I woke to the sterile, unforgiving scent of antiseptic and the faint, rhythmic *beep... beep... beep...* of a machine monitoring a life that felt far too fragile. My eyelids felt weighted with lead, and when I finally managed to pry them open, the world swam into a blurry, indistinct haze of white walls and muted light. Every muscle fiber in my body screamed in dull, persistent protest, a deep, pervasive ache that settled into my bones. I was enveloped in bandages, a mummy swaddled in medical gauze, the crisp linen sheets of the hospital bed scratching against my skin.
My sight gradually sharpened, focusing on a figure leaning against the far wall. Arms crossed over his chest, posture rigid and vigilant, stood Koji. He was a sentinel, his presence a strange mixture of comfort and tension. But something was immediately, jarringly wrong with his appearance. He was wearing a sleek, forest-green hoodie—the exact one I had bought last month and cherished for its softness. It was far too large for his lean frame, the sleeves slightly bunched, the hood pulled low over his forehead, giving him the look of a disgruntled, oversized elf.
*Wait a minute,* I thought, a sluggish wave of irritation cutting through the pain. *That's my hoodie.*
I tried to push myself up, intending to demand an explanation for the blatant theft of my favorite piece of clothing, but a searing jolt of pain shot through my core, radiating outwards to my limbs. I gasped, falling back against the pillows, the effort leaving me breathless and dizzy.
Koji's eyes, usually sharp and focused, softened slightly with a flicker of concern. He moved away from the wall, his steps silent despite the heavy boots he wore.
"There's no need for that," he stated flatly, his voice devoid of its usual aggressive edge. He reached out, his gloved hand hovering near my shoulder, a clear signal to stay put. "You'll open your wounds."
Wounds? I frowned, trying to mentally catalogue the events leading up to this moment. I remembered the chaos: the converging Mileenas, the arrival of the government forces, the terrifying speed of Takashi, and then—the abduction. The massive Mileena had snatched me, pulling me high into the air, its grip crushing my ribs. I remembered the terrifying realization that I was utterly helpless, a prize being carried away.
"But... I don't have any wounds," I mumbled, my voice dry and weak. "Not from the fight. I was being abducted by that giant Mileena. I didn't get hit after I used the six emotions."
A sharp, agonizing spike of pain suddenly pierced the fog of my memory, a delayed echo of a catastrophic impact. It wasn't a physical blow I had forgotten, but the sudden, violent stop of my ascent.
The memory rushed back, vivid and brutal:
One moment, I was soaring through the darkening sky, the Mileena's massive, sinewy arm clamped around me, the wind tearing at my clothes. The next, a shadow fell over us—a figure manifesting mid-air, defying gravity and logic. It was Sweet.
He hadn't flown; he had simply been there, suspended by an unknown application of his Yami-ebhi. His face, usually so composed, was contorted with a fierce, protective despair. His power, Arhian (Sadness), was typically subtle, used for strategy and perception, but here, it was weaponized into a desperate, focused strike.
Sweet didn't touch the Mileena directly. Instead, he unleashed a concentrated wave of emotional energy—a move I would later learn was called the "Sorrowful Strike." It wasn't brute force; it was a targeted psychic assault that exploited the Mileena's momentary emotional vulnerability (the shock of being intercepted).
The Mileena shrieked, a sound of pure, agonizing mental pain, its grip momentarily slackening. Sweet didn't wait. He followed up instantly, manifesting a colossal, shimmering construct of pure, solidified grief—a massive, indigo-hued hammer that slammed down onto the Mileena's head with impossible precision.
The impact was catastrophic. The Mileena, already destabilized by the emotional shock, was driven downwards like a stake, its body a blur of collapsing mass. I was ripped free just before the final descent, but the sudden, violent deceleration was almost as bad as the impact itself. Sweet caught me, absorbing the residual kinetic energy, but the sheer force of the stop was enough to send a shockwave through my system, plunging me into blackness.
I gasped again, the memory leaving me cold and shaking. "Sweet," I whispered, the name a realization. "He showed up. He smashed it. He saved me."
Koji nodded, confirming the terrifying flashback. "He did. It was messy. But that's not why you're here."
He pulled up a small medical stool and sat beside the bed, his posture shifting from sentinel to reluctant confidante. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a serious, low tone that demanded attention.
"Your wounds aren't from any fatal hit, Yoru. You didn't take any external damage that required this much recovery time. This is different." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's exhaustion. Energy depletion. You used the Okhuomo-Gekido—the unified six emotions—to defend yourself when that brute grabbed you. You broke through its grip with pure, raw power."
He ran a hand over the rough fabric of my stolen hoodie. "You used too much. You pushed the six channels past their limit. The doctor called it an 'Emotional Feedback Loop' leading to severe Aura-Burn."
My brow furrowed. I had always assumed the power was limitless, a raw well of emotional energy.
"The six emotions," Koji explained, his eyes intense, "are not meant to be unified for long. It's like running a nuclear reactor without coolant. The power is immense, but the energy consumption is exponential. You used the unified state for nearly thirty minutes during the initial fight and then again when you broke free from the Mileena."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, emphasizing the chilling gravity of the next piece of information. "We escaped by the skin of our teeth. Zara was driving the vehicle—my vehicle, mind you—with no license, weaving through government blockades and Mileena ambushes. Running from the officials and Mileenas isn't that easy."
A flicker of gratitude crossed his face, a rare display of emotion. "Takashi helped us escape. He didn't fight for us, but he created an impossible diversion, a localized energy surge that temporarily disabled the government's tracking systems and confused the remaining Mileenas. It was just enough time for Sweet to get you into the car."
"He transferred us to this hospital in an instant—a black market facility, obviously, but one with top-tier medical tech. And that's when the doctor told us the truth about your power."
Koji shifted uncomfortably, the silence stretching tautly between us. "Yoru, if you use all six emotions unified for more than thirty-seven minutes, you will experience a fatal shock. Your internal energy systems will collapse. It will lead to immediate, irreversible organ damage. You were close. Too close."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Thirty-seven minutes. My immense, terrifying, world-shattering power was a ticking clock. A fragile gift wrapped in a death sentence. The realization was a cold, heavy weight settling in my chest, far worse than any physical pain. I wasn't just an outlaw; I was a ticking time bomb.
"The doctor advised that you use your powers moderately," Koji continued, his gaze fixed on my bandaged hand. "He said you must only use your hands—meaning, you should only tap into one emotional channel at a time. Yorokobi, Arhian, Kyofu... individually. Never the full six-channel torrent. Never the *Okhuomo-Gekido* unless it is literally life or death, and even then, you must calculate the time."
The weight of my lineage, the burden of the Okonogie name, suddenly felt crushing. I was a Mileena, a king's heir, a destroyer, but my power came with a fatal, non-negotiable limit. I had been given the keys to ultimate power, only to discover those keys were made of glass.
And that's when I knew this burden wasn't some easy task. It wasn't about simply learning to fight; it was about learning to *calculate* every surge of emotion, every moment of conflict, every second of my existence. My life was now dictated by a stopwatch.
Just as the despair threatened to overwhelm me, the door to the hospital room swung open, admitting a rush of normalcy and warmth. Sweet and Zara walked in, their presence immediately lifting the heavy atmosphere of the room. Sweet, though still looking weary, carried himself with his usual quiet authority. Zara, however, was a whirlwind of frantic, cheerful energy.
She was juggling two large, grease-stained paper bags, her eyes sparkling with an almost manic excitement.
"Yoru! You're awake!" she exclaimed, rushing to the bedside.
The smell hit me instantly, cutting through the antiseptic and the lingering scent of fear and exhaustion. It was rich, savory, and utterly irresistible: the distinct, heavenly aroma of freshly baked meat pie. My favorite snack. It was a scent so grounding, so familiar, that for a brief, blissful moment, the weight of the Okonogie lineage, the 37-minute clock, and the threat of the Abominations all faded away.
Zara deposited the bags on the bedside table with a triumphant flourish. "We had to go deep into the city to get these. Sweet said you needed comfort food, and I figured nothing says 'welcome back from near-fatal energy depletion' like a dozen of Mrs. Adebayo's finest!"
Sweet offered a small, tired smile, resting a hand briefly on my forehead. "How are you feeling, Yoru?"
I looked at the meat pies, then at Koji in my hoodie, then at Sweet and Zara, their faces etched with relief and exhaustion. I was a ticking bomb, an outlaw, and a Mileena, but I was also surrounded by people who risked everything, even driving without a license, just to bring me comfort food.
"Hungry," I croaked out, the word thick with emotion.
Koji rolled his eyes, but a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He reached into the bag and pulled out a warm, perfectly crimped meat pie, the flaky crust glistening under the hospital lights.
"Eat up, Destroyer," he muttered, handing it to me. "We have a lot to discuss, and we need you strong. Thirty-seven minutes isn't much time to save the world."