Marine Base S-44, near Shunpou Island
[Hototogisu pov]
The first thing I felt wasn’t the weight of the ocean or the bite of jade chains.
It was the restriction.
A cold, unyielding pressure bound my wrists and ankles.
I forced my eyes open, but the world refused to make sense.
Above me, a sterile, blindingly white ceiling burned into my retinas.
The air carried the unmistakable, sharp sting of antiseptic and ozone, the scent of a Marine medical facility.
I tried to heave myself up, to demand an explanation, but a spike of agony drove itself through my temples like a heated needle.
A strangled groan escaped my throat, sounding raspy and foreign to my own ears.
“…
Admiral?
Rear Admiral Hototogisu, can you hear me?”
The voice was soft, hesitant.
I blinked hard, forcing my fractured vision to pull itself together.
A young woman in a nurse’s uniform stood by my bedside, her hands hovering nervously over a tray of medical supplies.
“Where…” I croaked, my throat feeling as though it were filled with dry sand.
“Where am I?”
The nurse let out a long, visible breath of relief, her shoulders dropping.
“You’re in the medical wing of Marine Base S-44, near Shunpou Island, ma’am.
You’ve been with us for two weeks.
You…
you gave us quite a scare.”
“Two weeks?” My mind struggled to grasp the number.
“How?
The wave…
the titan…
my crew…”
“You were rescued by Commodore Rofi’s vessel, the Iron Wall,” she explained, stepping closer to adjust my IV drip.
“You were found adrift on a makeshift raft in the Calm Belt.
You were suffering from severe dehydration, Stage 3 heat stroke, and advanced delirium.
It’s a miracle you’re alive, ma’am.
And about your crew, the rescue vessel was able to recover nearly forty percent of your men from the 83a.
They were treated in the wards below as well.”
I closed my eyes.
*Some of my men were alive.* The relief should have been overwhelming, but beneath it, a cold wrongness coiled in my gut.
A memory flickered at the edge of my consciousness, not of a shattered warship, but of a lush, green canopy.
I could smell roasting meat.
I could hear a gravelly, child-like voice.
“Victor,” I whispered.
The tray in the nurse’s hands rattled violently.
Through my blurred vision, I saw her take a sharp, reflexive step back toward the door.
Her face, which had just begun to soften, drained of all color, masked in a sudden, visceral fear.
I frowned, the movement making my headache flare viciously.
“What is it?
Why are you looking at me like that?”
It took her a full minute to find her voice.
“That name…
ma’am, that is the only thing you’ve said for fourteen days.
During your…
episodes.”
“Episodes?”
“The delirium,” she said, her voice trembling.
“The doctors said the sun and the trauma caused a complete psychotic break.
For two weeks, you weren’t yourself.
You were violent.
It took three high-ranking officers just to keep you in that bed.
You would scream about an island.
You spoke of stone monsters, of a boy with jade chains, and a white demon that fought you to a standstill.
You talked about a Phoenix with eyes of fire and eating the flesh of monsters.”
She swallowed hard, pressing herself closer to the exit.
“You insisted that a man named Victor had healed you with his bare hands.
The doctors…
they said it’s common for the mind to invent protectors when it’s facing certain death.
They call it ‘Solitary Psychosis.’ Your brain created a fantasy to cope with the three months you spent alone on that raft.”
I stared blankly at the white ceiling.
*Alone?*
The memories were right there, sharp and visceral.
I could still feel the sensation of the “Pulse” that electric, vibrating heat that had forced my dying heart back to life.
I remembered the arrogant brat from the South Blue, the one who claimed Rokushiki was just some “Karate Island” heritage.
I remembered the petty arguments, the greed I felt for his weapon, and the frustrating, exhausting draws we had fought in that island clearing.
“Three months….” I murmured, my brow furrowing.
“I thought it was three weeks…”
“Yes, ma’am.
You were missing for almost three weeks,” she said quickly.
“It is a miracle you are still alive.
The only reason they were still searching for you is because your Vivre Card showed you were still breathing.”
I tried to focus, but the world suddenly tilted violently.
The sterile white ceiling warped into a vibrant, sickening shade of neon violet.
The sound of the nurse’s breathing amplified, crashing into my ears as loud as a thunderclap.
My stomach lurched, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from vomiting right there on the sheets.
“The world…” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut.
“The colors…”
“Side effects of the dehydration,” the nurse’s voice came from afar, sounding panicked but keeping her distance.
“The doctors said you’ll have sensory distortions for a while.
Just rest, Admiral.”
Throughout the day, a parade of officers marched through my room.
Commodore Rofi, a man with a face like etched granite, stood stiffly by my bed and offered his formal congratulations on my survival.
Other captains and commanders came and went, offering well-wishes, praising my “indomitable spirit” for surviving three months adrift in the most dangerous waters on the planet.
But to me, they all felt like actors in a play I didn’t understand.
When the room emptied and the quiet moments returned, I clutched the sheets, desperately trying to trace the line between reality and my supposed “delirium.” If it was all a dream, why did my muscles feel so dense?
Why did I distinctly remember the specific, heavy weight of a jade-green bird’s feathers?
As the sun set and the room dimmed into twilight, Commodore Rofi returned for a final check-in.
“Commodore,” I said.
My voice was steadier now, though my head still throbbed with a dull rhythm.
“I need a favor.
A personal one.”
Rofi looked down at me, his eyes a mix of pity and professional concern.
“Of course, Rear Admiral.
Anything to assist in your recovery.”
“I need you to run a search through the Bounty Hunter registries and the civilian records of the South Blue.
Specifically, Karate Island.
I’m looking for a man named Victor.
A brawler.
Mid-twenties.”
Rofi’s expression didn’t change, but I caught the slight tightening of his jaw.
He thought I was still lost in the dark still clinging to the “Victor” fantasy.
“Rear Admiral,” Rofi said gently, the condescension dripping from his soft tone.
“The doctors have been very clear about the nature of your hallucinations.
There is no such island in the central Calm Belt, and the raft we found you on was barely large enough for one person, let alone a ‘bounty hunter’ and his ‘pet.'”
“Just do it, Rofi,” I snapped.
A flash of my old authority cut through the haze, sharpening my words.
“Search the records.
If I’m crazy, the lack of a result will prove it.
But I need to know.”
Rofi sighed, offering a sharp, perfunctory bow that felt entirely hollow.
“As you wish, ma’am.
I’ll have the ensigns check the South Blue registries.
Get some sleep.”
(The Island – Zone 4 Camp)
[Victor’s pov]
While the Marine Base S-44 was buzzing with the miraculous recovery of a Rear Admiral, the clearing in the nameless crater was a picture of absolute, undisturbed peace.
The moon hung high over the island, its light reflecting off the crystalline lake in the distance.
Gammamon was sitting by a fresh fire, roasting a rack of ribs from a Zone 4 boar.
He looked content, his blue scarf fluttering in the breeze, his yellow eyes watching the meat with a predatory focus.
I was sitting across from him, leaning against a tree, idly spinning the black hexagonal disk of the Jade Wings between my fingers.
The silence was glorious.
No more lectures on “Justice.” No more demands for my weapon.
No more political headaches.
“When do you think she will wake up?” Gammamon asked, his voice muffled by a mouthful of ribs.
“My guess,” I said, looking up at the stars.
“If the sedative wears off on schedule, in about 2 weeks, then she will be told by a dozen doctors that I don’t exist.
Afterwards she will likely question her own sanity.”
Gammamon chuckled a low, lizard-like sound.
“The ‘Moon-Lily’ nectar was a good touch, Victor.
You’re a mean human.”
“I’m a pragmatic human,” I corrected.
“I saved her life.
I gave her back to her people.
The price of that life was her memory.
It’s a fair trade.”
I stood up, feeling the kinetic energy humming through my muscles.
“Tomorrow, the real work starts,” I said, looking toward the dark, mist-shrouded center of the island.
“We’ve wasted enough time playing host.
The monsters in Zone 2 and Zone 1 won’t care about our cover stories.
We need to reach the lake, Gammamon.
We need to be strong enough that the next time a Marine ship sees us, we don’t have to hide in the clouds.”
Gammamon stood up, his small claws sparking with digital energy, a fierce grin on his face.
“The titans!
I’m ready, Victor!
Let’s show them who the real kings of this island are!”
“Not tonight,” I laughed, tossing a small piece of wood into the fire.
“Tonight, we eat and sleep.
Tomorrow, we start the climb.”
We sat there in the firelight, two “fictional” beings in a world of giants, completely oblivious to the fact that across the sea, a Rear Admiral was beginning to realize that her “hallucinations” were the only truth she had left.
Word Count: 1623
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