The sun hung high outside. Light slipped through the blinds and landed on the white sheets.
Inside the room sat a boy. Around eighteen. Brown hair. Average height. Nothing special about him.
Yamada stared at his hands. Casts covered both forearms. Clean white. Heavy.
"So, it's over," he said.
He looked around the small room. Monitors. IV stand. The smell of antiseptic everywhere.
He held his head with one bandaged hand. "It's over."
The door opened.
He stiffened. Then sighed when he saw who it was.
Kiritani walked in. Long black hair. Nurse uniform. Purple eyes that looked almost too sharp. She smiled at him. Calm. Polite on the surface.
"Yamada-kun," she said. "Today is your last day."
Yamada glanced at his casts again. "Yeah. I know."
Kiritani stepped closer. She took his hand gently. Her touch was cool.
"You can leave now," she said. "Or stay the night."
She squeezed once. "I say stay tonight."
Yamada looked at her. Then asked the question he already knew the answer to.
"Whose shift is tonight?"
Kiritani's smile stayed the same. "Yamaguchi."
Yamada's eyes widened.
Memories hit fast. Green hair. Red eyes. That mean grin. The way she grabbed his jaw. The slaps when he hesitated. The rough hands that didn't care if it hurt. The one nurse who always went too far. Too fast. Too hard.
He pulled his hand back.
"I wanna leave," he said.
Kiritani tilted her head. Still smiling.
"Really? But Yamaguchi looked forward to saying goodbye."
Yamada stared at the floor. His voice came out flat.
"I'm leaving."
Kiritani shrugged. "Suit yourself."
She turned to go. At the door she paused.
"Take care, Yamada-kun. Don't forget us."
The door closed.
Yamada sat back on the bed. The casts felt heavier now. He stared at the door Kiritani had just closed.
'Yamaguchi tonight. Great.'
He rubbed his temple with the edge of a cast. The pain in his arms was dull. The real ache was lower. Three hours. Clock was ticking again.
He needed to get out before the shift change.
He swung his legs off the bed. Stood. Wobbled once. Steady.
Grabbed the small bag from the chair. Clothes. Phone. Wallet. That was it.
He walked to the door. Opened it slow.
The hallway was empty except for two nurses at the station. One was writing notes. The other leaned on the counter, scrolling her phone.
Yamada recognized them both.
Tachibana. Black hair in a tight ponytail. Sharp eyes. Always looked annoyed. She was the one who first explained the "treatment" rules like she was reading a grocery list. Cold. Professional. But her hands shook sometimes when she thought no one saw.
Next to her was Kurokawa. Short black hair. The prankster. She once "accidentally" spilled cold gel on him and giggled while he flinched. Then apologized with fake tears. Then did it again the next day.
They both looked up when he stepped out.
Tachibana frowned. "You're supposed to wait for discharge papers."
Yamada kept walking. "I'm discharging myself."
Kurokawa pushed her glasses up. Smiled wide. "Running away already, Yamada-kun? We didn't even get to say a proper goodbye."
He didn't stop. "I'll survive."
Tachibana stepped in front of him. Arms crossed. Chest strained the uniform.
"You know the rules. If you leave without clearance, the condition flares up. You'll be back in three hours screaming."
Yamada met her eyes. "Then I'll handle it."
Kurokawa laughed. Soft. Teasing. "So brave now. What happened to the boy who begged us not to stop?"
He didn't answer. Just stepped around Tachibana.
She grabbed his elbow. Gentle. But firm.
"Yamada."
He looked down at her hand.
She let go. "Be careful out there."
He nodded once. Kept walking.
At the elevator he heard footsteps behind him.
Hiramatsu. The lazy one. Messy brown hair. Half-lidded eyes. She yawned as she caught up.
"You're really leaving?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She shrugged. "Boring without you."
Yamada pressed the button. Doors opened.
Hiramatsu leaned against the wall. "Yamaguchi's gonna be mad. She had plans."
"I know."
Hiramatsu yawned again. "Well. Don't die."
The doors closed.
Yamada leaned against the back wall. Alone now.
The elevator dinged. Ground floor.
He walked through the lobby. Past the front desk. Past the security guard who nodded like he knew nothing.
Outside the air hit him. Cool. Real.
He sat on the bench near the entrance. Waited for the car.
A few minutes later his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He opened it.
A photo. Yamaguchi in her uniform. Green hair tied back. Smirking at the camera. Caption: "Miss me already? Come back soon. We're not done."
Yamada stared at the screen.
Then he deleted it.
The black car pulled up.
He stood. Got in.
The driver looked in the mirror. "Home, sir?"
Yamada shook his head. "New place. The one on the hill."
The driver nodded. Pulled away.
Yamada looked out the window. Hospital shrinking in the rearview.
He touched one cast. Felt the scar underneath.
A small laugh slipped out.
Quiet. Dry.
'Not done,' he thought.
'Neither am I.'
The car turned onto the highway.
The sun started to set.
The car glided smooth on the empty road. City lights blurred past the tinted windows.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. Older guy. Gray at the temples. Family staff for years.
"How's your hand, sir?"
Yamada didn't look up. He was already peeling the edge of one cast with his thumbnail. The plaster cracked. White dust fell on the leather seat.
"Better," he said.
He worked the second cast next. Slow. Methodical. The material gave way. His forearms came free. Skin pale where the casts had covered. Faint red lines from where the breaks had been. Scars thin and pink.
He flexed his fingers. Knuckles popped. No pain. Just stiffness.
"Better," he repeated. Quieter this time.
He leaned back against the seat. Closed his eyes.
Memories played anyway.
The hospital room. Fluorescent buzz. The smell of latex gloves.
Kiritani's cool fingers on his skin. "Hold still, Yamada-kun."
Tachibana's clipped voice. "Three hours. Again."
Kurokawa giggling while she squeezed too hard. "Oops."
Hiramatsu yawning mid-stroke. "This is taking forever."
And Yamaguchi.
Always Yamaguchi.
Her green hair falling forward. Her grip like iron. The slap across his cheek when he tried to pull away. "Don't move, patient."
The way she leaned in close. Breath hot against his ear. "You like it rough, don't you?"
Yamada opened his eyes.
The car was climbing the hill now. Streetlights thinned out. Trees took over.
'I can't forget it.'
He stared at his bare hands. Turned them over. Palms up. The same hands that couldn't do anything back then.
A small sound came out of him. Not quite a laugh. More like air escaping.
The driver didn't comment.
The car slowed. Pulled into a gated driveway. Iron gates opened without a sound.
The house came into view. Big windows. Dark roof. Lights on in the entryway only.
The driver stopped. Put the car in park.
"Welcome home, sir."
Yamada nodded. Opened the door himself. Stepped out.
Cool night air. Smell of pine.
He looked up at the house.
His house now.
He flexed his hands one more time. No casts. No pain.
Just strength.
He walked to the front door.
The driver called after him. "Anything else tonight?"
Yamada paused. Looked back.
"Tell the staff to stay clear of the basement tomorrow. First visitor coming."
The driver nodded. No questions.
Yamada went inside.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
He stood in the foyer. Empty. Quiet.
Then he headed straight for the basement stairs.
Time to check the setup one last time.
A low chuckle followed him down the steps.
Quiet.
But real.
----
Yamada looked at the Basement. "I should check it out"
The basement door opened with a soft click. Yamada flicked the light switch.
Warm white LEDs came on. No harsh fluorescents. Just enough glow to see everything clearly.
Concrete floor sealed smooth. Padded black walls that swallowed sound. A few pieces already in place.
A sturdy bench bolted to the floor. Leather cuffs at the ends. A padded cross against one wall. Suspension rings in the ceiling. A small cabinet in the corner — locked for now. Medical-style table nearby, clean sheets folded on top.
Nothing over-the-top. No chains rattling. No red lights or dramatic shadows. Just functional. Private. Controlled.
Yamada stepped inside. Closed the door behind him. The click echoed a little, then died.
He walked to the bench. Ran a finger along the leather. Still smelled new.
'This is what I started planning after week two.'
Flashback.
The hospital room again. Late afternoon. Curtains half-drawn. Monitors beeping slow.
Kiritani stood by the bed. She had just finished the "treatment." Her gloves were off. She wiped her hands on a towel, calm as always.
She picked up the bedside phone. Dialed a number. Put it on speaker. Set it down.
"Done," she said.
She looked at Yamada. His arms still in casts. Face flushed. Breathing uneven.
"Go and talk to your family."
She patted his head once. Gentle. Almost kind. Then she walked out. Door closed with a soft thud.
Yamada stared at the phone. It rang twice. Three times.
A man's voice answered. Deep. Familiar.
"Yes, hello?"
Yamada swallowed. Looked at the speaker like it could see him.
"It's me. Yamada."
A pause on the other end.
Then his father's voice. Steady.
"Son. How are you holding up?"
Yamada flexed his fingers inside the casts. Winced.
"Not great. But… I need something."
Another pause.
"Anything."
Yamada looked at the closed door. Thought of the nurses. The routine. The helplessness.
"I want a new place. When I get out. Big. Private. With a basement."
His father didn't laugh. Didn't question.
"Done. What else?"
Yamada's voice dropped lower.
"Make it soundproof. And… send someone to set it up. Quietly. I'll tell them what goes in there."
A short breath on the line. Not surprise. Just understanding.
"Consider it handled. Rest now."
The call ended.
Back in the present.
Yamada stood in the finished basement. The setup was exactly what he'd described over the phone that day. Clean. Efficient. His.
He walked to the cabinet. Unlocked it. Inside: soft ropes, blindfolds, a few toys still in packaging. Nothing extreme. Not yet.
He closed it. Locked it again.
A low chuckle came out. Quiet. Dry.
'They thought they owned me in that room.'
He turned off the light.
'Now I own the room.'
He climbed the stairs. Closed the basement door.
Upstairs the house was still empty. Miyuri's room light was off. She'd probably crashed after the long trip.
Yamada went to his bedroom. Dropped onto the bed. Stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow the first nurse would come. Tachibana, most likely. Angry about the rent notice. Curious about the "landlord."
He flexed his bare hands again. No casts. No weakness.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
'Let's see how they like being on the other side.'
He closed his eyes.
Sleep came fast.
To be continued
Hope people like this Ch here and give me power stones and enjoy