Rest Your Bones

. . .

"Sure, take a seat."

Zeirenne's new acquaintances pointed to the last seat on their table. It was the outermost seat, and she was facing the window.

Dr. Gomez had to sit on the other table. He greeted the other executives, noticing two of them wore casts. Unknown to both, they were facing the very person who broke their arms from his pursuit of saving a girl he didn't even know.

As Zeirenne warmed her seat, the woman surveyed her from head to toe. "So you're Zhi Lin," before pinning her attention to 'the bastard', "She doesn't look smart to me. I think Miura-dono is mistaken."

Zeirenne's jaw clicked. "Did this woman just... phew… calm down, Zeirenne. It means your dumb facade is working. Calm down," she told herself.

She faked a smile before scratching her head, acting coy in front of the executives, "Hihi. Sorry about that."

The six executives only spared her a brief glance before ignoring her existence. They talked about sensitive topics as if she was not an outsider. In their minds, they predicted she'll never see the outsides again, anyway. At least that's how they knew Miura Takumi.

A few minutes of listening to their conversation was enough for Zeirenne to know their code names. They called the sophisticated lady who was puffing a smoke, Miss A. Then there were Mister E, G, S, T, P, R and as coincidentally as it sounds, the man whom Zeirenne had been calling 'bastard', goes by the name of Mister B.

The plane started taking off and the pilot, who sounded like Willy, reminded them to wear their seatbelts. None of them did, and Zeirenne shook her head.

As their plane took off on the runway, everyone gazed outside the window.

"Finally, I'll get to meet that b!tch again," Mister B said on gritted teeth, "I'll make her pay for the humiliation."

"What did she do?" Zeirenne butted in before covering her mouth, "Oops, sorry. Hihi."

Mister R faced her, "Mister B had to undergo surgery for what that b!tch did. He almost went impotent," he wrapped his arms around himself, "Brrrrrr. Just the thought of it pains me."

The devil inside her smirked, "Serves you right," but her angelic mask uttered complete sympathy, "Oh... that doesn't sound good. Are you alright now?"

Mister B cleared his throat. A beautiful lady was asking him for his wellness, but he had to act tough.

"Tsk. That b!tch. I aimed for her abdomen but she fidgeted too much I grazed her lower abdomen instead," he clenched his fist before slamming it on the armrest, "I get it… she was upset... but how dare she bring my mother into picture."

"Liar," Zeirenne crowed inside her mind, "The way you attacked me even after that hit tells me differently. You meant it, you bastard. You just can't admit to anyone you stooped that low."

She clenched her fist.

"Then I apologize..."

In an instance, silence engulfed the aircraft as the executives leaned their puzzled looks on Zeirenne, and before the atmosphere could get even tenser than it already was, she continued, "I'll apologize to your mom on her behalf."

They all sighed while shaking their heads before going back to what they were all doing.

Mister B cleared his throat, "I'll make her apologize to me herself."

Zeirenne smiled and nodded. Whispering something under her breath, "I'm apologizing to your mother, not you, bastard."

Everyone rubbed their arms as the lounge shuddered from a slight chill; that was when the dandy doctor stepped into the scene. He knew for sure—that was Zeirenne's aura.

If the conversation goes further and Zeirenne fires up, there's no way to conceal herself anymore. So, before the executives could realize she was the bearer of this unknown chill, Dr. Gomez stepped forward to pinch her earlobes gently—calming her down.

"This flight is gonna be a long one," he bowed in front of the executives, "I'm a great massage therapist myself. If you don't mind, I'd like to showoff my skills."

"Oh, what a handy lad," Mister P chimed before flexing his arms.

Mr. Gomez stood beside him to massage his shoulders, and he showed apparent satisfaction from his service—enticing the others to try as well.

One by one, Dr. Gomez eased their cramped and sore muscles.

When it was Mister B's turn, he even provided some chiropractic session. Everyone inside the aircraft flinched upon hearing his neck pop from having it twisted into different directions.

"Hold on," Mister B looked up to glare at him, "Are you trying to kill me or something?"

"Don't worry, Sir. I've been trained to do this. Your neck has been giving you problems, hasn't it? I'm fixing it now."

Zeirenne smiled while shaking her head. She eyed Dr. Gomez while relaying a message: You're doing great. Thank you. Just don't kill him.

To which he bobbed a salute: Yes, Ma'am.

From his relaxing therapy session, drowsiness befell on the executives—they reclined their seats down.

"Oh. That massage did it," Mister E yawned while stretching his limbs, "Wake me up for lunch."

One by one, all the executives dozed off. After a few minutes, the only one left awake was Miss A who was puffing her third cigarette.

Zeirenne looked at Dr. Gomez with a smirk, as if saying, "Seems like your magic doesn't work on her," and he simply held his hands down, asking her to wait. When Miss A finished her cigar, she started dozing off just like her associates.

"Told you," Dr. Gomez said before crouching in front of Zeirenne. He bowed his head upon meeting Miura Takumi's gaze, who was watching from the distance.

"Now it's time for your therapy," he whispered before unwinding Zeirenne's bandage to examine her sprained ankle.

"Tsk."

* * *

After ten hours of flight, they finally arrived in Anadyr, Russia.

"That was the best nap I had in years!" Mister E chimed, "Let's hurry to the hotel. I feel like sleeping again."

His associates shook their sleepyheads before stretching their joints.

The cold night air greeted Zeirenne upon stepping out. Just like the old setup, she was bound to ride with Miura Takumi. Together with her personal doctor, they entered another Limo after Miura Takumi's paved path.

She stepped inside the car and Dr. Gomez followed, but before he could close the door, Zeirenne overheard the executives talking outside.

"Wait, where's Mister B?"

"He's still inside. I think lunch didn't jibe with his stomach. He's been inside the lavatory for quite some time now."

"Go check on him."

Upon hearing this, Zeirenne gaped her jaw towards Dr. Gomez. From the look on her face, she was sure this mischievous doctor had something to do with Mister B's suffering.

He simply shrugged before whispering, "No one messes with my beloved patient."

. . .