The Vessel Second Chance

Another chapter surprise! Just wrapped up the latest one and thought, 'Why stop here?' So, I decided to drop another one for you. Enjoy!

And thank you, Luos and Shinsui, for your thoughtful reviews! For everyone else, please share your thoughts—don't be shy! This is my first time writing, and I won't know if I've made mistakes unless you point them out. I truly appreciate your feedback as I strive to improve.

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It was in the early morning when the warm sunlight first landed on his face, stinging his eyes and slowly pulling him from his deep sleep. The soft rays filtered through the window, a gentle but persistent reminder that the world was awake, whether he was ready for it or not. He squinted his eyes, his brow furrowing as he tried to turn his face away from the blinding light. But it was no use—the sun had already claimed its place in the room.

Before he could retreat back into the warmth of slumber, the door creaked open, and a nurse entered, her presence breaking the quiet. She carried a tray of breakfast, setting it down on the table with a soft clink. The scent of warm food filled the room, but that didn't stop her from fixing them both with a knowing look.

"So, you didn't sleep last night, did you?" she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. It wasn't a question; it was a statement, one that didn't need to be asked. Her eyes swept over the two of them, noticing the half-hearted attempts to wake up—his yawns, Hana's sheepish expression.

He yawned again in response, stretching his arms out in a way that suggested he was trying to push the weight of exhaustion away. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, met hers with a perfectly deadpan expression, his face betraying none of the weariness that clung to him. It was a practiced look, one he'd perfected over the years to mask the lingering fatigue that often followed sleepless nights.

Hana, on the other hand, was a bit more obvious in her discomfort. She rubbed the back of her head, her smile sheepish as she avoided the nurse's gaze. She clearly hadn't fared much better than he had during the night, but unlike him, she wasn't as good at hiding it.

"I told you both you needed rest," the nurse muttered, but there was no real anger in her voice, just a tired understanding that came with dealing with patients who often fought sleep in favor of other distractions—like keeping each other company in the quiet hours of the night. She set the breakfast tray down between them, the soft clatter of plates and bowls filling the room with a sense of normalcy.

"Breakfast," she said, "Eat it before it gets cold. And no more staying up all night, alright?"

Megumi glanced at the food, then back at the nurse, and gave her a half-hearted nod. He wasn't going to argue. Not with her, and not with Hana, who was already eagerly digging into her portion of breakfast, though still glancing sideways at him every few seconds.

"Oh, and," the nurse added, glancing down at the chart in her hands before meeting Megumi's gaze, "when your parents left last night, they mentioned they'll be coming by again this afternoon."

At first, Megumi's mind was still foggy from just waking up, the words not fully sinking in. But as he processed the nurse's statement, a small realization began to dawn on him. Slowly, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a quiet warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before.

"Alright," Megumi replied, his tone as steady and composed as always, though there was a slight shift—an unspoken sense of relief in his voice. "I'll be waiting for that."

The nurse smiled at Megumi before quietly exiting the room, leaving him alone with his breakfast. Megumi glanced at the tray in front of him. The food, as usual, was bland and unappealing, but he picked up his fork and took a bite anyway. He chewed slowly, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the soft light of morning filtered through.

Across from him, Hana sat at her own tray, already busy eating. Every so often, she glanced up at him, her voice breaking the silence.

"You know," Hana said with a grin, "I swear they make this stuff tastier just to make us appreciate real food more. It's like... a test of patience."

Megumi didn't look up immediately but gave a small, dry chuckle. "It's definitely testing something," he muttered, pushing his food around on the plate.

Hana raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying teasing him. "You don't like it, do you?" she asked, glancing at his untouched food.

Megumi shrugged lightly, his usual deadpan expression not betraying any real emotion. "Not really. I've had worse."

Hana smirked. "Ah, the Megumi standard. I'd expect nothing less." She took another bite of her breakfast and then added, "At least the tea's not bad, right? I mean, it's no gourmet brew, but it's drinkable."

"Yeah, if you like liquid cardboard," Megumi replied, lifting the cup to take a sip. He winced slightly as he swallowed, but didn't comment further.

Hana laughed, clearly amused. "You're too picky. But hey, I can't blame you. I've had better tea from a vending machine."

The conversation drifted for a while as they both continued eating in silence, with only the occasional hum of the machines and the soft chatter of nurses in the hallway filling the background. Megumi's thoughts wandered, but Hana kept talking, her voice a steady presence.

"By the way," she said suddenly, breaking the silence again, "they told me your parents are coming back this afternoon. I bet you're looking forward to that."

Megumi paused, his fork hovering over his plate for a moment as her words registered. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't let it fully show.

"I guess," he said quietly, keeping his tone neutral. "It'll be nice to see them."

Hana grinned, clearly picking up on the small shift in his expression. "You know, for someone who acts like he doesn't care, you sure talk like you do," she teased, nudging him playfully.

Megumi didn't respond right away. He simply finished the last bite of his food, then wiped his mouth with a napkin before setting it down.

"Thanks for keeping me company," he said, his voice calm but carrying a hint of sincerity.

Hana's smile softened. "Of course. You'd be bored without me," she said with a wink, before adding, "Besides, I know you like the company, even if you won't admit it."

Before Megumi could respond, Hana stood up and moved toward the door. She knocked lightly and called out to the hallway, informing the nurse they were done. A moment later, a different nurse entered the room, smiling as she collected their empty plates.

"Thank you," Hana said cheerfully, stepping aside as the nurse worked.

Megumi gave a slight nod, offering no more than a quiet acknowledgment as his gaze drifted back toward the window. The sunlight filtering through the blinds felt warm, but it didn't quite erase the heaviness that had settled in his body. Just as he settled into the silence, Hana let out a big yawn, stretching her arms above her head.

Megumi couldn't help but stifle a yawn of his own. It was one of those things—infectious, like a chain reaction.

"I'm feeling really sleepy," he muttered, blinking slowly. "I'm going to sleep until my parents arrive."

Hana, still stretching, nodded in agreement. "I'm also feeling really sleepy," she added with a half-smile, her voice betraying a hint of tiredness.

Megumi gave a small smile but didn't say anything more. He adjusted the blanket around him, pulling it up to his chin. The rhythmic beeping of the machines and the soft hum of the hospital seemed to lull him into a calm, almost dreamlike state.

"Alright, good night then," Hana said cheerfully, her voice bright and unaffected by the early hour.

Megumi didn't need to see her face to imagine the grin she was probably sporting. He could almost hear it in the way her voice carried that trademark optimism, as if it was perfectly natural to greet the morning as though it were a new adventure.

He closed his eyes, sinking into the warmth of the bed. "It's morning now," he murmured, his tone drifting as he let sleep overtake him.

"Yeah, morning," Hana echoed softly, though Megumi could hear the smile still lingering in her voice. She, too, settled back into her chair, the sounds of the hospital and the occasional shuffle of footsteps outside the room soon fading into the background as both of them drifted into a peaceful, if short, rest.

.

.

"Kid, wake up," a deep voice rumbled softly above his head, breaking through the fog of his slumber. Megumi felt the sensation of a rough, calloused hand gently shaking his body, coaxing him out of his dreams. Even in his groggy state, Megumi's instincts kicked in—he was an ever-light sleeper, so it didn't take long for him to stir.

At first, his vision was blurry, the shapes and colors of the room blending together in an unrecognizable haze. He blinked a few times, forcing his eyes to focus. Gradually, the details sharpened, and through the haze, he saw them—his parents.

His father loomed over him, a massive figure with a commanding presence. His broad shoulders and muscular frame made him seem almost larger than life, but it was the vertical scar on the corner of his right lip that gave him an edge of toughness, a reminder of his past. Megumi had always admired the scar in a way—a silent mark of resilience and experience. His father's eyes, deep and steady, met his with a mixture of warmth and that quiet authority he had come to expect from him.

Next to him stood his mother. She was smaller than his father, but there was an unmistakable strength in her gentle demeanor. Her features were softer, and it was from her that Megumi had inherited most of his looks—dark blue eyes, a similar set of features, and the same high cheekbones. Looking at her now, Megumi could see the familiar warmth in her expression, the way her eyes crinkled with a smile that was both tender and relieved.

For a moment, Megumi just stared at them, still half-lost in the fog of sleep, but gradually, the pieces clicked into place. His parents were here. The realization brought a faint sense of comfort, a warmth that spread through his chest despite the grogginess that lingered.

"Mom... Dad," Megumi mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, but there was a subtle sense of reassurance in his tone.

His father's deep voice rumbled again, though this time with an edge of amusement. "Took you long enough to wake up, kid. You sure you're not still dreaming?"

Megumi blinked a few more times, his vision finally clearing. "Not dreaming," he replied, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "Guess I just needed a little more sleep."

His mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "You've always been the one to sleep the longest, even as a kid." Her voice was gentle, filled with the warmth of familiarity.

Megumi sat up slowly, the blanket falling away from his shoulders as he tried to shake off the last remnants of sleep. His eyes found their way back to his father's scarred face, and for a moment, he simply looked at them both—his parents, the constants in his life. He wasn't sure if it was the fatigue still clouding his mind, but something about their presence felt like a quiet anchor in the storm of everything else.

"Good to see you both," Megumi murmured, though the words felt too small for how much they meant.

His father grinned, the scar pulling up into a crooked smile. "Good to see you too, kid," he said, ruffling Megumi's hair playfully, a gesture that made Megumi roll his eyes, even if the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

"Megumi is really easy to wake up, huh?" a voice said, breaking the brief moment of calm between Megumi and his parents. He turned his head toward the sound and saw two figures sitting beside Hana's bed, their attention on her rather than him.

The voice came from a man, broad-shouldered and with a quiet but amused tone. Megumi recognized him immediately—Hana's father. He had the calm, composed demeanor, different from his daughter and with the added strength of someone who'd seen far more of the world. His eyes twinkled with a quiet affection as he glanced between Megumi and Hana.

Hana's mother, seated next to him, was smiling warmly at the scene unfolding. Her face was gentle, her movements tender as she gently shook Hana's shoulder, trying to coax her awake. Unlike Megumi, Hana was a heavy sleeper, often hard to rouse no matter how much noise or activity surrounded her.

Hana's father chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Hana's a really heavy sleeper. I'm kinda envious, actually," he continued, his voice light but full of affection. "If I could sleep like that, I wouldn't mind hospital beds as much."

Megumi, still a little groggy, couldn't help but smile at the easygoing way Hana's father spoke. "I think it's just a gift," Megumi muttered, a dry amusement in his voice. "I've never seen anyone sleep through so much noise before."

Hana's mother gave a soft laugh, glancing at her daughter's still-sleeping form with a fond expression. "She always was a deep sleeper, ever since she was little," she said, her voice gentle. She lightly shook Hana's shoulder again, this time speaking in a sing-song voice. "Hana, sweetie, wake up. It's already late in the afternoon. Your friends are awake."

Hana stirred a little, her brow furrowing at the disturbance, but she didn't open her eyes. Her mother persisted, her tone soft but firm. "Come on, sweetheart, it's time to wake up. Your father and I are here."

Finally, after a few more moments of gentle coaxing, Hana let out a loud yawn, stretching dramatically as she slowly opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, clearly still in the haze of sleep, before her gaze landed on her parents.

"Morning, sleepyhead," her father said, his voice warm with affection. "We thought you might sleep the whole day away."

Hana groggily rubbed her eyes, blinking as she looked around the room, still trying to piece together her surroundings. It was like the world hadn't quite caught up with her yet. She let out a long, drawn-out sigh before muttering, "Ughh… what time is it now?"

Her father, who had been watching her with a patient smile, leaned back in his chair and answered, "It's almost 15 o'clock now."

Hana let out a low groan, her face scrunching up in frustration as she stretched out her arms. "Ughh... I'm not going to be able to sleep again tonight," she muttered, her voice thick with sleep. She kicked the blanket off her legs, as though the idea of being awake for the rest of the day was already a chore.

Megumi, who had been quietly watching the exchange, couldn't help but smirk slightly at Hana's reaction to waking up late. 

"Again?" Hana's father said, his voice laced with confusion. He turned to look at Hana, clearly puzzled by the situation. His eyes then flickered to Megumi, as if trying to connect the dots. Hana's mother, noticing the shift in the conversation, mirrored her husband's concern. She looked from Megumi to Hana, her expression softening.

Hana, still groggy from just waking up, blinked and rubbed her eyes, trying to piece together what was happening. "What's going on?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Before either of Hana's parents could respond, his father, who had been quietly observing, spoke up with a slightly amused tone. "Huh? Didn't the nurse tell you, Yurikawa-san?" he said, addressing Hana's father with a casual yet knowing look. "They didn't sleep a wink last night—that's why they're sleeping until this late in the afternoon."

Hana's mother's face shifted from concern to understanding, though a hint of worry still lingered in her eyes. "You guys didn't sleep at all last night?" she asked gently, her tone softening further. She turned toward Megumi, her gaze full of empathy. "That's not good, sweetheart. You really should've gotten some rest."

"We're sorry," Megumi and Hana both said in unison, their voices laced with a hint of awkwardness. "We're just really bored here with nothing to do."

The apology hung in the air for a moment, and immediately, the collective sigh of exasperation from the adults filled the room. His mother, Hana's father, and Hana's mother all looked at the two of them with a mixture of concern and mild irritation. 

"You two," Hana's father muttered with a shake of his head, crossing his arms. "You're impossible, you know that?"

His mother, while soft in her approach, gave them both a pointed look. "I understand being bored, but that doesn't mean you should push yourselves when you clearly need rest," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "We're all trying to look out for you, but you have to take care of yourselves too."

Hana's mother, her brow furrowed slightly, nodded in agreement. "Rest is important, especially now. You can't keep running on empty, no matter how bored you are. Your body needs time to recover."

His dad, who had been quiet until now, gave a huff of amusement, clearly entertained by the scene. "They're both too stubborn for their own good," he said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "But at least they're consistent. Always looking for a way to power through things, even when they shouldn't."

Hana's father gave a good-natured snort. "Doesn't make it any less frustrating, though."

"Exactly," His mom added with a small smile. "But I suppose that's what we get for raising such stubborn kids." Her eyes softened as she looked at Megumi, then turned to Hana. "Just make sure you both get some sleep tonight, okay? Your body needs rest to recover well."

Megumi and Hana exchanged a glance, both of them feeling a little guilty despite their attempts to downplay things.

"Yeah, yeah," Hana muttered, sinking back into her pillow with a resigned sigh. "We'll sleep. Promise."

Megumi nodded, his voice quieter now. "We'll sleep tonight, I swear."

Hana's father grinned, clearly satisfied with the response. "Good. I'm holding you to that." He stood up and stretched his arms out, ready to change the subject. "Now, what do you say we get something more interesting to do around here? Boredom won't cure itself."

"Well, I don't know if this will help, but..." His father began, reaching down to grab a plastic bag that had been sitting unnoticed on the floor. Megumi only just realized it was there, and a flicker of curiosity crossed his mind. His father gave a small, knowing smile as he pulled a variety of snacks from the bag, spreading them out on the small table beside the bed.

"I hope this will cheer you up," he added, his voice warm and casual, as though this little gesture was just another part of his everyday routine.

From the bag, he pulled out an assortment of treats—chocolate bars, soft melon bread, and a few pieces of fresh fruit. There was something oddly comforting about the familiar snacks, the little indulgences that didn't quite solve the deeper issues, but still brought a sense of normalcy to the situation. Megumi could feel the heaviness in his chest ease a little as his father placed the food on the table.

Hana's eyes lit up the moment she spotted the melon bread. "Is that... melon pan?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of excitement despite her earlier grogginess. She hadn't been able to hide her love for the soft, sweet bread, and the sight of it seemed to lift her spirits instantly.

"Yep," His father said with a small chuckle, clearly pleased to see their reactions. "Got it fresh on the way here. I figured it might be a nice little pick-me-up."

Hana immediately reached for one of the melon breads, her hand moving almost instinctively as if her body had been waiting for the moment to arrive. "You're a lifesaver," she muttered, her smile wide as she tore off a piece and took a bite. The soft, slightly sweet dough was a small piece of comfort in an otherwise frustrating day.

Megumi watched her for a moment, then looked at the spread of snacks, feeling an unexpected warmth from the simple act. "Thanks, Dad," he said quietly, appreciating the effort, even if he didn't show it right away.

His father, now sitting back in his chair, gave him a small, knowing smile. "Don't mention it. A little sugar and carbs never hurt anyone, right?" He winked, as though to say he knew exactly what his son needed—something to make the hospital room feel a little less sterile, a little more like home.

Hana's mother, who had been quietly observing, chuckled softly at her daughter's enthusiasm. "I see you've got your priorities straight," she teased Hana, who merely grinned, mouth full of melon bread.

His father chuckled as well. "Well, at least they know how to appreciate the important things in life."

Hana, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looked at Megumi again. "You should eat something too. It'll help you feel better. Promise." Her voice, while still a little groggy, was laced with concern.

Megumi hesitated for a moment before reaching for a piece of fruit, an apple that had been tucked carefully at the bottom of the bag. It wasn't quite the same as the sweet, comforting melon bread, but the crisp fruit felt like a small step toward getting something into his system. He took a bite, feeling a bit better with every chew, though his exhaustion still lingered.

"You're right," Megumi muttered after a pause, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "This is... kind of nice." He wasn't one to show much emotion, but the small gesture of his father bringing snacks, of Hana sharing her excitement over something as simple as melon bread, made the situation feel a little lighter.

Hana's father leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a satisfied grin on his face. "Well, I can't be done out, can I?" he said with a wink, clearly enjoying the little moment of mischief.

After he spoke, he reached down and pulled out another plastic bag, this one also filled to the brim with snacks and fruit. It was clear he had come prepared. The bag rustled as he pulled out an assortment of goodies—more chocolate bars, packs of crackers, a few oranges, and even some homemade rice balls wrapped in seaweed.

"Woahhh," Hana exclaimed, her eyes going wide at the sight of the spread. She sat up a little straighter, practically leaning forward in her excitement. The hospital food, as bland and unappealing as it had been, suddenly felt like an afterthought compared to this sudden bounty of snacks. 

Her eyes twinkled as she took in the variety of treats. "Is this... is this for us?" she asked, almost incredulously.

"Of course," Hana's father said with a chuckle. "Don't look so shocked. I know the food here isn't exactly five-star, so I thought you might appreciate a change of pace."

Hana let out a delighted laugh. "I definitely appreciate it! Thank you!" She immediately reached for one of the rice balls, unwrapping it quickly and taking a large bite.

Megumi, who had been watching the exchange with an amused but somewhat tired smile, couldn't help but chuckle at Hana's enthusiasm. It was a rare moment when she actually seemed genuinely excited about something. He glanced over at the spread of food, his own appetite now waking up.

Hana's mother, having watched her daughter's reaction, smiled warmly. "Come on, eat up, both of you," she said, her voice soft but encouraging. "You're going to need all the energy you can get."

Megumi, feeling the weight of everyone's gentle encouragement, finally relented. He picked up a piece of fruit—a ripe orange—and peeled it slowly, letting the tangy citrus aroma fill the air. He took a small bite, savoring the sweetness, and for the first time that day, he felt like he was truly present, not lost in a fog of exhaustion or worry.

Hana, on the other hand, was already working her way through a second rice ball and another piece of fruit. "This is perfect," she murmured between bites. "I didn't think I'd ever be this happy to see food again."

Megumi couldn't help but smile at her. "Yeah, it's not bad," he agreed, feeling a little more relaxed now. "Definitely better than the stuff they serve here."

"Exactly," Hana's father replied, looking pleased with himself.

And after a while, the last of the snacks were finished, and a more somber mood settled over the room. His father, who had been quietly observing the group, cleared his throat and set his cup down on the table, his expression a little more serious now.

"Hey," he began, his voice steady but carrying a weight that drew the attention of everyone in the room. "We've all been quiet about something for a while, and I think it's time we finally talk about it." He looked at Hana's father and then glanced at everyone else in the room. "We know about the promotion, and the relocation."

Hana's father stiffened slightly, glancing at his wife and then at Megumi's parents, his face betraying a mix of reluctance and acceptance. "Yeah, it's… it's been on the table for a while now."

Hana's mother gave a small nod, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on her husband. "We've been talking about it a lot," she added, her voice softer. "But, you know, it's not an easy decision to make."

Hana, who had been quietly nibbling on a piece of melon bread, glanced up, her expression more serious now, though there was still a slight sadness in her eyes. "Are we really going to move, Dad? I mean, for real?" Her voice wavered just slightly as she spoke, a hint of disbelief in it, though she had already suspected the answer.

His father leaned forward, his gaze steady but understanding. "We just wanted to be sure. We're not trying to push anything or make it harder, but… we wanted to hear it from you. Are you really planning to move away after Hana gets discharged from the hospital?" His tone was gentle, but there was a firm honesty in his words, wanting a final confirmation.

Hana's father sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, we are. We've decided it's the best move for our future. It's a good opportunity, one that we can't pass up. But… we didn't want it to be like this." He gave a rueful smile, his gaze shifting to Hana. "We were hoping to make the transition smoother. But with Hana still in the hospital… it's hard to balance everything."

Hana's mother nodded slowly, her expression filled with the same quiet sadness. "It's not an easy choice, not by a long shot. We've lived here for years. It's hard to imagine leaving everything behind. The people we've known, the places we love... even our daily routine. But, it feels like this is the right thing to do, for us."

His mother, who had been quietly listening, spoke up with a soft, understanding voice. "We get it. Really, we do." She glanced at Megumi, then back at the Yurikawas. "But you know, we're going to miss you all, and I think Hana's going to miss this place even more."

Hana's mother smiled faintly, though there was a touch of worry in her eyes. "It's hard. It's hard on all of us." She glanced at Hana, then at his mother. "But the world doesn't stop turning, and sometimes we have to make the hard choices for the future."

Hana's father cleared his throat again, a little uncomfortable but grateful for the understanding in the room. "We're really going to miss everyone here, especially you two," he said, nodding at his parents. "But like we said, this promotion isn't something we can ignore. It's going to be a big change, but I hope we can stay in touch."

Hana, who had been quiet, finally spoke again, her voice quieter than before but filled with a mix of acceptance and regret. "I don't know if I'm ready for this," she admitted, glancing at Megumi. "I like it here. I've been here all my life. And now it's all changing so fast."

Megumi, who had been silently watching the exchange, shifted in his bed, his voice calm but sincere. "You'll be fine, Hana. We'll still be friends, even if you move." He paused, glancing at her, and added, "And I'll come visit you. Whenever I can. We can always talk on the phone or text."

Hana looked at him, a faint smile crossing her face despite the sadness in her eyes. "Thanks, Megumi." Her voice was soft, and she seemed to gather some comfort in his words.

His father, sensing the weight of the moment, nodded in agreement. "Exactly. It won't be easy, but you'll have your friends, your family, and that won't change. Distance isn't the end of everything. You can always come back, visit, or just reach out."

Hana's father smiled appreciatively, though it was tinged with sadness. "We won't forget you all, don't worry. And we'll make sure to stay in touch."

His father smiled warmly, though there was a touch of sadness in his eyes as well. "It's not goodbye forever. Just… see you later. If you ever need anything—whether it's advice, or even just someone to talk to—don't hesitate to reach out. You're like family to us."

Hana's mother nodded in agreement, her eyes glistening slightly. "Thank you. Really, we're so grateful for everything. For the support, for the friendship. It means more than you know."

Then his mother smiled, her voice full of warmth and sincerity. "We're family, Kanae. No matter where you are, we'll be here for you. Always."

The room fell into a quiet lull, the soft sound of breathing and the occasional rustle of wrapping paper as everyone processed what had been said. The conversation had shifted, from the heavy realization of Hana's family moving to a more hopeful understanding, but the weight of it still lingered in the air.

Hana, though she had tried to stay composed, seemed to be lost in thought. Her gaze shifted toward the window, where the sunlight poured through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. She bit her lip, as though wrestling with everything swirling in her head.

Megumi, sensing her quiet turmoil, sat up a little straighter in his bed, his usual reticence pushed aside by the need to offer her some comfort. "It's not going to be easy, I know," he said, his voice low but steady, like he was trying to reassure not just Hana but himself, too. "But you've got a lot of people who care about you. That's not going to change, no matter where you are."

Hana turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips, though it didn't reach her eyes completely. "I know... but it still feels like a huge change," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been here all my life, Megumi. It's hard to imagine being somewhere else."

"I get it," Megumi replied, his gaze softening. "It's like... suddenly everything you know, all the little things that make a place feel like home, they're all gone in an instant." He paused, glancing over at his parents, who had been watching them with a quiet understanding. "But if anyone can adjust, it's you. You're tough. And you'll always have a piece of this place with you."

Hana seemed to take in his words, her shoulders relaxing a little as she nodded, though her smile still seemed fragile. "Thanks, Megumi. That actually helps. A little."

Hana's father, who had been quietly observing, gave a small chuckle, his voice gruff but affectionate. "Look at you two. It's like you've known each other forever, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "That's a good thing, though. You'll always have that bond, even if miles separate you."

Hana's mother, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, spoke up then, her voice gentle but firm. "We're going to miss you both. More than I think we even realize. But… I'm glad you two have each other to lean on. It's the kind of friendship that won't fade, no matter the distance."

His father nodded in agreement, smiling warmly at both of them. "Exactly. And as we said, if you ever need anything—whether it's help, advice, or even just a visit—we'll be here. Distance doesn't change family."

Hana smiled at the reassurance, a little more at ease now, though the sadness was still there in her eyes. "I know... it just doesn't feel real, though. It's like... one moment I'm just hanging out with you all, and the next, I'm packing up and leaving."

His mom leaned forward slightly, a soft but knowing expression on her face. "It's okay to feel uncertain. Big changes always bring a little fear. But sometimes, that's how we grow. And as much as it hurts now, things will start to feel more familiar once you get settled in. You'll find new routines, make new memories, and still carry the old ones with you."

The room was quiet for a moment, the weight of the truth settling in. Megumi, his parents, and Hana's parents all understood that this wasn't just a goodbye—it was the beginning of something new, something that would require time to adjust to.

Hana's father stood up from his chair, stretching his arms. "Alright," he said with a sigh, trying to bring some lightness back into the atmosphere. "Enough of all this heavy talk. Hana, you better get some rest. You're going to need it for the big move." He gave her a playful grin. "Don't worry, though. We'll be back to visit. And you better expect a tour of the new city."

Hana gave a half-hearted laugh, her eyes brightening a little. "Sure, dad," she said, though there was a hint of sadness still in her voice. "I guess I'll start planning my grand tour now."

His father, sensing the need to shift the mood further, spoke up. "Speaking of tours," he said, looking at Hana's father with a teasing grin. "You'll have to show us around when we come to visit. We'll bring the snacks, of course."

Hana's father laughed. "Deal. But you better bring some better snacks than these!" he joked, gesturing to the empty bags on the table. "I expect some serious food offerings when you come."

"Sure. You better wait for that," said his father.

Hana's mother, catching the playful tone, chuckled softly and added, "Just make sure you bring something with a bit more flavor than those bland crackers this guy always brings, okay?"

Hana's father threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, those crackers are a delicacy where I come from!"

His dad leaned forward with a grin. "Oh, I'm sure. Right next to the great potato salad of '84, huh?"

Hana's dad threw a dramatic look at his father. "Now that was a classic. You'll never top that. That salad was... an experience."

Everyone, except for Megumi and Hana who didn't understand the joke, burst out laughing, and for a moment, the heaviness in the room lightened, replaced by the familiar warmth of shared memories.

Hana looked around, her brow furrowing slightly as she glanced at Megumi. "What's so funny?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop herself. "What happened with the salad?"

His dad, clearly enjoying the attention, leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. "Ah, the infamous potato salad of '92," he began, clearly relishing the moment. "It was supposed to be the centerpiece of the family picnic—an innovative twist on the traditional recipe. A bold move, you might say."

Hana's mother, catching her husband's teasing tone, added with a sly smile, "A bold move, indeed. Just… not in the way anyone expected."

Hana's dad raised his hand as if declaring a solemn truth. "It was the most memorable salad, that's for sure. Not because of its flavor, but because of its lack of flavor."

His father let out an exaggerated sigh. "Hey, I tried. I thought I had everything—potatoes, mayo, a little mustard for kick… but somehow, it came out as… well, let's just say 'bland' doesn't do it justice. People were asking if I'd made a new type of mashed potato instead."

"Who can forget the look on aunt Haruko's face?" Hana's mom interjected, smiling fondly. "She took one bite, and you could just see her trying to figure out how to say, 'It's… not bad,' without actually saying it."

"That's when the salt and pepper shakers started getting passed around like they were holy relics," Hana's dad added with a grin, his eyes sparkling with the memory. "I think Toji here just forgot one small thing—seasoning."

His dad waved his hand dismissively, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. "It's a seasonal salad. It had that rustic charm, you know? Like something you'd find in a forgotten corner of an old farmhouse kitchen."

Hana looked from one face to the other, still a bit lost. "So, it was… inedible?" she asked, a little uncertain, though she couldn't help but giggle at how seriously everyone seemed to be treating this mystery salad.

"Not inedible," His father replied, leaning forward and looking her in the eye. "Just… not quite what anyone had in mind. But I'll tell you, it sparked conversation. It was the first time in years that everyone came together to discuss food in such… detail. No one had ever thought to critique a potato salad so much."

Hana's dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Exactly. It became the legend of the picnic. The only thing anyone remembers from that day was that salad and the collective decision to never let it see the light of day again."

"I didn't even want to know what happened to the leftovers," Hana's mom added with a wink. "But it became a rite of passage. Every year, at least one person—usually Toji—would mention the 'salad incident.' It became tradition."

Hana, finally beginning to understand the inside joke, laughed and shook her head. "Okay, okay. So it wasn't the greatest salad, but I still don't get what made it so… legendary."

"Well," His dad said with a dramatic pause, as though preparing for the reveal of a great mystery, "after that, it was clear that every family gathering needed a new dish—a dish with flavor. So I started experimenting with a whole new variety of recipes. It was the spark that changed everything. That potato salad wasn't just a salad; it was a movement."

Hana blinked, trying to keep up. "A movement?"

Hana's father grinned. "The movement to never repeat that salad ever again. But, in all seriousness, it became a family milestone. Whenever someone brings something to a picnic now, we ask, 'Is it as bad as the potato salad?' It's like a litmus test."

Megumi, who had been quietly watching this exchange, finally spoke up. "So, basically, dad made a disaster, but it turned into a family tradition?"

Hana's father grinned. "Precisely! A disaster so beautiful, it could never be forgotten. And now we all laugh about it. So, you see, Hana? It's not just about the food—it's about the memories that come with it. Every time we get together, we remember the salad, and we remember how we all survived it."

Hana laughed, the weight of her earlier worries about the move slowly lifting. She couldn't help but imagine her family, far away from this place, sitting around a new table somewhere else, laughing about a new set of inside jokes. Maybe her family wouldn't be here forever, but the warmth of moments like these would travel with them.

"You know," she said with a grin, "maybe I should bring some of my salad to the new city. It'll be a new tradition. Something to replace the potato salad."

His dad raised an eyebrow. "You mean your salad? Are you sure you want to risk starting a whole new saga of food-related legends?"

Hana tilted her head. "Hey, I'm not saying I'll mess it up as badly as you did," she teased, her voice light with humor. "But, if I do, it'll at least have a chance to become the new classic."

"Well, I'll be first in line to critique it," His dad said with a grin. "Just to make sure it has enough kick."

Hana's father leaned in with mock seriousness. "But only if you promise to make it better than that salad."

Everyone laughed again, the sound filling the room like the warm, familiar embrace of a memory in the making. It was moments like this that reminded them that, no matter where they went or how far apart they became, the bond they shared would remain strong—woven together by laughter, food, and the shared stories that made them feel like home.

"You know," Hana said softly, her voice lighter now, "I'm starting to think this move might not be so bad. If I can keep making memories like this, I think I'll be okay."

Her father smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You'll always have us, Hana. And no matter where you go, the real legacy of the salad will follow you."

Megumi, watching Hana smile, added with a slight smile of his own, "As long as the next salad doesn't involve any bland potatoes."

Hana laughed, the sound full of hope. "Deal. I'll make sure it's unforgettable."

.

.

After about an hour of laughter, stories, and light-hearted teasing, both of their parents stood up, clearly aware of how much time had passed. Megumi's father cleared his throat with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, we got a little too distracted. We didn't notice the time. We didn't want you two to get more tired, so we'll leave now. Take care and rest well, okay?"

Megumi's mother, ever the affectionate one, stepped forward and gave him a warm hug, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "We'll miss you, Megumi. Get better soon. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call us." She smiled softly, her eyes lingering on him for a moment before she pulled back.

Megumi's father gave him a more casual gesture, ruffling his hair in that familiar, dad-like way. "Take care of yourself, kid. Get lots of rest, alright? We'll see you soon."

Hana, who had been quietly watching the exchange, noticed how different their goodbyes were. While Megumi's parents were affectionate, it was clear that her parents were far more demonstrative.

Her mother, who had been sitting close by, gave her a soft, lingering look before standing and walking over to her. She cupped Hana's face with both hands, her eyes warm but slightly misty. "You take care, sweetie," she said softly, her voice full of love. "We'll be here every step of the way, okay? Even if we're far away, we'll be with you. Always."

Her father, standing beside his wife, wrapped an arm around Hana's shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. "You've got this, honey. And no matter where you go, we're your family. Nothing changes that."

Her eyes glistened as she hugged her parents back, a tight knot forming in her throat. "I know, Mom. I know, Dad. I'll miss you."

Her father squeezed her one last time before stepping back, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Don't worry, kiddo. You've got the best support right here, and we'll be cheering you on from wherever we are."

Her mother, still holding her close, whispered, "And remember, no matter what, we love you." She kissed the top of her head before releasing her, the parting bittersweet but filled with a quiet strength.

Megumi's father cleared his throat and smiled warmly at both families. "Alright, we'll leave you two to get some rest. Take care of each other, okay? We'll be back to visit, no doubt about it."

With that, both families exchanged final goodbyes and hugs. Hana and Megumi watched as their parents made their way toward the door, the soft shuffle of footsteps mingling with the quiet sadness in the air.

As the door clicked shut behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, enveloping Hana and Megumi in its stillness. They both stared at the door for a moment longer, as if the quiet after the departure of their families could somehow make the reality of the situation sink in. Slowly, they turned back toward the bed, the soft rustle of blankets the only sound in the room.

Hana let out a soft sigh, her mind swirling with everything that had just happened—the goodbyes, the promises, the weight of it all. She glanced at Megumi, who was staring at the empty space ahead of him, his jaw clenched as if holding something back. The exhaustion on his face was unmistakable, his fist clenched at his side, and she could sense the heaviness in the air, even if they were both trying to avoid acknowledging it.

"Mannnn, I'm really going to leave this town after I get discharged, huh?" Hana's voice was barely a whisper, as if saying it aloud might make it more real. "Even after all of that talk, it still doesn't feel real."

Megumi's eyes flicked to hers, his gaze softening slightly as he sighed. "That's what you're thinking about right now?" he asked, his voice low but amused. "We already agreed—we'll keep in touch. That's not the issue here." He paused, his gaze shifting to the window, as if seeking refuge in the quiet of the room. "And more importantly," he added, the hint of exhaustion creeping into his voice, "I'm tired after all that. Honestly, I don't think I can handle much more of your endless chatter."

Hana chuckled, despite the lump that had formed in her throat. She could feel the heaviness, but his words were familiar, grounding her in the moment. "I know that, but moving after living here for practically my entire life… it just doesn't feel real. Like, this whole thing is some kind of dream or something," she said, her voice trailing off.

"Also, why are you tired? You barely spoke the entire time, and I'm the one who had to keep up with everyone's talking," she teased, pushing him with her arm.

Megumi glared at her, the irritation evident in his tired eyes. "I've only woken up yesterday, and I barely got any sleep last night," he said, his voice rising slightly, though it still carried the edge of exhaustion. "It's normal for me to be tired, goddammit. You're the one who's cheating. You woke up a few days earlier than me, didn't you?"

Hana's eyes widened in mock offense, and she grinned. "Cheating? What do you mean by cheating? I woke up like a normal person! You're just being dramatic because I was actually able to get some rest while you were off sleeping through the entire day."

"Oh, please," he groaned, leaning back against the headboard with a groan that seemed to echo through the room. "I'm not dramatic. I'm just trying to survive this never-ending conversation you've got going on. Seriously, Hana, can we just—"

She raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Can we just what? Sleep? You know, you might actually feel better if you stopped complaining and got some rest instead of trying to act all tough," she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

He shot her a sidelong look, clearly too tired to fully argue back, and sighed again, this time in resignation. "Fine. I'll rest. But only because you're clearly not going to shut up unless I do."

Hana let out a soft laugh, feeling the tension between them ease just a little. Despite the looming uncertainty of the future, the overwhelming emotions of saying goodbye to their families, and the unsettling thought of leaving behind everything she had ever known, there was still something comforting about being here with Megumi. Even if they were both exhausted, even if the world outside felt like it was changing faster than they could keep up with, they still had each other. And for now, that was enough.

"Alright, alright. Sleep. I'll be quiet, I promise," Hana said, settling back into the blankets. "I just… I don't know. This whole thing feels like it's happening to someone else, like it's not really us. Like one minute, we're here with our families, and the next, we're just… going?"

Megumi didn't immediately respond, his eyes closed as he adjusted his position, clearly trying to find a comfortable spot. But then, after a beat, he spoke, his voice quiet but sincere. "It's not easy, you know. I don't think either of us is really ready for it, but that doesn't mean we can't handle it. We'll figure it out. We always do."

Hana's heart tightened slightly at his words, but it wasn't from sadness this time. It was a mixture of gratitude and something she couldn't quite define. "Yeah," she murmured. "We will."

With a final glance at him, Hana snuggled into the warmth of the blankets, the quiet of the room wrapping around them both. She could hear his breathing slow, the rhythm of it almost comforting in its normalcy. The future was still unclear, and the goodbye was still fresh in her mind, but for now, she had this moment. And that would have to be enough to carry her through the uncertainty ahead.

.

.

It was already night, the kind of stillness that made time feel almost irrelevant. Megumi didn't know exactly what time it was, but judging by the quiet hum of the hospital and the absence of nurses patrolling the hallway, it had to be well past 11:00 p.m. The hospital, normally bustling with activity during the day, was now shrouded in a heavy, almost suffocating silence.

So, why was he still awake?

He should've been asleep by now. His body was sore from the exhaustion of the day, and the bed, though uncomfortable, was still warm and comfy. But sleep wouldn't come.

It wasn't that he had stayed up; he hadn't made a conscious decision to resist the pull of sleep. No, it was that he had only just woken up. Woken up from a dream he couldn't quite shake off even if he wished he could.

His gaze shifted to Hana, lying beside him, her breathing even and calm as she slept soundly. He stared at her sleeping form with a mix of envy and longing. She was so still, so peaceful. She had the ability to sleep through anything, her mind able to shut off completely from the world around her. It was something he had always admired about her—how effortlessly she could escape the chaos, the thoughts that never seemed to leave his mind.

For a fleeting moment, he found himself tempted to nudge her, to wake her up, just so he could have someone to talk to. Someone who might ease the tight knot of unease that had taken root in his chest. But then, he remembered the last time he'd done something like that.

In that case, it was Hana who had woken him up. Both of them had stayed up, unable to sleep, and their restlessness had quickly spiraled into a ruckus. They had whispered, then laughed, then argued , then played around, turning their room into a playground—just trying to pass the time in the dead of night. But it hadn't taken long before they were caught, and the nurse had stormed in, her face flushed with irritation.

The scolding had been swift and sharp, and both of them had barely been able to settle back into bed after that. Hana had tried to pretend she was still asleep, but Megumi could see her trying to stifle her giggles, knowing the nurse was already dealing with a hundred other patients and probably didn't need to add two unruly patients to the list.

He winced at the memory. It had been one of those moments he regretted, realizing that not only had he kept Hana up, but they had both made things worse by being so restless. And yet, there was a part of him that couldn't help but wish he could go back to that moment—just for a little company.

But no, waking her up now wasn't an option. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn't.

Instead, he just lay there, watching her, feeling a strange sense of loneliness, despite the proximity. She was right there, so close, and yet it felt as though a thousand miles separated them in this moment. Maybe it was the uncertainty of their future or the pressure of knowing that life was about to change so drastically for both of them.

She will move, into a new city. She will find a new place, new friends, and a new version of herself that she hasn't yet imagined. The life she had once known will slip into the past like a fading dream, and with it, the familiar faces, the streets she had walked, and the memories she had clung to. Everything will change, as it always does when a new chapter begins.

But as she moves forward, he will be left behind, slowly and surely. He will fade into the background of her life, erased by the passage of time, by the distance between them. His presence will blur, like the faintest echo in the halls of her mind. The part of him that once existed—her Megumi—will be replaced by the reality of the future.

And for him, it won't be an ending, but a transformation. The life he had known will unravel, piece by piece, until he is no longer just Fushiguro Megumi. He will become someone new, someone who carries the weight of two identities—the memory of Fushiguro Megumi and the memory of Karasawa Megumi. He will be born into a new existence, shaped by the remnants of the past but bound to walk a path that diverges from everything he once knew.

The memories will remain but they will become less and less tangible, fading as he forges ahead, slowly piecing together a life that is his own. The world will reshape him, and the person he becomes will carry with him the traces of the person he once was, but in time, they will be as distant as a forgotten dream.

And she, in her new life, will carry on, perhaps with fleeting thoughts of the past, but never fully returning to it. For some things are meant to be left behind, no matter how much it hurts to let go.

He sighed heavily, the weight of those thoughts settling on his chest like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

At the very least, he had three years. Three whole years to experience the peace and normalcy that had always seemed just out of reach. Three years to live the life he had always dreamed of, free from the constant threats of cursed spirits and the burden of his own cursed energy. He had known that the process of merging between his two lives had already begun, but there was something comforting in the thought that for a little while, he could truly live like any other child—carefree and unburdened by the darkness that had defined so much of his existence.

In these three years, he could be just like the other kids he had always watched from a distance—laughing, playing, learning, and growing without the weight of being a target for malevolent forces. He could attend school, make friends, and experience the simple joys of childhood without the looming shadow of curses. For once, he could just be him, without the fear of what his powers might bring or the dangers that followed him because of them.

"Goddamnit," he softly cursed out loud, in fear that he would wake Hana up.

In the back of his mind, he knew the truth. It wouldn't take three years before he fully disappear—not in the way he hoped. The process was already unfolding, and the clock was ticking faster than he had anticipated. Three years was all he had before the version of himself that existed now was no more. He would be replaced by someone else—another version of him, one who would carry the weight of two lives, two sets of memories, two identities intertwined.

The thought was a bitter one, a reminder that no matter how much he wished for normalcy, he could never truly escape what he was. He was already becoming someone else, a fusion of his past self and his current self that hadn't yet fully emerged. Memories, experiences, and emotions would blend together, and though he would still be him in some sense, he would also be something—someone—different. The person who would stand in his place in three years would remember this life, but they would also carry the legacy of everything he had endured, everything he had lost.

He couldn't ignore it, no matter how much he wanted to. There was no way to stop the inevitable. The peaceful, carefree existence he had dreamed of was a fleeting illusion, a brief reprieve before the next chapter of his existence began. And when that chapter came, it would be the rebirth of him, a new version, a hybrid of what he had been and what he was destined to become.

Moreover, he knew that eventually, his cursed energy would return. In three years, it would all come back, and with it, the responsibility and danger that had shaped his life for as long as he could remember. 

He turned his head away from Hana, staring at the ceiling, his mind refusing to quiet. He wanted to sleep—needed to sleep—but every time he closed his eyes, the dream resurfaced. The thoughts. The worries. The questions that had no answers yet.

The hospital room was too quiet. Too empty. The absence of movement outside in the hallway seemed to echo louder in the silence.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he shifted in the bed, adjusting the pillows beneath his head. He thought about Hana again, how effortlessly she could drift off into sleep without a care in the world. How much he envied that.

But maybe…. it wasn't just the sleep he envied. It was the way she lived—so effortlessly, so free. The sense of carefree abandon that radiated from her, as if the world and its chaos could never touch her. She seemed to glide through life, handling everything with a grace that left him in awe. No matter how heavy the burden became, she never let it crush her. Not the way it always threatened to crush him. Even now, as the weight of their uncertain future hung over them, she seemed untouched by the darkness that clouded his mind. She was at peace.

He closed his eyes again, hoping for just a moment of stillness, a fleeting moment where he could push everything—the worry, the fear, the unrelenting weight of his cursed existence—away. He tried to will himself into a sense of calm, to quiet the noise of his thoughts and bury the anxiety that gnawed at him. But it was no use. His mind wouldn't stop, and the questions kept circling, relentless and unforgiving.

"Why can't I just sleep like you?" he muttered softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them, as if voicing the frustration that had been building inside him for so long. The words were meant for no one but himself, a quiet plea for a life he could never have. A life where sleep was not a battle, where peace came naturally and without the constant fight against his own mind.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, and yet sleep remained an elusive escape.

The steady rhythm of Hana's breathing beside him was the only anchor he had in the sea of his restless mind. It was the one thing that kept him tethered to the present, a small but constant reminder that he wasn't alone in the dark. He could hear her breath, slow and steady, a gentle rise and fall that was almost hypnotic. It was a sound so familiar and reassuring that it seemed to calm his frayed nerves, bringing a brief sense of stability amidst the chaos in his thoughts.

He focused on the pattern of her breathing, allowing it to become his rhythm, a lifeline pulling him closer to sleep. He counted each rise and fall in a quiet, meditative silence, and gradually, the tension in his body began to ease. His thoughts slowed, and for a moment, he thought he might finally drift off into the peaceful oblivion he longed for.

But just as his mind was on the brink of surrender, a sudden sound pierced the quiet—a voice, faint but unmistakable, drifting from the hallway outside their room. It was low at first, as if hesitant, but it grew clearer with each passing moment. The voice was unfamiliar, muffled by distance but still somehow distinct, carrying an edge of something he was intimately familiar with.

The presence of a cursed spirit.

His heart skipped a beat. The calm he had almost found shattered instantly. His mind was wide awake, the peaceful atmosphere now replaced by an unsettling tension. 

How could he possibly sense them? His cursed energy was gone, drained completely, and there was no way he could regain it anytime soon. The loss had been absolute, leaving him cut off from the very essence that had once allowed him to perceive and interact with the spirits. By all accounts, it should take at least three years for his cursed energy to come back—three long years of peace, before he would even be able to feel their presence again.

But here he was, acutely aware of them, as though they were standing right beside him, their ethereal forms brushing against the edges of his senses. How was this possible? Had the laws of his power changed?

It's not like he had done anything out of the ordinary. At least, not by the standards of sorcerers who often resorted to such measures. Based on his memory, sorcerers frequently made binding vows—agreements that would temporarily amplify their strength, often at a steep cost. The price? A complete loss of their cursed energy. For a brief moment, their power would surge, burning brightly and fiercely, but once that burst of energy dissipated, it would leave them utterly drained. The consequences were inevitable: for the duration agreed upon in the vow, they would be unable to summon or use their cursed energy, left vulnerable and powerless.

But this? This was something different.

He could still feel the faintest stirrings, as though something was pulling at the edges of his senses. No matter how he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't shake the growing unease. His cursed energy had burned out, and the agreed period of deprivation hadn't even passed yet. So why could he still feel them now, when he shouldn't have been able to perceive anything at all? What had gone wrong, or worse—what had changed?

He was not given the time to ponder and think about it, because in the next moment, the cursed spirit quickly closed the distance and soon entered his room.

A featureless head emerged first, floating silently in the dim light. No eyes, no mouth—just an eerie, smooth surface, like a blank canvas. Then, long, slender white hands followed, stretching out with unsettling grace. The hands moved delicately, as though they were part of something far more sinister than the body they belonged to. The figure that came into view was slender and curvy, dressed in a nurse's outfit, the fabric stark white against its ghostly complexion. The sight of it, so unnatural, sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Without thinking, he buried his head beneath the blanket, his heart pounding in his chest. The blanket, thin and flimsy, did nothing to shield him from the terror creeping up his skin. He tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to calm down, but it felt pointless. He knew it was too late to escape. Whatever that thing was, it had already found him.

"CannnnNnnn you see meee?"

The words slithered through the air, distorted and unnatural, echoing from every corner of the room. It wasn't clear where the sound originated from—there was no mouth, no eyes, no nose to shape it. The creature's featureless head simply tilted to the side, and as it slowly scanned the room, the words seemed to come from all directions at once. His heart skipped a beat as he strained to keep his breathing steady, but his eyes refused to leave the figure.

The nurse-like apparition moved slowly, almost methodically, as if it was searching for something—or someone. As it finally turned its gaze in his direction, it lingered for a moment, and his breath caught in his throat. But then, as quickly as it had focused on him, it turned away, its attention drifting once more, as though it hadn't even noticed him in the first place.

It didn't realize he was watching. The thought sent a chill deeper than the fear itself. Despite his heart racing, he felt a flicker of relief. At least for now, it was unaware that he could see it.

It was a small relief, one that didn't quite reach his chest but settled uneasily in the back of his mind. Most spirits, he knew, wouldn't bother a person if they thought they couldn't be seen. A cursed spirit's interest was often tied to acknowledgment—if they believed they were invisible, they typically left their targets alone. But that was only true as long as they remained in the shadows of the unseen world.

He vaguely remembered his teacher from his past life speaking of this very thing. "The moment you acknowledge a spirit's existence, a thread of connection is formed—one that can allow them to harm you. Of course, that's not entirely true. It only applies to weak cursed spirits, the ones without enough power to manipulate or distort the world we live in. They will be able to harm you even if you can't see them."

The words echoed in his mind, unsettling in their truth. It was why he had to be careful with how he interacted with the spirits around him. The moment he accepted that one existed, even if just in passing, a fragile link would form between them. A cursed spirit could exploit that link and hurt him if it was strong enough.

Thankfully, just as quickly as it had appeared, the creature began to move. Its limbs, long and unsettlingly graceful, shifted with a fluidity that seemed both unnatural and deliberate. Slowly, it backed away from him, its hollow form retreating from his sight. With each step, the eerie presence seemed to fade, and it drifted toward the door.

As it stepped into the hallway, the chilling, disembodied voice echoed once more, lingering in the air: "Can you see me?" The words felt like an invisible weight, pressing down on the walls and floors, yet they didn't come from any discernible source. They just… hung in the air.

He dared not peek from under the blanket, not yet. Instead, he listened, straining to hear its movements, to feel its presence. The creature's voice repeated, growing more distant with each passing second. "Can you see me?" It was like a broken record, its question an endless loop that seemed to stretch into the silence of the night.

Then, just as he began to wonder if it would stay forever, the voice faded. The silence that followed felt almost too complete, as though the entire world had held its breath and was now exhaling. He waited, counting the seconds in the heavy, oppressive quiet. The creature's presence was gone, its footsteps no longer reverberating in the hallway. It had moved on.

As the evening settled into its quiet stillness, the tension in his body gradually began to fade. His muscles, taut and worn from all the events, slowly released their grip on him. The weight of fear, ever-present since the creature's appearance, finally started to lift. The exhaustion that had been lurking beneath the surface washed over him like a tide, and with a deep, steadying breath, he let himself relax.

He still didn't understand why he could see cursed spirits without the cursed energy to sense them. The rules of his world had always been clear—without enough cursed energy, one should be blind to them. But here he was, fully aware of their presence, even when he had no means to fight back. The mystery gnawed at him, but he couldn't afford to dwell on it. Not now.

What mattered now was survival. He had to keep pretending—acting as if he were unaware of their existence. For at least three years.

After that, once his cursed energy returned, he'd make them pay. He'd bring the full force of his power down on these spirits, wreak havoc, and destroy them all. The thought of it brought a flicker of fire to his chest, a promise to himself that he held onto tightly, despite the uncertainty of everything else.

The weight of exhaustion finally overtook him, pulling him into its embrace. His eyelids fluttered, heavy and unyielding, until they closed completely. Sleep came swiftly, its embrace soothing and unquestioning, offering him a brief respite from the turmoil and the unknown.