It was getting close to evening, and the red glow threatened to turn into the blue of night.

  The area near the warehouse from which Minato had flown out like a bullet was deserted, so he was lucky that there were no curious onlookers who would want to stick their noses into business that had nothing to do with them.

  Outside, Minato sucked as much poison from Aranagi's wounds as he could. Sometimes he had to suck from places that would have earned him dozens of slaps. And pure intentions would not have saved him from physical punishment.

  Even though the poison was still in her blood, at least the threat of death from poisoning had receded into the background.

  Holding the bloodied Aranagi in his arms, Minato clicked his tongue. Even though he could barely stand due to the pain in his side, he couldn't allow the already unclean wounds to come into contact with the dirty ground.

  He couldn't understand what she was thinking when she came here. She clearly wasn't stupid enough to come to a place that literally screamed, “I'm a trap, you'll be buried here!” without a good reason. And, apparently, she hadn't told anyone about her intentions. Not even the Specialists she claimed to be working with.

  The only logical explanation Minato could come up with was that she didn't want to put others in danger by involving them in her personal affairs.

  Now Minato was thinking about what to do. If he didn't send Aranagi to the hospital, she would die from her injuries. But even if he ran as fast as he could to the nearest facility, there was no guarantee he would make it in time. (He couldn't call anyone because he had broken his phone when he landed on it. And Aranagi didn't have a phone with her.)

  And even if he did get her to the hospital, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't come after her. After all, it seemed that Suoh was part of some organization that was extremely interested in eliminating Aranagi. And something told him that they would be willing to sacrifice innocent people without batting an eye.

  “Still, I can't just leave her like this.”

  “Why... did you come?” came a hoarse voice from the weakened and sluggish body. “I... said that...”

  Her voice was weak, but at least she had regained consciousness, which was a relief.

  "This is hell. Blah blah. I chose this path myself. Blah blah. Minato is an idiot. Blah blah blah. Maybe that's enough, huh? You should take care of yourself."

  Even after briefly examining each of the wounds, which could easily have been fatal, Minato realized that simple bandaging would not be enough. Minato had been involved in fights for a long time, so he knew how to administer first aid and which wounds could be hidden and which could not. Her cuts looked bad enough to make him wonder how she was even breathing. Even Minato's endless composure quickly evaporated.

  He was no help here, and the only option was to run to the crowd and ask them to call an ambulance.

  His feet, firmly planted on the ground, shot forward at bullet speed. The main goal was to eliminate the threat to life; the rest could be thought about later.

  “Hey, is there any way to ease the pain with electricity?” Minato asked as he accelerated to Olympic champion speeds.

  He had no hope that his lightning bolts, which were only good for destruction, could heal her or miraculously remove her wounds. Minato was not a conventional mage with healing powers from RPG games. And he was not eager to use his cursed power when it was already making his head split at the seams. But he had no choice.

  "Yes. Often... electrical stimulation of the nerves is used... to block the transmission of pain signals,“ Aranagi sighed quietly, her breathing ragged and shallow from blood loss. ”But to do that... you would have to have precise... control over your ability. And even if you could... perform everything with surgical precision... your Special would cancel out my ability to regenerate.“

  Her words at least made it clear to him how she had survived at all. And again, his damn ability couldn't do any good when it was so badly needed.

  ”Damn. Every time, problems because of this shit."

  Even if he didn't take into account the properties of devouring the effects of other abilities, due to his neglect of his own ability, his control over it left much to be desired. So even if he had normal electricity, due to his lack of control, he risked simply burning her entire nervous system.

  But one detail in her words caught his attention. She knew about his ability, or more precisely, the hidden ability of black lightning to nullify all other abilities.

  “How do you know?” Minato asked incredulously.

  “You are... in some databases. I... know...” Unable to remain conscious, she closed her eyes.

  Her words caused Minato's hands to subconsciously clench so tightly that they could have crushed her bones, but he quickly regained his composure. This woman said she knew more about Minato than he would have liked. Those words alone made him lose his composure.

  In a normal situation, he would not have calmed down until he had extracted the information from her.

  Even if he had to use force. But now was not the time or place. He could interrogate her later; right now, the most important thing was to help the person who was on the verge of death. A person who was suffering, in part, because of Minato's inability to help.

  ...

  “Mockery. Pure mockery.”

  These were the words muttered by Makoto Amamiya as she trudged along Ota's main street, Kamata Street. Sweat dripped down her irritated face, and her clothes clung uncomfortably to her body. If she had been offered a dip in a bathtub filled to the brim with ice, she would have agreed without hesitation.

  Even though summer vacation was in full swing, she was still wearing her academy's summer uniform: a light short-sleeved blouse, a pleated black skirt, and a pair of loafers. This choice of clothing could only mean one thing. She had been left behind for extra classes because of her grades falling behind.

  It was all because of her maniacal pursuit of Minato, which caused her to neglect her sleep, studies, and personal life. And, as a result, karma caught up with her.

  Only one thing eased her suffering: she was the best in the prestigious academy, so it would only be for a couple of days at most. And then she could resume her pursuit.

  The main thing was not to be seen by Minato, because he found every opportunity to mock her, and this was the perfect excuse. The mere thought of it made Makoto's ears steam.

  “Oh well, whatever happens happens. It wouldn't hurt to find the culprit in that serum case...” she muttered wearily, almost staggering from side to side.

  Just last night, she had stumbled upon some suspicious-looking individuals whose activities were clearly related to street gangs. As she had expected, they were selling serum, and she was quite prepared to put up with their comments that she looked like a child. Let the desire to amputate a couple of their limbs grow exponentially. But when, after mocking her, they simply chased her away, her patience came to an end, as did their shelter, which Makoto chopped into pieces with her threads, and sent the thugs running bare-assed to surrender to the police.

  “And all they said was to go to Ota. A great plan, ingenious even. As reliable as a Swiss watch.”

  She could have continued to rack her brains over a plan of action if she hadn't seen a large crowd ahead. It seemed like a normal occurrence for Kamata, especially in the evenings. But judging by their whispering, what lay ahead was far from a fight between two drunks where everyone could bet on a contender.

  “Damn it! This isn't a staged event or a movie shoot! She's dying, for fuck’s sake, call an ambulance!!!”

  A hoarse voice shouted at the top of it’s lungs from the crowd. A voice that seemed so familiar, yet at the same time alien. Pushing through the crowd, Makoto saw Minato, who was furiously shouting at those around him to call an ambulance.

  For some reason, the sight was frightening enough to send shivers down her spine and make her body go numb. It wasn't just his appearance, with bloodstained clothes, wounds on his arms and Achilles tendons, or even the hole in his side.

  It was his scream.

  She had only seen the ever-cool Minato lose his temper a couple of times, and even then she had to try hard. But even then, he didn't scream, and his face didn't turn into an animalistic scowl. It was probably similar to scenes from movies where a quiet, calm psychopath, who was ready to commit genocide without batting an eye, begins to show anger for the first time.

  Even more surprising was seeing Aranagi, covered in blood, in his arms, looking like a doll that had been given to a pair of angry pit bulls to tear apart.

  She didn't know what was going on, she had no idea. But while those around her hesitated and called the hospital, she managed to break free, now standing a few meters away from Minato, whose scowl had turned to surprise.

  “Arnie? What are you doing here?”

  “We can talk about that later. She clearly won't make it until the ambulance arrives. We need to administer first aid.”

  Glancing quickly at the body, Makoto examined the wounds. The torn clothing barely concealed the wounds, and blood flowed from them like fuel from a tank with a hole in it.

  “Damn, this is bad. She seems to have internal bleeding. Lay her on her side so we can avoid aspiration.”

  In a normal situation, Minato would have thought twice before listening to Makoto's commands, but he had no choice. So he did everything she asked.

  “Great. Now we just have to wait for the ambulance to arrive. I'll take care of the rest. You can go.” Makoto said coldly, leaning over the lifeless Aranagi.

  To say that Minato was shocked by her words would be an understatement. Her words were spoken as if he were trash that she wanted to get rid of as soon as possible.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He had long been accustomed to her aggressive attitude, otherwise he would not have endured her persecution for the past couple of months. But why was she dismissing him so contemptuously when he could help?

  “Hey, Arnie. I just want to...”

  “You've done enough, but you'll only get in the way now. It really is better if you leave.” She said these words without arrogance or hidden malice. Just a clear statement of fact.

  “I may not be as skilled as you, but I know how to administer first aid too!”

  “You fool! This is not about skill! You may not have noticed, but you are highly strung right now. That is why you are sparking. If you stay here, you will only get in the way! It will be easier without you!”

  Only when she shouted did he finally understand what was going on. He hadn't noticed it himself, but black sparks were constantly coming out of his bangs. He thought he was in control, but reality was disappointing.

  Twice today, he had been brought face to face with reality, like a cat that had soiled the carpet.

  Makoto's ability was mostly weak, so even a few sparks would be enough to dissolve them. After all, that's all his Special is good for. For destruction.

  And he was told clearly that at the moment, it would be better without him.

  His absence would lead to good. The truth burned more painfully than he wanted it to.

  He clenched his bloodied fist until his bones cracked, unconsciously releasing a few more sparks. If he couldn't do anything, then he had no place here.

  “Okay. I understand.”

  His voice returned to its usual tone, cold and indifferent. But the facade was fragile. Without saying another word, Minato left.

  Watching Minato leave, Makoto focused her attention on Aranagi, whose body seemed to be trying to shut itself off from the pain.

  Although the sight of crimson-black blood spreading like ink on paper was a little nauseating, she couldn't afford to waste time. Since Aranagi was already unconscious, she clearly wouldn't die of pain shock while her wounds were being stitched up.

  Taking out a bottle of medical alcohol, which she carried for just such occasions, and placing her hand on her stomach, Makoto felt that there was bleeding in her stomach. It was tense, slightly swollen, with a certain heaviness under her ribs. There were no particularly noticeable external signs, but she could feel blood slowly filling her stomach cavity.

  “A sterile environment would be helpful here. But I have no choice, I hope I don't cause an infection.”

  The skin on her wrist spread out and formed translucent threads. The sensation was not pleasant, but she no longer felt anything because she was used to it.

  She snatched a lighter from the pocket of one of the onlookers and cauterized the thread, which would serve as a needle thanks to its sharpness.

  “First the wounds, then the stomach.”

  She had already decided on the order of actions. If the bleeding wounds were not stitched up, Aranagi would die in a matter of minutes, and there would be no point in stitching up the abdominal cavity.

  She tore off part of the sleeve of her blouse, dipped it in alcohol, and quickly washed the most critical of the wounds, on her right shoulder, where the skin and muscles had been torn down to the joints. It was a miracle that the arteries had not been affected.

  The thread entered the body smoothly and with the precision of a surgical needle. She stitched along the torn muscles, trying to carefully connect the edges. All this time, the tissues pulsated and twitched with every touch. At the same time, she fought the gag reflex from the sensation of exposed flesh.

  From the shoulder, she moved down to the forearm, repeating similar actions. Now she was as if sewing up a doll for her younger sister. A doll that had been torn to shreds by rabid dogs.

  The skin on her back was almost completely torn, as if she had been whipped hundreds of times until they reached her spine. Makoto could have sworn that a little more and she would see her lungs.

  “This is bad. If I don't hurry, she's definitely done for.”

  She pressed down on the widest wound on her lower back, rectangular and jagged.

  Inside, exposed muscle pulsed, and beneath it was a crimson mess.

  The thread slipped between her fingers again, merging with Aranagi's body.

  Makoto sewed silently, her slightly pale lips trembling and her fingers heavy. With each new thread, her eyes darkened, for these threads were part of her. She was literally giving all of herself.

  Her fingers trembled when she reached the cuts on his thighs. One of them was so deep that it exposed the femur. The thread entered the skin, then the muscle. She tried to sew in layers, as is done in normal operations.

  Makoto stitched up her right leg. Then her left. Then she returned to her shoulder, where the stitches had begun to come apart from the cramping.

  Only when the external wounds were stitched up did she allow herself to catch her breath. Even if only for a moment.

  But it was too early to relax, because the most difficult part was still ahead: suturing the stomach.

  “Okay. Time to tackle the stomach.”

  Surprisingly, there was only a small incision on the abdomen, which caused the bleeding. Makoto made the incision under the ribs as carefully as she could. Blood flowed, but she was ready for it.

  She spread the tissue with her fingers, moved the loops of intestine aside, almost emptying the contents of her stomach from the smell, and finally saw the wound in the stomach.

  She stitched it up. Silently, enduring the stench and the unpleasant sensations of poking around in someone else's insides, which would have made any normal person faint.

  The stitching on the stomach was finished. It pulsed under her fingers, no longer rupturing, but still alive, fragile. Blood still oozed from the edges, but it did not flow in a stream.

  She took hold of the edge of the small intestine, carefully lifting it with her fingertips. It was warm, slippery, and pulsating, as if it were alive. Makoto was afraid of damaging it with her fingernails, each touch causing her to tremble slightly, as if she were touching someone's beating heart.

  Pulling gently, she lifted one of the loops and slowly guided it inside, folding it as carefully as silk fabric.

  There was just one catch. This fabric was very much alive.

  Her fingers slipped, her skin clinging to the mucous membrane, but she continued. With each passing moment, she wanted to finish as quickly as possible, but she knew that would only backfire.

  When all the loops were inside, Makoto ran her fingers along the edges of the abdominal cavity, checking for any remaining protruding sections.

  Closing the abdomen, layer by layer, skin, muscles, subcutaneous tissue, Makoto finally finished.

  She sank to her elbows, exhausted. Everything had gone much better than she had expected. What looked like a quick operation to onlookers was a laborious process during which she was on the verge of both physical and mental exhaustion.

  “All's well that ends well...” Makoto sighed wearily. She doubted she would ever forget this experience, even if she tried.

  “That's... right...” Aranagi whispered quietly, slowly regaining consciousness, which shocked Arnie.

  “Huh? I thought you were unconscious. So you could feel the pain?” Makoto asked anxiously.

  “I was unconscious... only at the end did I wake up... I think... I owe you two...”

  “Both of you? Oh, right. So he found you and brought you here,” she muttered questioningly, rubbing her sweat-dampened hair. “You don't have to thank me. I just did what I thought was necessary. I think he feels the same way.”

  “That's true. I think if I had died from blood loss, he would have blamed himself anyway...” whispered the scientist quietly, her faded eyes staring at the night sky above her head.

  ...

  Silently watching the doctors take Aranagi away in the ambulance, Makoto just sighed with relief. Finally, every muscle in her body, which had been tense all this time, relaxed. Ignoring the stares of the onlookers, she calmly picked up her briefcase and walked on.

  Having worked hard, she could safely say that she deserved to treat herself to something sweet. Preferably a bucket of ice cream, which would distract her from the events of this bloody evening. But on the way, she met someone she had sent away without a second thought.

  Minato, who was sitting on a bench and staring at the dark sky with his characteristic walking dead gaze. She thought long and hard about whether she should approach him. On one hand, talking to him after what she had said would be like poking a festering wound with a rusty piece of rebar.

  On the other hand, she still felt guilty for the words she had spoken in the heat of the moment. Scratching her head awkwardly, she nevertheless walked towards the bench and sat down at the opposite end from him with a deliberately loud snort.

  Even though they were in the middle of a lively, noisy area, a deathly silence reigned on the bench. Minato seemed oblivious to her presence. But it wasn't like their regular clashes, where he thought that if he ignored the problem, it would go away. Rather, he was thinking about too many things, which is why he didn't acknowledge her presence. Only after a couple of moments did he notice the familiar wavy curls out of the corner of his eye.

  “How did it go?” he asked in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a walking doll.

  “She'll live. The doctors took her, so there's nothing to worry about,” Makoto said wearily, looking at the small areas of her hand where there was no skin. Often, this is what happened when the thread did not return to its place and did not take its original form after use.

  “I see. You have golden hands.”

  “I wouldn't say that. It's just that when both your parents are famous surgeons, you have to brush up on your medical knowledge because of their expectations. As it turned out, it wasn't for nothing.” Makoto muttered lazily, slumping down on a bench.

  This conversation was going nowhere, and trying to talk to someone who only responded with one-word answers was like trying to break through an iron wall with your head.

  “So, you are capable of empathy after all,” Makoto said calmly.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  “Aranagi told me a little about what happened. You wouldn't think you were capable of such actions,” she said questioningly, pointing her finger at his neutral face, which showed no hint of emotion.

  “Well, forgive me for having such factory settings. If it makes you feel better, I can staple the corners of my mouth to my ears after cutting my mouth open,” Minato replied discontentedly.

  “That's not what I'm talking about,” she sighed disappointedly, rubbing her eyes. "It's not that your face shows nothing, it's that you act like a machine that doesn't care about anything. Of course, I can't see you as a person! But... today, just this once, I'll change my mind," Makoto whispered quietly.

  “You're wrong. I only decided to get involved in all this because someone dear to me was hurt. It was purely a simple, selfish desire to take revenge on the guilty party. And the fact that I managed to help Aranagi was just a lucky coincidence.” Minato dismissed her assumptions without a moment's hesitation.

  He didn't see himself as a hero in this situation. After all, he only helped because something clicked inside him when he saw a wounded woman on the verge of death in some garbage dump. It was more out of guilt for not arriving in time.

  “Do you always need a reason to do what you want?”

  “...I don't know myself. I just didn't want to live with another regret. But that's selfish too.” After a few moments of thought, a question crept into his head. “What about you? Why were you so eager to help?”

  Makoto raised her eyebrows questioningly and closed her eyes, as if pondering the meaning of life. And, without knowing why, Minato already understood that the answer would defy all logic.

  “I love people,” she replied after a few seconds of agonizing thought, which felt more like an eternity. And yet, she answered the question with confidence and an infinitely bright smile.

  “Huh?”

  "So what? I may sound like an infantile idiot, but that's how I feel. I know that no one is perfect and that everyone has their ugly sides. Me, you, Aranagi, maybe even your friend, who glows like a ball of happiness and positivity. But I want to believe that only the best prevails in people. Who knows, maybe I'll regret my words and my excessive love for people when I see how ugly some of them are inside." she said thoughtfully, scratching her head in embarrassment.

  “I still remember myself as a child, at least as described by my family. Full of love and joy, ready to hug everyone I met, because that child believed that all people were good and would never cause harm.”

  She smiled, but anyone could see that the smile was forced.

  “Now I realize that it was nothing more than naivety caused by an inability to see the world as it really is. But I want to keep my faith in people. I want to keep that little, naive brat who will cling to this silly idée fixe of a homegrown idealist until the very end. Who knows, maybe in you too.”

  To say that Minato was shocked would be an understatement. Of course, he was already used to Tsuna's endless stream of optimism, but hearing something like this from Makoto was foreign. From the very same Makoto who chased him almost every day in an attempt to chop him into mincemeat.

  “Still as bright as the sun...” he muttered quietly, his words barely audible even to himself.

  “Huh? What?”

  “No. Nothing.” Minato hesitated a little. “In any case, it would be extremely naive to think that I am capable of empathy for someone I don't know.”

  Getting up from the bench, Minato clutched his wounded side, which suddenly made itself felt.

  “I'll have to treat it when I get home.” Making a mental note, Minato walked away.

  “Naive, you say? Did you even see your own face when you were carrying her, you fool?” Makoto muttered quietly.

  For besides his anger at those around him, there was genuine concern for Aranagi's life on his face. It was as if he were holding a loved one in his arms. Like a child who is ready to hug everyone he meets because he loves people so much that it hurts.