He felt a presence in the darkness. His whole body ached, but Kuji took it as proof that he was alive. He suddenly felt someone's hand grasp his own. It wasn't the hand that he was expecting, but it was soft and warm.
"Masatake, Masatake," a tearful voice reached his ear.
"You must be kidding me...." Kuji muttered.
"Big brother, don't die," followed his youngr sister's voice. He had not heard her voice in years.
"Why? What are you doing here...?"
There was no answer to Kuji's question. He descended again into the chaos of his consciousness. From time to time, he regained consciousness, and each time, his mother called his name. Gradually, he was able to linger in reality for a little longer.
One day, Kuji felt his body being lifted up and moved by many nurses.
"We're moving you from the ICU into a regular patient room," said a nurse cheerfully. It finally sunk in for Kuji that he had made it out alive. His face was still covered in bandages and he couldn't see a thing, but every day his mother's voice filled the room in which he had settled. One by one, the many tubes that had been inserted into his body were removed.
He was given permission to eat, and his mother fed him rice porridge with a spoon like she would a baby. And the next day, Nango's voice boomed in his hospital room.
"You sure had luck on your side, huh, faggot?"
Kuji's sense of hearing was sharper now that he had lost his vision. He began to laugh at Nango's voice.
"What? What's so funny, you fag?"
"Nango, you're crying, aren't you? Your voice is shaking."
He heard a click of the tongue, and felt a large, rugged hand grab his jaw.
"Don't make me fuck you, you bastard."
"I'd like to see you try," Kuji retorted, but his body tensed in anticipation of the violence to come. But the hand fell away from his jaw, and gently stroked his cheek instead.
"Nango, were you the one that told my mom..."
"Yeah."
Kuji had always assumed that even if his life was in danger, his family would not come to see him. After he regained consciousness, he expected them to treat him like a burden again once they found out that he had survived. But it was not so.
"You were doing good things, weren't you," his mother had said while she cared for him. "I'm sorry. I thought you were off with bad friends again. I heard the whole story. You were putting your life on the line to work for the police. And all in secrecy, too."
Being a spy was far from "doing good" in Kuji's opinion, but it was all good if it meant his mother had forgiven him.
"Yuka?" he called his younger sister's name.
"Big brother," a tearful voice piped up from a short distance away. "Big brother, Kazu and I, we'll give you our skin. As much as you need. You helped me. I don't know why I never thanked you for it."
Kuji felt tears fall from his unseeing eyes.
"Don't be stupid," he growled. He sniffled as he remembered what had happened that day. "Nango, don't go telling them things they don't need to know."
"Your voice is shaking too, idiot." The man's large hand moved to his head and gave it a pat.
"Is, um..." Kuji began.
"I know what you want to ask," Nango interrupted him. "But I can't tell you where he is."
Song had never visited once. Even if Kuji had not heard his voice, he could still sense the man's existence. As long as Song was alive somewhere, Kuji was happy. Judging by the way Nango phrased his words, the man was, indeed, alive.
"That's all right," Kuji said quietly, placing his bandaged hands over his chest.
He lost track of the time that passed. Kuji's knees remained bent due to the contracted skin from his severe burns, but after going through grafting surgery several times, he was able to move a lot more freely. Rehabilitation began, which was much more arduous than his surgery. But Kuji diligently followed the physiotherapist's instructions without uttering a single complaint.
His mother and younger sister visited almost every day. His younger brother could only visit once a month since he had graduated high school and found work in Osaka. But the time that the four of them spent together made him feel as if the warmth had returned to their family.
Just once, his mother's second husband came to visit.
"You must be Masatake," the man had said, offering his hand for a shake. Kuji felt the man's large and rugged hand. It felt different from his own hand, Nango's hand, and Song's hand. But he knew that this was the hand that had supported his mother and little sister.
By some miracle, Kuji's fingers had been spared with just minor burns, and he eagerly awaited the day that he would be able to play the organ again. But unfortunately, his eyes only recovered enough to vaguely sense light. But Kuji had nothing to despair about.
As long as he's alive, there's nothing more I could ask for. Even if he could not see the man, he would not mind. He only considered himself a by-product of his circumstances.
I just happened to make it out alive.
Despite the astonishing events he had gone through, he hadn't died. Perhaps that was the nature of human life. And that makes me super lucky to be here.
He was alive, and so was his most cherished person. Not to mention his fingers were safe, so he could still play the organ. There was a piano in the rehabilitation room, so one day Kuji got his physiotherapist to give him permission to play it.
Even if he could not see, his fingers still remembered where the keys were. With his index finger, Kuji pressed the C key on the C major scale, and from there his hands moved on their own and began to play that song.
Song had been playing it when they first met. It had been the first song that the man had taught him. Kuji felt his senses become sharper as he played, and he could feel the presence of the people gathering around him in the rehabilitation room. When the song ended, there was a burst of applause. Kuji sensed someone stand up close to him, but it was not Song.
"That was incredible, Kuji," said the voice of his doctor. "I suppose you want to play for a little more. Once you're done, there's something I want to discuss with you."
Kuji turned away from the organ and looked up at his doctor.
"What is it? I want to hear about it right away," he said.
The doctor had wanted to discuss the possibility of undergoing a cornea transplant. "You can register with an eye bank and wait for your turn to come around. You're eligible for state redress, so you may be bumped up the line, too."
For reasons that he still didn't know, Kuji had been awarded the qualification of a government official, and had been promoted two classes up on top of that. His medical fees would be waived, and he would also receive a disability pension. Kuji decided to accept the windfall gladly, considering all of the hardship he had endured until now. But the term "bumped up" bothered him.
"You mean someone else is going to get pushed down the queue because of me, right?"
"I didn't mean it like that, but I'm sorry if I made you feel that way," said the doctor.
Kuji had harbored a vague sense that he would never see Song again. And if he wasn't going to see the man's face ever again, he didn't mind losing his vision forever. But one day he would have to be discharged from this hospital. That was why, in the end, Kuji decided to take the doctor's advice.
His long days of rehabilitation began again. Nango came occasionally, had casual chats with him, and left. During these conversations, Nango let slip subtle pieces of information, and Kuji was able to deduce that Interpol was on the hunt for criminals involved in the organ trade. Song had been secretly gathering information about missing persons from Emmaus and other NPOs all over the world and reporting them to Interpol. He had been a very important informant.
"I remember hearing something like that," Kuji said. "When we were heading over to Asylum Net."