Everyone present looked at him in aghast silence, staggered and wearing mixed expressions of horror and sneer. Some panicked, instantly starting emergency procedures to assess his volatile condition.
The boy couldn't hold his urge to breathe, but his lungs refused to cooperate.
"GET THE OXYGEN TRANSFER RATE INCREASED!" one of the doctors shouted, issuing sharp orders.
Hands flew across the medical equipment; dials were turned, and valves on the oxygen cylinders were thrown wide. Gradually, the boy stopped withering like a thin leaf caught in a gale. Though far from calm, his mind cleared enough to anchor itself to reality.
"I feel like... it is nostalgic." He thought, enduring the severe phantom weights of his own flesh. "Like I have been here before... this state... this feeling of a body refusing to obey a single command... is familiar."
Pure agony throbbed through him the moment he tried to shift. Realizing movement was impossible, he abandoned his effort to rise from the surgical bed. As he sank back, a deep pain hammered against his spine as he lay on bed again. The riot of voices and mechanical alarms echoing around the operating theater only made the sensory overload worse.
Without hesitation, a doctor injected a dark red fluid directly into the veins of his right arm. The effect was immediate. His thoughts grew blissfully numb, and the agonizing pain vanished like water poured over a campfire.
Before darkness claimed him entirely, he caught one final, desperate shout: "CALL HIMEKA-SAMA RIGHT NOW! INFORM HER OF THIS! IT'S URGENT!"
For a few fleeting seconds, the lingering light in his eyes vanished as his eyelids slid shut, reflecting the harsh, white glare of the surgical theater.
By the time Himeka arrived, accompanied by Reiji and Nakajima, a profound wave of relief washed over the entourage. They were happy—so consumed by the miracle of his survival that the daunting reality of the boy's new life barely registered yet.
The lead physician, Dr. Mira, debriefed the family.
"Any changes in his condition?" Himeka asked, her voice steady as she stared at the image of the boy she had, like it was yesterday.
"Yes." Mira replied softly, her quiet voice carrying clearly down the sterile hallway. "His cardiac cycle has altered significantly. His heart rate is hovering at approximately one beat every 1.8 seconds, making it roughly 33 beats per minute."
"Why is it so low?" Himeka pressed.
"The mechanics of his heart have slowed down." Mira explained, pulling up a highly detailed, rotating anatomical diagram on the digital screen. "The left atrium retains blood for an additional 0.19 seconds because the mitral valve is sluggish to open its curtains to the left ventricle. We are seeing the exact same delay on the right side with the tricuspid valve. Furthermore, the cardiac septum has lost its structural integrity."
"The septum? The muscular wall that divides the right and left chambers of heart?"
"Precisely, Himeka-sama. Because that dividing wall has weakened, it takes much longer for the heart to complete a full contraction. Normally, a resting heart rate for children to adults ranges from 70 to 100 beats per minute. His current rate is exceptionally low."
Himeka turned to face the doctor, her eyes narrowing. "Is it even possible for a human to remain alive with such low rates? Especially considering the horrific trauma his body has suffered?"
"In this specific context, yes. It is actually a protective mechanism. You must've heard from Dr. Inami, but let me explain again." Mira said, adjusting her glasses. "Normally, the body continuously pumps blood equally to sustain daily activity. But in Ryoho-sama's critical state, his metabolic demands have plummeted. His body is acting like a highly complex, self-preservational machine; it recognizes the trauma and is intentionally prioritizing blood flow almost exclusively to the brain to keep him alive."
Reiji blinked, trying to comprehend. "Doesn't the brain usually command the body's functions?"
"Under normal conditions, yes, Reiji-sama." Mira replied. "But when the brain is injured or deprived, the autonomous nervous system takes over. The body triggers primitive survival loops on its own. The subconscious plays a big role here."
"Aside from his brain and heart, are his other internal organs intact?" Himeka asked.
"Yes, which is an absolute miracle. It is incredibly fortunate that his gastric acid didn't rupture into his body and other organs. Stomach acid is highly corrosive—strong enough to melt tissue from the inside out if the stomach lining fails—which is why the body constantly secretes a fresh protective mucus layer every few days. His ribs are severely fractured, but his gastrointestinal tract, liver, kidneys, pancreas, thymus gland, testicles, and reproductive organs escaped catastrophic damage. His skin is burned, but the deep internal structures remain functional."
Reiji stepped forward anxiously. "How will his recovery look? Will he be able to walk, talk, and write again?"
"His thyroid is functioning well, and his core faculties are intact. He will recover." Mira reassured them, allowing a collective sigh of relief to ripple through the room. "His mandible, jaw, teeth, and facial structure have sustained severe impact trauma, but they will heal with time and reconstructive intervention. If not than a operation is safe option in future, when he is ready. His eyes are miraculously healed. Like nothing happened. However, due to the intense thermal heat of the blast, his skin suffered third-degree burns, turning it a charcoal color. His hair follicles were completely destroyed by the fire; a hair transplant is a solution in the future, but only when his body stabilizes. Restoring him exactly as he was is impossible, but functional recovery is achievable."
"Thank God." Reiji whispered, his shoulders visibly dropping as if an unbearable weight had been lifted. Nakajima relaxed his rigid posture as well.
Mira wiped a stray tear from her eye, her professional veneer softening slightly. "It is truly brave of you all to take this news so calmly. I was terrified of how you would react to the sheer extent of his injuries."
"There is nothing to be afraid of." Himeka said, her expression cool and unreadable. "This reality is far better than the what we were expecting."
"Indeed." Mira nodded. "However, because his metabolic system is fragile right now, we cannot give heavy proteins or complex solids directly into his digestive tract. If his GI system begins working too hard, it will divert critical blood flow away from his healing brain."
"So he won't be able to eat normally?" Reiji asked.
"Not for a long time. But we are sustaining him intravenously. Fortuitously, his blood type is AB positive. While it is a rare type globally, our private reserve is heavily stocked. His blood circulatory volume will be perfectly maintained. The larger concern is how his brain handles the trauma."
"What do you mean by affected?" Nakajima asked, confusion clouding his face.
"Though his basic motor functions should return, we don't know how the trauma will impact his cognitive processing, memory retention, or emotional comprehension. The neurological tissue has suffered a severe shock. And more of all, how he will react and behave by such incident he have experienced."
The room fell into an uncomfortable, heavy silence.
Mira broke the quiet, attempting to pivot. "He will walk and write again... though I must admit, I find myself wishing he were left-handed."
Himeka interrupted. "Ryoho is right-handed. Why does that matter?"
"Based on the blast trajectory and the burn patterns, Ryoho-sama was shielding his left side against a reinforced wall. That structure absorbed the brunt of the primary thermal wave, saving him from total vaporization. However, the kinetic force of the explosion slammed his right side violently against a opposite wall. Both walls were concrete, one saved him and one injured him. His right extremities sustained the worst of the mechanical and structural impact."
"Wait a second!" Nakajima panicked, his voice rising. "Didn't you just say he would be alright?!"
"He will be." Mira said defensively. "But 'alright' means he will survive. His right side will require intensive, painful physical therapy and neurological retraining to regain fine motor control. That is why I hoped he was left-handed; learning to write and walk again with his dominant side severely damaged will be an uphill battle."
The trio stared at the doctor in stunned disbelief. Mira looked back at them, momentarily oblivious to why her clinical bluntness had struck such a nerve. Then, her eyes widened as another realization hit her.
"Ah! My apologies, I forgot to emphasize one critical detail. Because of the cerebral swelling, there is no definitive timeline for when he will regain sustained consciousness. He could remain comatose for weeks. Furthermore, because he cannot process heavy nutrients or fats, his body will lack the caloric surplus required for rapid tissue regeneration. If he attempts any physical exertion or tries to move too early once he wakes, the metabolic toll could induce acute organ failure."
Reiji opened his mouth to speak, but Nakajima exploded, his bottled-up frustration bursting out in a wave of raw fury.
"DON'T YOU THINK CRITICAL INFORMATION LIKE THAT IS SOMETHING YOU SHOULDN'T JUST FORGET?!" Nakajima roared, stepping toward the doctor.
"Nakajima! Know your place!" Himeka's sharp command sliced through the air.
Nakajima froze, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his breathing heavy behind his dark sunglasses.
"Apologize to Dr. Mira immediately." Himeka ordered cold-bloodedly.
"But Himeka-Sama, she—"
"Do as you are told, or face immediate suspension."
The bodyguard's jaw tightened in agonizing tension. Lowering his head, he bowed stiffly to the physician. "I apologize for my unacceptable rudeness and insolence, Doctor. Please overlook my outburst."
Mira straightened her lab coat and pushed up her glasses, regaining her composure. "It is fine. But watch your tongue in the future, Officer. Remember, you are simply a bodyguard."
"Yes." Nakajima muttered, standing rigid once more.
"Well, then, Himeka-Sama, I must return to the intensive care unit to monitor Ryoho-sama's vitals." Mira said, stepping out of the projection room.
Only after the heavy doors clicked shut did Reiji speak up, looking down at the floor. "Why did Nakajima have to bow? It was her mistake. I am furious with her negligence too."
"Lashing out at essential specialists who hold our future in their hands is a fool's errand." Himeka replied, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Whether they work for us or an agency, people who feel insulted are the first to stab you in the back. Remember this, Reiji-san: securing loyalty, maintaining a calculated respect, and controlling your emotions comes before pride."
"Yes, Mother..." Reiji murmured.
The three of them exited the projection room into the main corridor, but before they could reach the elevators, a piercing, blood-curdling shriek echoed from the secondary wing.
Nakajima instantly drew his weapon, moving swiftly to shield Himeka and Reiji. "What was that?!"
Down the hall, a door burst open. Dr. Mira came sprinting out, her face completely drained of color, her eyes wide with unadulterated terror.
"A ZOMBIE! It's... it's hideous! Disgusting!" she screamed, stumbling over her own feet.
"What are you talking about?!" Nakajima demanded.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors Mira had fled through were slammed open with a violent, resounding crash.
A shape emerged, moving forward with an erratic, sickening sound of shifting bones and dragging flesh. It moved with an unnatural, terrifying steadiness, maintaining a straight line without a single hint of hesitation. Dark, crimson blood saturated its entire frame, dripping onto the clean linoleum floor.
It stood barely three feet tall. The massive reduction in height was a gruesome display of total skeletal collapse. The kinetic shockwave of the blast, combined with the force of his body slamming into the concrete wall, had decimated his spinal column. His vertebrae had suffered severe compression fractures, flattening into one another and locking his torso into an agonizing, broken hunch. His legs could barely support him; the femoral head had been driven completely out of their pelvic sockets, and the bones of his lower extremities were shattered, folding under his weight.
As the thing dragged itself forward, a distinct, brittle crackling noise echoed down the hallway. It was crepitus—the horrific sound of splintered, comminuted bone fragments grinding directly against one another without any structural support. His right arm hung completely useless, a dead weight of shattered clavicle and humerus bones. His thoracic cage, his ribs, were a ruined mass of fractured ribs, forcing his chest to sink abnormally with every shallow gasp. Even his face had taken the brunt of the mechanical impact; his fractured mandible hung loosely, leaving his mouth wide open. Strings of saliva mingled with a trailing rail of blood behind him, dripping from his lips.
Every step was a medical anomaly. His muscles were tearing themselves apart just to pull against shattered bone shards instead of solid skeleton, driving sharp fragments into his own soft tissue. Yet, propelled by raw, primitive survival loops and a subconscious refusal to die, he kept walking straight toward them.
The mangled figure stopped, its eyes lifting toward the harsh corridor lights.
"All...?" a raspy, broken voice wheezed through the fractured jaw.
Himeka's eyes widened in profound horror.
Reiji staggered back, his voice trembling in absolute shock. "Ryo..."