Special Appointment No. 80

Kurama was forced to stop in his tracks.

The wounds on Hughes were simply too severe.

Though Kurama was supporting most of the man's weight, the person who had, mere minutes ago, laughed heartily, regaled him with tales of his beloved daughter, and even invited him to his home after everything was over to sample his wife's cooking—so delicious, he claimed, it could make one swallow their own tongue—was now pale as death, eyes tightly shut, unable to take a single step further.

Kurama looked around, troubled.

They had only just escaped the jurisdiction of Central Command and found themselves deep within a narrow, shadowy alleyway. Not far ahead lay a bustling commercial district, where surely there would be tall buildings aplenty, and no shortage of hotels or inns where Kurama and Hughes might take refuge. Public and private hospitals and clinics were no doubt to be found as well. But…

Feeling Hughes' breath grow weaker by the second as the man's body half-slumped against him, Kurama furrowed his brow and worked his hands even quicker—

He was using demonic plants to slow the progression of Hughes’ wounds.

But their effect was limited. Kurama’s mutated plants, which worked wonders for staunching blood flow and healing wounds, had already sealed up the cuts and punctures littering Hughes’ body. Even the gravest wound—one that had nearly pierced right through Hughes’ right shoulder—had begun to knit together at a pace visible to the naked eye.

Yet this was only a stopgap—the plants could heal Hughes’ injuries, but the blood already lost would not be restored by mere closure of wounds.

Hughes had been sustained by the conviction that he must inform Roy of his discovery, but now, as he recognized his temporary safety…

The last thread of willpower snapped; Hughes’ face turned an ashen, unnatural white.

Kurama hesitated, considering simply summoning the Catbus to ferry them to the nearest clinic. According to the dandelions’ report, they could arrive in three to five minutes by Catbus. The trouble was, the Catbus was far too conspicuous; if he used it, Kurama would have to disguise its appearance with illusion spores. But then, that flamboyant “vehicle” would certainly throw a tantrum, wouldn’t it?

The fox spirit, ever indulgent toward his sentient and emotionally evolved plants, frowned, feeling a headache coming on.

Just then, Hughes—who should by all rights have been unconscious—suddenly awoke without warning, grabbing Kurama’s sleeve in a desperate clutch.

Kurama bent down, frowning, and heard the man mumbling an address over and over. According to the dandelions’ information, the place was considerably farther than any nearby private clinic.

But if Hughes could rouse himself from such a stupor and insist on going there, surely…it must be a place worthy of trust?

Kurama thought it over and decided this was for the best. At least he wouldn’t have to risk Hughes’ survival being leaked by disguising the man’s form and features with illusion spores—an act that might interfere with the doctor's ability to properly assess Hughes’ injuries. Kurama had, in fact, been debating whether, after finding a doctor, he should simply erase the man's memory.

As it turned out, such measures were unnecessary, much to Kurama’s relief.

Still…

Let’s hope Hughes can hold on until they reach the doctor he trusts.

Kurama rummaged through his demonic storage space and found a spirit realm healing pill he’d gotten from Botan long ago, which he fed to Hughes. Though he had much stronger medicine at hand, he dared not give them to Hughes, fearing that, given the difference in physiology, an overdose might kill the man outright. Cradling the burly man—a head taller than himself—Kurama noted with satisfaction the return of some color to Hughes’ cheeks, likely thanks to the medicine. Then—

Wings suddenly unfurled from the fox spirit's back, launching them both into the sky.

This, too, was one of Kurama's improved demonic plants.

Unlike the original floating-leaf species from the demon world—which could only drift on the wind and had strict weight limits—Kurama’s current choice was akin to a demonic pitcher plant. Was it plant or beast? Hard to say. It had the traits of both.

Kurama, with his mischievous sense of humor, had dubbed this hybrid the "Bamboo Dragonfly." It combined the flexibility and lightness of a plant with the agility and adaptability of an animal; swift, strong, and perfectly maneuverable, it was Kurama’s preferred means of aerial travel.

Given that Hughes’ body temperature was already dangerously low from blood loss, Kurama dared not fly too quickly. By the time they arrived at the address Hughes had given, more than half an hour had passed.

He folded away the plant wings, half-supporting Hughes as he knocked on the door of a house that looked like any ordinary residence, tucked deep in a residential alley, with no sign to indicate it was a clinic.

Night had fallen, and not wishing to disturb the neighbors or reveal their presence, the fox spirit knocked with just enough force.

In no time, the sound of slippers shuffling and a disgruntled voice approached. The door creaked open, and when the homeowner caught sight of his visitors, every trace of impatience and sleep vanished from his disheveled yet strikingly handsome face.

“Get in, quickly!”

Without a single question, the man took Hughes from Kurama, grabbed Kurama’s arm, and, after a quick check to ensure they weren’t being followed, yanked them both inside.

***

When Hughes was finally settled on a pristine hospital bed, having received two units of blood and regained a healthier color, Kurama at last breathed a sigh of relief and turned his attention to the man monitoring the medical equipment.

He was tall—about the same height as Hughes, who towered a head above Kurama. His short hair stuck out in all directions, likely a result of being woken from sleep. A faint scruff shadowed his chin, lending him a certain weariness, but also the enigmatic charm unique to men of his age. Now, with a serious and focused expression as he scrutinized the monitors, he was undeniably magnetic—impossible to look away from.

Without question, he was an exceptionally attractive, mature man.

But…

Kurama searched every scrap of memory he could still access, finding no trace of such a character in the original story.

So he must be someone who never appeared in the canon, yet was clearly a trusted friend of Major Hughes, Kurama surmised.

Of course, the man seemed utterly unaware of Kurama’s covert scrutiny. Once the numbers on the monitors finally drifted toward safer values, he let out a deep breath, and the grave expression on his face was replaced in an instant by a rakish grin.

“He’s stable now.” The handsome doctor smiled as he turned, relaying the news to Kurama, though his eyes retained a hint of curiosity and calculation. “So… shall we sit down and talk? About who you are, and who did this to Maes—and why?”

Thankfully, this youth had given Hughes remarkably thorough first aid—no, perhaps too thorough? Even with his skills, few could have stopped the bleeding and healed those wounds so quickly.

Thinking this, the doctor’s gaze grew thoughtful. He studied the young man’s gentle smile, and after a moment couldn’t help but add, “By the way, I doubt Maes had time to tell you my name. You can call me Dr. Geset—or just Geset. As you can see, my medical skills are quite decent.”

Kurama’s mouth twitched.

The man had seemed so reliable and steady—until he opened his mouth, that is. Was it inevitable that all of Hughes’ friends were as unreliable as he was? (A certain Colonel, innocent bystander: … →_→)

Still, Kurama didn’t quibble over titles. He nodded, addressed the man as Dr. Geset, then gestured at the still-unconscious Major Hughes and stepped out of the sickroom.

Geset smiled, appreciating Kurama’s consideration, and followed him out.

Downstairs, in the living room of what looked like an ordinary home but was clearly extraordinary within, the two men sat across from each other, sipping hot tea. Dr. Geset listened in silence as Kurama recounted what had befallen Major Hughes and what aid he had rendered—carefully editing out the more sensitive details.

By the time Kurama finished, the hands of the clock on the wall had crept past two.

Silence fell.

Kurama quietly sipped his tea, feeding Mokona a few snacks before patting the little creature to sleep in his arms—the white ball was nodding off, but refused to sleep alone out of worry for Kurama, leaving the fox spirit both touched and helpless.

His gentle words to Mokona finally roused Dr. Geset from the deep contemplation he’d entered after Kurama's account.

After a moment’s hesitation, the doctor spoke a line that left Kurama utterly astonished.

“In truth…I was specially appointed by the former President as the head of the former military research institute.”

Lifting his gaze, his storm-grey eyes fixed steadily on Kurama, unreadable.

But Kurama seemed utterly unfazed by this revelation, his lips curling faintly.

“It seems Major Hughes is waking up,” he said with a smile.

***

Gracia Hughes, cloaked in grief and exhaustion, led her daughter by the hand up the final flight of stairs.

The little princess’s round cheeks were still streaked with the marks of tears, and each time Gracia glanced down, her heart twisted painfully.

Ah.

He…was gone.

It was only now, confronted with reality, that Gracia fully grasped the magnitude of loss—her heart felt as though it were being torn apart.

Yet for all her pain, for all that it left her breathless, she still wore, as she always had, that gentle, resilient, and beautiful smile.

Maes was gone, but she remained.

She could not allow Elicia to grieve any further. She must protect their daughter—their child.

This gentle and steadfast woman resolved thus, her smile, though tinged with sorrow, still so soft it melted the heart.

“Elicia.”

Pausing at the door, Gracia knelt, gazing into her daughter’s tear-streaked, innocent blue eyes.

“Listen to Mommy,” she said, her voice catching but still laced with a gentle smile. “Daddy… Daddy may never come home on time again.”

“From now on, it will just be you and Mommy here. But I hope you won’t cry, because Daddy loves your smile the most!”

“So…so even if Daddy…never comes back, he must be watching us from somewhere. Can you show Daddy your smile? That way, he’ll…”

By the end, Gracia’s words dissolved into sobs, the rest unspoken.

But her little daughter smiled back at her, angelic.

“Mommy, I understand. I won’t cry.”

As she spoke, she awkwardly reached out and wiped away the tears that had slipped down Gracia’s cheeks.

This gesture finally broke Gracia into a teary smile.

“Yes, no crying. We won’t cry…”

She hugged the warm, soft little body tightly, eyes squeezed shut in a trembling smile.

But in the next instant, the door was flung open from within. Before Gracia could turn in surprise, a great, gasping sob erupted, and she and her daughter were swept into a familiar, beloved, long-missed embrace…

“Gracia! Elicia!”

The man clutching them wept aloud, his arms tightening almost to the point of pain.

But neither Gracia nor Elicia uttered a word of protest.

Mother and daughter knelt there in stunned silence, held fast by the man they knew so well—their husband, their father—their faces blank with shock.

And at the threshold behind him, two tall, graceful figures slowly appeared…

“I told you, bringing him home early would only expose him… What an idiot, a total wife-and-daughter-obsessed fool!”

The taller of the two turned to his companion with a sharp jab of sarcasm.

Beside him, the red-haired, handsome youth merely smiled helplessly, cradling the white bundle in his arms with gentle care.

“I did say, masking this minor twist of fate with an illusion is no trouble at all for me.”

Besides… certain people seemed far too confident in themselves—not a single agent had been sent to watch over the Hughes family afterward…

Watching the reunited family huddled together before him, the fox spirit smiled quietly.