Vol 1 Chapter 1.2 (2/2)
”I figured you wouldn't. You don't need to understand. So are you seriously going to give me a needle? Don't you have spray-on anaesthetic or something?”
”I've always wanted to try giving a needle.”
I disinfected the wound, and applied the anaesthetic with three injections around the wounded area. My hands shook a little from nerves, but somehow it went smoothly.
”It should start getting numb soon, and then―”
”You're gonna sew it.”
”Yeah.”
”Do you have any experience?”
”Of course not. I'm not going into medicine. But I do have basic knowledge of vessel suturing. I saw it in a video.”
”Basic knowledge, huh...”
He drew a deep breath, and looked at me directly in the face. He had thin, bloodless lips, hollowed cheeks, and pale parched skin. He had the face of someone who had not lived a decent life. He really did look like an animal prey who had been chased relentlessly, exhausted, with no place left to run. But his eyes were different. They were emotionless, but I could feel a fierce power emanating from them. Was it vitality? I wondered. I had never met anyone in my life with eyes as memorable as those. And those eyes were staring unblinkingly at me.
”You're strange.”
”Why would you say that?”
”You haven't even asked for my name.”
”Oh, yeah. But I haven't introduced myself either.”
”s.h.i.+on, right? Like the flower?”
”Yeah. My mother likes trees and wildflowers. How about you?”
”Nezumi.”
”Huh?”
”My name.”
”Nezumi... that's not it.”
”Not what?”
That eye colour wasn't that of any rat. It was something more elegant. Like... the sky just before the crack of dawn ― didn't it look like that? I blushed, embarra.s.sed at catching myself spouting off like some lame poet. I purposefully raised my voice.
”Right, here goes.”
Remember the basic steps of the suture, I told myself. Set down two or three stable threads, and use them as support threads to make a continuous suture ... this must be conducted with utmost care and precision ... in the case of a continuous suture....
My fingers trembled. Nezumi watched my fingertips in silence. I was nervous, but a little excited too. I was putting what used to be just textbook knowledge into action. It was exhilarating.
Suture complete. I pressed a piece of clean gauze onto the wound. A bead of sweat slid down my forehead.
”So you are smart.”
Nezumi's forehead was also damp with perspiration.
”I'm just good with my hands.”
”Not just your hands. That brain of yours. You're only twelve, right? And you're going into the Gifted Curriculum of the highest educational inst.i.tution. You're super elite.”
This time, there was no tinge of sarcasm. Nor any hint of awe. I silently put away the soiled gauze and instruments.
Ten years ago, I was ranked highest in the city's intelligence examination for two-year-olds. The city provides anyone who ranks highest in skill or athletic ability with the best education they could wish for. Until the age of ten, I attended cla.s.ses in an environment outfitted with the latest facilities amongst other cla.s.smates like myself. Under the eye of a roster of expert instructors, we were given a solid and thorough education of the basics, after which we were each provided with our own set of instructors to move into a field of specialization that was suited for us. From the day that I was recognized as the highest ranker, my future was promised to me. It was unshakable. No small force could make it crumble. At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
”Looks like a comfortable bed,” Nezumi murmured, still leaning against it.
”You can use it. But change first.”
I dumped a clean s.h.i.+rt, a towel, and a box of antibiotics into Nezumi's lap. And then, on a whim, I decided to make cocoa. I had enough basic cooking appliances in my room to make a warm drink or two.
”Not exactly fas.h.i.+onable, is it?” Nezumi sniffed as he plucked at the plaid s.h.i.+rt.
”Better than a dirty s.h.i.+rt that's ripped and covered in blood, if you ask me.”
I pa.s.sed him a steaming mug of cocoa. For the first time this evening, I saw what looked like a flicker of emotion in his grey eyes. Pleasure. Nezumi sipped a mouthful and murmured softly―good.
”It's good. Better than your suturing.”
”It's not fair to compare like that. I think it went pretty well for my first try.”
”Are you always like that?”
”Huh?”
”Do you always leave yourself wide open? Or is it normal for all you Petri-dish elites to have zero sense of danger?” Nezumi continued, holding the mug in both hands.
”You guys can get along just fine without feeling any danger or fear toward intruders, huh?”
”I do feel danger. And fear, too. I'm afraid of dangerous things and I don't want anything to do with them. I'm also not naive enough to believe that someone who comes in through my second-floor window is a respectable citizen.”
”Then why?”
He was right. Why? Why was I treating this intruder's wound, and even giving him hot cocoa? I was no cold-blooded monster. But I also wasn't teeming in compa.s.sion and goodwill enough to extend a hand to anyone who was injured. I was no saint. I hated dealing with ha.s.sles and disagreements. But I'd taken this intruder in. If the city authorities found out, I would be in trouble. They might see me as someone lacking in sound judgment. If that happened...
My eyes met with a pair of grey ones. I felt like I could see a hint of laughter in them. Like they could see right through me, everything I was thinking, and laughing at me. I clenched my stomach and glared back at him.
”If you were some big, aggressive man, I would have set the alarm off right then and there. But you were short, and looked like a girl, and was about to fall over. So... So I decided to treat you. And...”
”And?”
And your eyes were a strange colour that I'd never seen before. And they drew me in.
”And... I wanted to actually see what sewing a vessel was like.”
Nezumi shrugged, and drained the rest of his cocoa. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he ran a palm across the bedsheets.
”Can I really go to sleep?”
”Sure.”
”Thank you.”
Those were the first words of grat.i.tude I'd heard since he had come into my room.
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