Languid Days

The very instant Vincent entered his room, he didn't bother to wait for dinner. The American unceremoniously fell on his bed, the door left half-open. He at least had the sense to take his shoes off, but he unfortunately didn't have the sense to cover himself with the sheets.

The exhaustion from the severe injury weighed down his eyes greatly, leaving his brain weary and his body sluggish. In short, he passed out.

It wouldn't have been a call for concern if he woke up at most twelve hours later. What got Ohta scrambling was the fact that Vincent was pushing eighteen hours without waking up. He was disturbed through pouring water on his face, poking him, moving him out the bed, and yet none of these things worked in the slightest.

The only reason Vincent's boss didn't call an ambulance or rush him to the hospital was the fact that his breathing was still stable. He reported this incident to his own boss who only had this to say: "...If he's fine, then he's fine. We could always hire a different fighter if need be."

After twenty-four hours of Vincent sleeping, his eyes finally blearily opened. Nobody was in his dark room; Ohta was busy peering over papers he needed to sign and looking over company information filed in his computer. The caretakers of the mansion were either busy cleaning or preparing for dinner.

Vincent smelled delicious food. "Fish..." he mumbled.

He stood up and stretched his body, bones letting out extremely audible cracks. The sleep finally set the nasty injuries back in place, so he's good to fight another match against Kure Reiichi if he so pleases.

The foreigner's hair was a mess and his complexion looked paler than usual. He needed to get some food in him now.

He stepped outside of his comfortable room to the colder hallways and followed his nose to the dining room. "I must've been out for a day or so. Pretty sure a snapped neck would do that."

He massaged the back of his neck and smiled at a lack of a common vulnerability present in broken bones. It's still sore unfortunately. The snap was too clean, which tells Vincent that Reiichi was definitely more than just an experienced killer. He had to have been killing people for a living at least; his attack was born from rough, daily practice from a young age. He can just feel that.

While Vincent was ruminating on his previous opponent Ohta was signaled by one of the mansion's caretakers that dinner would be finished soon. He clocked out and drove home, not putting in more than an hour of overwork this day. The feeling of driving was soothing, but it wasn't comforting enough to get his mind off of Vincent's sleeping body.

'Should I have taken him to a hospital anyway? Maybe I'll do it right after dinner.' He made his decision and parked the expensive car in his large garage.

Reaching the dining room after setting aside his shoes, the overweight man in a position he's truly not worthy of sat in a seat that was already pulled out for him. The food was brought to him moments later along with a wine glass.

He judged the food as exquisite as usual.

Soon afterwards, Vincent plopped in a seat right across from him and begin devouring the meat without a word. Ohta's fork fell from his hand.

"W-w-what are you doing here?! You're awake?!" Vincent's complexion was noticeably improving with each piece of food going down his stomach. He merely quirked a brow at his boss's question, speaking with his mouth half full.

"It almost sounds like you didn't want me to be awake. Though to answer your question, I was hungry and I got enough sleep." He then went right back to eating the exorbitant amount of food in front of him.

The mansion's caretakers showed no surprise at his wakefulness nor his appetite because it is not in their job description to be surprised. Thus, Ohta was the only person to show great emotional fluctuations.

'Am I the one who's weird?' He shook his head rapidly. He can't gaslight himself like that!

"It's just that...you slept for a whole day, so I was worried. I was ready to take you to the hospital. What was with that bout of hypersomnia?"

"Well," the American began between mouthfuls of food, glad from the accessible silverware. "Isn't it normal to sleep for long hours after overworking the body?"

Ohta was struck dumb by the reasonable response. Vincent was absolutely right. When a person spends long hours at a job, even skipping sleep and damaging their body, they require longer hours of sleep to reset and recover. For someone like Vincent whose fought three matches in quick succession and suffering injuries, the worst of them being a broken neck, the idea of bodily exhaustion catching up with him and forcing him to sleep for twenty-four hours does sound sensible.

But still. Twenty-four hours? Ohta sighed.

If it lasted longer than that, then he would've had to raise an objection. However, as long as it still dwells within reasonable bounds, he has to accept the sound logic even if it's extremely weird from his perspective. Vincent noticed his expression and shot a smug smirk at him.

"Look at the lucky man who never worked hard enough until he slept for over twelve hours; can you call yourself a man of Japan if you don't overwork to death? Haha."

Black lines formed on Ohta's forehead. The joke did not fly over his head at all. It smacked him straight in the face.

"Hmph. Let's see you continue joking and smiling like that when you don't have a match lined up for an entire month? How do you feel about that forced break, huh?!"

Now Vincent was the one who dropped his fork. His smug expression quickly changed into a fearful one. "Wait, come on man–I mean boss. Don't you want to get more better deals for your company?"

The CEO snorted pridefully. "No need at all! The Kengan Matches were only a bonus, albeit a great one. Under Mount Inc. can do fine without the Kengan Matches for a while even if we'll miss out on business opportunities. Plus, I can always look for another fighter."

"I'm sorry please forgive me." Vincent shamelessly bowed his head and put his hands in a prayer position. Fights were his drug and being taken away from that drug would make him go through withdrawals. If the streets can be compared to cheap crack then the Kengan Matches are expensive heroin.

"No can do. Truthfully, all match requests I had lined up were rescinded due to your excellent performance against your opponents. They're reevaluating offers and fighters to send against you."

So, it was Vincent's fault that he was going to have a lack of fighters for a while. He finished his meal moments later, his forlorn expression already a thing of the past. Taking a minor break from fighting could be a type of mental conditioning to prepare him for the next fight. He nodded to himself.

"Alright, just let me know when you do have a fight lined up. I'll be walking around Tokyo and enjoying myself as much as I can before then."

"You got it." Now that the foreigner thinks about it, his boss is starting to act more and more casual with him. It's slightly disquieting for him as his only relationships with people were born out of fighting and any talks between the people he knows are usually around fighting.

Very weird.

Vincent excused himself and left the mansion on a little walk. This was how he spent the next days. He strolled around the streets of Tokyo and kept his body in tip-top shape through heavy exercise once he returned to his room. Trying to practice martial arts, however, didn't really take him anywhere much to his annoyance.

Days turned into weeks and weeks eventually turned into a month. The man was practically glued to his phone currently, always waiting for a text message about a match.

Vincent was very bored on one of his alleyway walks. He even felt the urge to pick a fight with the very next person he sees if they're even slightly muscular.

"Oh?"

At the moment he turned a corner, he saw something interesting. Maybe he will be able to relieve some of that boredom sooner than he thinks.