Mizuki, laden with a tray full of food,
made her way back towards the room where Mr. Murakami had been
resting for the last four days. She was concentrating more on
her destination than on anyone that might be standing in front
of her, and Tetsuro’s white lab-coat blended in almost perfectly
with the pale colored walls. Mizuki bumped gently into her
brother’s back, startling herself and rattling the dishes on the
tray.
"Sorry," Tetsuro said kindly, turning
around and moving out of the way.
"No. I really should have been paying
better attention to where I was going," Mizuki said, sounding
sheepish.
"Why are you carrying hospital food,
Mizuki?" Sho asked.
"Sho!" Mizuki exclaimed, surprised at
the fact that she hadn’t noticed him coming up. "The food is for
Mr. Murakami. He keeps saying that he’s all right, but Prof.
Odagiri says that Mr. Murakami is still in recovery."
Sho and Tetsuro both nodded, and Mizuki
smiled and turned away, then started walking again. The soft
click of her footsteps on the linoleum was the only sound that
kept Mizuki company on her way to Mr. Murakami’s room. Once she
had made it to the door of his room, Mizuki knocked and waited
to be let in. She didn’t expect the door to come open at her
first touch, but that was just what happened. Mizuki was just
about to call out and announce her presence, when she heard Mr.
Murakami’s voice.
"Sumio, please tell me. I need to know
all the details about it."
Mizuki, hearing the depression and
outright desperation in Mr. Murakami’s voice, decided to find
out what was going on between the two of them. If it was
something really important, she didn’t want to interrupt it just
to deliver food.
"Masaki…"
"I made up my mind a long time ago,
Sumio," Mr. Murakami’s voice sounded both weary and determined.
"And it’s not like I really have anything else to live for
anymore."
Mr. Murakami sighed then, and Mizuki
winced at the reminder of Mr. Murakami’s kidnapped son. Hearing
someone pacing and some shifting of blankets, Mizuki wondered
again just what Mr. Murakami and Prof. Odagiri could be
discussing.
"I was supposed to have died back in
Arizona," here Mr. Murakami paused, as if gathering himself for
what he was going to say next. "In fact, I’m honestly surprised
that an experimental body like mine has lasted this long. But I
can feel now that something’s happening to me. Sumio, please,
answer me honestly. How much longer do I have left to live?"
"At the most, half a year. And that
would only be if you somehow managed to stay completely at
rest."
At this flat pronouncement, Mizuki felt
like her heart had stopped beating. Mr. Murakami, who had so
often seemed like he was the strongest of them all, had only
half a year to live? Why hadn’t he told any of the others? There
had to be something that they could do for him! Swallowing hard,
Mizuki continued to listen.
"Would it be possible for me to
transform into my Proto-Zoalord form?" Mr. Murakami asked.
"I think that it would be
possible," Prof. Odagiri said, and Mizuki thought that he
sounded very reluctant to give out this information. "But you
have to understand that the transformation into your battle-form
consumes bio-energy at a drastically increased rate. You
probably would
be able to transform one last time, but the strain would most
likely kill you."
"One more time should be enough," Mr.
Murakami said, sounding so unconcerned at the prospect of his
own death that Mizuki wanted to cry. How could anyone take their
own life that lightly? "Thank you, Sumio. Your honesty means a
lot to me."
The tray slipped from Mizuki’s
nerveless fingers then, crashing to the floor amid shattered
dishes and spilled food. Mizuki then found herself staring at
Prof. Odagiri, who had evidently opened the door the rest of the
way. Mizuki however was focused on Mr. Murakami, who was still
lying in the same bed he had been in for the past three days. He
looked more surprised than anything to see her standing in the
doorway. But Mr. Murakami also looked kind of relieved, and
Mizuki couldn’t help but wonder just why on earth
that
was.
"Mizuki!" Prof. Odagiri exclaimed.
"It’s not true, is it?" she asked
desperately. "Mr. Murakami can’t have just half a year to live.
Please, tell me it’s not true!"
Mr. Murakami closed his eyes as if he
was in pain, and Mizuki wondered if he was feeling the effects
of what had been done to him even now. "It’s true, Mizuki," Mr.
Murakami said, and for the first time he actually sounded sad
about it.
Looking over at Prof. Odagiri and then
back to Mr. Murakami, Mizuki found that they were both
studiously avoiding her gaze. Finally, after an eternity of
subjective time, Mr. Murakami turned to look her in the eyes.
"You can’t tell anyone about this," Mr.
Murakami looked straight at her, and his eyes hardened.
"Especially not Sho."
Hurrying over to Mr. Murakami’s bedside,
Mizuki looked into Mr. Murakami’s blue eyes. There was an
unwavering conviction in his expression, and Mizuki wondered
just why Mr. Murakami was so adamant that Sho wasn’t to know
about his condition.
"Why, Mr. Murakami? Why don’t you want
Sho to know about this? I’m sure with all of us working
together-"
"There’s nothing that anyone can do for
me, Mizuki," Mr. Murakami’s expression softened, but there was
still something immovable in his eyes. "I know that better than
anyone, except probably Sumio. And if Sho knew about what was
happening to me, he would try even harder not to impose any
burden on me. You know how he is. But that would distract him,
and we need all the power we have now if we’re going to be able
to do any kind of damage to Chronos."
While Mr. Murakami had explained this
part of it to her, Mizuki had been thinking of something else.
It might not have been the most sensitive or diplomatic question
to ask at a time like this, but there were just some things that
Mizuki felt she had to know. This was one of them.
"Um, Mr. Murakami, what about your son?"
"I’ll burn that bridge when I come to
it," Mr. Murakami said flatly, turning away from her.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I’ll… deal with Kenji if
and when I ever see him again," Mr. Murakami, though his face
and voice gave nothing away, still seemed like he was in pain.
"How can you say something like that?!"
Mizuki exclaimed, sickened that someone could be so coldhearted.
"He’s your only family!"
"Do you think this is easy for me?!" Mr.
Murakami demanded, grabbing hold of Mizuki’s shoulders and
staring into her eyes. Mr. Murakami’s blue eyes were as bright
and dangerous as a Guyver’s Mega-Smasher. "He’s my son! My
little boy. But I know what I have to do, because he’s not going
to be human the next time I see him."
Mr. Murakami finally seemed to notice
his tight grip on her shoulders, which Mizuki was thankful for
since it was starting to hurt. "I’m sorry Mizuki," Mr. Murakami
said, sounding exhausted as he turned away and flopped back down
onto the bed.
"Mizuki, I think you should leave,"
Prof. Odagiri said kindly, taking her hand and gently steering
Mizuki to the door. "Masaki still needs his rest."
"But…" that was when Mizuki remembered
the food she had spilled all over the floor. "Oh! I’m so sorry!
What is Mr. Murakami going to eat now? I was supposed to get
food for him, not get into an argument with him!"
"Don’t worry, Mizuki," Prof. Odagiri
said, not seeming worried at all about the food. "I can clean up
the mess, and I can also go get Masaki something to eat. What
you just found out couldn’t have been easy to hear. So why don’t
you just take care of yourself for awhile, hmm? This kind of a
shock isn’t at all easy to absorb all at once, take my word for
it. Go on, and remember not to tell anyone about Masaki’s
condition."
"I… I won’t," Mizuki almost whispered as
she walked out the door.
"Good."