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hyaha-ha-ha · 2 months

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#AAAAAH #its here !!!

Misery and Misfortune Pt. 1 (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, hello, I bring you all some pain, and this time, I have a friend bringing the pain with me! This is a collaboration work between @hyaha-ha-ha and I, so I hope you all enjoy! CW: MCD, Gore, Body Horror

No one knows when it started.

No one knows how it came to be.

But everyone knows just how deadly it is.

I fear for those I care about.

I fear for everyone.

—Yosano Akiko

When the news of a mysterious infection making its way through Yokohama began, Yosano wasn’t even in the city to witness it. She’d been at the other end of the country, at a conference for doctors to get together and talk about the newest treatments. Although she wasn’t the most… conventional doctor, Fukuzawa had been insistent that she attend, so, she had. And while, she would much rather be tormenting her co-workers by strapping them down and removing their limbs when they were foolish enough to get themselves injured, she did have to admit that it was interesting to learn new things.

She also had a feeling it was a ploy to get her to experience things that normal doctors, with normal lives, and normal educations got to experience on a daily basis, which she did appreciate. Fukuzawa had always tried to give her a normal life—well, as normal as a life could be when it came to growing up with Fukuzawa and Ranpo who were very much not normal—after rescuing her from Mori all those years ago, and she’d been forever grateful. And while she didn’t regret how her life had turned out, there were times where she wished that her life had been different. That Mori had never plucked her from the candy store and whisked her away to war.

So with no hesitation, she packed a bag and hopped on the next train to Osaka, the goodbye’s of her co-workers echoing in her ears.

Goodbye’s that had involved warning Dazai against raiding her medicine cabinet—regardless of whether it was a joke or not—and telling Ranpo to eat an actual meal instead of his snacks for once, whilst also making sure that Kunikida didn’t stress himself out while she was gone because she knew him well enough to know that he would the moment she was gone. She’d made sure to check in with the younger members as well—because she did care despite her constant threats of bodily harm, and Atsushi and Kyouka still responded well to knowing that people actually cared about them—and had even made sure to have a quick break with Fukuzawa before her train. And it’d been nice, to see them all happy and smiling, and full of jokes and teasing quips.

It made her believe that everything would be alright.

Not that there’d been any reason to believe otherwise, because as chaotic and accident prone as her precious, put together, little family was, they were more than capable of handling any crisis that was thrown their way.

If only she’d known then, just how wrong she was.

The reporter on the news spoke of an infection of an unknown origin, bringing with it a rash, and open sores, along with a fever that could kill if it got out of hand. They also spoke of how it was unknown just how many people were infected, and that there was no reason to worry. Yosano wasn’t stupid though, and neither was any other doctor in the room currently. They all threw each other uneasy glances, and quiet murmurs broke out across the room, some groups discussing potential causes, and others already coming up with ways of treating it when they got back to their respective hospitals, even though, so far, it was restricted to just Yokohama.

And that was how the rest of the conference went; there was no panic, no fretting, only quiet discussion about what was going on in a city several hours away. Yosano herself, fell into the lull, keeping one eye on the news just like everyone else was, but focusing most of her attention on the people speaking. She wanted to go back and be able to prove that she’s actually learnt something while she’d been gone.

But the days passed, and the news became more frequent.

It was an infection they said, and medicine in this day and age, accompanied by the few skill users with healing abilities, meant that it wouldn’t be long before it was dealt with and forgotten.

It was an infection they said; no one had died, and it hadn’t been discovered outside of Yokohama yet, so it clearly wasn’t airborne, nor was it in the water.

It’s just an infection, Yosano told herself, watching as images of patients in hospitals flicked across the screen, dread filling her stomach that she couldn’t quite understand the origin of.

It’s just an infection, she continued to say, as the phone in her hand lit up with the President’s number.

Yosano wasn’t the type to believe in God; had never had a reason to with the life that she’d lived, with all that pain and suffering that she’d worked hard to put behind her. After all, what kind of God would just sit by and allow an eleven-year-old to suffer as much as she had? What had she done that was no bad to warrant that kind of torment? Not only that, but what God would endorse such a war to happen in the first place where she, a child, had needed to be on the battlefield?

After all these years, she still didn’t have an answer.

And when she arrived back at the Agency, and stepped into the infirmary, what little belief she somehow still had, vanished.

Yosano didn’t know what to think at first, when her eyes fell upon Dazai, his bandages unravelled and replaced with plastic covers that showed the gaping wounds being protected by them, the wires that were connected to him, monitoring his vitals, and the needle in his hand providing nutrition. Her heart skipped a beat, as she forced her eyes away from her friends almost… decaying form, to see Dazai staring at her, expression one that could only be attributed to pain, although she couldn’t be sure he was actually looking at her, eyes glazed with fever and staring right through her almost.

It was the weakest that she’d ever seen him, and she’d seen him on death’s door multiple times.

She stepped closer. “Dazai…”

Dazai’s eyes focused just long enough for him to notice her, and a smile grew on his face. “Yosano-sensei, how kind of you to rush back for little old me.”

“The President called me.” Yosano said, striding over to the bed and taking one of Dazai’s arms into her own to study it. This close, she could see the wound more clearly, see the bone underneath the flesh that had seemingly rotted away, blood leaking from the hole that was left behind. The sheer size of the wound concerned her; spreading up the length of the limb and disappearing underneath the gown that her colleague was wearing. Further up, she could see cracks in the skin on the right side of his face, not quite bleeding, but threatening to.

She’d never seen anything like it.

But she knew what it was.

Despite wishing wholeheartedly that it was anything but.

Yosano looked towards where Kunikida was sitting, looking more stressed than he ever had before. “How did this happen?”

“We aren’t sure.” Kunikida sighed, slumping forward to rest his head in his hands. He took a deep breath. “We pulled the idiot from the river about a week ago, and of course, he got sick from it. But then… he got worse. And now he’s like this.”

“Ah I’ll be fine. Now that you’re here, I’ll be fine.” Dazai interjected, tugging his hand free to drop back against the mattress. Neither Yosano nor Kunikida missed the way it dropped like deadweight, as there was no muscle to support the limb, nor the pained grimace that followed.

Yosano smiled, hoping that it conveyed the confidence that she did not feel in that moment. Her mind drifted away, back towards that of the news report about a mysterious infection spreading around Yokohama.

An infection that currently, had no cure.

Not that she would let that stop her.

She was Akiko Yosano, the Angel of Death. She wasn’t going to let some unknown infection get the best of her, not in her life.

“Well, Dazai.” Yosano said, reaching out a hand to smooth Dazai’s sweat-soaked hair, ignoring the heat that she felt, even through her glove. Dazai’s eyes focused on her once again. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fixed up.”

Yet, for all her efforts, Dazai continued to get sicker, and sicker. No matter what medicine she pumped him with, no matter how many times she and Kunikida cleaned the wounds, he just continued to waste away right in front of them. And because they weren’t sure how exactly Dazai had contracted the infection, Yosano made the decision to bar everyone but herself and Kunikida from the infirmary whilst they tried to figure it out; a decision that wasn’t well received. Atsushi had tried to force his way past her, desperate to see his mentor, but he’d calmed when Kyouka—bless her—had slid up to him and explained that Yosano wasn’t doing this to be cruel, she just didn’t want them to get sick as well.

Yosano had appreciated it, and promised Atsushi that the moment that Dazai was allowed visitors again, she’d let him know.

The first thing to do, other than manage Dazai’s symptoms, was discover how he’d even contracted the infection in the first place, which meant running through every aspect of Dazai’s life leading up until his collapse; a task made nearly impossible, not from Dazai’s unwillingness to talk, but because he was rarely lucid enough for them to even ask as the infection continued to ravage him. It’d gotten to the point where Yosano started to grow concerned that Dazai would die, so she’d made the decision to amputate his arm in a desperate attempt to stop the infection from spreading.

At first, Kunikida had argued, but he’d quickly given in when Yosano had argued back that at this point, they had nothing to lose.

It was one of the few times where she cursed being unable to use her ability on Dazai.

But after the surgery, Yosano felt nothing but relief when Dazai opened his eyes, and almost immediately cracked a joke about his missing arm, eyes clearer than they had been in a long time. It was almost as if Dazai hadn’t been sick in the first place, and once he’d rested from the surgery, she grilled him on what he’d been doing, what he’d been eating, and who he’d interacted with, but his answers had provided nothing.

All he’d been doing was walking around Yokohama, trying to find the ideal spot to die, nothing out of the ordinary for her eccentric friend.

But since it didn’t seem like Dazai would infect everyone else, Yosano didn’t see an issue with allowing the others to visit Dazai, although she did insist that they all wear masks and gloves just in case.

The last thing she wanted was to deal with an outbreak when she didn’t have a set treatment in mind.

“He’s going to die; you know that right?” Yosano was dragged out of her thoughts by the sound of Ranpo throwing himself up on top of her desk, twirling a lollipop in his hand. The words were harsh, and didn’t match the indifferent expression on Ranpo’s face, but Yosano knew better, knew just how much her oldest friend cared about Dazai.

Yosano sighed and glanced over her shoulder where Dazai was listening to Atsushi talk about his day, a bowl of half-eaten chazuke in his hand. “I know.”

Ranpo hummed. “Are you going to tell them?”

“They already know.” At least, she thought they did. She hoped they did, because if they didn’t… well, she didn’t quite have an answer for that. Yosano let out another sigh, and turned to face Ranpo. “Have you been asked by the police for help.”

“Not yet.” Ranpo said. “It’s only a matter of time though, since people are starting to die now, so I’m sure they’ll come begging for my assistance like they always do.”

“Do you know what’s causing it?”

“Causing it? Not yet. How it spreads? Yes.” Ranpo shoved the lollipop into his mouth, his attention focused on Dazai and the others surrounding him. “It’s through blood-to-blood contact, before you ask.”

Yosano frowned, filing the information away for later to deal with. She’d encountered infections of the blood before, but most of them had some other requirement involved for them to actually infect people; seldom was it as simple as blood-to-blood. But it would make sense for it to be so simply, really. It was common for the deadliest of diseases to be transmitted easily, that was what made them so deadly in the first place. And it didn’t make them easy to cure either.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Ranpo went on to say. “Dazai will die, but you did what you could, and he knows that. It’s why he’s still smiling, so people can remember him for that instead of rotting away in a bed.”

She didn’t think she’d done nearly enough to try and help, but it was nice of Ranpo to try and offer some comfort to her. She gave him a soft look. “Are you going to be okay? When he dies, I mean?”

Ranpo refused to look at her, his body tense. “It’s not like I have a choice. He’s dying whether I want him to or not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll say my goodbyes later once everyone’s gone.” Ranpo hopped of her desk and began to leave, stopping right beside her just long enough to speak quietly. “Just find a cure, okay?”

I will. Yosano thought, going back to her research.

She had to.

But just as Ranpo had predicted, Dazai died.

It was a painful death, it had to be with the way Dazai’s flesh peeled from his skin, leaving nothing but bone. It took days for him to finally pass, the fever finally becoming too much for his body to handle and causing total organ failure. Yosano had done everything she could to help, had tried everything she’d learnt over the years, but none of it had been enough, and in the end, all she could do was sit by Dazai’s bedside with Kunikida beside her, and hold her friends’ hand as he lost the fight to live.

“Don’t mourn me… too much, Yosano-sensei… we all knew I would be… the first to die…”

That was what Dazai had said in his final moment of clarity, and honestly, she wanted to smack him for it. Of course she was going to mourn Dazai, he was her friend, and he’d left a bigger impact on the Agency than he thought he had. He’d brought jokes, and joy, and that weird friendship of his that only Dazai could do, and she, along with everyone else, were going to miss him. She hadn’t cried when he died, too focused on keeping herself composed as she shared the news with those that hadn’t been in the room, and afterwards, there’d been so many tears from everyone else that it didn’t feel right for her to break down too.

But if she shed a few tears over a shared bottle of sake between her and Ranpo, who was to know but them?

After Dazai’s death, Yosano thought that the end of it.

They held a funeral, said their goodbyes, and did their best to push onwards. For a while, work was slow, on account of everyone struggling to cope with the subdued atmosphere, which eventually led to Fukuzawa making the decision to close the Agency for the week, just to give them the time they needed to deal and start healing. A decision that everyone was quick to follow.

Once that week was up, and everyone was back at work, things almost seemed to go back to normal. Well, not normal per se—because there was nothing normal about watching a co-worker and friend slowly waste away—but as normal as it could be. Although, for Yosano, life continued to grow more chaotic. The hospitals, having heard of her encounter with the infection, summoned her to see if she could try to help with the influx of victims, so most of her time was spent there, trying to help, but only watching more people die.

There was still no cure, still no idea on the origin of the infection, only a steadily growing death toll and fear amongst the general population.

And then she walked into the Agency, where she watched Kunikida collapse in front of her, blood spilling from the cracks in his face, and her heart stopped. Not again.

Like with Dazai, Yosano took Kunikida to the infirmary and refused entry to anyone that wasn’t her. She did what she could to get Kunikida’s vitals up, hoping that he would regain consciousness and be able to tell her how he got infected—which she already knew thanks to Ranpo deducing that it was contact with blood, but she needed to know when. Knowing when Kunikida had gotten infected would give them an idea as to how long it took the infection to present itself, and that kind of knowledge was vital in an epidemic.

But Kunikida never woke up.

And Yosano was forced to watch yet another friend die.

It was cruel, it was awful, and Yosano cursed every God that she knew of for allowing the most important people in her life to die from some stupid, incurable infection. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, but right now, she couldn’t. Right now, she had to be strong, had to provide a brave face to show the others that she knew what she was doing, that there was still hope to be had, even though she continued to lose it as the days passed.

Like Dazai, Kunikida’s flesh began to rot away, and honestly, it was a testament to just how much the human body could survive, as Kunikida’s arms were nothing but bone, yet he was somehow still fighting. And even though Kunikida was comatose, she kept him dosed on painkillers, just in case there was a part of him that was hurting; otherwise, she used the time to study the symptoms of the infection, to note how fast it spread and the order it happened in, comparing Kunikida’s suffering to Dazai’s and finding them almost the same.

There were a few variances, but that was expected with infections; everyone was different after all. Everyone’s body reacted to things differently; it was why Kunikida had started bleeding from his face first whilst Dazai rotted.

Not that it made it any less painful to know that.

This time, it was Fukuzawa that sat by her side as Kunikida slowly died in front of her. She appreciated the company, spent most of the time leaning against his shoulder as they sat in silence together. It was obvious from the tension in his face, that he was worried about the way that things were going, and that he felt a little helpless at not being able to do much more than support her. It was probably how the rest of the Agency felt, being trapped outside the infirmary as they were, and she felt guilty that she couldn’t risk allowing them to help her. She just couldn’t risk anyone else getting infected. It was already dangerous enough keeping infected people in the infirmary here, instead of taking them to the hospital like the government was asking of people.

“I’m sorry I can’t save him.” Yosano found herself saying, her voice quiet in the despair of the room. She ducked her head and stared at her hands. Maybe Shunzen was right. Maybe she was an Angel of Death after all, hands bloodied by the bodies of people she tried to save and failed.

Maybe she should just—

“You did what you could.” Fukuzawa interrupted before her thoughts could send her spiralling. He gave her a comforting pat. “Kunikida and Dazai know that.”

“But does everyone else?” Yosano retorted. “I’ve kept them from being here, to keep them safe, but for all I know, they hate me for not doing more!”

“They don’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Fukuzawa tightened his grip on her, voice firm. “They don’t hate you.”

“But—”

“They don’t.” Fukuzawa insisted. “They merely wish that they could do more to help. Situations like this can leave many feeling helpless and we, are no different. You need not apologise for the decisions you make to keep us safe.”

Yosano bit her lip to keep the apology on the tip of her tongue from escaping, and just gave a single nod. There wasn’t anything more she could say on the matter, not without making Fukuzawa repeat himself. Her eyes rested upon Kunikida’s shivering form; death would come for her friend soon, and she resolved to let him be the last. She would do everything that she could to stop anyone else she cared about from succumbing to this infection.

Two days later, Kunikida died.

And this time, Yosano allowed them to grieve him properly.

She spent hours sterilising the room from top to bottom, removing all traces of blood, and covering the wounds that had killed Kunikida to prevent even the slightest drop of blood from escaping. And only then, once she was sure that the room was as clean as it could be, did she allow everyone to come and say goodbye. Yosano knew she’d done right when Atsushi stepped into the room, took one look at the man that had taken him under his wing, and promptly burst into tears.

She had to leave the room then.

She didn’t go far, just outside into the main office where she leant against the wall, listening through the cracked door as everyone shared their final words with Kunikida, shedding tears over the person that had supported their endeavours at the Agency the most. It warmed her heart to hear such words spoken, she just wished that he hadn’t had to die to hear them. And for the first time in her life, she tried to believe that Kunikida’s spirit was there, along with Dazai’s, watching over them and giving them the strength to continue.

They were going to need it.

In the wake of Kunikida’s death, Yosano found herself being called away from the Agency more often than not, the government and local hospitals hearing of their encounters, however brief, with the infection and wanting to know more about her findings in studying the infection. The people she spoke to sounded hopeful on the phone, and Yosano felt nothing but guilt as she crushed that hope into tiny pieces by being unable to provide any information that wasn’t already known. It also crushed her to know that she hadn’t discovered anything new about the infection, but there was a determination building within her, one born from the desire to not lose anyone else that she considered family.

The television in the Agency was permanently left on, at least one channel always reporting on the status of the infection, updating people on how many were infected and where the worst rate of infection was. As expected, Suribachi City was affected the worst; the ruined city had been cordoned off the moment the public discovered the method of transmission, with no one allowed to enter or leave, no matter what. This caused some argument, and a lot of distress, as it meant that the people trapped within the city were sentenced to a slow and painful death, without any means of relief.

Yosano considered herself capable of controlling her emotions, but after watching two of her oldest friends die to the infection, she couldn’t help but cry over the people in Suribachi City.

Weeks passed, and the situation worsened around them, but the atmosphere within the Agency was a positive one as no one else fell to the infection—mostly due to Fukuzawa’s decision for them to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary. Which wasn’t hard to do considering that in the wake of a deadly infection, people weren’t exactly scrambling for their services. This newfound free time of theirs was spent doing whatever kept their focus off the news; reading, playing games, swapping stories with each other. It was almost as this were just a casual sleepover instead of an attempt to stay safe.

Yosano couldn’t bring herself to relax, going over her notes over and over again until she would collapse at her desk. She couldn’t relax, no matter how many times the others pleaded with her to take a break.

She’d already failed them twice; she wouldn’t do it again.

So of course, the infection made her eat her words.

Rumours began to spread that those suffering from the infection would do their best to seek out contact with others, not because they wanted to infect others, but because the infection took their ability to stay warm. And who was warm but living, healthy, people?

This made the infection more deadly, considering all it took to get infected was the tiniest cut, and naturally, not long after the news had dropped, the death toll began to rose, bring with it, crushing despair and a lack of hope for their situation ever getting better. Yokohama was now in lockdown mode, a last-ditch effort to stop the infection spreading. No one was to leave, even to get supplies, and those that risked it, were left to die in the streets.

The hospitals turned their focus to those that were uninfected, ejecting the victims of the infection onto the streets, breaking their vows to save all lives no matter what, just to try and save who remained. These hospitals swore that they’d focus on finding a cure, and that when they did, the people they threw out would be welcomed back and treated, but it didn’t take a genius to know those were empty words. The infection was killing faster now, spreading even faster to try and take down as many people as it could.

It was a logical decision really, to sacrifice the lives of the few to save the lives of the many, but already, two-quarters of Yokohama’s population was infected, and one-quarter dead, so who were they saving really?

No one, that’s who.

So, Yosano wasn’t surprised when her more empathetic colleagues wanted to help those that had been abandoned, even if it was just venturing out to get people indoors, to get them food and water so that they may stand a chance of pulling through the epidemic. And try as she might, Yosano couldn’t stop them.

Kenji.

Kyouka.

Atsushi.

One by one she watched them die, her heart fracturing as she tried desperately to save them, only to fail. Even Atsushi, who’s skill allowed him to regenerate, succumbed to the infection in the end. But… Yosano learnt something from that, and she kicked herself over not considering it sooner. As Atsushi lay there in the infirmary bed, skin literally melting off of his bones, she watched as his body tried to fix it; the damaged skin would knit back together, as if he’d never been infected in the first place, only for the wounds to reappear days later.

It was an endless cycle, one filled with pain and agony, and ultimately, it ended with Atsushi losing his mind.

At that point, it was just her, Atsushi, Ranpo, and Fukuzawa left in the building. Everyone else was dead. And when Atsushi became infected, Ranpo retreated immediately—not that Yosano could blame her friend, for despite being confronted with death since a young age like she had, it was different when they were people you cared about, and Ranpo had been struggling ever since Dazai first died months back—which left just her and Fukuzawa to do what they could for Atsushi.

No one could tell them that they hadn’t tried, because they had tried so, so hard, to keep Atsushi alive, praying that his body would somehow fight off the infection and a miracle would occur.

But instead of a miracle, a curse came.

The tiger inside Atsushi had always been uncontrollable, and was only placid due to Fukuzawa’s ability making it so. But the infection must’ve broken that connection, because as Atsushi’s healing ability failed, and his flesh rotted worse than it ever had, the tiger broke free. Yosano found herself shoved across the room as the tiger lunged for her and Fukuzawa, and she could only watch as Fukuzawa drew his sword and sliced Atsushi in half.

But not before sinking his teeth into the older man’s arm.

“NO!” Yosano threw herself onto her knees by Fukuzawa’s side, blinking rapidly as if that would make the wound go away. Only a few feet away, did Atsushi lay in his tiger form, eyes wide and dull, devoid of life, and Yosano knew she should do as she did, and take notes on the infection’s progression in the boy, but she couldn’t bring herself to, not when she had to come to term with the fact that she was going to lose the man that rescued and given her a new life.

Her shout must’ve been loud enough to catch Ranpo’s attention from wherever he’d sequestered himself, for she heard the infirmary door open, and the shattering of a ramune bottle seconds later.

And despite the fate that was coming for him, Fukuzawa smiled at them both, covering his wound with a hand. “It will be fine.” He said, voice filled with conviction as it always was. “I believe in the both of you.”

“There’s no cure—”

“We’ll cure it.” Ranpo’s determined words interrupted her own hopeless ones, and Yosano turned towards Ranpo. His eyes slid to look at her briefly, hardened, and devoid of emotion, before flicking back to Fukuzawa. Despite the look on his face, she could hear the pain in his voice. “We’ll cure it, so you better fight, President. You aren’t allowed to die.”

“I will do my best, Ranpo.”

The stakes were higher than ever before, with Fukuzawa infected, not only because of how much he meant to her, but because Ranpo became absolutely unbearable the moment that the man that had saved them both became so ill, he was a far cry from their saviour now. She tried not to snap at her friend when he was short with her, or when he demanded more than she could give, but it was hard not to when it felt like he was about to start biting her neck instead of merely breathing on it with how close he lingered. She understood his distress, was feeling much the same herself, and wanted nothing more than to find a cure to stop Fukuzawa from dying, but there was only so much she could do. Realistically, Yosano had already accepted that Fukuzawa was going to die, had prepared herself for it to happen, but Ranpo hadn't. Like when Fukuzawa had been infected by the Cannibalism skill all those months ago, Ranpo camped out by the older man's bedside, refusing to move, to eat, to sleep, and nothing Yosano said or did could change his mind.

It wasn't until she finally sat down and documented her observations on Atsushi that she finally gained a bit of hope.

Atsushi had only lasted as long as he did because of the regenerative qualities of his ability, and it reminded her of her own ability. She'd never thought to use her ability on the infection, since Dazai was immune to her skill to begin with, and after he’d died, she’d automatically assumed it would be like any other illness, and fail, but perhaps this was different. After all, the infection caused massive wounds, and those were something she could heal. And even if she couldn't cure the infection, perhaps she could buy enough time for a cure to be found.

Perhaps she would be able to save Fukuzawa.

So as Fukuzawa grew sicker, she fought the urge to amputate his limbs to try and stop the infection. She had to wait for it to take hold more, if she wanted the best chance at defeating it, no matter how much it pained her to do so. It was hard, when the flesh began to melt off his bones, and he gave into the pain he was feeling despite the heavy amount painkillers she supplied.

And finally, the time came for her to use her ability.

It was the first, and only, time she did it, and she watched Fukuzawa's chest fall still, butterflies filling the room, apprehension filling her body as she waited for it to restart. And right where he'd been sitting the entire time, Ranpo sat, clutching Fukuzawa's hand within his own, squeezing tight. His head was ducked so she couldn't see what kind of face he was making, but she could see his lips moving, recognising the words as a prayer—so unlike Ranpo with his usually uncaring nature towards anything spiritual. But dire situations brought out the desperation in even the strongest of people, and Ranpo surely must've reached his limit by now.

Time ticked by, and still, Fukuzawa's chest remained still.

And then, just as she was about to shatter, she saw it. A breath.

A singular breath.

It was weak and shaky, but it was there, and Yosano dove straight into doctor mode, taking Fukuzawa's vitals, and making sure that he had enough nutrients going into him to keep his body as strong as possible. She didn’t dare believe it, didn’t dare hope in case it was just a lie. But as the day passed by, those breaths grew stronger, and by evening, against the odds of everyone else they’d already lost, Fukuzawa opened his eyes.

"Did you cure it?" Fukuzawa asked. He was tired. Strained. Barely conscious, yet there was pride in his eyes.

"I'm not sure." Yosano admitted, ducking her head. "We'll just have to wait and see. Atsushi regenerated his wounds, but... they would reappear days later."

"Yeah, but Atsushi didn't have your healing ability." Ranpo huffed, looking more alive now that Fukuzawa was awake and talking. Yosano reckoned that if he could’ve, Ranpo would’ve crawled onto the bed right that instant. "You've cured it, I just know it. President's gonna be the first one to fight this stupid infection off, just you watch."

Yosano sincerely hoped that Ranpo was right.

And as the days passed, with Fukuzawa appearing to grow stronger, Yosano's hope began to return, along with a little optimism. She’d cured it. Every day, she checked Fukuzawa over, and every day, there were no wounds. But still, she held her breath, just in case it was false hope, and the infection was simply waiting to make a comeback.

She’d cured it.

A week passed by with no changes, just growth, and Fukuzawa was able to get out of bed, taking his first steps since becoming infected. And this time, she cried. Because she'd done it. She’d cured it—she'd cured the infection, and all she'd had to do was use the ability that she'd once despised. Fukuzawa held her close, whispering quiet words of reassurance, telling her that he was proud of her perseverance. After that, she pulled away, smiling, and Ranpo took her place, throwing himself at the President and finally unleashing his own tears that he'd been holding back for months.

"I'm going to grab some food from downstairs. If you can eat something, I'll contact the hospital and tell them that I've managed to cure it." Yosano said, leaving Fukuzawa and Ranpo alone in the infirmary as she made her way to the storage area, where they'd stocked up on food before needing to isolate—thanks to Atsushi. She couldn't help but feel excited, moving with a skip in her step. Even though she was still upset at not being able to save her friends and co-workers, being able to save Fukuzawa had given her hope. There was no doubt in her mind that she would miss them for as long as she lived. All of them had left an impact on her, however long or short they'd been in her life for. Her heart clenched, but she forced the feeling away. There would be time to mourn after they'd stopped the infection running rampant.

And mourn she would.

She'd grabbed a decent amount of food, enough to host a small party that she believed was well deserved after everything they’d been through, and was just heading up the stairs when she heard a loud crash, and her heart stopped dead in its tracks.

"YOSANO!"

Like lightning, Yosano bolted up the stairs, the food in her hands falling to the floor, but she didn't care. That'd been Ranpo's voice, and he'd sounded terrified. Ranpo was never scared, never fearful, never terrified, which was how she knew it was bad. Yosano threw open the main door to the Agency, and dashed over to the infirmary, grateful that she'd left that door open when she'd left.

And then froze.

Red. That was all she could see. There was so much of it over the floor, over everything, that you almost wouldn't believe that the room had once been white. And in amongst the red, Yosano saw a petrified green; Ranpo, covered in more blood than she'd ever seen on him before. There was so much of it that she felt nauseous, a hand coming to cover her mouth, her arm wrapping around her stomach. Ranpo was holding onto something—no, someone.

Fukuzawa.

She hadn’t cured it.

"He just—" Ranpo tried to say, only to choke on his words. He raised a hand and stared at the blood, shocked. Whatever had happened had been fast, too fast for his genius brain to comprehend. Yosano could see it kicking into gear though, and she wanted to cry. "I don't know what happened—he was talking, and then—and then he was on the ground."

Yosano threw herself onto her knees beside the two of them, jamming her hand into Fukuzawa's neck only to recoil as the flesh sunk beneath her touch. What...?

Now that she was close enough, she could see that the wounds she'd cured had returned, but worse than before. Fukuzawa’s hands were nothing but bone, the skin and muscle sliding off his skeleton even in death. Where his skin remained, it was soft, sinking in places almost as if the elder’s insides were liquifying themselves. Where Ranpo clutched at his mentor, his hands left bruising imprints—although upon closer inspection, Yosano saw that the skin had actually broken, and was literally falling off around her friend’s grip.

And his face—his face—

It was cracked and split all over, blood and what looked to be brain matter oozing out of the cracks.

Fukuzawa was dead before he'd even hit the ground.

"I'm sorry, Ranpo, I'm so sorry." Yosano sobbed, bowing her head. She should've known it was too good to be true, should've known that it wasn't as simple as just using an ability. Why would it ever work that way? It wasn’t like it had worked before for her. And now Fukuzawa was gone, leaving just her and Ranpo as the sole survivors of this cursed infection.

"I'm sorry too." Came the shaky response, and Yosano lifted her head to look at Ranpo in confusion, uncertain as to why he was apologising when there hadn't been anything he could've done in the first place.

But then Ranpo lifted his hand, covered in Fukuzawa's blood, and through that blood, Yosano could see a cut.

A tiny cut, but a cut all the same.

And Yosano's heart shattered.

Please…

… no more.

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