In Minanagi City, twenty-eight-year-old Amakasu Minato has a habit: the more it hurts, the more he smiles. A bad fall down the stairs lands him in Seiryo-kai Minanagi General Hospital with a fractured tibia—and a roommate's worth of nosy elderly men, a cheerful nurse named Miura Saya who sees through his armor, and an orthopedist who strips it off entirely.
"Don't force yourself to smile. If it hurts, say it hurts."
Dr. Meijo Kei is handsome, blunt, and unnervingly perceptive. He notices the s
The Discharge Day Signal - The night before discharge—words left unsaid, and a hand that cannot reach
The afternoon sun stretched long down the corridor of the orthopedics ward.
The smell of disinfectant. The electronic chime of a nurse call. The sound of wheelchair wheels scraping against linoleum. Amakasu Minato sat in a private room in the east wing of the fourth floor, gazing out the window. The cast on his right leg was gone, replaced by a brace. His crutches leaned against the side of the bed, untouched—he hadn't even reached for them.
Tomorrow, he'd be discharged.
Every time those two words echoed in his head, the back of his throat went faintly dry. His older sister Shino would come to pick him up. He'd already packed most of his things. In the corner of the room, a carry-on bag sat half-open, catching the window light.
(Finally, I can go home.)
He thought it. He thought it, and yet something at the bottom of his chest wouldn't settle. It just hung there, suspended, landing nowhere.
The results of the re-conference had come three days ago. Thanks to the new rehabilitation regimen, the bone in his right leg had begun to heal again, and surgery had been avoided. With continued conservative treatment, he'd made it to discharge.
Minato remembered the moment Meijo Kei had formally told him the discharge date.
"Amakasu-san, next Friday—you're discharged."
A flat, even voice. In that instant, Minato smiled. It took him less than a second to raise the corners of his mouth.
"Yes! Finally, I get to go home! Thank you, Doctor! No more hospital food for me!"
He meant it, from the bottom of his heart. He was supposed to mean it.
But Meijo was watching his face. Those narrow black eyes were trying to peer straight through the smile, into what lay behind it. Minato noticed the gaze and, keeping his smile intact, looked out the window. His own smiling face was faintly reflected in the glass.
(Of course the doctor sees right through me.)
He laughed bitterly, inwardly. Loneliness about leaving the hospital—he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel it. But if he put it into words, he felt like he'd stop being himself. Smile, keep it light, let it slide. That was Minato's way.
Meijo looked like he wanted to say something. Just before he dropped his eyes to the chart, his mouth opened halfway—then closed. Minato caught that profile out of the corner of his eye.
(The doctor's got something he wants to say too, I bet.)
He didn't ask. He couldn't ask.
Outside the window, the city of Minagi lay wrapped in afternoon light. The Minagi River glittered. The roofs of the Old Castle Street shopping arcade ran in rows, and beyond them, the green of Minagi Castle Ruins Park was just barely visible.
(This view's the last I'll see of it, huh.)
About five weeks since he'd been admitted. Pain, and anxiety, and smiles, and tears. A lot had happened.
(I've gotta thank the doctor properly.)
But how? With what words? Without finding an answer, Minato kept staring out the window.
——
The afternoon of discharge day.
The door of his room flew open without so much as a knock.
"Minato! I'm here!"
Amakasu Shino came in carrying a large paper bag in each hand. A short bob cut square at the shoulders. Narrow brown eyes that looked a lot like Minato's. A small pearl earring on her left ear. Thirty-two years old, an office worker in Minagi. Minato's older sister.
"Shino, would it kill you to knock? I almost had a heart attack."
"Your heart's not that fragile. Here—supplies. Fruit, a change of clothes, and the paperwork for the discharge."
The paper bags landed on the bed with a thump. Apples and bananas, folded clothes, and a bundle of documents peeked out.
"Still quick on your feet, Shino. You could work for a moving company."
"Are you an idiot? Breaking a bone again. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"
Shino's hand smacked the top of Minato's head. He made a big show of being hurt.
"Ow—! You can't use violence on a patient!"
"You're a patient until tomorrow. Today you're still my little brother."
With that, Shino set about briskly organizing his things. Fruit into the fridge. Clothes into the closet. Documents onto the table, edges neatly aligned. Minato watched her back absently.
(Shino's always like this.)
Ever since they were kids, Shino had fussed over him. Their parents both worked and were often away from home, so it had just happened naturally. When Minato caught a cold, she made him rice porridge. When he was bullied at school, she marched in. When he broke a bone, she came running to the hospital like this.
(I haven't given Shino anything back, have I.)
"Shino. Thank you."
He said it quietly. Shino stopped her hands and turned around.
"...What's with you all of a sudden? Creepy."
She laughed. But her eyes were looking at him kindly.
"Nothing—just thought I'd express my gratitude once in a while."
"Not 'once in a while'—every time. I'm your big sister, you know."
Shino sat down beside him. The springs creaked.
"Minato, are you really okay? Can you manage on your own after you're discharged?"
"I'll be fine. I'm twenty-eight already. Ten years of living alone."
"That's not what I mean. You're not going to push yourself again, are you? Not going to pile on too much work again?"
Shino's voice dropped a notch. Minato was at a loss for words for a moment.
(Shino sees right through everything.)
"I'll be fine. This time I'll go at my own pace, properly. The doctor drilled it into me too—don't push yourself."
"Ohh. That handsome doctor of yours? Did he put ideas in your head or something?"
Shino grinned at him.
"Huh? What are you talking about?"
His voice cracked.
"Oh my, did I hit a nerve? Your face is all red."
"It is not! Shino, would you cut that out?"
Minato turned his face away. His ears were hot.
(Damn, I can't win against my sister.)
Shino teased him for a while, but eventually stood up.
"Well, as long as you're doing okay, that's all that matters. I should head home. I'll come back tomorrow morning."
She said it while folding up the paper bags.
"Shino, really—thank you."
He said it again. Shino ruffled his hair, fingers combing through it.
"You're welcome. See you tomorrow."
She left the room.
Alone now, Minato lay back on the bed.
(Shino's always seen through my lies, ever since we were kids.)
He stared at the ceiling.
(But she saw through them and let them slide anyway.)
He closed his eyes.
(I've done nothing but worry her.)
Something pricked at his chest.
——
Shino was walking down the ward corridor.
As she passed the nurses' station, she saw a man in a white coat coming toward her. Short, neatly trimmed black hair parted precisely seven-to-three. Narrow black eyes. Tall—over six feet. Economical movements. It was Meijo Kei.
(That's the doctor.)
Shino stopped. Meijo noticed her and stopped too.
"Doctor, thank you for looking after my brother. I'm Amakasu Minato's older sister."
She bowed politely.
"I'm Meijo. The thanks are mine—Amakasu-san worked very hard in rehabilitation."
A quiet voice. Shino looked at Meijo's face intently. Under the corridor light, those eyes looked straight back at her.
(This doctor—the look in his eyes when he talks about Minato isn't a doctor's look.)
"Doctor, I have one request."
"What might that be?"
Meijo looked her straight in the eye.
"This kid, Minato—he's always had a habit of laughing things off. The more it really hurts, the more he says he's fine. ...Doctor, will you see through my brother's lies for him?"
Her voice was quiet. But the words carried a fierce feeling. Meijo was at a loss for words for a moment.
(This person knows the armor of Minato's smile.)
"I understand."
That was all he said. Short and simple.
But hearing those words, Shino smiled faintly, as if relieved. He could see the tension drain from her shoulders.
"Good. ...Please take care of Minato."
She bowed once more.
"I will."
He nodded. Shino walked off toward the elevator.
Meijo watched her go.
(Minato's armor of smiles—even his family sees through it.)
Something stirred in his chest.
(That man smiles even in front of his family, hiding his pain.)
He clenched his fist. His nails bit into his palm.
(I want to be a doctor who can see through that lie.)
He thought it. But whether that feeling came from him as a doctor, or from something else entirely, even Meijo himself didn't know yet.
——
The night before discharge.
The ward was quiet past lights-out. Minato lay in his private room, staring at the ceiling.
(So this is the last time I'll sleep in this room.)
He closed his eyes slowly.
(I want to see the doctor.)
The thought surfaced, unbidden.
(But I don't want to see him.)
He opened his eyes.
(If I see him, I'll cry.)
He buried his face in the pillow. Gripped the sheets tight.
(I don't want him to see me cry.)
(Tomorrow, I'll smile and say goodbye.)
He told himself.
(Because that's my last bit of pride.)
He closed his eyes. He fought desperately against the tears threatening to spill. The back of his throat went hot and tight.
——
Knock, knock.
The sound of a knock echoed through the quiet room. Minato started, lifted his head, and hurriedly wiped at his eyes.
"Amakasu-san, excuse me."
A low, quiet voice. It was Meijo. Minato's heart gave a hard thump.
(Why is the doctor here now?)
He sat up.
"Doctor, what's up? At this hour?"
He said it with a smile. Meijo came into the room. He had a chart and a sheaf of papers in his hands.
"Checking the IV. I wanted to do a final confirmation."
He said it flatly.
"The IV's already out, isn't it? Look at my arm."
He showed Meijo his right arm. Meijo glanced at it.
"...Right. My apologies."
He closed the chart. But he didn't leave the room. Minato looked up at his face.
(The doctor's got something he wants to say.)
But Meijo said nothing. Minato said nothing either. Silence filled the room. From outside the window, the nightscape of Minagi flowed quietly in.
——
How long had it been?
Meijo held out the sheaf of papers to Minato.
"Your post-discharge rehabilitation plan and precautions. Please look them over."
Minato took them. The edge of the paper was slightly damp.
"Doctor, using the IV as an excuse—you always pull the same trick."
He laughed softly. Meijo was momentarily at a loss for words.
(I don't have any other excuse to come here.)
But he didn't say it aloud.
"...I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for. I'm happy you came, Doctor."
He smiled. But that smile looked a little lonely. Meijo stared at his face. He noticed that Minato's eyes were faintly red.
(Was he crying just now?)
Meijo's chest tightened. But he said nothing. As a doctor, he couldn't intrude on a patient's privacy. And besides—what Minato wanted right now wasn't words of comfort. Meijo believed that.
——
The night deepened. Meijo stood beside Minato's bed. Minato had the plan spread open on his knees, but his eyes weren't following the words. His mind was somewhere else.
(What's the doctor thinking right now?)
(Is he thinking the same thing I am?)
He glanced at Meijo's face. Meijo was quietly gazing at the nightscape outside the window. His profile was as calm as ever, unreadable. But Minato understood.
(The doctor's the same as me.)
(There's something he wants to say, and he can't.)
He gripped the plan tight.
——
"Doctor."
He murmured it softly. Meijo looked at him.
"Tomorrow—please don't see me off."
He said it quietly. Meijo tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come.
"...May I ask why?"
He finally managed. Minato smiled.
"Because I'm not confident I can say goodbye."
He said it with a touch of self-mockery.
"I don't want to show you an uncool side of me. I'm a crybaby, you see."
He laughed as he said it. But that smile looked ready to crumble at any moment. Meijo stared at his face.
(This man—right to the very end, he'll smile and laugh it off.)
(You're not the only crybaby here.)
But he couldn't say it aloud.
"...I understand."
He answered shortly. Another set of words caught in the back of his throat.
(I wa
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