Itoshi slowly opened his eyes, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat as a sharp, rhythmic pain throbbed through his entire body. It pulsed behind his temples, down the length of his spine, and into his limbs like a dull, heavy aftershock of a tectonic shift. Light crept into his vision in thin, pale streaks. It stung, sharp as needles against his retinas.
He squinted against the intrusion, lifting a hand halfway to shield his face before his strength flickered out, letting the limb drop weakly back to his side. The air here was different. It felt cool and soft against his skin, carrying a crystalline freshness that lacked the metallic tang of blood or the scorched, ozone scent of the battlefield.
As his eyes adjusted, the blur of the world began to settle into shapes and colors. A pale face drifted into focus—suspended just inches from his own.
A white-haired woman hovered above him, strands of silver cascading down like silk threads brushing his cheeks. Her expression was unnervingly calm, her eyes unbothered as she watched him wake, as if she were observing a slow-blooming flower rather than a wounded man.
"Yo," she said, her voice casual enough to belong in a midday coffee shop.
Startled, Itoshi jolted upright on pure instinct—a soldier's reaction to a threat he couldn't name. He moved too fast, his body ignoring the protests of his nerves, and slammed his forehead straight into hers with a loud, solid thunk that echoed through the unnatural silence of the open air.
The impact rang through his skull like a struck bronze bell.
"Ow, ow, ow..."
He groaned, the world spinning in a fresh direction. He clutched his head in both hands, folding forward until his forehead almost touched his knees. Tiny sparks of white and gold burst behind his eyelids.
"What the hell—"
Meanwhile, the white-haired woman barely moved. She leaned back slightly, steadying herself with one palm against the grass. There was no irritation in her gaze, no flash of anger from the collision. She simply sat there, watching him with a quiet, almost amused observation, as if she'd watched this exact reaction unfold a hundred times before.
Itoshi stayed hunched for several long seconds, breathing through the waves of nausea. The grass beneath his palms felt cool and slightly damp with a dew that didn't seem to evaporate. A gentle breeze brushed across the back of his neck, carrying the faint, clean scent of disturbed earth and something sweet, like jasmine blooming in a frost.
When the throbbing in his head finally dulled to a manageable ache, he slowly straightened, blinking through the lingering haze. The world around him finally snapped into a sharp, terrifyingly beautiful focus.
It was an endless grassy field, rolling in emerald waves toward a horizon that never seemed to end. Above them, a wide sky was washed in a pale, crystalline blue, with thin clouds drifting so lazily that time itself felt like it had been stretched thin.
He turned back to her, still disoriented.
"Ehh... what happened to me?"
His voice was rough, the words catching in a dry throat.
"You passed out on top of the station,"
She replied, her silver hair shifting with the tilt of her head.
Slowly, fragments of reality began sliding back into place like shards of jagged glass. The biting cold of the rain. The suffocating, invisible pressure in the air. Roger's voice barking orders through the static. The splitting, agonizing ache in his chest that felt like his very soul was being wrung dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish, pained grimace crossing his face.
"Oh right... we had a bet that I lost."
The white-haired woman giggled. The sound was light and musical, catching on the wind and carrying away across the plains. Her eyes glinted with a secret, quiet amusement.
"Oh... such nostalgia,"
She murmured. The word was soft, spoken more to the horizon than to him, yet it lingered in the air with a strange, heavy weight.
Itoshi gave her a curious look, brushing blades of grass from his sleeve as he sat up straighter. He tried to reclaim some shred of his dignity, though the confusion still clung to his mind like a thick morning fog. "So... What's next?.. Miss white-haired woman?"
She smiled faintly, but her eyes weren't focused on him anymore. They grew distant, looking at something far beyond the curve of the earth. The wind seemed to slow at her command; the grass went quiet, standing still as if the world were holding its breath. When she spoke, her voice carried a subtle, resonant weight—a tone that echoed from a place much deeper than her throat.
"Ahh... A man with a passion for history shall cross your path—"
She paused, the wind picking up just enough to swirl the silver strands around her face.
"A heart not whole, half human, half machine. No gift adorns him—no spark of magic, no breath of wind, no roar of flame. Yet he shall rise... and perform beyond his frame."
The words settled into the open air, vibrating with the authority of a decree. The sky seemed to grow wider somehow, the blue deepening as the prophecy took root. Itoshi stared at her, his brows slowly pulling together in a confused knot.
"Ehh?.." He leaned forward slightly, searching her face for a hint of explanation. Nothing. She only smiled back at him, serene and completely satisfied with the blank look on his face.
He stared for a long minute. Blank. Then something clicked.
"Oh!"
He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the quiet field.
"What's your name? It feels kinda rude calling you white-haired woman every time we meet in my head."
For the first time since he had known her, she hesitated. Her eyes widened just a fraction, a small, human crack appearing in her divine composure.
"Ah... right," she murmured, a touch of surprise slipping into her voice. "My name..."
She fell quiet. Her gaze drifted downward toward the grass between them. Her fingers absently traced along a blade, bending it into a curve without tearing it free. A flicker of a thousand thoughts passed behind her eyes, too fast for him to read.
"Sukai-san.. Will it be alright?" she whispered, seemingly to a ghost standing just behind Itoshi's shoulder.
The breeze brushed past again, lifting a few strands of her hair across her cheek. She inhaled slowly—a deep, steady breath that pulled the essence of the field into her lungs. She closed her eyes briefly, as if sealing a door behind her. When she opened them again, her voice was soft, but certain.
"You can call me Miz."
The name settled between them gently. Itoshi's eyes lit up instantly. A wide, toothy grin spread across his face, the physical pain and the confusion of the prophecy seemingly evaporating.
"Hoh! Miz-sama!" he declared dramatically, giving her an exaggerated, respectful nod that nearly sent him toppling forward again.
She blinked at him. "Ehh... why sama?" Miz asked, tilting her head with curious amusement.
Itoshi scratched his cheek, suddenly sheepish again as he glanced at the sky.
"Well... I want to treat you as someone above me... because now that you're actually the one helping me.."
Her smile softened. Then it sharpened slightly as she leaned closer, her face hovering just a little nearer than before.
"Ahh... even if I only exist in your imagination?" she teased.
The question hung there like a leaf suspended mid-fall. Itoshi didn't laugh this time. He didn't flinch. He simply looked at her—really looked at her. At the way the wind moved her hair, at the way her shadow fell across the emerald grass, and the undeniable warmth in her eyes.
Then he replied quietly—"Are you now?"
For a second, absolute silence. Then Miz burst into laughter. It was a clear, carefree sound that rang out like a bell against the open sky. She flopped backward into the grass, her arms folding behind her head, her hair fanning out like spilled light across the field.
"Of course not! I'm very much real!"
Itoshi smiled faintly, lowering himself onto his elbows, his eyes drifting upward to the endless blue.
"Ah... I figured as much."
Her laughter faded into a soft hum as she turned her head toward him. This time, her smile carried something gentler. Something knowing.
"Anyways... You'll be coming back now. What truly happened—you shall find out for yourself."
The air began to shift. The warmth of the grass beneath Itoshi's elbows started to thin, becoming translucent. The sky above seemed to ripple like the surface of a disturbed pond. Itoshi blinked, but the edges of his vision were already blurring, colors bleeding softly into one another. The sound of the wind dulled, replaced by a distant, hollow ringing—like the world being heard from underwater.
He pushed himself upright slightly, but his hands passed through blades of grass that were no longer fully there. Everything was slipping. Fading. Just before the last of her figure dissolved into pale light, he saw her lips move one final time. He couldn't hear it. He wasn't sure what she said.
But somehow—he felt it mattered.
The field vanished.
Itoshi snapped back to reality. His eyes flew open, and this time, the light didn't just sting—it burned. Fluorescent tubes hummed overhead with a clinical, aggressive buzz. The sterile scent of disinfectant and ozone filled his lungs, replacing the sweet jasmine of the field.
He bolted upright in the clinic bed, the sheets twisting around his body like white vines as he gasped for air. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden silence of the room.
"MIZ-SAMA!" Itoshi shouted, his voice cracking with a raw urgency that tore through the sterile air.
The sharp cry sliced through the ward. Kara and Jayu, who had been resting quietly beside his bed, jolted upright at once. Jayu nearly slipped off her chair, her eyes wide with fright. Kara's hand flew to her chest, her heart likely mimicking his own.
Around them, the soft hum of medical equipment faltered under the weight of sudden attention. Nurses paused mid-step, their digital charts held tight. Curtains rustled. A few patients in nearby beds lifted their heads from their pillows, whispering in confusion. All of them locked onto Itoshi—sitting rigid in his bed, fingers digging into the mattress until his knuckles turned as white as the sheets.
He blinked, grounding himself as his pulse slowly eased. White walls. Fluorescent lights. The faint antiseptic sting in his nose. Not a field. Not open sky. Not Miz.
"Ah... I'm at a clinic,"
He muttered, the realization finally settling in.
From the side, Jayu's voice rang out, panicked and high.
"Itoshi-nii!! You're finally awake!"
Kara exhaled deeply, the tension draining from her shoulders so fast she almost slumped. A soft smile of relief replaced her worry.
"Thank God... you're fine. You nearly gave us a heart attack."
Itoshi turned toward her, still catching his breath.
"Ah... Kara... the white-haired woman came again,"
He said quietly, his eyes unfocused for a second.
"Also... her name is Miz."
"Her name is Miz-san, you say?"
Kara repeated thoughtfully, tapping her chin.
"Yeah... ring any bells?"
Itoshi asked, leaning forward slightly, hopeful.
"Nope."
Kara shrugged.
"Not a single one."
Before he could press further, a lazy, mocking voice drifted across the room from a nearby corner.
"A person only appearing in your dreams, you say?"
Kirashi was lounging in a chair, one leg crossed over the other in a pose of pure nonchalance. His arms rested comfortably behind his head, his posture loose despite the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. A sharp smirk curved his lips.
"I call that schizophrenia."
The silence that followed was heavy. Itoshi blinked once, his brain taking a second to catch up to the insult through the lingering dream-fog.
Then—"W-what did you say!? Are you saying I have a disorder, you damn breeze-head?!"
He shouted, anger flashing in his eyes as he leaned forward, fists clenching the bedsheets.
Kirashi threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the sterile tile floor. "Hahaha! The truth hurts, doesn't it?"
Before Itoshi could swing his legs off the bed and lunge at him, Jayu jumped between them, her arms spread wide like a tiny, determined shield.
"No! Don't fight, friends! That's bad for the healing!"
She declared, her eyes squeezed shut as if summoning peace through sheer willpower.
Itoshi's jaw tightened, his shoulders trembling with restrained irritation. Kirashi only smirked wider, clearly enjoying the reaction. After a few more tense seconds, Itoshi flopped back against his pillow with an annoyed huff.
He raised two fingers to his eyes and then pointed them at Kirashi in a dramatic 'I'm watching you' gesture.
"Aaaanyways... Kara, what actually happened to me out there?"
Kara sighed, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression turned guarded.
"Ah... apparently the heat made you pass out. Severe heat exhaustion. That's what the medics put in the report. Though, it's a bit odd..."
Itoshi frowned, the headache returning with the news.
"Eh, what? Heat? How can I pass out when I'm a fla—"
Jayu immediately slapped both hands over his mouth, her eyes wide with urgency.
"Shhhh... the secret, Itoshi-ni! The walls have ears!"
She whispered, her eyes darting around the room. A nurse nearby glanced over suspiciously.
Itoshi gently pulled her hands away.
"Ah, sorry,"
He muttered sheepishly. Then his expression hardened.
"But seriously. That's just... not possible. My body doesn't work like that."
"I know, right?"
Kara agreed, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"It doesn't add up."
Kirashi leaned forward slightly, his smirk returning.
"Maybe your flam—"
Jayu lunged again, clamping both hands over his mouth before he could finish. Kirashi's words came out as a series of muffled, distorted grunts.
"E musbeaeb mwekabening—"
"At this point, Jayu-chan's basically a live censor button for this entire squad,"
Kara muttered, pulling a strange face—half amused, half exhausted. Jayu shrugged without removing her hands, but her expression grew uncharacteristically serious.
Kara's smile faded.
"Something must've attacked you there... but what? And why only you?"
The playful tone in the room dissolved completely, replaced by the rhythmic hum of the medical monitors. The four of them traded silent, heavy glances. Itoshi's secret was his greatest shield, yet something had reached him without leaving a single trace.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the clinic, far from the noise of the main ward—
Hoshi slept peacefully, her breathing steady and deep, almost too calm compared to the chaos elsewhere. The heavy curtains around her bed swayed faintly as air from the industrial vent brushed through the fabric.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Her vision was a blur of sterile white, ceiling lights stretching into long streaks before snapping into sharp, painful focus.
"What the hell...? Wh-what happened?"
She muttered, her voice a dry rasp.
Then—memory slammed into her like a physical blow. The dark alleyway. The biting rain. The presence—that suffocating, ancient pressure behind her back. Her body jerked upright in the bed, the sheets tangling around her waist as her chest began to heave.
A nearby nurse rushed through the curtain.
"Ma'am! Are you okay?!"
But Hoshi wasn't listening. Her eyes were darting around the shadows of the cubicle.
"How the hell... did he find me there?"
Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Cold, oily sweat gathered at her temples.
"Did he follow me...? But how... how did I not sense him at all..."
The nurse gently grabbed her shoulders.
"Ma'am, breathe. You're safe—"
Hoshi blinked, her eyes locking onto the nurse's face. In that split second, her pupils shrank to pinpricks. For a heartbeat—just a single, terrifying heartbeat—the nurse's face wasn't a face at all. A shadow flickered over it, a dark void where human features should be.
Without warning, Hoshi let out a piercing, primal scream that tore through the ward.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
The nurse stumbled back in shock, nearly knocking over a tray of surgical tools that clattered to the floor. The scream echoed down the ward, sharp and terrifyingly real. Curtains shook. Patients stirred in alarm. Footsteps began rushing toward the room.
Down the hall, in the other wing, Kara and the others stiffened, their conversation cut short. They watched in stunned silence as Hoshi burst out from behind the curtains of her wing, her face pale and her eyes wide with raw fear as she sprinted down the corridor, her bare feet slapping against the cold tiles.
"What the heck is happening with the patients here today..."
One nurse muttered, rubbing her forehead.
"Guess the heat really is getting to people's nerves, huh?"
Another sighed, looking weary.
Kara's brows furrowed as she watched Hoshi disappear around the corner.
"Heat...?"
The word lingered, feeling like a thin, pathetic lie. A small, unsettling feeling began to settle in her chest, cold and sharp. Because something about that explanation didn't just feel wrong—it felt like a cover-up for something much worse.
~~~To be Continued~~~