The Ishikawa estate was a silent, coiled spring. The moment Kaito's car swept through the gates, the compound came alive not with alarms, but with a quiet, terrifying efficiency. Medics, alerted by Kenji, were waiting on the steps of the main house, a gurney ready. Kaito, however, ignored them. He was still moving on pure, raw adrenaline, his face a pale, sweat-sheened mask of agony. He carried Aiko himself, sweeping past the stunned staff and into his private quarters.
He laid her gently on his bed, his movements precise despite the blood now soaking his entire left side. "Master Jin," he commanded, his voice a low rasp.
The old scholar was already there, his face a roadmap of worry. He rushed to Aiko's side, his hands hovering over her, feeling for the state of her spirit.
"She is... empty," Jin whispered, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. "She poured her entire soul, and the Kirin's blessing, into healing you. She tore the blight out by its roots. I have never seen such a thing."
"Can you help her?" Kaito demanded.
"She does not need a healer, Ishikawa-sama," Jin said, looking up at him. "She needs life. She has spent her own. She needs rest, warmth, and time for her spirit to refill. She is in no immediate danger, only profoundly exhausted. A feat like this..." He shook his head, lost in wonder.
Only then, with the assurance that Aiko was not dying, did Kaito allow his own body to acknowledge its wound. He swayed, his hand clutching his shoulder, a low groan of pure agony escaping his clenched teeth. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only the searing, physical pain.
"Sama!" Kenji rushed forward as Kaito's knees buckled.
"Get the medics," Kenji yelled to the staff in the hall. "Now!"
The next few hours were a blur of controlled chaos. Kaito's quarters were transformed into a high-level triage ward. The clan's private medical team—men and women who were as much surgeons as they were battlefield medics—cut away Kaito's blood-soaked suit.
The wound was horrifying. Kuroda's attack had been surgical. The tendril had missed his heart by a mere inch, but it had torn through the muscle and arteries in his shoulder, a devastating, life-threatening injury. He had lost a terrifying amount of blood.
Through the haze of pain, as they worked to stabilize him, Kaito had only one, repeated command, a low, guttural growl to anyone who came near him. "Her first. See to her first."
"Sama, she is stable," the lead medic insisted, trying to get him to lie down. "She is sleeping. But you are bleeding out. We must get you to the operating room."
"No," Kaito gritted, his eyes fixed on Aiko's still form in his bed. "Here. Do it here. I am not leaving this room."
It was an insane command. They needed a sterile field, proper equipment. But one look at the demonic, unyielding fire in their leader's eyes told them he would rather die on that floor than be moved.
"Bring the equipment," the lead medic ordered, his voice tight. "Bring it all."
For the next three hours, a silent, desperate war was waged for Kaito's life. They operated on him right there in his living room, a sterile blue sheet set up around the sofa, the floor covered in plastic. Aiko slept peacefully in his bed just ten feet away, oblivious to the life-and-death struggle happening in the same room.
Master Jin sat vigil at her bedside, not healing her, but guarding her, ensuring her spirit remained undisturbed while it slowly, painstakingly refilled itself. Chiyo, her face a pale, stern mask, stood at the doorway, directing a silent team of servants who brought towels, hot water, and medical supplies, her earlier disapproval now replaced by a fierce, terrified loyalty.
Kaito drifted in and out of consciousness, the anesthesia pulling him under, the pain yanking him back. In the twilight haze, his gaze never left the bed. He was a guardian, a wounded dragon, refusing to sleep until he knew his treasure was safe.
Finally, the lead medic stepped back, his green scrubs dark with sweat. "He's stabilized. The arteries are repaired. He's lost a dangerous amount of blood, but he will live. The man is... built of iron."
Kaito, pale as a ghost but conscious, his shoulder a mass of white bandages, waved the medic away. His eyes were already locked on Aiko.
He had survived. She was safe. They were home. But the cost had been catastrophic. He had been proven vulnerable, and she had been proven to be a power beyond reckoning. The entire game had changed, and the Chinkonshi, he knew, had only just begun.