"Over here," a voice called out. "We need someone at this table."
"I'll be right there," Yuriko replied as she made her way over.
It was a sunny afternoon, and on that particular day, business at the restaurant was booming—so much so that Ichiro and Miyuki needed help running the place.
"What will you be having?" Yuriko asked the table, which was occupied by a group of men.
"I don't know," one of them replied with a smirk. "Why don't you pick something out for us—but nothing too fancy."
"Is anything really okay?" she asked, ignoring their expressions.
"Sure," another said. "How could anything a girl like you chooses be anything short of amazing?"
"I'll be right back, then," she said, turning to leave.
But before she could get far, their voices followed her in hushed tones.
"Where do they get these chicks?" one whispered.
"I know, right?" another replied. "It used to be just one of them, but now there are three."
"Hey," one of them said in an even lower voice, "how much do you think we'd get for selling that one off?"
"She might look nice," another muttered, "but she's still a teenager, guys. Come on."
"As if that would stop us."
They burst into laughter.
Yuriko said nothing as she continued into the kitchen.
"Hey, Izumi," she called, catching his attention as he worked over the stove. "Do we have any rotten ingredients left?"
"I think so," he replied. "Why do you ask?"
Subtly gesturing toward the group, she said, "I think those nice gentlemen over there deserve something extra special."
"Oh," he said, a faint grin forming. "So it's like that, huh?"
"Yeah," she replied. "It's like that."
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll cook up a stormthat they won'tforget anytime soon."
"What are you two talking about?" Ichiro said, cutting into their conversation.
"It's nothing," Yuriko replied nervously.
"Then get back to work," he said. "I don't pay you to stand around doing nothing."
"Uh, but you don't pay us," she shot back.
"You think your food and housing come for free?" he replied. "If so, maybe you can find somewhere else to live."
An awkward laugh slipped out of Izumi. "She didn't mean that, of course… right?"
He glanced at Yuriko, checking her reaction.
She seemed unbothered. "Sure. I'm going back right now."
"Good," Ichiro said. "Go tend to the customers that just came in, then come back for the other order."
She nodded and left without another word.
"Hey, where's our food, little lady?" one of the men called out as she finished taking another order.
"It's coming right up," she replied. "Just give me a second."
She returned to the kitchen, where Izumi was already waiting with four bowls of what looked like perfectly normal noodles.
"Wow," she said. "You've outdone yourself this time."
"Nah, it was easy," he replied. "Just make sure you tell me how they react."
"Sure," she said, adjusting the bowls before heading back out.
"Here you go," she said, setting the bowls in front of them. "Enjoy."
"Mmh, smells nice," one of them muttered, lifting his chopsticks.
Yuriko stood there, a smile fixed on her face.
"Let me know if you need anything else," she added.
They ignored her and began eating without a second thought.
At first, everything seemed fine.
Then their expressions shifted.
"What the hell is this crap?!" one of them snapped.
"Yeah—" another gagged, coughing. "This tastes like shit!"
One of them shot up, barely holding back as he gagged into his bowl, then grabbed Yuriko by the collar of her robe.
"What do you take us for?!" he shouted. "This isn't what we asked for!"
"In my defense," she replied, her smirk unfading, "you said you were fine with anything I picked out—so this isn't my fault."
He tightened his grip, but she wasn't fazed. Instead, she grabbed his arm and pried it off her with ease.
The man froze for a moment, stunned—but quickly tried to strike back.
That was when a sudden commotion rose from outside.
Both of them paused. Yuriko pulled away and headed out.
A crowd had begun to gather at the entrance of the village, their voices overlapping in hushed murmurs.
"What's going on?" Izumi asked as he and Ichiro stepped outside.
"I don't know," Yuriko replied. "Let's go check it out."
By then, most of the customers had also stepped out, drawn by the noise.
"Let me through," Yuriko said, pushing against the crowd.
When she finally broke through, she was met with an unexpected sight.
Standing there was a man with one eye covered in a bloodstained cloth, carrying a girl on his back.
They weren't strangers.
They were people she had grown up with.
"Is that you… Juro?" she said, disbelief in her voice.
Her words caught his attention immediately. He turned toward her without hesitation.
"Yuriko," he said, his voice strained. "We need your help."
She pushed past the remaining people and rushed to him, with Izumi and Ichiro following close behind.
"Juro," Izumi said, shocked, "what happened?"
"I don't have time to explain," he replied. "Mei has a terrible fever. I don't think she'll last much longer. I tried asking these people for help, but they just stared and whispered among themselves."
Izumi and Yuriko turned toward Ichiro.
He gave a small nod.
"Here—let me carry her," Izumi said, quickly taking the girl from Juro's back.
Without wasting another second, they pushed through the crowd and hurried toward Ichiro's house.
Even through his robe, Izumi could feel the intense heat radiating from her body.
At first, he thought she was unconscious—
but after a few weak coughs, he realized she was still holding on.
As they walked away, Yuriko glanced back to see if anyone would follow—but the crowd remained indifferent. Some had already returned to their own business.
The sound of the door sliding open violently startled Miyuki and Takae, who had been busy with housework.
"Is that Mei?" Takae asked, shocked. "What happened?"
No one answered as they rushed past her into an open room.
Seeing Juro and the bloodstained cloth over his eye, she muttered, "Juro too… what's going on?"
"Miyuki, go boil some hot water," Ichiro ordered, before turning to Izumi. "Set her down—here."
Izumi obeyed, carefully laying Mei onto the bedding on the floor.
Her breathing was uneven, strained, and she could barely keep her eyes open.
"This kind of fever isn't normal," Ichiro said. "Is there anything else you haven't told us?"
Without hesitation, Juro replied, "There's an infected cut on her left leg."
At once, Ichiro pulled back the fabric covering her leg.
The wound was badly infected—swollen, red, and inflamed. Darkened veins spread outward from it, unnatural against her skin.
"I tried everything to slow it down," Juro said, desperation in his voice. "Nothing worked."
"How long has it been?" Ichiro asked.
"I don't know… two, maybe three days."
Ichiro's expression hardened.
"We don't have a choice," he said, tearing a strip from his sleeve. "We have to amputate—and we have to do it now."
"No—there has to be another way!" Juro shouted.
"I'm sorry," Ichiro replied. "We can't take that risk. Any more delay could cost her life."
"Don't!" Juro tried to lunge forward, but Izumi restrained him, holding him back.
"I'm sorry, Juro," Izumi said quietly. "There's no other way."
Juro stilled, but Izumi didn't release him.
"Yuriko," Ichiro said, "get a rag for her to bite down on—and bring me the sharpest knife you can find. Sterilize it."
She nodded and rushed out.
At that moment, Miyuki returned with a bucket of hot water and a clean cloth. She soaked it and gently pressed it against Mei's forehead.
Though weak, Mei's right hand trembled.
Takae took it in hers, trying to steady her.
"It hurts so much… Takae," Mei whispered. "Please… make it stop."
"Don't worry," Takae said softly. "Everything's going to be okay."
But even as she spoke, a tear slipped down Mei's cheek.
Takae tightened her grip, though she could feel Mei's strength fading.
Yuriko returned, carrying the items Ichiro had asked for.
"Good," Ichiro said, taking the knife and handing the rag to Takae. "Have her bite down—hard."
"You heard him, Mei," Takae said gently.
Tears streamed down Mei's face.
"Don't let him take my leg… please, Takae…"
"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice shaking. "I'm right here with you."
Though hesitant, Takae pressed the cloth to her mouth.
"Do it," she said.
Ichiro moved without hesitation.
Mei's body tensed as he worked quickly, giving her no time to resist.
Even muffled, her cries filled the room, sending a chill through everyone present.
"Stop!" Juro shouted, struggling against Izumi's grip. "It's too much!"
Ichiro didn't stop.
The tension in the room only grew as time dragged on.
Mei's grip tightened around Takae's hand as she thrashed weakly, trying to pull away.
Miyuki and Yuriko moved in, holding her down as firmly as they could.
Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably as the screams turned to muffled cries.
But soon, it was over.
"We need to wrap this up quickly!" Ichiro yelled. "Get me some bandages—quick."
"I already brought them," Yuriko replied, handing them to him. "I also brought alcohol to sterilize the wound."
"Good job," he said. "Now get that rag out of her mouth and bring a bucket—she could vomit any second."
Takae removed the rag, and Miyuki quickly rushed out to get the bucket.
Ichiro worked swiftly, wrapping the stump in several tight layers of bandages, securing them as firmly as he could.
He looked up at her just in time to notice the reaction building.
Right as Miyuki returned with the bucket and placed it in front of her, Mei began vomiting uncontrollably into it.
When it finally passed, she seemed calmer—her breathing still ragged, but more controlled.
Ichiro placed his hand on her forehead.
"The fever is high," he said, "but it's nothing that some healing Vahir and herbs won't fix."
"She's going to be okay."
Hearing this, Juro finally calmed, a tear rolling down his uncovered eye.
"Thank you so much," he said, bowing deeply. "You saved her… thank you."
He rose, still shaking, tears falling freely.
"Don't mention it," Ichiro replied. "It's a miracle you found us when you did. Otherwise… I can't say what would've happened."
A brief silence followed.
Then Izumi spoke.
"Now tell us—what the hell happened to you?"
Before Juro could answer, Mei spoke weakly.
"Fire—"
"Fire rained down on the village," she continued. "It wasn't like anything I've ever seen… it was like night turned into day."
The room fell silent, their expressions tightening in horror.
"Those three figures," Juro said, his voice shaking, "they destroyed the entire village in a single night. No one survived… no one but us."
"But why?" Yuriko demanded. "Why our village? There was nothing there worth that kind of bloodshed."
Before he could respond, a sharp pain surged through Juro's eye, forcing him to crouch.
Izumi moved to help him, but he pushed himself back up.
"It was like they were looking for something," he said. "Or someone."
"Why do you think that?" Izumi asked.
"They went through every house," Juro continued, "one by one—killing anyone who got in their way. We were lucky we didn't cross paths with them… but we were caught in the collapse of a house while trying to escape. That's how we got injured."
"I saw them," he added. "Even from a distance… I saw them."
"What were they like?" Yuriko asked.
He shivered.
"They had long black ears… yellow eyes… and a presence that froze you in place."
"They were like something out of a nightmare."
Hearing this, Izumi muttered, "Could it be—"
"It's impossible!" Takae shouted. "There's no way they're alive… right?"
"There's no other explanation," Yuriko said. "It has to be them—or others like them. The ones who tried to kidnap Takae."
"What do you mean?" Juro asked, confused. "You knew about this? About them?"
"It's not like that—" Izumi said, trying to calm him.
"Don't touch me!" Juro snapped. "Is that why you left?!"
"You left so you could escape and leave the rest of us to die!"
"We didn't know this would happen," Yuriko said.
"Well that doesn't change anything!" he shouted back. "Everyone we knew—everyone we loved—is dead because of you!"
"What do you say to them?!" he continued, voice breaking. "To the people who died confused and scared?!"
He grabbed Izumi by the robe.
"There were kids there!" he shouted. "Little kids who won't get to live another day because of this! What do you have to say?!"
Izumi said nothing, averting his gaze.
"Answer me!!"
A blow sent him crashing to the floor.
He didn't get up—just looked up at Juro in silence.
Juro stood there, shaking, clawing at his hair.
"Mei will never walk again because of this!" he shouted, dropping to his knees. "I'll never see from my left eye again!!"
His voice broke—and he collapsed into sobs.
Through his cries, a weak voice called out.
"Please… stop, Juro," Mei said softly. "There's no way they could have known… so please, stop."
"But Mei—"
"Just stop… please," she pleaded again.
An eerie silence followed. No one knew what to say—or whether there was even anything to be said.
"If their aim is Takae, like you say," Ichiro said, breaking the stalemate, "then they will definitely come here, sooner or later."
"But this time," he continued, "they won't leave without answering for the lives they took."
Finally, he said, his voice lowered and unwavering.
"I'll make sure they atone, no matter the cost."