her voice soft with a hint of humor as she moved toward the curtain beside his bed. "I think you'll be happy to know she's just fine."

Megumi blinked, momentarily confused, before his mother pulled the curtain back. His eyes immediately landed on Hana, who was lying in the bed next to his, her small frame curled up under the hospital blankets. An IV was still attached to her arm, but aside from that, she looked perfectly peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep. The faint rise and fall of her chest, the healthy flush to her cheeks, told him everything he needed to know.

She was okay.

Megumi felt a flood of relief wash over him. After everything that had happened, after the violence and chaos, Hana was safe. The guilt that had been gnawing at him—especially after everything that had occurred at the warehouse—eased just a little.

And then, from the other side of the room, came a familiar sound—a soft snore. Hana, even in her sleep, was unmistakably her usual self. Megumi couldn't help but chuckle under his breath, though it was a quiet, weary sound. She was still her stubborn, strong-willed self, even if she was knocked out in a hospital bed.

His father, who had remained quietly by the door, stepped forward now, folding his arms as he looked at both of them with a measured calm. "As for everyone else, most of them were already discharged," he said. "They didn't have any severe injuries. Just some cuts, bruises, and the usual bumps and bruises from something like that." His voice softened, and his eyes met Megumi's. "But overall, everyone's fine. No one's seriously hurt."

Megumi let out a slow breath, the tension in his chest loosening bit by bit. It was the best news he could have asked for. Hana, the others—they were all going to be okay. He still didn't know how, exactly, things had ended up this way. But at least for now, the worst of it was over.

His mother pulled a chair closer to Megumi's bed, sitting down beside him. "You know," she said gently, "we were all worried, but your dad and I knew you'd make it through. You always do." There was a proud, loving warmth in her voice, even if she was still holding back tears.

"Yeah, you've got that resilience," his dad added, his tone more matter-of-fact, though there was a trace of the same pride in his voice. "But you know, next time, try not to make us worry so much, alright?"

Megumi chuckled weakly, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "I'll try," he said quietly, the weight of their concern and care pressing on him more than he had expected. He didn't want to disappoint them—not now, not when they were finally relieved that he was safe.

"Good," his dad said with a satisfied nod. "I think that's the most we can ask for right now."

His mom reached over and gently touched his hand. "Just rest now, alright? You've been through a lot. We'll be here when you wake up." Her voice was soft, full of that familiar maternal warmth, and Megumi felt a sense of peace settle over him.

As much as his mind was still reeling from everything he had just learned, from the memories of his past life and the consequences of his actions, in this moment, surrounded by his family, it was almost like he could forget. Forget for a while, at least.

"Okay," Megumi whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I will."

His mom smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, before standing up to gently pull the blanket up around him, tucking him in as though he were still a child in need of comfort. Then, with a final kiss on his forehead, she stepped back, letting his dad take her place.

"Well, we'll let you rest," his dad said with a soft smile. "But don't think you're getting out of a proper meal when you're up and about. I'm sure you're starving."

Megumi nodded, already feeling himself drift off. He was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally—but for the first time in days, he felt like he could relax, even if just for a while.

His mom and dad exchanged one last look, their smiles soft but full of understanding. Then they turned and quietly exited the room, leaving Megumi in the peace of the moment.

As he lay there, his eyes drifting shut, the sounds of Hana's soft snoring filled the room, and for the first time in a long while, Megumi allowed himself to close his eyes without the weight of the world pressing on his chest. Everything, for now, was alright.

Unfortunately, the calm that had settled over the room was short-lived, shattered by the sound of the door swinging open. Megumi's eyes snapped open, startled from the comfort he had only just begun to embrace. Two police officers entered the room, their footsteps heavy on the hospital floor, accompanied by his parents, who followed them in with more concern written on their faces than Megumi had seen before.

His dad's expression immediately darkened. "Couldn't you just let him rest first? He only woke up just now," he said, his voice firm but edged with frustration. The tension in his posture was palpable, as though he was ready to shield Megumi from whatever was about to unfold.

His mom stood just a step behind him, her body rigid with a quiet intensity. Megumi could see the sharpness in her eyes—the way she instinctively placed herself between him and the officers, protective as always. She didn't need to say anything. The way she held herself was enough to communicate her guarded nature, a silent warning that she wouldn't let anyone take advantage of this fragile moment.

The two officers looked at each other briefly, the one on the left—a tall, broad-shouldered man—wearing a neutral expression, while the other, shorter with a slightly more nervous demeanor, looked genuinely apologetic.

"I'm sorry," the apologetic officer began, glancing at Megumi briefly before looking at his parents. "But we promise it won't take long. We just need a few answers."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Megumi felt a pang of unease twist in his stomach as the officer's gaze briefly met his. He had been expecting something like this—questions, reports, investigations. After everything that happened, it was inevitable. But he hadn't been prepared for it to come so soon, so soon after he'd just woken up.

His father's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Megumi could see the struggle in his eyes. He knew his dad well enough to understand that there was a careful balance his father was trying to maintain. He didn't want to antagonize the police, but he also wanted to protect Megumi from being thrust into the center of whatever mess had followed the events at the warehouse.

"This can wait," his dad insisted, his tone still firm but laced with an edge of weariness. "He's been through a lot already. You can't expect him to answer anything right now, not in the state he's in."

The officer with the apologetic look hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between their obligation and their sympathy. "I understand, sir, and I truly don't want to add to his stress," he said. "But we really just need to ask a few questions. We're trying to piece things together... for everyone's safety, especially his."

Megumi swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts. Safety. That word lingered uneasily in his mind, making him wonder what exactly they were trying to piece together—and what role they thought he had played in whatever had happened at the warehouse. He had seen the chaos firsthand. He knew what had transpired. And he knew, deep down, that this wasn't going to be as simple as they thought.

The taller officer spoke next, his voice firm and no-nonsense. "We understand this is difficult, but we need his cooperation, even if it's brief. We won't take long. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can ensure his safety—and everyone else's."

Megumi's heart beat a little faster as he processed the words. Safety. They were looking for answers, but he wasn't sure how much he could give them without exposing things he wasn't ready to reveal. The cursed spirit, his power, the events that had unfolded in the warehouse—it wasn't something he could explain in a few sentences, let alone something he could make sense of himself.

His mom stepped forward, standing even straighter than before, her eyes cold and sharp. "We will not allow you to press him while he's still recovering," she stated flatly. There was no room for negotiation in her voice. "Whatever questions you have, they can wait."

Megumi could feel the protective wall his parents were building around him, but he also felt the weight of their gaze on him, the pressure for him to answer, to do what was expected. The last thing he wanted was to make things harder for them, but he was torn—how much could he really avoid saying? He had a responsibility to answer, to clarify what had happened, and yet, there was so much he couldn't explain. There was so much that still felt like it didn't belong to him, that he wasn't sure how to articulate.

The apologetic officer nodded, still looking uncertain but visibly relieved that his partner had spoken. "We can give you some time, if necessary. We're not trying to rush things, but we do need to get the facts straight. If you're feeling up to it, we'll be ready when you're ready."

His dad's gaze softened, just a little, and he placed a hand on Megumi's shoulder. "We'll talk about it later," he said, though Megumi could sense the tension still hanging between them, unresolved. His father wasn't backing down, but he wasn't dismissing the officers, either. "Right now, just focus on getting better."

The officer gave a reluctant nod, then stepped back, motioning for his partner to follow. "We'll check in later," the first officer said with a brisk nod before turning toward the door.

His mom exhaled sharply, her shoulders relaxing a fraction once the officers left the room. She glanced back at Megumi, her eyes filled with a blend of concern and quiet relief. "I'm sorry they had to do that," she whispered, her hand brushing his hair back gently. "But we'll handle it, okay? You don't have to say anything unless you're ready."

Megumi nodded, feeling both grateful for their protective instincts and a little frustrated by the situation. His mind was still reeling from the recent memories—the vow, the power, everything that had happened in the warehouse—and now, the police were involved, digging for answers he wasn't sure he could give.

His dad, sensing his unease, placed a comforting hand on the side of his bed. "Don't worry. We've been through worse, Megumi. We'll get through this too."

Megumi lay still, his thoughts whirling as the weight of his own fragmented memories mixed with the growing confusion over what had happened. He knew that the police were likely looking for answers not only for themselves but to make sure everyone involved was accounted for—and to calm the public's nerves. There was a growing sense of unease surrounding the entire situation, and the authorities needed to explain it away, package it up neatly for the public, and assure them that everything was "under control." But what did they really know? And what did they believe had happened?

Megumi's mind drifted back to that night—back to the warehouse, the strange beings, the events he could recall through the fog of exhaustion and the blurry haze of power surging through him. Everyone else had been unconscious by the time the authorities arrived. What did they tell the police? Megumi wondered. What story did the witnesses and victims have to give? If they couldn't remember what happened, how could anyone expect a coherent answer?

"Mom," Megumi asked quietly, though the words felt heavy in his chest, "can you tell me what happened? I don't remember much. Just... flashes."

His mother glanced at his father, a silent conversation passing between them. There was something unreadable in her expression, a flicker of hesitation, but it was quickly replaced by determination. She clearly didn't want to burden him with too much, but there was no way around it. He needed to know, and they both knew it.

After a moment of hesitation, his mother nodded, taking a seat beside his bed again, her hand gently resting on his. "According to the 16 other victims who were questioned, they remember being kidnapped. They were taken to a place they couldn't identify, a place they couldn't remember. And they were brought there against their will."

Megumi absorbed her words slowly, feeling a strange pang in his chest. He could imagine the confusion, the terror those people must have felt, but what did it mean for him? If they couldn't remember anything, how could the police connect any dots?

His father spoke next, his voice even and steady, though Megumi could hear the undercurrent of frustration. "The victims couldn't recall how they were moved, or even why they were taken. They only remembered the sensation of being dragged, carried... forced into a different location. No one can seem to recall what happened before or after that. The injuries they sustained? They don't remember how they got them."

Megumi's stomach twisted at the thought. The people who had been dragged into that nightmare had no memory of the horrors that had occurred. And yet, the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that the authorities wouldn't be able to piece this together easily.

His mother, as though reading his mind, continued, "Some of the victims vaguely remember monsters—things that didn't seem human, creatures of some kind. But the police dismissed it. They said it was either hallucinations caused by stress or that the kidnappers were wearing costumes to hide their identity."

Megumi's heart skipped a beat at the mention of monsters. He had seen the creatures in the warehouse, the beings that seemed to slip in and out of the shadows, almost too fast to track. He could feel a chill running through him as his mother spoke of it.

"They think it was some kind of... elaborate kidnapping ring," his father added, his voice low and cautious. "But even they don't have all the pieces. They're grasping at straws."

"Kidnapping ring?" Megumi repeated, almost too quietly. The idea felt wrong and the term didn't sit right with him.

His father nodded. "Yeah. But they're not sure who's behind it yet. The victims can't recall their captors, and they certainly can't explain the injuries they sustained. They don't even know how they ended up in the warehouse." His father's gaze shifted to Megumi, more serious now. "But from what we've heard from the police, they're focused on trying to close the case quickly. They don't want the public to panic. So they've dismissed the more... supernatural elements of the story."

Megumi could feel a sour taste in his mouth as he absorbed everything. Supernatural elements... that was exactly what they had experienced. The cursed energy, the monstrous entities lurking in the shadows, the unnatural forces at play. But if the police were unwilling to consider that, unwilling to acknowledge the truth of what had happened, then the truth itself would be buried.

His mother squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. "The important thing is that you're safe. Everyone is safe. And we'll make sure the police don't pressure you into anything you're not ready to deal with. We're here for you, Megumi."

Megumi looked at his mother, then at his father, who gave him a reassuring nod. But the gnawing question remained, pressing against the back of his mind: What happens now? What would the police do when they didn't have the full story? How much longer could they keep pretending this was just a random act of kidnapping? And when the truth inevitably came out—if it ever did—what kind of world would it reveal?

He wasn't sure. Megumi's mind churned as his parents spoke, the weight of their words sinking in slowly. Despite the immediate relief of knowing that everyone was safe, there was still a sense of dread settling over him. The police, dismissing the more supernatural aspects of the situation and opting to push the narrative of a kidnapping ring, seemed to be doing so for the sake of control. But as much as Megumi might have felt frustrated by their denial of the truth, he also realized that in a way, it worked to his advantage.

He thought back to the cursed spirits—the grotesque, terrifying beings that had appeared in the warehouse, born from the twisted, dark emotions of humanity. Megumi had seen them up close. He had felt their malevolent presence, the way they twisted and contorted as if feeding on the fear and hatred that permeated the air. Cursed spirits were born from the negative energy that humans emitted: fear, anger, despair, sorrow—all those emotions that festered within people and created life in a way the average person couldn't even fathom.

If the public knew the truth about cursed spirits—that their negative emotions, their fears, and their hatred were capable of creating monsters—they would panic. The world wasn't ready for that kind of truth. Society would be consumed by fear, suspicion, and chaos. People would start to question every emotion they had, every word spoken in anger, every act of hatred or cruelty. Was this what was causing the creatures to appear?

But the more people feared, the more negative energy would spread. And with that fear, more cursed spirits would be born.

Megumi's stomach twisted as he thought of the potential consequences. It wasn't just about protecting the public from knowledge—it was about preventing the cycle from escalating. If people truly understood that their emotions were giving birth to the very things that haunted them, the fear alone would be enough to create an unmanageable surge of cursed spirits. There would be more chaos, more destruction. It would spiral out of control.

The only way to keep the cursed spirits in check, to prevent the public from adding fuel to the fire, was to keep the truth buried. For now, that meant letting the authorities push forward with their narrative, the story they could control. The kidnapping story would keep the public calm, would allow them to feel as though there was a reason for the violence—a reason they could understand and place blame upon.

His father's words suddenly cut through the air, "And apparently, this incident was reported on national television," his voice steady but tinged with a hint of frustration. "So now everyone's eyes are on this case. The attention is unreal. People have already started making conspiracy theories about ghosts, aliens, you name it. The authorities are desperate to cover up the fact that they have no leads whatsoever."

Megumi's stomach dropped as he imagined the storm of misinformation that would flood the media. Conspiracy theories had always thrived in times of crisis, but now that the police were scrambling for answers, the public was bound to come up with even more outlandish explanations. Ghosts and aliens were just the beginning, and before long, those theories would gain a life of their own, diverting attention from the truth and creating chaos that no one could contain.

His mom let out a heavy sigh, clearly weary of the situation. "The police don't even have a proper explanation, Megumi. They've got nothing but speculation. It's only a matter of time before the media and the public start running with their own ideas. And the more people feed into it, the harder it's going to be to keep things under control."

Megumi could feel the weight of the words settle over him. He knew the public's reaction to these kinds of things was never measured or rational. Fear, after all, had its own logic. People would look for the easiest explanation, the most sensational one, and in doing so, they'd amplify the chaos. The media could twist even the smallest details into a story of mass hysteria if it got enough attention.

Megumi felt his stomach twist. He could see the logic in their approach—it was all about keeping the peace, keeping people calm, and preventing things from spiraling out of control. But at the same time, the weight of what they were hiding, what they were denying, gnawed at him. 

Megumi sat quietly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His parents, still discussing the aftermath of the incident, were oblivious to the turmoil in his mind. But as he reflected on everything—on the cursed spirits, the fear, and the damage that might be caused by revealing the truth—he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief.

Maybe this is for the best.

At least the public, his family, and his friends would believe the story about the kidnapping ring, even if it was a fabricated lie. It was far from the truth, but it was enough to keep people calm. If they knew about the real cause of the incident, the cursed spirits—those creatures born from humanity's darkest emotions—everything would change. The world would never be the same again. Society, fragile as it was, would collapse under the weight of that knowledge.

If the general public understood that fear, anger, and despair were the very things that gave birth to these monstrous, malevolent spirits, it would spark mass panic. The kind of terror that spread like wildfire, infecting everyone who even remotely suspected that something was wrong. There would be chaos, with people pointing fingers, questioning everything. Who could be trusted? Who was next? And the worst part was, the more people feared, the more cursed spirits would be born. It would only fuel the fire. Humanity would be trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and destruction.

No, Megumi thought, shaking his head subtly. The truth couldn't come out. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

At least for now, the story of the kidnapping ring kept the chaos at bay. People would go on with their lives, trying to forget what had happened, telling themselves that the danger was over. It was the kind of simple lie that would keep society functioning, keep people's daily routines undisturbed. He hated the fact that it was a lie, but in the grand scheme of things, it was better than the alternative.

He felt his shoulders relax as he settled into that thought. The knowledge of cursed spirits—of the horrors lurking in the shadows, waiting to feed on human emotions—was a burden he'd have to carry for now. But it was one he would bear alone, because no one else could understand it.

He looked over at his parents, still talking quietly, and he realized that, for the moment, they were safe. They didn't have to know the truth. Hana, too—his friends—none of them needed to carry the weight of this knowledge. They could live their lives without the constant fear of cursed spirits lurking around every corner.

As the conversation in the room continued around him, Megumi's thoughts shifted again, this time to something more pressing. He had been reflecting on the bigger picture—how the public would stay calm, how the truth about cursed spirits was being kept hidden. But there was another, far more immediate concern weighing on his mind now: the aftermath of the fear that had been generated by the incident. Fear that, while it was feeding the lie of a kidnapping ring, was also feeding something else entirely.

Cursed spirits.

Megumi's jaw tightened as the realization hit him. The fear of an unapprehended criminal, the fear of a kidnapper still at large—those emotions were dangerous. They were ripe for exploitation. The more the public feared, the more negative energy would swirl in the air, and the more cursed spirits would be born from it. People had no idea that their panic, their confusion, was creating monsters.

He felt a pang of guilt, a twinge of responsibility. He'd seen firsthand what cursed spirits could do, the terror they invoked, the havoc they wreaked. But now, more than ever, it seemed like their numbers were growing. How many people were out there, terrified and vulnerable, unknowingly giving birth to cursed spirits with every fearful thought? How many would suffer, not even understanding why these things were haunting them?

Megumi could feel his chest tighten as he thought about it. If those who could see cursed spirits—those who had the same kind of cursed energy he once possessed—were still around, they were going to be overwhelmed. The more fear, the more energy they gave off, the more spirits would appear. And for those who could see them, but were powerless to stop them, it would be nothing short of hell. Just imagining it made his stomach churn.

He had been spared that particular torment. The loss of his cursed energy, while devastating in its own right, also meant that he couldn't see the cursed spirits that were now surely roaming in the wake of this incident. He couldn't feel the dread of seeing their twisted forms lurking in the corners of his vision, nor could he hear the eerie whispers of spirits drawn to the thick pool of fear in the air. It was a strange comfort, though one that left him feeling uneasy.

He was grateful, but at the same time, he couldn't ignore the cost. His ability to see cursed spirits—his cursed energy—had been stripped away. For all intents and purposes, it made him normal, if only for the time being. But the cost was heavy. He had traded the ability to sense the danger for a peace that felt wrong. He couldn't help but wonder if, in a way, his curse was more of a blessing now.

He shuddered at the thought. The moment the cursed spirits noticed anyone with cursed energy, it was a death sentence. Even those who could not exorcise spirits—who could merely see them—were at risk. If they saw something, the spirits would notice them. And if the spirits noticed them, there was no escape. Megumi knew this all too well. It wasn't just about being able to fight back; it was about surviving. The spirits would come after anyone with the ability to see them. And if they knew you saw them... The image of those grotesque, malevolent creatures—ravenous for energy, for fear—flashed through his mind.

That was why, despite the strange relief of not being able to see them now, there was still a gnawing sense of guilt. He had to apologize. To the people who could still see cursed spirits, to the ones who were likely drowning in this newfound wave of fear. They were the ones left to deal with it. They were the ones left to face the horrors that had been born from this panic. They were the ones who would be hunted.

Megumi closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the realization sinking in deeper. He couldn't do anything to stop the cursed spirits from multiplying in the wake of this chaos. He couldn't fix the damage done. But there was one thing he could do: apologize. Not just to his parents, not just to Hana, but to anyone who might have been affected by the fear—the same fear that had been festering since the incident. The fear that was now breeding more cursed spirits.

And that's when the true gravity of the situation hit him. Every time someone felt fear, dread, anger—any negative emotion—it was feeding the cursed spirits. The more these emotions circulated, the stronger they became. 

Megumi ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling a sense of helplessness. This is his fault. If he hadn't made that vow... The thought of his binding vow, of the cost he'd paid to gain the knowledge of his other life, gnawed at him. Yes, it gave him power, but it also left him powerless in the face of a growing threat. If he hadn't...

He took a deep breath to steady himself. No. It was done. He couldn't change the past. But he could do what he could to prepare for what came next. He had to make sure that the ones who could still see the spirits, the ones who could fight them, weren't left to suffer alone. He owed them that much.

Sorry, Megumi thought quietly to himself. He didn't know who he was apologizing to—whether it was to his friends, to the people who were experiencing the fear he couldn't, or even to the spirits themselves. But in his heart, the apology felt necessary. He had to acknowledge the cost of this peace, the price of hiding the truth, and the burden that everyone—everyone—would now carry as a result.

"Mom, dad. I think I can answer the police questions now," Megumi suddenly said out of the blue.

His voice broke through the stillness of the room, and both of his parents paused, turning to him with expressions of quiet concern. His mom, still hovering near his bedside, looked at him with a mixture of worry and hesitation, while his father's face remained unreadable for a moment. The weight of his words seemed to hang in the air, thick with unspoken implications.

His mom was the first to speak, her brow furrowing. "Megumi, are you sure? You just woke up—don't you want to rest a little longer?"

He shook his head slowly, feeling a sense of resolve firming up inside him. "I'm fine, really. I think it's better if I talk to them now rather than later. The police need answers, and it's better to get it over with."

His father sighed softly, glancing at his wife, before nodding in agreement. "If you're sure," he said quietly, though his tone suggested he still had reservations. "We don't want you pushing yourself too hard."

"I'm sure," Megumi replied firmly. He knew there was no avoiding it. The police were waiting for answers, and if he didn't give them something, they'd keep poking around, questioning everything. Besides, he couldn't afford to keep hiding behind his silence. There were too many moving pieces in this puzzle, too many dangers that he had to keep in check. The authorities might not understand the full picture, but he needed to make sure they didn't connect any dots that would lead to something bigger—something more dangerous.

His mom seemed to weigh his words for a moment, her gaze softening with an understanding he hadn't expected. "Alright then. But we'll be right here, okay? If you need us."

Megumi gave a small nod, and his dad quickly stepped out of the room, likely to inform the police of his decision. His mother stayed by his side, her presence comforting, though he knew there was no easy way to talk to the authorities about what had happened. He would need to play his part in the charade—carefully, with every word chosen so it wouldn't give too much away.

The minutes felt like hours as he waited for his father to return with the officers. His mind raced, replaying the scene at the warehouse in flashes, the chaos, the destruction, the strange, monstrous creatures. He had to remain calm—had to keep his thoughts in check. The last thing he needed was to let something slip, something that would expose the truth to the wrong people.

Finally, his father returned with the two officers in tow, both of them looking more tense than before. The one who had been apologetic earlier offered a quick nod toward Megumi, while the other, the more stoic of the two, took a few measured steps forward.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Megumi-kun," the officer said in a neutral tone, his gaze briefly flicking to the hospital bed before settling back on Megumi's face. "We understand you've been through quite a lot."

Megumi nodded, forcing a steady breath. He couldn't let his emotions show. The last thing he needed was to crack under pressure.

"We just need a few details about what happened," the second officer added, his voice clipped, but not unkind. "Whatever you can remember, anything that can help us understand the situation better."

Megumi stared at the officers, silently evaluating them. They're just doing their job, he reminded himself. Don't make it worse than it is. He took a deep breath and began speaking, choosing his words carefully.

"I remember waking up in a strange place. It was dark, cold. I think we were all taken there by force, but I don't know how. My memory's a little blurry, but I remember... strange things. A lot of fear. The others—there were other people—some of them had been injured. They were terrified."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment, his thoughts darting between the story he was telling and the truth he couldn't expose. The first officer nodded, taking notes. "Strange things? What kind of things? Could you elaborate?"

Megumi's mind raced, but he managed to keep his expression neutral. "Monsters. Creatures. I... I don't know exactly what they were. But they were... terrifying. They attacked us. They were the reason people were injured. They were powerful. But, like I said, I don't remember much. I didn't see much beyond the chaos."

The second officer exchanged a glance with his partner, clearly skeptical, but not dismissing Megumi's account entirely. "You didn't see much, but you remember creatures? Are you sure it wasn't just a hallucination from the trauma?" he asked, his tone still professional, though it lacked the empathy of his partner.

Megumi kept his gaze steady. "I don't know what it was. But I know what I saw." He paused, willing himself to stay calm. "The people who were with me—they saw them too. I'm sure of it."

The first officer scribbled something in his notepad. "Can you tell us about the others? Anyone who might know more? Or give us more details about the place you were kept?"

Megumi's eyes flicked over to his parents, still watching from the corner, their worry clear but contained. They were trusting him to get through this. He couldn't let them down.

"The others... they were all scared, too. Others—well, they've been through a lot. I'm not sure how helpful they'll be." Megumi paused, choosing his next words with care. "But we were all in the same place. And I know they'll remember... some of the details."

The officers exchanged another glance, then nodded. "We'll be in contact with them. Thank you, Megumi. If you remember anything else, anything at all, don't hesitate to let us know."

Megumi nodded in return, keeping his expression even. "I will."

The officers took a few more notes, then excused themselves, leaving the room in a quiet rush of movement. His father lingered for a moment, offering a short nod of approval, but his face was still etched with concern.

The door closed softly behind the officers, and the room fell into a heavy silence. Megumi's parents remained in the corner, their gazes fixed on him, but neither of them spoke. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, but he refused to meet their gaze. Instead, he let his eyes fall to his hands, which were resting on the blanket in front of him, the slight tremble in his fingers betraying his exhaustion.

The adrenaline had faded. He felt hollow, drained—not just physically, but emotionally. He had done what was necessary, but it felt like too much. It was only a matter of time before the authorities pieced together more of the puzzle, and when that happened, there would be more questions. More scrutiny. More danger. For a moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: Maybe it would be better if they knew. Maybe the truth would be easier to live with than this lie.

But no. He couldn't afford that. Not now. He glanced toward the window, where the pale light of the afternoon filtered in. The day seemed so peaceful, so normal. But inside, everything was different. Everything had changed, and there was no going back.

His father finally broke the silence. "You did well," he said, his voice low but steady. 

Megumi didn't answer immediately. He just nodded slightly. He did well? He wasn't so sure. He'd barely scratched the surface of the truth. He'd told them what they wanted to hear, not what had actually happened. He had offered up just enough to keep the story intact, but he knew deep down that the real truth, the one about cursed spirits, the power they held, was still out there. And it was something the world was not ready to hear.

His mom finally stepped forward, her expression softening as she took a seat on the edge of his bed. She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "Megumi," she said gently, her voice full of warmth and concern. "You're still so young... I know this has been difficult for you, but you're strong. You'll get through this. All of this."

Her words were meant to comfort, but they didn't reach him in the way she hoped. Megumi felt like an imposter. He didn't feel strong. He felt small and fragile, like the world around him was collapsing and he couldn't do anything to stop it. The weight of the truth, the weight of his knowledge, the weight of everything he had lost, all of it was pressing down on him.

"I'm not so sure about that," he muttered, more to himself than to his parents. His voice was rough, heavy with something he couldn't quite explain.

His father looked at him, his expression unreadable, before giving a short sigh. "I know you're going through a lot right now. But you don't have to carry all of it by yourself. We're here for you, Megumi."

Megumi stayed silent as his mother continued to speak, her words filled with warmth and encouragement, but they felt distant, as if they were coming from somewhere far away. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts he couldn't shake—thoughts about the vow he had made, the cursed spirits, and the terrifying surge of power that had almost consumed him. His mother's voice, though comforting, couldn't reach him in the place where his mind had taken him.

She spoke with a calm, steady tone, urging him to take things slow, to lean on his family and not try to carry everything on his own. But each word felt more like an echo, like a soft murmur in a storm. His body was here, but his mind was still back at the warehouse, still haunted by what he had seen and what he had become.

His father, noticing the shift in the atmosphere, gave a subtle glance at Megumi, then at his wife. After a brief pause, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Honey," he said softly, his voice carrying an understanding that his wife seemed to miss, "let's go now and let Megumi have some rest. He's been through a lot, and I think he needs some time to process things on his own."

Megumi's father wasn't one to push too hard. He understood that sometimes silence was the best response, and that right now, his son needed space. His mother hesitated, her gaze flicking between Megumi and her husband. She seemed to want to say more, to offer more words of reassurance, but in the end, she nodded, a small sigh escaping her lips.

"Alright," she said softly, though her eyes lingered on Megumi a moment longer, as if unwilling to leave him in his silence. She stood up from the edge of his bed and leaned down, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead.

"We're right outside, okay?" she said, her voice soft. "Don't hesitate to call if you need us."

Megumi nodded without looking at her, and after a final, lingering glance, his mother and father quietly left the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

The moment they were gone, the stillness in the room deepened. The quiet seemed to close in around him, and Megumi felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. His eyelids grew heavy, but his mind was far from rest. Thoughts and memories continued to spin, reminding him of the harsh reality he was now trapped in. The curse, the vow, his life as Fushiguro Megumi—all of it had created an unshakable knot in his chest that no amount of sleep could untangle.

Despite the fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him, he didn't let himself drift off. Instead, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence settle over him. The room was calm, but his thoughts were anything but. In the back of his mind, he could hear the echo of his own words—the promise he'd made to his parents. I'll protect you.

But how?

He clenched his fists, the blankets crumpling beneath his fingers. He could feel the absence of his cursed energy like a cold, empty space inside him. Without it, he was nothing. Even if he had the will, he didn't have the power. And as much as he wanted to tell himself that it would be okay, that he would find a way to fight back against whatever threat lay ahead, he couldn't ignore the truth.

He was powerless.

The thought clung to him like a shadow, but no matter how many times he tried to push it away, it lingered, refusing to be forgotten. Megumi knew the kind of world he was living in—the world of cursed spirits, of endless battles, of people who risked their lives every day just to keep the darkness at bay. And now, he was one of them, but he couldn't help anyone. Not without his cursed energy.

Maybe he really is alone in this.

His thoughts swirled in an endless loop, and before long, his exhaustion finally caught up with him. His body succumbed to it, and his eyes slowly fluttered shut. But even in sleep, his mind refused to quiet.

The moment he closed his eyes, a familiar image flashed in his mind—the image of the divine dogs. The two loyal beings who had once fought alongside him, who had been bound to him by his cursed energy. They were powerful, fierce, and unwavering. But now… they were just memories, echoes of a life that seemed so far away.

The ache in his chest deepened, and he shifted uncomfortably, his dreams mixing with fragments of his other life, blending together until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. The world of cursed spirits, of death and destruction, loomed large in his mind, suffocating him even in his sleep.

But just as he was about to lose himself in the weight of it all, a soft voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

Megumi

Megumi's heart pounded in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears as he tried to make sense of the sudden jolt from his sleep. His eyes darted around the room, disoriented for a moment before landing on Hana, who was sitting up on the bed beside his, staring at him with wide, apologetic eyes. Her gaze was soft, almost worried, and the realization that she had been watching him brought a strange sense of discomfort.

He took a deep breath, still trying to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. The room was quiet except for the faint beeping of the machines and the soft rustling of sheets. 

"I'm sorry, did I surprise you?" Hana's voice was quiet, laced with a touch of embarrassment. She seemed genuinely remorseful, but Megumi couldn't help the dry response that slipped out.

"Yes, you did," he deadpanned, his tone flat, though a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.

Hana's face flushed slightly, her hand fidgeting with the edge of her blanket as she looked away, trying to mask her own embarrassment. "I didn't mean to. I was just… worried, I guess." She hesitated, glancing at him before adding, "You've been out for a while, and I was starting to wonder if you were... okay."

Megumi blinked at her, caught off guard by her concern. Worried about him? Megumi couldn't help the dry chuckle that almost escaped him, but he quickly swallowed it. Well, his dad said that he was out for a few days, he thought, trying to push the odd feeling aside. And Hana woke up earlier than him, so he guessed that it's normal for her to be worried.

Even though his thoughts told him it was a natural response, Megumi still felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest. It was strange, though, the way Hana's concern felt so... unearned, or at least that's how it seemed to him. She'd been through just as much as he had, and maybe more, given her injuries. But there she was, sitting by his bedside, checking on him as if he wasn't the one who had been unconscious for days, as if he wasn't the one who had almost died at the hands of cursed spirits.

Megumi shifted uncomfortably under the blanket, his gaze drifting to the window where the moonlight was creeping through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room. The quiet of the night settled around him, but it only served to amplify the chaos in his mind. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but it did feel nice—strangely nice—to be cared for. To have someone worry about him. It was a feeling he wasn't exactly accustomed to, especially after all the years of pushing people away, convincing himself that he didn't need anyone's concern.

Hana's gentle voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him out of his spiral. "I didn't mean to startle you," she said, her words laced with a nervousness that softened the edges of her apology. "I was just... watching over you. I know you've been through a lot, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Megumi blinked, realizing she was still waiting for a response. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. Here was Hana, someone who had also been dragged into this nightmare, and yet she was concerned about him. Worried about me? The thought made something tighten in his chest. A part of him felt undeserving of her kindness, as if he didn't have the right to receive it. But another part of him—perhaps the part he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge—found comfort in her presence. Even if it was uncomfortable. Even if he didn't want to admit it.

He exhaled slowly and finally let out a small sigh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. "It's... fine," he muttered, his voice quieter than he intended. "I wasn't expecting to wake up to someone sitting next to me, that's all."

Hana gave a sheepish smile, her eyes softening. "I wasn't trying to creep you out, I swear. I just... didn't want you to wake up alone."

Megumi glanced at her, a faint spark of curiosity in his eyes. "You sure you're alright?"

Hana's smile faltered for a brief second, but she quickly masked it with a shrug. "I'm fine. Just a little sore. Nothing too bad." She paused, her expression turning a little more serious. "But you... you're the one who had it worse. You've been out for days."

He glanced down at his hands, almost absentmindedly. You really don't have to worry about me, he wanted to say, but the words caught in his throat. I'm not even sure I'm okay anymore. "You really don't have to worry about me," he said, the words feeling distant even as he said them. 

But Hana didn't seem deterred. "I know you don't like to admit it, but... you're allowed to be vulnerable, Megumi." She said his name quietly, but with so much sincerity that it felt like a weight settling heavily on his chest.

Megumi stiffened slightly, his gaze flickering to the IV in her arm. "And you think you're fine?"

Her expression softened, and for a moment, the playful teasing faded. "You're right," she said quietly. "I'm not completely fine. But that doesn't mean I can't care about you."

Her words caught him off guard. There was no judgment, no pity—just honesty. It was the kind of response that felt too real, too raw for him to process at the moment. Megumi shifted uncomfortably, but this time, he didn't shut her down.

"Why?" he muttered, his voice barely audible, as though asking the question was the hardest thing he'd done in a long time. "Why do you care so much?"

Hana seemed to think about that for a moment, her eyes scanning him before looking away, staring at the IV drip like it held the answers. "Because you've been there for me. You didn't have to, but you did. You've always had my back when I needed it. Even when I didn't ask for it. And... I guess I just want to do the same for you."

The simplicity of her words made something twist in his chest. 

He shook his head, trying to push the feelings away. "I'm fine," he muttered again, though the words didn't feel as convincing as he would have liked.

Hana didn't seem convinced, though. She studied him for a moment, her eyes soft and understanding, as if she could see right through the facade he was desperately trying to put up. "You know," she began quietly, "you don't have to act tough all the time. You're allowed to be... not okay. It's okay to feel that way."

Megumi stiffened, the words hitting a little too close to the truth. He didn't want to admit it, didn't want to let anyone see the cracks he was desperately trying to hide. But something about Hana's gentle insistence made him pause. It was hard to ignore the sincerity in her voice, the care she was showing despite everything that had happened.

"I'm fine," he repeated, this time more firmly, but it didn't feel like a promise. More like a hollow statement he said just to get through the conversation. He didn't want to explain himself to Hana, or anyone. He didn't have the energy for it.

Hana seemed to notice his discomfort and smiled faintly, though there was still a shadow of concern behind her eyes. "I know you are. But you don't have to pretend around me, you know."

There was a long silence between them, and for a moment, Megumi felt like he was in a different world—a world where things weren't so complicated. Where he didn't have to carry the weight of secrets, where he didn't feel so alone in the midst of it all. But that world didn't exist.

He glanced at her again, his expression softening just a little. "I'll be fine. Just need some rest."

Hana nodded, her eyes still fixed on him, but she didn't push further. She understood that sometimes, silence was all someone needed. "Okay. But if you need anything, I'm here." Her voice was quiet, but it was steady, like a promise that Megumi wasn't sure he deserved.

For a moment, he just stared at her, unsure of what to say. But eventually, he gave her a small nod, more out of habit than genuine reassurance.

Then, after a moment of quiet silence, Megumi leaned back into his bed, trying to close his eyes and let sleep take over. But it eluded him, just like it had every time he tried to rest since waking up. The restless thoughts kept swirling, too much on his mind, too many things he still couldn't make sense of.

"You also can't sleep?" Hana's voice broke through the stillness, teasing but gentle, almost as if she'd been waiting for the right moment to break the silence.

He grunted in response, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Well, yeah. I slept for a few days, then I slept through the whole afternoon." He shrugged, almost as if trying to brush it off, but the weariness in his voice betrayed him.

Hana let out a soft laugh, her voice carrying a hint of lightness that made him feel less alone in the moment. The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting her face in a warm, pale light, making her look almost ethereal.

Megumi couldn't help but glance at her, his eyes lingering for a brief moment on the way the moonlight highlighted her features. For someone who had been through so much, she still carried an undeniable warmth in her presence. It was almost calming, like a quiet lullaby in the middle of a storm.

Hana noticed his gaze and smirked slightly, as if sensing he was caught in the soft pull of the moment. "You know, you're not the only one who's been in and out of sleep. I might've dozed off a little too much myself," she teased, but there was a weariness in her tone too, a subtle sign of how much the ordeal had worn on her as well.

Megumi didn't respond right away, the quiet stretching between them like a comfortable blanket. Then, unable to help himself, he huffed in amusement. "Could that be the real reason you woke me up? You don't want to be awake alone tonight?"

Hana froze for a second, her eyes widening, and then a soft flush crept up her neck. The more she tried to hide it, the deeper it seemed to get, her cheeks now a soft pink hue. The moonlight seemed to amplify the color, making it impossible for her to escape the moment. For Megumi, it was as clear as day—a rare, unguarded reaction that was as much as a verbal confession.

An unexpected surge of mischief stirred in him. Seeing a chance to poke fun at her, he couldn't resist. "Oh, could it be that you're scared of ghosts? Hmm?"

Hana blinked, her eyes widening in a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief, and the color on her face deepened. "What? No! I'm not scared of—" she stammered, her voice faltering as she scrambled to deny it. But the way she fumbled over her words only made it worse.

Megumi leaned back in his bed, the smirk spreading across his face, enjoying the rare sight of Hana flustered. "Uh-huh. Sure you're not. Looks like I hit a nerve there," he teased, raising an eyebrow at her.

Hana, clearly flustered, crossed her arms over her chest in a half-hearted attempt at defending herself. "I-I'm not scared of ghosts, okay? I just… I just didn't want to leave you alone after everything."

Megumi couldn't help but laugh lightly at her awkwardness. It was a nice change, honestly, seeing her get all worked up for once. The role reversal was oddly satisfying.

"Sure, sure," he said, his voice light. "You don't need to make excuses. I get it. The darkness is terrifying when you've got no one to talk to, right?" He raised an eyebrow again, his tone a bit more playful than usual.

Hana rolled her eyes, but the redness on her face didn't disappear. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Megumi shrugged nonchalantly, the teasing tone in his voice softening a little as he looked at her. "Hey, I'm just pointing out the obvious." He gave her a small smile, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before turning toward the window again. The quiet, peaceful night still hung in the air, but something about it felt lighter now.

It was odd. Just a moment ago, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, but Hana's teasing, her flushed face, and the soft laughter that had followed had eased some of that pressure. Maybe there was something to be said about allowing a little bit of lightness to creep into the cracks.

Hana sighed but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips, despite her earlier embarrassment. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're lucky I'm still letting you off the hook."

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it was different. It wasn't heavy with silence or discomfort. It was more like an unspoken understanding between the two of them, both of them knowing sleep wasn't coming anytime soon.

After a few moments, Megumi broke the stillness, his voice low but still playful. "You know, if you're gonna stay up all night, we might as well do something, right?"

Hana glanced at him, her eyes still holding the faintest hint of the earlier embarrassment, but her expression softened when she realized he was serious. "Like what? You want me to sing you a lullaby?" she teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but it was light-hearted, not defensive.

Megumi smirked. "You can't even sing, can you?"

Hana narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, you're asking for it now. Just wait until I'm fully recovered," she said with a playful threat. Then she shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but the bed, like the room itself, wasn't exactly made for restful sleep. The awkwardness of their situation started creeping back in, and she bit her lip before looking at Megumi again. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure we're not going to fall asleep anytime soon."

Megumi glanced at her, then back at the ceiling. "Yeah, doesn't look like it."

And so began an impromptu night of silliness, a strange but welcome distraction from everything else. At first, it was little things—a playful shove here, a mock glare there. Then they started pushing each other to sit up straighter, trying to outlast the other in silence, which quickly devolved into low giggles and half-formed words.

"I bet you can't do this," Hana said suddenly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Without waiting for a response, she attempted to balance the edge of her bed, holding herself up on one arm like a plank.

Megumi raised an eyebrow, amused. "Please. I could do that in my sleep." Without a second thought, he lifted his body, trying to copy her, but he faltered almost immediately, collapsing back against the bed.

Hana's laughter rang out, and for a moment, Megumi couldn't help but join in. It was ridiculous, both of them lying there, trying to outdo each other in the most pointless, absurd ways, but it was the first time in days he didn't feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

They continued like this, bouncing off each other's energy, exchanging half-serious challenges like who could make the funniest face or hold a completely silent stare for the longest (which, as expected, Megumi won). Eventually, they started getting creative, pretending to have elaborate "training sessions" for balance, trying to keep a pillow perfectly centered between their foreheads without letting it fall. The room was filled with bursts of laughter, the kind that didn't need any reason to happen—it was simply the result of shared absurdity.

Somewhere along the way, they had stopped being careful with their movements. They were no longer just two people trying to distract themselves from their restless minds. They had slipped into something else—something more like a normal, silly night between friends, free of the weight of everything they had gone through. It was temporary, fleeting, but for those hours, it felt like nothing else mattered.

Megumi couldn't help but feel a strange warmth settle in his chest as he looked at Hana, whose face was flushed with laughter, eyes sparkling with a lightness he hadn't seen before. He wasn't used to this kind of closeness. He wasn't used to letting anyone in. But it was easy to forget the weight of everything else when Hana's voice was the soundtrack to the night.

As they laid back in their beds again, the exhaustion of their playful antics finally starting to creep in, they both sighed at the same time.

"You're not getting any sleep, are you?" Hana asked, her voice still teasing but with a hint of tiredness.

Megumi exhaled, blinking slowly as he stared up at the ceiling. "Doesn't look like it."

Hana turned her head slightly, eyes soft as she glanced at him. "It's okay. We'll sleep later. It's just... nice to have someone to talk to."

Megumi, caught off guard by the simplicity of her words, felt his chest tighten. "Yeah... it is."

The minutes ticked by, and they fell into a comfortable quiet again, neither of them expecting sleep but finding a strange kind of peace in just being there together. Their laughter eventually faded, the room finally becoming quiet enough for them to listen to the hum of the world outside, but they didn't need to fill the space with anything more. In that moment, it didn't matter that the night had slipped away, inching closer to sunrise. What mattered was that they were both still here, together—alive, even if everything else felt uncertain.

Just as the two of them were sinking back into a more comfortable silence, the door creaked open, and a nurse stepped into the room. Her eyes immediately darted from one bed to the other, narrowing when she saw the two of them clearly not lying still.

Hana was sitting up, her legs crossed underneath her, and Megumi was half-reclined, leaning against his pillow but clearly not settled. They both froze when they noticed her.

The nurse's voice, stern but not unkind, broke through the stillness. "You two really are something else," she said, shaking her head with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "I told you both to rest, not turn this room into a playground."

Megumi raised an eyebrow, "We weren't exactly doing cartwheels, you know…"

The nurse shot him a look that could've frozen water. "No. But you're still injured. Both of you," she said, her tone softer now, but still serious. She turned her attention to Hana. "And especially you, missy. What did I say about taking it easy on that leg?"

Hana blinked, then grimaced. "I was just trying to stretch it a bit..."

"Stretching? You're not a gymnast, Hana," the nurse replied, giving her a look that clearly said she wasn't buying it. "You're both lucky you're not pushing your injuries too far. Any more movement like that, and you'll be back in the ER for something worse."

Megumi's grin faded slightly, his posture shifting just a little. He hadn't realized how much they had been moving around until the nurse pointed it out. "Guess we got carried away," he muttered, though he didn't look too remorseful.

Hana, who'd been about to protest, glanced over at Megumi. He could see the reluctance in her eyes as she shifted back into her bed, though she still gave the nurse a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I guess we... got a little too excited." Her voice was softer now, though it still carried that hint of mischief.

The nurse sighed, clearly more amused than frustrated. "I get it, you both have a lot of energy to burn off, but please, rest for now. You're not invincible, you know."

She gave one last pointed look at the two of them before turning toward the door. "I'll let you off easy this time, but if I hear one more giggle or see anyone trying to do a handstand, I'll have to call the doctor in for a serious lecture," she warned, her voice playful but still carrying the weight of authority.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the two of them exchanged a glance, both holding back the laughter that was now bubbling up at how absurd the situation had become. Megumi couldn't hold it in any longer and snickered. "Guess we've been caught."

Hana, still trying to suppress her laughter, shot him a playful glare. "You didn't have to join in. I could've handled her by myself."

Megumi raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I wasn't the one trying to pull off some ridiculous stunt. But I guess I'll leave the gymnastic training to you from now on."

Hana rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was undeniable. "You're lucky I'm still letting you off the hook," she teased, settling back into her bed.

Despite the nurse's scolding, the energy in the room had shifted back into something lighter. Megumi leaned back again, feeling a little bit of tension ease away, though he knew they should probably try to get some rest now. But as the sun finally started creeping through the blinds, he realized that despite the frustration, a strange sense of peace had settled over him—just being here, in this odd, makeshift sanctuary of the hospital room, with Hana by his side, laughing and teasing as though everything would be okay.