Part 11: Offers in the Dark
Renjiro quietly gestured toward the front entrance. Understanding that staying in the house would only keep the tension suffocating, Mikasa gently guided a tearful Mimi toward the door, taking her to the hospital so she could be near Haruto. Akari and Renjiro stepped outside shortly after, leaving the quiet household behind as they set off across the village to desperately search every secondary branch and distant contact line for any other potential donor.
Kaito was left completely alone in the silent house.
Hours passed in heavy, unmoving stillness. The afternoon light shifted across the village, eventually giving way to the cool, quiet shadows of late evening.
Inside the hospital, high above the quiet streets, the medical room was bathed in the pale, dim blue glow of the bedside monitors.
Beep.
...
Beep.
...
Beep.
Haruto lay unmoving in the center of the crisp white hospital bed. His breathing was soft, shallow, and barely lifting his chest beneath the folded sheets. An IV line ran from a tall stand into his bruised arm, and the stark white bandages wrapped around his neck and cheek showed through the dim light.
Sitting on a low wooden chair beside the bed was Mikasa, her head resting back against the cold wall, her eyes closed in quiet, exhausted stillness.
Directly beside the mattress, small wooden stool drawn as close to Haruto as possible, sat Mimi.
Her tiny hands were curled softly into the edge of Haruto's blanket, her forehead resting gently against the side of the mattress right next to his hip. Exhausted from crying earlier in the corridor, her long eyelashes were dark against her flushed cheeks, her breath coming in slow, peaceful cycles as she slept.
She couldn't give him her blood. She couldn't fix his broken ribs or wake him up from the dark. But in the quiet, sterile room, she simply stayed right beside him, refusing to let her older brother be alone.
Beep.
...
Beep.
The steady rhythm of the heart monitor continued to echo through the dark room, measuring out the lingering, fragile time Haruto had left.
Outside the quiet room, the narrow hospital corridor was unusually crowded.
Fifteen eight-year-old academy students stood lined up along the white walls, moving their feet nervously and whispering in hushed tones. Amaya, Arashi, Daichi, Haruki, Hina, Izumi, Misaki, Naoko, Raizo, Riku, Sanae, Shin, Tetsu, Souta, and Yuna—Haruto's entire class—had gathered outside, their faces carrying a heavy mix of worry and awkward concern.
Standing at the head of the group was their instructor, Daigo-sensei. He checked his watch before turning to address his students in a low, quiet voice.
"Alright, everyone," Daigo whispered, gesturing gently toward the exit. "Let's head out. You've all been here for a long time, and we need to give him quiet."
The students nodded in silence. One by one, they stepped up to the partially open door of the room, entering quietly in small groups so as not to wake Mimi or disturb Mikasa.
On the small bedside table right next to Haruto's bed—just inches from where Mimi rested her head—the classmates left their offerings.
A few of them set down small, freshly picked wildflowers in a plain glass cup. Yuna carefully placed a handmade string charm beside it, while Souta left a small, neatly wrapped packet of sweets. Shin tucked a small adventure book near the lamp, and two or three others laid down simple, folded paper notes filled with quick scribbles.
Leaning prominently against the small table lamp was the centerpiece of their visit: a large, folded class card. The thick paper was covered in fifteen distinct handwritings, ranging from simple well-wishes like "Get better soon" and "We're waiting for you," to slightly awkward messages like "You better come back, we still have training," and a sharp, familiar line from Haruki: "You still owe me a rematch."
With their small offerings placed, the students filed out of the room with light, careful footsteps. Outside, Daigo gave Mikasa a brief, respectful nod through the glass before leading the fifteen academy students down the quiet corridor and toward the main exit.
Inside the room, Haruto remained entirely unconscious, unaware of the small crowd that had gathered for him.
The pale blue light of the monitor hummed steadily. On one side of the bed, tiny Mimi lay fast asleep with her head against the mattress; on the other, the bedside table rested heavy with flowers, notes, and the large class card—a quiet testament that even in the dark, Haruto was far from forgotten.
Beep.
...
Beep.
The evening steadily drifted into the quiet chill of night.
Inside the central ward, Dr. Ken stood by the desk, his hands resting heavily against the edge of the wooden counter. His expression was drawn and full of mounting tension. Time was slipping away rapidly, and there was still no word from Akari or Renjiro regarding a compatible donor. Every minute Haruto's blood volume remained this low, the strain on his burnt-out system grew exponentially worse.
Near the doorway, Mikasa carefully lifted a fast-asleep Mimi onto her back, supporting her small legs as the little girl's head rested against her neck.
Mikasa turned to Dr. Ken, her voice low and tight with quiet worry. "Dr. Ken... if there's anything else I can do—anything at all—please let me know."
Dr. Ken gave a somber nod. "I will. Go home and let her rest, Mikasa."
Mikasa stepped out into the night, carrying Mimi home through the silent streets.