Innocent World: Chapter 7

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He woke up with a sharp intake of breath, his lungs expanding in a loud gasp. Something wet, maybe sweat, maybe tears, trickled down from the corners of his eyes. His heart pounded fiercely, thumping against his chest, and Yamamura pressed his palms to his temples.

What a terrible dream, he thought. He hadn't seen his mother since she left their apartment all those years ago. He hadn't even tried looking for her, didn't want to see her now anyway. And yet, he was still dreaming these pathetic, lingering dreams.

His whole body was drenched in sweat, his throat parched. He needed water. Shakily, he got up from the bed and staggered to the kitchen. His legs felt heavy. There wasn't even a bottle of tea in the fridge, so he turned on the faucet, pressing his mouth to the stream. The water tasted awful, with a hint of chlorine and dirt.

He moved toward the hanger to change out of his sweaty T-shirt and shorts. The moment he stepped on something hard, like a wooden log, a sharp cry rang out, "Gyaa!" His right foot slipped, and Yamamura lost his balance, tumbling backward with a heavy thud. Pain flared through him; everything felt like the worst.

As he lay on his back, a face suddenly appeared right above him, filling his vision, startling him. Hirokuni was staring down at him from an unnervingly close distance, his eyes gleaming like a cat's in the dim light.

"...What do you want?" Yamamura muttered, feeling uneasy with the closeness.

"Get away from me," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Are you mad because I stepped on you or something? I don't even know where I stepped, but fine, I’m sorry, okay? I said I’m sorry."

His head throbbed painfully with every word.

"Come on, move," he said, pushing at Hirokuni's shoulder, only for Hirokuni to swat his hand away with a quick smack. The force made Yamamura's arm drop limply onto the tatami mat. Hirokuni’s hand reached out, and in that moment, Yamamura shut his eyes, bracing himself for a hit. He clenched his teeth, expecting a punch, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt cool fingertips touch his forehead. He opened his eyes. Hirokuni's fingers were gently stroking his sweaty brow, then moved to his neck.

"What... are you doing?" Yamamura asked, bewildered.

Hirokuni tilted his head slightly and, in his broken language, said, "I... die." When Hirokuni used "I," he was referring to Yamamura.

"Don’t go killing me off on your own, idiot," Yamamura shot back. The words felt like they lashed against his weakened body, making him even more exhausted. Dizzy and disoriented, he tried to pull himself up onto the bed, crawling on all fours. Suddenly, he was yanked backward with surprising force. Hirokuni grabbed him by the collar, choking him slightly as he gasped out a strangled "Uggh," then was thrown flat onto his back on the tatami.

"What the hell... are you doing?" he demanded, his head spinning from all the pulling and throwing. Hirokuni seized the hem of Yamamura's T-shirt and yanked it up. Yamamura didn't want to take it off, but Hirokuni's grip was too strong, and he had no choice. Now bare-chested, Hirokuni’s hands moved to Yamamura's shorts. Only then did Yamamura begin to feel a sense of real danger.

"No... Stop, I don’t want this," he pleaded, but it was pointless. Hirokuni pulled down his shorts along with his underwear, stripping him completely. He was naked. Seeing each other naked wasn't a big deal among guys, but still, there were limits—times, places, and circumstances.

"This is ridiculous," Yamamura grumbled, using both hands to cover his crotch as he curled up. Hirokuni might be lean, but he was definitely more muscular than Yamamura. In his weakened state, drained from the fever, Yamamura knew he would be raped without being able to resist. Sure, he didn’t mind sex, and he was fine with Hirokuni being the partner, but he definitely didn’t want to be taken by force. He had never let anyone stick their penis in there before.

Then again, he thought, but this guy’s pretty small down there... He scolded himself for even considering a compromise. He didn’t have a problem with sex itself, or with who was on top or bottom as long as they discussed it. That was all fine, but why did this idiot have to get all horny and attack him when he was so weak? Besides...

"I thought you were only into older women!" he snapped.

Hirokuni kicked off his work pants, revealing a slender yet beautifully toned body even in the dim light. Yamamura couldn't help but stare. Then Hirokuni crouched awkwardly in front of him, spreading his legs in a position that was anything but graceful, and began to growl in a low voice. Rising to his feet, he started moving his hands in strange gestures, like he was performing some bizarre dance.

"What... are you doing?" Yamamura muttered, as Hirokuni’s hands touched his head and neck. Then Hirokuni moved to the window, making a motion as if he was throwing something out. He repeated the same action over and over, singing and dancing all the while. Yamamura’s nerves were on edge, wondering when the old hag next door would wake up and come over to complain.

"Come on, give me a break—it’s the middle of the night. Stop making noise, stop singing. I’m begging you..." Yamamura pleaded breathlessly, still completely naked. But Hirokuni’s singing and dancing just kept going. The song seemed to have some kind of melody, with his voice rising and falling in waves, growing louder and softer. Listening to that eerie, unintelligible chant made Yamamura feel like he was being cursed. It was the worst.

Unable to resist the fever's pull, cursing Hirokuni under his breath, Yamamura was finally dragged into sleep, lying naked on the tatami mat.

The next morning, sometime after seven, Yamamura’s eyes snapped open. The morning sun glinted brightly in his face, almost blinding him. His back ached from sleeping on the tatami, but his head felt refreshingly clear. As he sat up, he was surprised to find that the heaviness in his body from the previous day had completely vanished. He felt light, as if his body’s weakness had been nothing but a lie. Though he’d slept stark naked, somehow, he had fully recovered overnight. It seemed unbelievable.

He realized he had forgotten to take the cold medicine he bought at the drugstore the day before. Apparently, he’d healed on his own. It was irritating that the quack doctor’s advice, "Just sleep it off," turned out to be right, but at least he was better now.

Suppressing the urge to kick the still-sleeping Hirokuni, who lay naked by the window, Yamamura stepped into the shower to wash away the sweat. Since he had slept like a log, he had no idea how long that singing and dancing had gone on. He braced himself for complaints from the old hag next door. Seriously, who messes around like that when someone’s sick? That guy didn’t have an ounce of kindness or consideration.

Feeling refreshed, he went into work, and his boss said, "After yesterday, I thought you’d take the day off." Yamamura thought he should've pretended to be sick to get a day off, but it was too late now.

When his body felt better, his mind seemed sharper too. His words flowed more smoothly than usual. After three days of striking out, he managed to secure one contract in the morning and another in the afternoon.

"Didn't you leave early yesterday because you were feeling bad? Today you're on fire," Nishida commented, to which Yamamura just shrugged and said, "Yeah, I guess." Feeling like he couldn’t lose today, he decided to go to the pachinko parlor for the first time in a while. He knew Hirokuni would be waiting back at the apartment, probably starving, but he wanted a bit of revenge for yesterday's antics.

At eleven at night, after turning 5,000 yen into 60,000, Yamamura headed back to his apartment feeling both rich and satisfied. As he walked along the sidewalk in front of the park, he heard a voice call from behind, "Oh, it's you."

"Coming home from work? You're out late, aren't you?" the old hag said.

"Yeah, you could say that," Yamamura replied, inwardly groaning. He knew he’d run into trouble. She was definitely going to bring up the racket from last night. Thinking that offense is the best defense, he decided to compliment her clothes to throw her off balance, sizing up her outfit. For once, she wasn’t dressed in her usual tacky style, instead wearing something a bit more formal, with a large handbag that caught his eye.

"That blouse has such a lovely pattern. Were you out somewhere nice?" he asked.

The old hag snorted, "Well, yes, sort of." As she came closer, he caught the scent of an old-fashioned floral perfume and made sure to keep his distance. He knew that if Hirokuni caught a whiff of it, it would be trouble.

"My daughter wasn’t feeling well, so I stayed over to babysit," she said.

Yamamura realized that if she was only coming back now, she must have been away when Hirokuni was making a scene last night. Luck was on his side after all. A smile crept across his face as he lowered his gaze, thinking he had dodged a bullet.

"Has Hirokuni caused you any trouble since then?" he asked.

The old hag looked puzzled for a moment, then seemed to remember, nodding, "Ah, yes..."

"Oh, that boy's name is Hirokuni, huh?" The old hag said, touching her cheek with a sigh. "Ever since I mentioned him to you, I haven't seen him around. I must have scared him off, huh? Maybe I was a little too harsh on him."

Yamamura couldn't stand the way she sighed, her self-importance radiating from her just like that old-fashioned floral perfume of hers. It was infuriating. Yet, as much as he hated to admit it, the truth was that Hirokuni had been infatuated with this old lady.

"By the way, I see you're eating a convenience store bento again," the old hag said, her sharp eyes catching every detail.

Yamamura gave a wry smile. "Yeah, you caught me."

"I told you about the Ishizaka Store, didn’t I? Such a shame you didn't go," she said, clearly disappointed.

"Oh... It was already late and they were closed, you see. I’ll make sure to go next time," Yamamura lied smoothly.

The old hag let out another sigh. "Young people these days, they never listen to what we have to say." She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a plastic bag with a Tupperware container visible inside. "Here, take this. Eat it with that boy of yours."

"Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—it's too much trouble."

"Don't be so modest. It's just some pumpkin stew. I made too much at my daughter's place."

It was one of those gifts you couldn't easily refuse without risking future awkwardness, so Yamamura accepted it with a forced smile, even though he wasn't particularly grateful.

They parted ways at the entrance. When Yamamura opened the door to his apartment, he noticed the lights were off. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside, he could just make out Hirokuni’s shoes by the entrance.

He switched on the hallway light and spotted a pair of bare legs sticking out from the mess of magazines and books in the back room. For a split second, he thought he was looking at a corpse, but he quickly realized it was just Hirokuni, passed out.

Yamamura made sure to walk loudly down the hallway, but even after turning on the room light, Hirokuni didn’t stir. He lay sprawled on the floor, face-down, like a fish washed up on the shore, completely naked. The sight of him sleeping so uselessly at this hour made Yamamura’s irritation rise.

Even when Yamamura began eating his bento, Hirokuni didn’t move an inch. Normally, Hirokuni would have already started eating without waiting, always impatient and thoughtless. And yet, Yamamura found himself strangely unsettled by this change.

"Hey, I bought food," he called out reluctantly.

No response.

"Your favorite old hag gave us some pumpkin stew, too. Tastes pretty good. You like this kind of thing, don’t you?" he said, louder this time.

Still, Hirokuni didn’t even twitch. At that moment, Yamamura finally realized something was wrong. Hirokuni, who was usually so quick to react to any sound, didn’t even look up when Yamamura came home. Even if he'd been up all night, it was already past eleven in the evening—far too long to sleep without stirring. Hirokuni’s skin, normally tan, looked oddly flushed now that he was seeing him up close.

"Hey!" Yamamura shouted.

He leaned closer and saw Hirokuni’s breathing was shallow and ragged. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. It wasn’t hot enough for him to be sweating like this. When Yamamura touched Hirokuni’s shoulder, he was startled by the heat radiating from his skin.

"H-Hey, Hirokuni! Hiro! Hiro!" Yamamura called out, shaking him gently.

Hirokuni's eyes opened slightly, and he batted Yamamura’s hand away weakly, but the strength just wasn’t there. Seeing the obvious signs of illness on Hirokuni’s face, Yamamura’s heart pounded with panic. Maybe Hirokuni had caught the fever that Yamamura himself had just gotten over. But Hirokuni’s temperature seemed even higher, worryingly high. Would a fever like this mess up his brain?

"Ah... ugh..." Hirokuni groaned, his voice hoarse and faint.

The weak sound made Yamamura’s shoulders tense with fear. Hirokuni twisted slightly, clearly in pain. Should he take him to the hospital? But first, he had to cool him down, or Hirokuni might suffer brain damage. He didn’t have an ice pillow or even a thermometer to check Hirokuni’s fever.

Without wasting another second, Yamamura grabbed his wallet and bolted out the door. He ran to the convenience store, but they didn’t have ice pillows, and the thermometers were all out of stock. All he could find was a forehead cooling patch. The drugstore was already closed.

Grabbing the cooling patches in a rush, Yamamura sprinted back to the apartment, cursing himself for not buying a thermometer sooner. As he reached his building, he noticed a light on in the old hag’s window. Without a second thought, he began banging on her door.

"Who is it at this hour?" the old hag’s irritated voice came from behind the door.

"It’s Yamamura from next door. My cousin Hiro... he's really sick. Do you have a thermometer I could borrow?"

He heard hurried footsteps inside, and the door opened almost immediately.

"Will this do?" the old hag asked.

"Ah, thank you very much. I'm sorry for the trouble," Yamamura replied, practically snatching the thermometer from her hand before rushing back into his room. He gently lifted Hirokuni, who was curled up on the tatami, and moved him to the bed. As he slid the thermometer under Hirokuni’s arm and started unwrapping the cooling gel patch, a beeping sound signaled that the temperature was ready.

Forty degrees Celsius (roughly 104F). Yamamura had never seen a thermometer display such a high number before. Thinking it might be a mistake, he took another reading—40.5 degrees. The number had gone up even more, and his hands began to shake.

Panicking, he quickly pressed the cooling patch onto Hirokuni’s forehead, but Hirokuni tore it off almost immediately, scowling.

"You have to keep it on, or your brain’s gonna go stupid!" Yamamura pleaded desperately.

But Hirokuni wouldn’t listen, stubbornly refusing to keep the patch on. Yamamura felt like he was on the verge of tears. He knew he had to take Hirokuni to the hospital. Hirokuni's condition was clearly much worse than his own had been the previous day.

He thought of the nearby clinic, but he didn't want to take Hirokuni to that place with its unreliable doctor. A hospital closer to home would be better... but he had no idea which ones accepted emergency patients at night. Without a landline, he couldn't check a phone book or make any calls. He didn't own a computer, and searching on his cell phone brought up a few options, but he couldn’t tell where any of them were located.

"Shamariwe toko tokoe patashiue toto tokoe..." Hirokuni started muttering nonsense words.

Yamamura sank down onto the floor, completely at a loss. He didn’t know what else to do. Just as he was about to dial for an ambulance, there was a loud pounding on the door. "Who could it be at a time like this?" he thought in frustration as he ran to the entrance.

"What is it now?" he snapped, his irritation boiling over.

"Is that boy alright?" came the old hag’s voice from outside.

Yamamura quickly opened the door. She stood there holding an ice pillow—the kind Yamamura remembered from his childhood.

"You probably don't have one of these if you didn't even have a thermometer, right? If you need it, I'll lend it to you," she said.

Yamamura's eyes welled up with heat, though he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or just the overwhelming situation. "H-Hiro’s fever is really bad—it’s over forty degrees, and I want to take him to a hospital, but I don’t know where to go," he said, almost begging.

The old hag frowned, her expression twisting as if she’d bitten into something sour. "Do you have a car?" she asked.

"No, I don’t," Yamamura admitted.

"Then your best bet nearby is the Central General Hospital. They handle emergencies at all hours. I'll call a taxi for you, so get him ready in the meantime."

"Oh... um, what do you mean by ‘ready’?" he stammered.

"Get his health insurance card and anything else you might need, obviously. Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Really... men are useless in a crisis," she muttered.

Following her instructions, Yamamura pulled out Hirokuni’s health insurance card that he had received from Arisawa. Although Hirokuni resisted putting on clothes, probably because of the fever, his strength was too weak to put up much of a fight, and Yamamura managed to get him dressed. Just as he finished, the old hag’s voice called from outside the door, "The taxi’s here!"

Yamamura lifted Hirokuni's limp, almost boneless body into his arms and carried him to the taxi. Even inside the cab, Hirokuni couldn't sit upright, flopping onto his side. As he looked down at Hirokuni’s small head resting on his lap, Yamamura’s chest tightened with guilt. He cursed himself for not coming home earlier, for wasting time at the pachinko parlor, for not noticing sooner how bad Hirokuni’s condition was. Regret flooded him, wave after wave.

The emergency room at the hospital was surprisingly crowded, and it took about an hour of waiting before Hirokuni's name was finally called. Yamamura carried him into the examination room, supporting Hirokuni from behind as he slumped in the chair like a rag doll. The doctor, a slender man in his late thirties with glasses, had a gentle demeanor that instantly put Yamamura at ease. He was glad it wasn’t someone stern or intimidating.

"Good evening. What seems to be the problem?" the doctor asked.

Hirokuni kept his head down, not saying a word.

"He... he doesn’t speak much Japanese," Yamamura blurted out. "He was fine this morning, but when I got home, he was completely out of it... I had a cold recently, so he might’ve caught it from me. His fever’s up to 40.5 degrees."

He spoke in a rush, the words tumbling out one after another.

"He has a fever, does he have a cough?" the doctor asked.

"I got home late, so I'm not really sure, but I don't think he was coughing or anything," Yamamura replied.

"Has he had any diarrhea?"

"I-I’m sorry, I didn’t really notice that either..."

"No worries, that's understandable. You're not the patient, after all. Let's start by checking his temperature and blood pressure."

A nurse approached with a thermometer and placed it against Hirokuni’s ear. Just as the electronic beep sounded, Hirokuni, who had been staring down at the floor, suddenly snapped his head up and swatted the nurse's hand away. The impact wasn't strong, but it was enough to make the nurse yelp as the thermometer clattered to the floor.

"Hey! Hiro! What are you doing?" Yamamura scolded.

Hirokuni began to sway from side to side, struggling to stand. When Yamamura tried to hold him down, Hirokuni resisted, flailing his arms in frustration.

"Calm down, will you?" Yamamura urged, his anxiety rising. If Hirokuni kept this up, there was no way they could get him properly examined.

"Is everything alright? What’s going on with him?" the doctor asked, leaning forward to get a closer look.

The moment Hirokuni's eyes landed on the doctor, his demeanor shifted dramatically. His eyes flew wide open, and he started thrashing around even more violently.

"Hey! Hiro! Stop it! Stop thrashing around!" Yamamura shouted, trying to get him under control.

Hirokuni swung his arms wildly, and in his attempt to dodge, Yamamura accidentally let go of his grip. Hirokuni's body lurched to the right, and he tumbled heavily to the floor.

"Oh, are you alright?" the doctor said, reaching out a hand to help.

To everyone’s shock, Hirokuni kicked the doctor’s hand away. While he tolerated Yamamura’s touch to some extent, he became feral whenever the doctor or nurse tried to examine him, baring his teeth like a dog, refusing to let anyone near with a stethoscope or blood pressure cuff. It was clear he was completely beyond control.

"This is difficult," the doctor sighed. "If we can’t even check his blood pressure, it’s risky to administer medication, and we probably can’t get an IV in either. We'll just have to wait until he calms down a bit."

Reluctantly, Yamamura nodded in agreement. The situation was out of their hands. They gave him a fever-reducing pill as an emergency measure, but when Yamamura tried to make Hirokuni swallow it, he stubbornly kept his mouth shut. As a last resort, Yamamura pinched Hirokuni's nose to force him to open his mouth, but as soon as the pill went in, Hirokuni spat it right back out. Despite his resistance to any form of treatment, Hirokuni still clung to Yamamura's lap, resting his head there, eyes closed.

After Hirokuni had been escorted out of the examination room and about thirty minutes had passed, the doctor came out to the waiting area.

"How is he? Did he manage to take the medicine?" the doctor asked.

"He spat it out..." Yamamura muttered, feeling defeated. Even though Hirokuni had been lying down, as soon as he heard the doctor’s voice, he lifted his head and glared, kicking his legs in the air as if to threaten him. The doctor could only look down at Hirokuni with a wry smile.

"You said he doesn’t understand Japanese, but what language does he speak? If we can communicate with him in his language, maybe we can get him to accept treatment," the doctor suggested.

"Uh, well, that’s the thing... it’s actually... he speaks a language from a Brazilian Indigenous tribe. Even I don’t really understand what he’s saying most of the time. But if I hold him down, could you please just try to treat him?"

The doctor’s eyes widened in surprise. "You mean, he speaks an Indigenous language from Brazil?"

"Y-Yeah, I guess that’s right."

"And you live in Matsui Town, correct?"

"Yes," Yamamura replied, nodding uncertainly.

"Are you familiar with the Ochiai Clinic nearby?" the doctor asked.

Yamamura was puzzled at the mention of that clinic but answered, "...Yes, I know it."

"My father runs that clinic. He used to be a medical officer on an expedition team that traveled through the Amazon River basin. He’s also had some personal interactions with the tribes there, so there’s a chance he might understand Hirokuni’s language. I can contact him on your behalf. Would you be willing to take Hirokuni there?"

Yamamura hesitated and then asked cautiously, "Is your father the only doctor there?"

"Yes, it’s just my father. Given Hirokuni's current condition, it’s going to be difficult to treat him here, and since it's night, we’re short-staffed for restraining him. So, the best option might be to go there in the morning for a proper check-up."

Yamamura didn’t like the idea of going to some second-rate clinic. But the thought of leaving Hirokuni with such a high fever until morning terrified him.

"...Alright, we'll go," Yamamura agreed reluctantly.

The doctor promised to make the necessary call, and Yamamura headed to the clinic by taxi. They arrived in about ten minutes, but the entrance was locked, and no lights were on inside.

"He said he’d contact him! Damn it!" Yamamura cursed under his breath. As he held Hirokuni in his arms, he felt him stir, shifting slightly before pressing his burning forehead against Yamamura's neck. Yamamura's impatience grew as he thought only of getting Hirokuni the help he needed. Then he remembered the doctor mentioning during his own visit, "At night, ring the bell at the back of the house." Without wasting another second, Yamamura rushed to the back entrance and rang the bell. A shabby-looking doctor, wearing a blue tracksuit covered in lint, appeared, yawning as he said, "Yes, yes?" He seemed puzzled when he saw Yamamura.

"What do you need?" the doctor asked.

"Your son sent me. I need you to examine my cousin," Yamamura replied, barely keeping his anger in check.

"Oh, you've arrived already? That was quick," the doctor said, stretching lazily. "I heard the story—he’s an ‘Indigenous person,’ right?"

The doctor leaned in to look at Hirokuni, who was limp in Yamamura's arms. "He looks pretty Japanese to me. Well, I suppose Indigenous Peoples are technically Mongoloid too."

"He's Japanese, but he grew up in the jungle. Please, just examine him quickly," Yamamura urged, his frustration seeping through his voice.

"Alright, alright, you're quite the impatient one," the doctor said with a shrug. He seemed entirely too casual in front of a sick person. Then he looked closely at Yamamura. "Have we met before?"

"Yesterday—or rather, the day before yesterday, you treated me for a cold," Yamamura replied.

The doctor smacked his left palm with his fist in realization. "Ah, you're the salaryman who kept pestering me about medication! Looks like you’re all better now, huh?"

Yamamura clenched his right hand into a fist, biting down on his anger, forcing himself to stay calm.

"So, he caught your cold, did he? Poor guy," the doctor said, shaking his head with a sigh. "Alright, bring him inside."

The doctor led them through an old house that was no better kept than the clinic itself. The creaky hallway led to a room connected to the clinic. As soon as Yamamura laid Hirokuni down on the narrow examination bed, Hirokuni’s eyes shot open. He glanced around wildly, sniffing the air, and immediately tried to get off the bed.

"Stay still, you idiot," Yamamura said, wrestling with Hirokuni to keep him from bolting.

The doctor, meanwhile, stood at a slight distance, observing with mild interest. "Hmm, seems like he really doesn’t like hospitals. Not unusual for Indigenous Peoples, though. Let me try something... nopoti shima," the doctor said in some garbled language.

Hirokuni didn't react at all.

"Guess that wasn't it," the doctor muttered, looking a little deflated. "I thought he’d understand that one."

Yamamura felt a surge of despair. After all this trouble, if the doctor couldn’t even speak Hirokuni's language, what was the point of bringing him here?

"You don’t understand either, do you!" Yamamura burst out in frustration.

"Now, now," the doctor said, patting Yamamura on the shoulder, "Do you happen to know which tribe he’s from?"

"How the hell would I know that? I think... there was something like ‘Ya’ in the name," Yamamura said, racking his brain.

"Oh, that might be the lead we need," the doctor said, perking up. He tried speaking again in that strange language, and this time, Hirokuni’s eyes focused on him. He stopped thrashing and stared intently at the doctor. Then, in a halting voice, Hirokuni mumbled a response in the same language.

"Ah, I see... I see," the doctor said, nodding along as Hirokuni spoke. Yamamura watched the exchange, holding his breath.

But then the doctor shook his head. "It's been a while since I used this dialect, so I’ve forgotten most of it. Can’t quite make sense of what he’s saying," he admitted.

Yamamura nearly collapsed on the spot. He’d gone through all this effort to bring Hirokuni here, and now this! Even though the communication was patchy at best, Hirokuni seemed to calm down. He stopped resisting, allowed them to measure his temperature and blood pressure, and even let the doctor press a stethoscope to his chest without causing a fuss.

"His fever's quite high. Looks like it's just a bad case of the flu. Let’s give him a suppository and an IV drip to bring down the fever," the doctor suggested.

Hirokuni remained still as the suppository was administered. When the nurse arrived to set up the IV drip, his face betrayed his reluctance, but after some coaxing from the doctor, he reluctantly held out his arm. As they finally started the treatment, Yamamura felt a wave of relief wash over him. Looking up at the clock on the wall of the examination room, he realized it was already past four in the morning.

"How long will the IV drip take?" Yamamura asked.

"Hmm, about two hours or so," the doctor replied.

By the time the IV finished, it was six in the morning. Dawn had broken. Yamamura sat on a small stool next to the examination bed where Hirokuni lay, his body finally at rest, and let out a small sigh.

"Can he stay here for a while?" Yamamura asked.

"Once the IV drip finishes, he can go home. Just like with you, he’ll probably get better with some rest. But in his case, it might take a little longer," the doctor replied.

When the IV was done, Yamamura realized there'd be no time left to sleep before work. The thought of going to his job without a wink of rest filled him with dread, but he had no choice.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked.

"Ah, just past the waiting area," the doctor pointed.

Yamamura didn't actually need the bathroom; he just desperately wanted a cigarette. As he got up from the stool, Hirokuni reached out with the hand connected to the IV drip, grabbing onto the hem of Yamamura’s shirt.

"Don’t move that hand," Yamamura said, trying to shake Hirokuni’s grip off, but Hirokuni refused to let go.

"Maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone," the doctor said casually.

"What?" Yamamura blinked.

"Everyone gets a little needy when they’re sick, right?" the doctor added.

Hearing that, Yamamura found it hard to leave. Silently, he sat back down on the chair.

"Changed your mind about the bathroom?" the doctor asked.

"...Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t need to go," Yamamura mumbled.

"You know, holding it in might give you a bladder infection. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to him in his own words if you need to pee, so just go on," the doctor insisted.

Yamamura’s face flushed bright red. "It’s fine. I just wanted a smoke, that’s all," he said, embarrassed by his slip.

The doctor didn’t seem to make much of it and simply replied, "Ah, a smoke, huh," brushing it off lightly. As the conversation fell silent, the ticking of the old-fashioned clock in the examination room seemed unusually loud.

"So, how long did he live over there?" the doctor asked, stifling a yawn.

"From when he was two until he was twenty-two," Yamamura answered.

"A Japanese person living with the Indigenous Peoples for that long?" the doctor said, raising an eyebrow.

"Does that have anything to do with his treatment?" Yamamura asked, challenging the doctor’s curiosity.

"Absolutely," the doctor said confidently. Yamamura reluctantly began to explain Hirokuni’s background—though he carefully left out the details about why Hirokuni was in his care in the first place.

The doctor listened with a curious expression, nodding occasionally and saying, "I see, I see."

"It used to be common to hear about Indigenous Peoples kidnapping people, but for a Japanese person to end up living with them in the 1980s... that’s quite rare. Since he's started living with you, has he ever complained about earaches or headaches?" the doctor asked.

"I don’t really understand what he’s saying most of the time, but he hasn’t shown any signs of discomfort," Yamamura replied.

"Well, if he ever came to the city because of a serious injury, then he’s probably already experienced what we call ‘urban baptism,’" the doctor remarked.

"Urban baptism? You mean, like a Christian baptism?" Yamamura asked, confused.

"No, no," the doctor chuckled. "I’m speaking metaphorically. Ancestral Indigenous Peoples who live in isolation in the jungle often fall ill when they first come into contact with city folk. They're exposed to all kinds of new pathogens all at once. It’s like releasing a delicately raised girl from a noble family into a den of wolves," he said with a laugh.

The doctor laughed, but Yamamura found nothing funny about it. "But these Indigenous Peoples live in huts, surrounded by mosquitoes and bugs. How can you say they're so fragile?" Yamamura questioned.

"Indigenous Peoples are very susceptible to infectious diseases. Illnesses like smallpox or tuberculosis don’t exist naturally in the Amazon basin. When Brazil was colonized by Portugal, the Portuguese soldiers would deliberately leave items used by smallpox patients—like clothes and sheets—mixed in with gifts like knives and pots that the Indigenous Peoples would eagerly take back to their villages. This triggered mass outbreaks that killed tens of thousands. It’s one of the earliest examples of biological warfare."

Yamamura was at a loss for words, and the doctor let out a deep sigh. "Yeah, it’s a bit ironic, isn’t it? For a Christian nation to do something like that—God must’ve been pretty shocked. Throughout history, humans have always been the cruelest species," the doctor mused.

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