The next morning, Kazuma sat by Kento's bedside. Machines beeped softly. Kento's eyes opened faintly when he heard his name, but he couldn't speak.
When Arisa called, Kazuma answered. Her voice turned sharp when she heard the news. Minutes later, she arrived — and left the room just as quickly, angry and pale.
A doctor approached Kazuma soon after. "We can continue treatment, but the cost is enormous," he said flatly. "One hundred fifty-six million, eight hundred seventy-nine thousand, six hundred seventy-eight yen. Pay by tomorrow, or we can't proceed."
Kazuma stared at him, numb.
He spent the next twenty-four hours begging — from neighbors, friends, strangers, even his boss. Nobody helped. At last, in desperation, he called his father. The two hadn't spoken in years.
When Kazuma finished explaining, his father was silent... then said simply, "I'll handle it." The next day, the hospital received the payment.
For a moment, hope returned. But only briefly.
Kento's blood pressure spiked that night. His body shook. Kazuma screamed for the doctors. "Save him!"
They couldn't. The illness had taken too much.
Two days later, Kazuma still couldn't accept it. He went to Arisa's apartment. From behind the door, he heard laughter — and her voice.
"He was handsome but so stupid," she was saying to a friend. "He couldn't even— now he's paralyzed. What was his disease? Dunchi... whatever. Ugh."
Kazuma froze. The words sliced through him like knives. He kicked the door open. Arisa's laughter died.
"What did you say?" he whispered.
Before reason could stop him, rage took over. He struck her — once, twice — until the walls echoed with her screams.
When silence finally fell, Kazuma stared at his trembling hands, horror and regret flooding in. He stumbled out into the street.
Rain poured down, washing the blood, the tears, the guilt. He wandered until his legs gave out beside a vending machine, the cold metal humming softly in the storm.
A stranger approached, holding an umbrella. "Hey, boy... why are you sitting out here in the rain? Go home."
Kazuma looked up, eyes hollow. "Kill me," he whispered.
The man stepped back in fear. "What?"
Kazuma buried his face in his hands. "Kill me... or I will."
The man ran, vanishing into the night.
And so Kazuma remained there, soaked and trembling beside the glowing vending machine, as Tokyo went on — loud, bright, and uncaring — while one broken boy sat waiting for forgiveness that would never come.