14. Lament

"You want to see me now?"' Naomasa gawked, disbelief slurring right through his tongue, making sure the doctor on the other end really heard the reluctance. "I've got a school trip to make, doctor. Can't we do this after I get back?"

"It's urgent," the doctor sternly responded.

Naomasa didn't like that tone. It didn't have the snarky, talking-down voice Matsukawa usually used. This was almost grim in comparison, demotivated.

Naomasa had a feeling this really meant he wasn't supposed to fool around now.

"You aren't going to tell me I can't go, right?" He asked, just in case.

"I won't," Matsukawa's voice faltered, as if holding back a broken plea, "there'd be no point in it."

Naomasa felt his stomach drop in dread.

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"Kuma-sensei, no!" Kataoka Megu sharply reprimanded, snatching the soda right out of her teacher's hands, "you had ice cream, a lollipop, and two cans of coffee! that's enough sugar for you, sir!"

Nao made a noise a mixture of a cry and a grumble, then sobbed, "but..."

Kataoka glanced at her teacher condescendingly, almost motherly, her hand at her hip and the other clutching the fizzy drink.

"It'll be dangerous if your blood sugar or pressure goes up, y'know?" Okano Hinata scolded him, "you have to take care of yourself more!"

Nao drooped his head, solemnly complying, "it's like I have two new mothers," he whined.

A tentacle slithered past them, and before they realized, the soda was gone from Kataoka's hand. 

"Nurufufufu!" the octopus snickered, sipping on a drink that wasn't his, "too much sugar would be bad for you, Kuma-sensei!"

"The fact that you are telling me that pisses me off," Naomasa pouted. "And I paid for that! Return it!"

"You've stolen plenty of my gelato too," the creature retorted easily.

"Tsk," Naomasa clicked his tongue. "I'll get you back for this one day, octopus."

Korosensei merely Nurufufufu-ed in his corner.

"Your laugh is just some KHR ripoff," Nao sneered.

"I have no idea what that is, but I'm not a ripoff!" Korosensei snapped right back.

"I wonder if there's an Octopus Fruit in One Piece," Nao grumbled under his breath, going into an even softer grumble at "it'd fit him perfectly because they both can't swim."

He wondered if Korosensei heard that, but Nao didn't mind.

He did notice Korosensei's eyes narrow in confusion, though.

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"I'm sorry," and there was nothing else Matsukawa could force out of himself.

Naomasa hated it. Hated this sticky air, hated this repulsive stench of medicine. He hated the noise of machines, the groaning roll of those carts. The hushed chattering in the cacophony. The painful silence when the door closed.

The fluttering of paper and plastic and life.

"Explain," Naomasa almost demanded.

His fists were clenched over his knees, his knuckles white from effort. His heart cramming painfully in his ears, his teeth tearing over his bottom lip.

"I can't," Matsukawa's voice was nothing short of a sob. Naomasa had never seem his as despaired as now-- "it's just... that's just exactly what's happening."

Naomasa felt anger explode in him, crawling over every depth of his body, making every nerve in him writhe in agony, disgust, disdain, misery.

"You're a doctor," Nao seethed, "if you don't fix me, who will?"

Matsukawa buried his face in his hands--  and let out a shaky breath.

He had no reply.

ー

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"Are you not joining the students?" Karasuma spoke up, noticing the teacher lounging around the chair of the room, watching the wind.

Naomasa shook his head, "a little solo journeying outside is what they'd like on a class trip," he told the older man, "I'll leave supervision to Octo-target."

Karasuma huffed, mumbling something about a rather lazy colleague of his. Naomasa chuckled at that, not denying it at all.

"What about you, Karasuma-san?" Naomasa asked, "Ms Jelavic's out shopping."

Karasuma sighed, "I will be out, working, and if possible, watching over the students," he decided, smoothing out the creases in his suit, "if you leave, do lock up."

Naomasa nodded, giving a hum in compliance.

"Tell the students to be careful out there," he offered.

"Will do," Karasuma complied.

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Naomasa slammed his hand on the table, the papers leaping and scattering to the ground.

"You've kept this from me for more than a decade," he growled, furious, "and when I'm finally in the know, it's because you can't fix it?"

Matsukawa made no excuses. Made no action of denial. the only thing on his face was pity, anguish, guilt... and weakness.

Naomasa crunched the papers in his hand, "why can't you talk to me?" Naomasa found himself near tears. "Make up an excuse, tell me you're trying your best or something. Why are you just letting me yell at you? this isn't like you at all."

When Matsukawa looked up, those eyes were red. Those eyes were sagged with bluish grey bags, heavier than ever, so saddened even tears were not enough for them.

Naomasa faltered, but didn't want to break.

"We don't know what's even happening, Naomasa," Matsukawa admitted, a voice croaking out a plea, handing folded before him like a prayer, a call for salvation and miracle--

Naomasa could only sit back down, quiet. 

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Naomasa was wandering around the inn when a rising heat in his chest broke out into a hard, painful coughing fit. He faltered, balance losing altitude-- he leaned heavily against the wall, mouth muffling down the noise and hoping it'd cover up some pain too.

Because he'd never coughed hard enough to actually hurt this bad before.

One hand folded over his mouth, and the other clenched tightly over the center of his chest, whines of throe unable to escape, shut out by the hacking-up he couldn't stop.

His eyes clenched shut, and he waited for it to pass.

He felt something bitter crawl up his throat, and it took him a while to realize the sour, coppery taste on his tongue.

When he opened his eyes, the sight of his hand almost made a sob rip from his throat. The warm dampness at the corners of his mouth, with each breeze of the wind sending a cold, sticky shiver through his skin.

The red, bright red that painted his hand reminded him of a murderer's. Splotches over faded, like paint, yet the pungent waft of iron blew through his nose, the sensation squelched over his palm like a viscous, syrupy liquid-- 

He furled his fingers over the most of it, but it peeked through the brims of his fingers, stained his nails an ugly shade of gore-- yet, he couldn't look away.

His head hurt. His chest felt like a mallet was constantly beating it in deeper. There was that block in his throat, as if he was ready to throw up, but he knew there was nothing else he could muster.

His fingers were shaking even though he didn't think he was scared. He wasn't cold, either. He was just tired, weak, so exhausted--

His vision was blurring out, but he wasn't thinking about it. His body was giving up, but he wasn't registering it. He was falling, but he couldn't catch it.

Oh, he almost took too long to realize, it's true.

He heard the noise of a panic, of a woman screaming for help of some sort-- the shuffling of feet, the hustle of a rush-- and the ringing of his ears.

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"I first recorded traces of it when you were nine," Matsukawa began to explain, "we didn't think much of it, because it wasn't as clear to us-- but we assume it was a mistake in the previous surgery and simply sealed it back in."

Naomasa knew that much. It was the reason his brother came running back home from his studies overseas, and ended up having to redo his courses from square one.

"It occurred again five years later, and with no further option, we signed you up for a donor," Matsukawa recalled, "you had a transplant the year after that, and all was fine."

Naomasa wasn't interested in this. He knew this. He's heard this plenty of times. He remembers this.

"As you know, we had two more surgeries after that," Matsukawa raised his fingers, "not including the one from a number of weeks ago."

"Get to the point," Naomasa barked.

"You're abnormal," Matsukawa, pressured, let it out bluntly. He didn't know a nicer way to put it, but it was taking all he had to not cry from speaking at all. "You don't make sense, and neither does your condition. And because of that... I don't think science can heal you."

Naomasa's eyes widened.

"Look," Matsukawa scratched his head, erratically, "your heart is-- it's working, it's beating, and blood is flowing through it normally. But in every aspect other than that-- it's not normal."

Naomasa tensed-- not liking this one bit.

"How do I say this, it's--" Matsukawa couldn't find the words, "over the cardiac muscle, gangrene is growing ...and that's eroding the tissue, creating more holes each time we see you."

When Naomasa went completely silent, Matsukawa bit his bottom lip, looking away.

The only thing he could say was a grief-stricken "I'm sorry."

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"Good morning, Kunomasu-sensei."

When Nao woke up, he was watching the inn's ceiling, laying under the futon, and there wasn't bright sunlight beaming through the window.

At the corner of his sight, he found an IV drip, half filled, attached to the back of his palm.

Naomasa sighed.

"The students were rather worried for you," Korosensei made himself known beside the teacher, leaning over carefully, "especially since the inn contacted Karasuma."

Naomasa put a hand over his eyes, thinking deeply.

"What happened?" he asked, unable to cough up a further question.

"The inn sent you to the hospital," Korosensei explained, "we are unsure of what went on inside the hospital, but they sent you back with words of only assurance."

Korosensei didn't seem pleased. Maybe he was angered at the hospital's irresponsibility. Or maybe he was just too worried, and that was why he didn't look happy at all, even with the smile on his face.

When Korosensei helped Naomasa up, he gathered that Karasuma may be on the other side of the room, beyond the shield doors that were pulled shut.

"Matsukawa probably contacted them," Naomasa mumbled, "so they don't need to do anything for me, I'll be fine."

Korosensei's face grew red with anger, "that is not alright, Kunomasu-sensei!" he snapped sharply, "your health is very vital! there are various risks in falling terribly sick during a school trip, and--"

"Why does my health matter to you if you're going to destroy the earth, anyways?" Naomasa spoke almost too quickly, a bite of acrimony spilling out of him.

Korosensei flinched, surprised.

Naomasa knew that was rude of him, so he clenched a hand over his chest, and let out a forced laughter. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "well, I think our students will kill you before you get to blow up the earth, after all."

He expected Korosensei to reply with something along the lines of 'I wouldn't be killed by my students!', but Naomasa received no reply from the teacher.

The blank expression was sending waves of a warning, a threat, of kind anger. 

And Naomasa shrank, regretful.

He looked at his own hand-- now clean, no longer splashed with blood. His chest didn't hurt anymore, and his head was clear.

But the pain was vivid in his mind.

"Look, I..." Naomasa swallowed his words. He knew Korosensei was listening. He knew Karasuma was listening behind the shutters. 

But the words just came out.

"I don't have long to live."

The faint surprised that flashed over Korosensei's body language elicited a laugh from the young teacher. Korosensei's body jolted ever so slightly, eyes blank as ever, empty and much too fake.

"It's terminal," Naomasa explained, "I don't know how long I'll last."

Almost as if he'd snapped out of it, Korosensei bolted to panic. 

"What do you mean, it's terminal??" he all but freaked out. "Did you already know this from the start? Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Naomasa couldn't help but laugh, "I found out just this morning!" he said brightly, "well, I did know I'd die early, but I reeeeally didn't think it'd be this early, y'know."

"Why are you so happy about it??" Korosensei was right about to cry.

"You, too," Naomasa smiled, "reduced to such a devastating, sorry state, why do you wear that mask of a smile?"

Korosensei stopped right there.

"We're both simply waiting for the day we'll die," Naomasa's face fell, looking out the window in melancholy, "there's nothing we can do about it, so there's no reason to be devastated by it."

A yellow tentacle landed on Naomasa's shoulder-- and another gave a soft smack at his face.

"It's not good to lie," Korosensei lectured, his face staying yellow and blank, "even the vilest of creatures fear imminent death." Naomasa realized that was truer than it sounded-- "those who hide it are weaker than the ones that show it."

Naomasa bit his lip-- and sharply turned away, holding his cheek. "If I was scared of death," he choked out, "I'd always be scared."

Korosensei's face grew green stripes. "Nurufufu! and what is wrong with that?" 

His answer was rather surprising to Naomasa.

"Fear is something you overcome, something you live with and walk with," Korosensei smiled, "there are many things to fear, but the things we love much outweighs that."

Naomasa felt a light bloom in his chest.

"The love you hold for each and every one of your students is a precious sight," Korosensei smiled proudly, "you adore Ms Sakurai, and your respect for Dr Matsukawa is also a sight to see."

Naomasa was biting his bottom lip, not taking it in. But it was just going in. He was supposed to know this, to understand this, but he was denying it.

"If I love too much," Naomasa felt the tear escape him, "it'll be harder when I need to leave."

"But if you love too little," Korosensei assured him, "no one will remember you ever lived."

Naomasa put his hand at his chest, and gave in. He let the tears flow through him, he let the emotions overwhelm him.

He didn't need anyone to convince him he should let it all out.

He was just so full of remorse he simply didn't want to care anymore.

His past life was cut short. Much too short.

She didn't achieve anything. Left so much behind. Wasted so much time. Filled with unfulfillment, cursed with the weight of unattained goals.

He could mourn and mourn and mourn and mourn but no.

He couldn't go back. He couldn't go and-- give her brother that punch in the face, give her mother that hug, send her father that letter-- couldn't make it into that college, couldn't get that dream job. Couldn't give him that gift she promised.

He was just thrown into this new life, knowing too much of everything, understanding how much he could no longer do, his emotions dwelling in the broken past, his head much taking too long to adapt to what he eventually realized was just another roller coaster. 

One that would end with a crash into concrete.

Now, he had to take in this.

It was a fucking joke. It had to be. Like hey, here's your second chance at life. Just kidding. This time I'm gonna tell you how early you'll die instead! Have fun. 

A sickening, bullshit joke.

He was so tired of this.

Even death wasn't a fucking escape. Even death wasn't solace. It was just an entrance to a new-levelled agony and just how unfair it was broke him down further.

He cried.

Harder, louder, he just cried.

He couldn't bear it anymore.

He just wanted to live.

That was all he wanted.