Throwback

On the absolute summit of a mountain, a young man with jet black hair and a set of piercing red eyes sat cross legged, sipping tea from his ceramic cup.

"Mankind's hubris never ceases to amaze me." He said while looking towards an old worn out house.

"Agreed." A woman replied, her eyes remained closed even while turning her head.

"But this is different. He is not of this realm. Surely you know that." The man suddenly spoke out.

"Why does it matter what world he is from? Regardless of the origin, his soul is now bound to us. How does his case differ from all others?" She calmly replied.

The man gripped his cup tightly and snapped his head towards the woman.

"He is dangerous! Has your blindness dulled your senses? Can you no longer recognize what lies in front of you?" 

The woman looked at him with a soft smile.

"Calm down. Being riled up like this is undignified. The decision has already been made, it would be good for you to accept that fact. If you let your anger blind you, there will be none left who can see."

The man clicked his tongue. 

Swirling the tea left in his cup, he gave the woman a look of disapproval. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked.

"He has suffered enough as it is, believe me. Or, do you doubt me?"

"I couldn't."

"Good."

With that, he gulped down the last of his tea and jumped down the mountain, disappearing in the blanket of clouds.

*

Yukiko pov

The days went by quickly.

I had made very little progress in incorporating perfect overload into actual combat, but I was getting there. 

The only thing I knew I would have to do moving forward, is create a new breathing style. Water breathing was definitely spectacular, thunder breathing was the same, though even if I tried using perfect overload, the results would be mediocre at best compared to what I knew could be achieved.

I had to create an entirely new technique from the ground up. A style immaculately tailored to perfect overload.

When I tried to do so though, I quickly realized it wasn't as easy as it sounded.

I tried to make up random moves and infuse them with overload, but they would always hold very little weight and even less finesse.

It was then that I felt a newfound sense of respect towards the people who poured in countless hours to create these breathing styles. I had always looked down on that as something anyone could do with enough practice, but I realized how wrong I was.

I took the product of their unimaginable hard work for granted. I might as well have defiled their legacies with how impatient and dismissive I was of their teachings. But now, those same teachings have become an invaluable source of inspiration. I was made aware of my own bullishness, and I was ashamed.

Just before I could start lamenting again, I cut off internal stimuli again.

So, I kept trying. On most occasions, I failed. No, on almost all occasions I failed. The times I didn't fail, the form that I created would be decent, but nothing compared to even the first form of water breathing. 

Undoubtedly, the fact that I only had one arm made things harder. 

The years of muscle memory I built up with water breathing had gone to waste, and I was forced to recreate the same movements with a missing limb.

I could do it. But it would never be as strong, as accurate, or as fast as it was before. Of course, perfect overload more than made up for that difference, but it would never be the same again.

I realized that, but I still kept trying to create something new. Maybe something that was more suited for welding with only one arm. That would definitely require a new weapon though.

Regardless, I just couldn't shake the feeling that being a one arm swordsman was something I wasn't suited for. But I had to try. Afterall, there were no other options.

And then, one day, as I was cleaning the blade of my katana, I accidentally cut into my own finger. I couldn't even feel the pain, so I only noticed it when blood got on the piece of cotton I was using.

I looked at the crimson blood flowing out of my finger. Blood was something I now had control over, a small bleed wouldn't even phase me.

On a whim, I decided to look into it with observation. I saw the platelets in my blood clot up to stop the bleeding and form a scab.

Then, I saw the cells that made up my flesh like I was looking at them under a microscope, and got an idea.

'If I can somehow make them divide, I could heal up this wound. How would I go about that though? In the first place, can I make cells undergo division by myself?'

Following that train of thought to its natural conclusion, I couldn't help but get excited. If it worked, it would mean that I still had a chance to save my arm.

Of course, the first thing that comes to mind when solving a problem is usually wrong.

'No, each time dna is copied the telomeres in my cells get a little bit shorter. I could heal my finger, but that would just accelerate how fast my cells would die as they can only divide so many times. Damn it.'

I lied back and watched the grey sky through the broken roof.

'Is there really nothing I can do? There must be something. I can't just…'

I snapped it all off again and my thoughts stopped. I could think clearly again.

I went through everything I knew about regeneration. Most of that information was useless though.

'Maybe I should just become a sea cucumber.'

Then I remembered something.

*

"Just tell me, what did you do to my sister?" I asked the woman sitting across from me behind her desk.

The doctor looked around the office, avoiding eye contact with me. She looked to be both ashamed and panicked.

"I'm sorry, I can't say. You know how these things work right? Please, tell me you understand." She took my hand, but still wouldn't look me in the eye. "I just can't talk about it, to you, to her, to anyone."

My eyes were wide open in disbelief. I literally could not believe the words coming out of her mouth.

"You mean to tell me that you care more about protocol than your own daughter. The very daughter lying on a hospital bed because of something you did?" I asked, genuinely trying to understand the situation.

She winced at my words and finally shifted her eyes towards my face, but when she saw it, she quickly looked away.

"I'm sorry son. I just can't. I can't risk my job for this."

'For this'?

It was unbelievable. Completely and utterly backwards. 

"Did you ever care about her?" 

"What?" She looked startled by my question.

"Did you ever care about my sister?" 

"Of course, she's my daughte-"

I slammed my fist on her desk.

"Don't! Don't say that. She stopped being your daughter a long time ago. You know that." I looked at her, my look of disbelief turned into a hateful glare.

"Son please, I know I haven't been a very present parent, but I love you. Both of you. So much. I wouldn't trade you for the world."

Tears started rolling down her wrinkled cheeks, though to me, they looked fake. Everything about this looked and sounded fake. I could not believe a word coming out of this woman's mouth.

"What is more important to you, doctor? Your family or your job?" I asked, now fully glaring down at her.

"Obviously yo-"

I slammed my fist down again.

"Then tell me what happened!!" I yelled loud enough for everyone outside in the corridor to hear.

She looked around. Her eyes kept shifting from one place to another. Her hands were constantly fidgeting. Yet again, she would not, no, she could not look me in the eyes.

She hung her head and looked towards the ground below her.

"I- I can't. Please forgive me. I love you, believe me. P- Please, please, I beg you, please. F- Forgive me." She sobbed. 

"I came in here ready to talk things out. I thought that I could do something if you told the truth. " I grimaced. "But, you can't even do that? What kind of mother are you? Hiding behind the hospital's protection after harming your own daughter during surgery you performed. She went into that operating room smiling, happy that she would finally get released, but then she comes out paralyzed from the waist down. Just what the fuck happened in there?"

My mother looked utterly defeated, as though her soul abandoned her body. Her short, grayed out auburn hair hid her face from me. 

I couldn't even tell what the woman was thinking. Maybe she was regretful, maybe she was laughing at me. I honestly could not tell.

One thing I could tell though, is that she never cared. She never cared about me or my sister. She couldn't even give me a simple, "I am sorry for hurting her." Though, it isn't like she ever apologized for anything in her life before, but I just thought this would be different. Obviously, I was wrong. 

"Is there any chance she'll walk again?" 

My mother looked to the side at her pencil sharpener, before looking at me. Only when she has to do her job does she act like an adult.

"The chances are small. Through enough physical therapy, it could be possible. Though I couldn't say for sure." 

I clenched my fists.

"Do you even feel bad for what you did?"

She looked away again.

"On the record, nothing happened." She coldly said.

"What?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"You heard me." She shrunk back into her seat.

"You-" 

I was sick. I actually felt nauseated just by talking to this woman. Even a few more seconds of being in her shitty office would have been enough for me to lose my mind.

I jumped out of the chair and walked out, slamming the door behind me. 

Everything just made me sick. The sound of buzzing lights above my head, the incessant whirring of hospital equipment, the pity filled faces of everyone staring my way as I clung to the wall railing, and the sterile smell of the hospital all made me sick to my stomach.

I could barely stand as I staggered my way through the hallways.

Then, as though space warped in front of me, I found myself outside the hospital.

I sat down near the exit.

I looked at the oncoming traffic of both people and cars while I reached into my pocket and grabbed a cigarette.

It was the only thing that could calm me down.

"Unbelievable" I said as I put the cigarette in my mouth and tried lighting it. But my lighter ran out of juice.

"Fuck."

"What's unbelievable?" A soft voice sounded out to my side, accompanied by a hand holding out a lighter.

I looked to my right to see a tall woman dressed in a hospital gown holding a small white cat in her hands standing above me.

"Need a light?" She smiled.

"Yea, thanks." I held up my cigarette and she lit it for me.

Then, her hand extended towards palm as though asking for something.

I looked at her with a confused expression. She rolled her eyes and then pointed at my jacket pocket where I stashed my pack.

"Where's mine?"

I took it out and raised an eyebrow.

"You sure patients can smoke?" I asked.

"This is my first day here, and probably also my last free day for a while. So stop being stingy and just gimme one." She said. One thing I noticed about that woman is that she was extremely expressive. You could tell what she was thinking just by looking at her face.

I complied and handed her a cigarette which she then lit.

She sat down and put the cat in her lap, though after a while, it got tired of the smoke the woman was puffing out and moved to lay down between us.

"What's its name?" I asked.

"I wonder. I just found him. He's just a kitten." She looked at the cat which resembled a snowball when curled up.

She poked his cheeks a bit.

"Hey, what's your name?"

The cat, annoyed by the disturbance, bit her finger and refused to let go.

"Ah, what's wrong with you? Let go or I'll put you back in the bush I found you in." 

I laughed at the scene in front of me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed. 

"Hey! What's with you too? How could you laugh while I'm here getting attacked by a wild beast." She pouted.

I grabbed the small kitten and raised it up where it couldn't scratch me.

I took a good long look at it before speaking again. The woman looked at me with anticipation.

"Your name shall be snowball." I declared.

The girl laughed before grabbing the cat from my hands.

"He really does look like one. Hmm, Snowball it is then."