Chapter 6

“Mr. Fyodor, someone is looking for you.” The nurse was unaware of the storm raging within the young man beside her as she called out to the boy sitting on the bench nearby.

Hearing the voice, the boy looked up and glanced sideways.

It was an unfamiliar nurse, though he had seen her earlier when passing the front desk on the first floor.

Standing next to the nurse was a stranger he had never seen before, a young man around twenty-two years old, handsome, with features that seemed vaguely familiar—as if he had seen him not long ago.

The cosplayer had just crossed over and had met only a handful of people, so he immediately thought of his benefactor.

Although the benefactor, due to his age and lack of attention to his figure in recent years, had the typical middle-aged beer belly, a precarious hairline, and narrow features accentuated by excess facial fat, giving off a greasy impression at first glance... his overall contours were quite good. He must have been handsome in his youth.

In the cosplayer’s mind, he mentally removed the extra fat from the benefactor’s face to restore a slimmer appearance. After a moment, the mentally slimmed benefactor overlapped perfectly with the young man standing in front of him.

—They had to be related by blood.

Considering the benefactor’s age and the fact that he couldn’t be reached, the probability that the young man was the benefactor’s son was as high as ninety-five percent.

After bringing the young man inside, the nurse didn’t hurry away but instead stepped back to a moderate distance, silently watching the two. She wasn’t eavesdropping or acting with any ulterior motive—it was her duty.

Yes, duty.

The affairs of the wealthy were often fraught with drama; who knew if an argument or worse might erupt once her back was turned.

The hospital had experienced similar incidents before, prompting the director to add a clause to the staff handbook: observe the atmosphere carefully, don’t stray too far, and if an incident occurs, try to intervene while calling security, who will arrive promptly.

The cosplayer naturally noticed the nurse hadn’t left but could guess why she stayed.

Moreover, what he was about to say was no secret, so whether the nurse listened or not was inconsequential.

He was more concerned about why the young man seemed dazed upon seeing him.

“Have we met before?” the cosplayer closed his book and asked, feigning curiosity.

The young man quickly realized his rudeness, pressed down the turmoil in his heart, and replied calmly, “No.”

“Looking at you, I would have thought you recognized me,” the cosplayer said jokingly, as if meeting an acquaintance on the street and awkwardly trying to spark conversation without any real purpose—purely a social courtesy to avoid awkwardness.

The young man shouldn’t have overthought it; such words were not unusual. But having witnessed [that scene], he already harbored a preconceived suspicion that the boy might be testing him.

No.

He thought quietly.

Setting aside why the boy was mingling with cursed spirits, and noting that the cursed spirits seemed to obey his command—after all, not everyone is fully scheming from head to toe—there was no need to frighten himself.

It was just a single sentence.

“You must be joking,” the young man replied flatly.

“Alright, but if you don’t know me and I don’t know you… why have you come to find me?”

“My father, Keiichi Minai, is unwell and asked me to bring you home.”

This home referred to the Minai household.

So the benefactor’s name was Keiichi Minai—a name with a certain Buddhist resonance. Pondering that, the cosplayer voiced his thought.

“My father doesn’t like Buddhism, nor does he believe in deities,” Minai said.

He recalled that when his grandfather was alive, he would bow to the Buddhist altar every morning and evening. Because his grandfather loved gods and Buddhas, he had given his son a name related to Buddhism.

Perhaps because of this, his father neither disliked nor believed in faith.

—Yet, ironically, the next generation—Keiichi’s son—was devoted to Buddhism, even more so than his father, determined to become a monk. Indeed, he had become a monk, though only a registered disciple.

Almost everyone assumed the family opposed this, but in truth, the temple abbot recognized that although Keiichi’s heart had turned to Buddha, his fate did not allow him to walk the monastic path. Forcing him to become a monk might shorten his life or even cause death.

The abbot also understood why Keiichi was so determined.

“You can see those monsters.”

...

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

The cosplayer had insisted on being discharged, prompting the hospital to call Keiichi, who then sent his son to pick up the cosplayer.

Minai nodded. “Do you have anything to pack?”

“Wait a moment, I’ll ask.”

The cosplayer walked to the front desk and said a few words to the nurse.

“My clothes... were burned? Okay, thanks. I was just asking, not trying to get them back. They’re covered in blood; even if I didn’t mind, others would definitely call the police if they saw them.”

The front desk nurse chuckled at the cosplayer’s humor.

Minai waited at the hospital entrance, staring absentmindedly at the open road ahead.

He thought it might take a while, but within minutes the boy was ready.

“All set, let’s go.”

The cosplayer patted Minai’s shoulder as if they were already friends.

However, Minai’s body tensed instantly, though he relaxed quickly.

Ordinary people might not notice, but the cosplayer certainly did.

Sure enough... the other seemed afraid of him or at least wary.

Why?

He had just crossed over and hadn’t even had time to do anything.

Could it be innate intuition?

Though reluctant to admit it, the cosplayer knew he was far from just and kind. His family had taught him from childhood that profit came first, and one could use any means necessary for it.

“We’re not on the side that abides by the rules.”

His thoughts drifted, and his deep, rich violet eyes rippled like fine wine.

*

Since becoming a monk, Minai rarely took taxis.

In Japan, taxis were expensive, and many people would rather sleep on the street than take a taxi after buses stopped running late at night.

Minai took a taxi this time because he was escorting the cosplayer. He couldn’t very well make the recently discharged cosplayer take the bus; although he wanted to, it would be inhumane—and if his father found out, he would never have peace.

Minai didn’t know the extent of the cosplayer’s injuries; otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to the discharge—at least not before another checkup to confirm.

No one would have believed that someone whose organs were nearly shattered throughout could heal so quickly in just a few hours—it was truly a miracle among miracles.

As Minai and the cosplayer got into the taxi, a sharply dressed man carrying a briefcase entered the hospital.

“Hello, may I help you?”

The moment he stepped in, a nurse stood up with a warm smile and spoke softly.

“I’m here to see your director.”

The nurse froze, her smile faltering. “Are you…? Do you have an appointment?”

“Call your director and say ‘Mitsuishi.’ Your director will understand,” said the man coldly, his eyes obscured behind glasses, his tone measured and calm.