Chapter 65: Breathing Among the Ruins

The boy flexed his fingers slightly after putting on the gloves, as though adjusting to the rubbery texture. Then, without hesitation, he crouched down and leaned over Shingin's wounded arm. Every movement he made was precise, as if he had rehearsed it countless times before.

Dark red blood had already clotted over Shingin's arm, forming hardened scabs around the exposed muscle where the blade had sliced through. The boy studied the wound, his crimson eyes alight with curiosity. His lips curled into a barely perceptible smile as he murmured, "So, this is the extent of the damage. I see."

Yahageshii's frown deepened. Something about the situation felt increasingly off, but he couldn't risk interrupting. His sharp gaze fixed on the boy's every move, searching for any flaw, any opening. But the boy's actions flowed seamlessly, each motion so deliberate and fluid it was almost unnervingly graceful.

From his set of tools, the boy selected a scalpel, meticulously wiping the blade with antiseptic. With deft fingers, he pinched a sliver of skin near the wound's edge and gently lifted it, revealing the deeper recesses of the injury. Shingin's body trembled faintly from the pain, but no sound escaped his lips.

"Don't move." The boy's voice was low, laced with a chill that crawled down the spine. "My blade never slips. But if you twitch, it might decide otherwise."

Yahageshii's fists clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't tell if the boy's words were a warning or a threat.

With an almost eerie elegance, the boy guided the scalpel into the wound, carefully excising the tissue corrupted by the toxin. He worked with the precision of an artist sculpting a masterpiece. All the while, he muttered to himself as though speaking to an unseen companion. "Look at this. Such a severe injury… like torn silk. It's a pity they're too incompetent to handle even basic first aid."

"Who are you talking about?" Ryuosho couldn't resist asking.

The boy shot him a sidelong glance, a flicker of disdain flashing in his crimson eyes. "No one."

Then, as though the interruption had never happened, he returned his focus to the wound, entirely immersed in his task. Using forceps, he carefully extracted a foreign object lodged deep within the tissue, depositing it into a nearby tray with a crisp metallic clang. From his bag, he retrieved a syringe filled with a dark red liquid and injected it near the wound. His lips curved into a faint, chilling smile. "Once the toxins are neutralized, he'll wish he were dead from the pain. But he won't die."

Shingin's face contorted as waves of pain wracked his body, yet he stubbornly clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out. Yahageshii and Ryuosho exchanged uneasy glances, their respect for Shingin's fortitude growing in that silent moment.

Unfazed by the tension, the boy continued his meticulous work, methodically excising necrotic tissue as if repairing a damaged work of art. He even paused to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, murmuring to himself, "The blood flow is slowing… needs a stimulant."

Without hesitation, he drew another syringe from his kit and plunged it into Shingin's arm. This time, Shingin's body jerked violently, nearly lifting off the ground before slumping back with a thud. His breathing grew ragged, cold sweat dripping down his face. Despite his torment, his defiant gaze never left the boy.

"Don't look at me like that," the boy said, smirking coldly. His voice carried a sharp edge. "Without me, you'd already be a rotting corpse."

As the treatment neared its end, the boy picked up a needle and thread, stitching the wound closed with a practiced ease that was almost mechanical. His hands moved with such speed and precision it was mesmerizing, but the faint, twisted smile that played on his lips made the scene deeply unsettling.

"Done," the boy declared, tying off the final stitch and snipping the thread. He glanced up at Yahageshii and the others, his tone icy and mocking. "Don't touch him. And don't even think about testing my work with your pathetic understanding of medicine. If you do, he won't last three minutes."

Yahageshii gritted his teeth. "Why did you help us?"

The boy rose to his feet, peeling off the gloves and tossing them aside. His voice was cold, tinged with amusement. "Help? Do you really think I helped you? No—you helped me."