Aftermath

  Chapter word count: 1901

  When Airot awoke, his eyes adjusted to a sterile white ceiling, reminiscent of a hospital.

  Bright fluorescent lights cast an artificial glow overhead. There didn’t seem to be any glass; the lights were just strapped into the hanging ceiling lights.

  The room was quiet, lacking the bustling soundscape that one would expect from a busy hospital.

  He shuffled slightly to sit up, pain radiating through his body.

  Despite the injuries he’d sustained, his body was surprisingly responsive.

  He flexed his hands, the one previously broken was sore but operational.

  There was strain throughout his body, yet nothing felt broken.

  ‘Looks like I was healed by a yapper.’

  Tilting up, he surveyed his surroundings.

  To his left, a curtain shielded the neighboring space.

  Straight ahead, another bed stood empty some distance away, its curtain drawn back, unlike his outstretched one.

  Sunlight streamed through a window to his right, though it was too distant to peer through.

  A short table beside his bed caught his eye. On it lay his pen, notepad, and blood-stained jacket he had been wearing.

  He blinked at the sight of the familiar items, their presence grounding him.

  Looking down, he realized he wasn’t in a hospital gown or the sort. He still wore his blood-stained pants and undershirt, the memories of how he got those stains lingered in his mind.

  He reached for the pen and notepad, but a sharp pain flared in his dominant hand as he clutched them, causing the items to slip from his grasp.

  Irritated, he lurched his head at the thought that he now had to lean down and pick it off the floor, but as he turned back he froze as the items clung to the table’s edge, inexplicably refusing to fall.

  For a moment, he simply stared, puzzled. Despite most of their weight leaning over the edge, they stood still.

  At the very least he was relieved he didn’t have to bend down.

  Carefully, he picked them up, flipped the notepad open then tested the pen by writing some scribbles on the side, confirming it still worked despite being dried in blood.

  The notepad had its own share of stains, but the pages were still legible.

  He turned to the first page, where he’d noted locations, and added two more entries.

  “The Feudal Arch - a functioning arcade, nostalgic place, good food. Near the library.”

  His hand wobbled as he wrote, reluctance visible in his movements, yet he continued on, grimacing as memories surfaced.

  “—Da— Hidden Bookclub - a secret bookclub hidden in an alleyway near the library”

  He took a breath and flipped to the next page. The page detailing the people he’d met had more blood dried onto it.

  As he skimmed what was already written down, his gaze rested on Simon’s entry, his yapst now charred. It wasn’t burnt through, but it was blackened in a hardened substance that made it unreadable.

  ‘There wasn’t any fire there that night, and even if there were, the affected part is much too small… This must be the result of reading it.’

  Continuing down the list, his eyes rested on the blank space under Dolen’s entry, a swift exhale escaped his lips as his nerves twitched. Slowly, despite his earlier retreat, he moved his pen.

  “Darc Immag - Killer, mind yapper, liar”

  For a moment, he debated whether he should try to write out Darc’s yapst.

  His pen hovered over the page, his hand shivered, though not from the pain.

  ‘I wonder how it’ll act for a dead user.’

  “Darc Immag - Killer, mind yapper, liar - yapst: again we’ll meet”

  The words throbbed on the page, pulsating unnaturally before gradually softening, and eventually halting.

  The thickness of the ink faded into a faint streak but remained legible. Unlike Simon’s entry, it didn’t bleed.

  The differing reactions piqued Airot’s curiosity leading him to have his speculations, but he didn’t linger on them.

  He set the notepad and pen aside, placing them back on the table by his jacket before slumping down into the bed, and pulling the blanket over his mouth.

  ‘It’s over…’

  He stared at the ceiling as ruminating thoughts swirled.

  ‘...I’m alive.’

  Despite the daylight, he closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take him.

  Time passed.

  Low voices beyond the curtain stirred him awake.

  They weren’t loud, but Airot’s senses were heightened and extra sensitive now causing him to react to them as they drifted closer.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Has he gotten up?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Alright.”

  The curtain swished aside, revealing a familiar green-and-white tracksuit.

  “That looks up to me,” Haruku remarked.

  “Ah, looks like he just woke,” a hospital assistant chimed in, scribbling a note before retreating. “I’ll report this.”

  Haruku stepped fully into view, revealing the rest of the room. To Airot’s side were a row of beds with undrawn curtains, another row lined the opposite wall.

  “If you were a yapper, you could’ve got a personal room,” Haruku commented, catching Airot’s gaze.

  “Yeah,” Airot mindlessly replied, his voice flat. “Say, thanks.”

  Haruku stared at him for a moment before turning away. “Thank the everything bar.”

  “Did you really smell it?”

  “I felt something was wrong. Like an everything bar was wasted.”

  He nodded, accepting Haruku’s answer.

  “How long are you planning to stay here?”

  Airot’s gaze dropped. “I don’t know… however long I need to.”

  “Hmm? You can get out right now, though,” Haruku tilted his head at Airot’s reply.

  “Huh? It still hurts to move,” he protested. “I shouldn’t be up.”

  “You’ve been healed. Pain’s just a reminder that you’re alive, plus moving around is good for you.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts. It’s better to get going,” Haruku lightly tapped Airot on the shoulder.

  Haruku’s persistence had Airot think over it, but ultimately remained hesitant.

  Haruku threw him his jacket to further persuade him, but Airot only had a sorrowful look as he stared at the blood-stained jacket.

  Haruku took a deep breath. “I know you’ve just been through something, but you can’t just stay here and wallow in it. Staying in bed won’t make it better. I think traveling around would be better for you.”

  “I… don’t know…”

  Haruku exhaled deeply through his nose then leaned in, his gaze steady. “You survived. That’s not nothing. Take a step. One step today, another tomorrow. You’ll figure it out—but not from a hospital bed.”

  “...I guess,” Airot had an unmotivated tone.

  Airot clenched the jacket, his resolve wavering.

  Slowly, he pulled off the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Spikes of pain emerged, striking throughout his body as he stood up. The aching made him feel like sitting back down but Haruku grabbed him, keeping him steady.

  “It hurts, no doubt. It surely does,” Haruku stared him in the eye. “But you have to learn to endure this. We’ve all been through something like this…” his eyes were fierce. “And you’ll probably experience more… but you’ll get through it.”

  Airot didn’t reply, but he straightened, the ache still present but manageable.

  He slid on his jacket as Haruku affirmed his decision and began walking toward the door.

  Adjusting slightly, he noticed the jacket felt tighter than usual.

  Grabbing his notepad and pen from the table, he placed them into his jacket pocket—only to feel something unexpected. It felt elongated and sturdy, unlike his belongings.

  ‘Did Haruku put another E.T. bar in here?’

  Curious, he pulled it out as he followed Haruku.

  “What…?” he muttered, stunned.

  In his hand was a tuallet—a standard gray-tinted one. It was slightly dented and clearly used. He noticed a gauge bar across its side that appeared empty.

  Upon closer inspection, he spotted faint writing etched near the gauge.

  “D.I.?”

  “Hm?” Haruku glanced back, having overheard.

  “Ah, I have a tuallet now?

  “A what?” Haruku turned to him.

  “Uh, a tube-wallet, this thing,” he raised the gray tuallet to Haruku.

  “Oh, right. It was that dead guy’s. You didn’t have one yet, right? Figured you might as well have it.”

  His grip tightened on the tuallet. “I see.”

  ‘I guess one thing stayed true… even if not by his choice.’

  Tucking it back into his pocket, he followed Haruku as they left the hospital room.

  They walked in silence down the hall until a feminine voice called out to them.

  “Hey! You’re going already?”

  Haruku turned his head to her. “Yeah.”

  “Alright, but we need his full name to log the potion usage,” she held out a clipboard.

  Airot stepped toward her and checked the clipboard.

  “Name… one Dest. vial used?” he muttered as he read.

  “Yes, it’s what we used to heal you. Now, if you could sign here…” she pointed back to the name section.

  He nodded and wrote down his full name. “Say, am I really okay to leave so soon?”

  “Well, yes, you are,” she replied with a reassuring smile. “But you should rest for a day or two—your body’s still overstrained.”

  “But nothing’s broken.”

  “Yes,” she glanced at her clipboard, spinning her pen confidently. “Have you ever had a potion before?”

  “Uh, no,” he admitted, unsure of what she’s even referring to. “I’m still new to the city.”

  “Ah, condolulations,” she said warmly. “I’m Anett, an assistant here at the Destiny District’s hospital.”

  “Airot Plasho,” he nudged toward her clipboard.

  “Nice to meet you,” she replied, double-checking the form. As she spoke, she twirled her pen absentmindedly. “So, a potion heals any breaks and restores your body to its prime condition down to the bone. The downside is the recovery afterward—it's more like the soreness after intense exercise than a true injury.”

  “I see, thanks.”

  “No problem! Just make sure to eat and hydrate well,” she began to turn around and part ways, but before Airot could walk again her pen flew out of her hand as it slipped through her fingers. She swiftly spun back to catch it but Airot had it already caught. “Oh, nice catch!”

  “Yeah…” Airot replied distantly, handing the pen over.

  “Right, this also reminds me—we’ve already extracted the two gallon payment, so there’s no need for that.”

  “Ah—O-Okay,” Airot stammered, reflexively tapping the pocket where his new tuallet rested.

  Haruku faced away, his sudden movement grabbing Airot’s attention. He had begun walking ahead.

  “Thank you,” Airot bid the hospital assistant before hurrying after Haruku.

  ‘The pen was rather… slow. And I’m certain it wasn’t flung at me, yet it still ended up in my hand.’

  The thought lingered as they walked through the hospital’s pristine halls.

  The floor beneath them was smooth and stainless, the walls seamless and unblemished.

  Everything seemed to flow continuously, with no visible breaks or attachments. They felt oddly singular, almost unnaturally so.

  Yet despite the clean, seamless surfaces, the environment felt stale. The bland hospital white dominated every inch, devoid of color and warmth.

  The occasional doors they passed looked noticeably older than the rest of the structure.

  They reached the lobby, where the lack of personality was even more apparent.

  Apart from shrouded lamps and hanging lights, there was no decoration. Normally, such details might go unnoticed, but in this city, they stood out.

  The lamps were heavily shaded, yet revealed perfectly spherical bulbs within, while the ceiling lights matched those in Airot’s hospital room—glowing rods awkwardly strapped in without visible wiring.

  ‘Everything in this city seems so standardized.’

  Finally, they stepped outside, and the monotony of the hospital gave way to the calm, broad street.