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."


 
 
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