A pale wash of sunlight seeped in through the blinds, casting soft rays across the sterile white ceiling.
His eyes cracked open with effort, the world swimming into view in fractured pieces—a rotating ceiling fan, muted gray walls, the quiet pulse of a heart monitor, and the steady drip of IV fluid hanging beside him.
"Yo, you’re finally up."
The voice came from nearby.
Darren turned his head and immediately regretted it.
There, slouched with legs crossed in a rickety chair, sat Tokikake—bare thighs bristling with hair under loud floral shorts, flip-flops flapping lazily against his feet. A banana dangled from his lips as he peeled it awkwardly with one hand. His other arm was in a sling.
Darren’s gaze slid to the floor.
Several fruit baskets—ripped open and raided—lay strewn in chaos. His brow twitched.
"You really made yourself at home, huh? Those were for me," he muttered irritably.
"You couldn’t eat them all anyway," Tokikake replied, mouth full of banana.
He jabbed a finger toward the corner.
There, dozens more fruit baskets sat piled like tribute offerings, flooding the room with the scent of overripe fruit.
"I fought too, you know. Got injured. Didn’t even get one basket..." he muttered bitterly.
Darren stared at Tokikake’s disheveled mop of hair, greasy face, and slovenly getup.
He didn’t even know where to start.
Tokikake blinked. "Wait a sec."
He fumbled into his pocket, eventually producing a finely wrapped box of cigars. With visible reluctance, he offered one to Darren.
Darren accepted it wordlessly.
Pretty sure that was a gift meant for someone else...
But he couldn’t be bothered to argue.
Tokikake blinked again, then reached into another pocket.
A clatter of metal hit the floor—nearly a dozen lighters spilled out.
The two men locked eyes in silence.
"...Heh," Tokikake finally chuckled, snatching one off the floor and handing it over.
Darren lit the cigar and took a long drag. The sharp, peppery burn filled his lungs and jolted his foggy mind awake.
Groaning, he pushed himself up in bed.
Pain surged through him in waves—white-hot and suffocating. His entire body ached with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Damn... really pushed it too far this time.
His assessment was grim.
Complete muscular fatigue. Dozens of hairline fractures. Torn ligaments. Major blood loss.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly wrecked.
It would take at least a week before he could so much as walk normally.
Propped against the headboard, he sat in silence for a while, slowly puffing smoke into the stale air.
Then, with a dry voice:
"...What are you even doing here?"
"Too many casualties from the fight. Not enough private rooms. All the good ones are taken—by you monsters and the poor bastards clinging to life."
"I got stuck in the general ward. Know who my roommate is? Onigumo."
Tokikake grimaced. "He just sits there. Stares. Doesn’t blink. I haven’t slept in two nights."
Now he’s complaining about someone else being creepy?
A soft knock sounded at the door.
A moment later, a large figure stepped into the room.
Wrapped in blood-streaked bandages, Zephyr entered, his presence filling the space. His expression lifted the moment he saw Darren awake.
"Darren! You’re awake. How do you feel?"
Darren smiled weakly. "Might need a few days off, Zephyr-sensei."
Zephyr stepped closer, examining him with a stern but relieved look.
"Even monsters need to rest. You can’t let wounds like these fester."
He had checked Darren’s room countless times these past few days, worry etched into his face. Seeing the young man alert again, cigar in hand, finally allowed him to exhale.
Then his gaze shifted to the man lounging in the corner.
"...Tokikake. Why are you here?"
Tokikake opened his mouth, but Zephyr cut him off before he could answer.
"Forget it. Don’t cause trouble. Let Darren rest."
Suddenly, a voice bellowed from the hallway.
"Yo! Darren! You’re up!"
Kuzan burst in, forehead wrapped in bandages, a limp in his step. His eyes sparkled like a kid at a candy store.
"That move you pulled off—one slash, straight through an island?! You’ve gotta teach me that once you’re better!"
He struck a dramatic pose, his enthusiasm infectious.
Then he spotted Tokikake.
"...Wait. Why are you here?"
Before he could respond, another figure entered—slowly, deliberately.
Bare-chested, wrapped in fresh bandages, Sakazuki stepped inside.
His aura filled the room like the promise of a storm.
"You’re awake," he said, gaze locked on Darren.
Darren nodded. "Yeah. I’m holding together."
Sakazuki gave a short nod. Then his eyes flicked to Tokikake.
"And what are you doing here?"
Tokikake’s face turned crimson.
"Remember your protocols," Sakazuki said coldly. "Salute your superiors."
He turned and left without waiting for a response.
Before the silence could settle, yet another voice drifted in—lazy and smooth.
"Well now... looks like I walked into a party."
Leaning on a crutch, his left leg in a cast, Borsalino sauntered in with his usual smirk.
He nodded to Zephyr and Kuzan, then looked around casually—his gaze predictably landing on Tokikake.
"Everyone else gets to visit, but I can’t?" Tokikake exploded, leaping to his feet.
Borsalino raised his hand in mock innocence.
"I didn’t say anything..."
Then, after a pause: "But now that you mention it... what are you doing here?"