Page 340 of Mercy Written in Blood

Haruki woke to the sound of his own Casino preparing for war. At first, he mistook it for rain — a low, continuous murmur beyond the walls, water against glass, wind moving through the service passages beneath the building. Then the sounds separated: boots crossing the corridor outside, radios, the muted scrape of furniture dragged across marble, someone giving orders in a voice trained not to carry panic.

Haruki opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar — white, recessed lighting, a camera in the corner. Not the hospital. Pain arrived before memory completed itself, beginning beneath his collarbone and travelling downward in several distinct paths. Chest. Abdomen. Ribs. Each breath caught against something sharp and immovable.

He tried to move. The room tilted. A monitor changed rhythm beside him.

"Do that again and I'll sedate you."

Akiko sat at the end of the bed. She wore hospital scrubs beneath an Ishida coat, her hair tied back without care, blood marking one sleeve, old enough to have darkened.

Haruki looked towards the door.

"The Casino."

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Eleven hours since surgery."

He tried to sit. Akiko stood.

"No."

"Where is Renji?"

"Alive."

"That wasn't the question."

"He is downstairs."

"Doing what?"

"Turning your home into a fortified medical compound while frightening everyone who disagrees."

Haruki checked his phone. No new messages. He closed his eyes briefly. Memory returned in fragments — the depot, Ryota behind the fence, gunfire, Renji on his knees, blood rising, the ambulance. After that, nothing.

"Did they get the hostages out?"

"Yes."

"Ryota?"

"Concussion. Fractured cheekbone. Alive."

"Ken?"

"Bruised ribs. Furious with you."

"That sounds normal."

"It is not."

Haruki opened his eyes again.

"What happened at the hospital?"

Akiko hesitated. The hesitation frightened him more than an immediate answer.