Things NEVER really do change, in the end.
Once a PATTERN or HABIT is set, it is difficult to break without conscious effort. And so Munakata settled back into a pattern of his own: commanding complete authority over Future Foundation.Â
Following the results of the Final Killing Game, there was a lot of MORBID work to be done: DEATH CERTIFICATES, MANAGEMENT, and a several page-long incident report ăŒÂ describing the day-long torture they had all underwent in EXCRUCIATING detail. Munakata had to pause several dozen times while writing ăŒ not only to catch a break, but to KEEP himself from breaking.Â
Each time, without even meaning to, he found himself wandering back to Sakakuraâs hospital room ăŒ needing to assure that he was okay. His trauma over losing YUKIZOME was making him frantic. Sakakura was all he had left. As long as he was alive, he could manage all of the REGRET, DEPRESSION & PAIN he faced day-in and day-out.Â
Everyone was going through it, after all. They could shoulder it together.Â
It was because of those feelings that Munakata felt IMMEDIATE relief after hearing that Sakakura was well enough to be breathe without the aid of a respirator. That was proof enough he was already HEALING, that he was going to be FINE.Â
And within a fews hours, Munakata was at his hospital room again, armed with a WARM expression and a bouquet of flowers ăŒ a SENTIMENT of well-wishes.Â
Juzo had become sick of the hospital within minutes of waking for the first time, but as time dragged on, he grew more and more irritated and restless. The ticks of the clock on the wall, the stench of antiseptic, the clicks of nursesâ heels as they continued to âcheck inâ and remind him to not strain himself... It was all so boring.
Time was a complete blur, and Juzo only paid attention to small things in the meantime, like the amount of times Munakata came to visit, and how many buildings were still standing outside his window.
It had only felt like a few days had passed before the doctors removed his oxygen mask, but in reality it had been around two weeks. Still, progress was progress, and the boxer realized the difference almost immediately. With the mask gone, Juzo was able to really breathe; the worldâs continuing improvement meant less toxicity in the air, which allowed him to suck in a full breath of air without lamenting his lungsâ eventual crumbling to ash due to the pollution.
He choked on the first few breaths, but it still felt refreshing - clean.
Munakata came to visit on the day the mask was removed, and it was ironic; hell, if Juzo was more of the sentimental type, heâd call it oddly poetic. Despite what had happened in the Killing Game, the fact remained that Munakata kept Juzo alive in more ways than one - and the man arriving the moment he could truly breathe again was more than Juzo felt he deserved, but still appreciated nonetheless.
The white-haired man had brought flowers, a gentle smile on his face. (Goddamnit, he loved that smile.) It was refreshing to see his friend more relaxed nowadays - as though a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
âFlowers? Really?â he scoffed, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. âDonât tell me youâre goinâ soft on me.â Despite his words, Juzoâs lips were curled into an equally wide smile, a warmth reflecting in his gaze.
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