“What happened?”
Kiryu Kazusuke asked from where he sat in the chair.
He was a resident, and the medical office had not issued him a pager. He could only check one out when he was on duty, and had to return it after handover.
So he had no idea what had happened.
“333. All personnel, assemble.”
Imagawa Ori threw off the covers and, regardless of how cold it was outside, jumped straight out of bed.
In a fluster, she began putting on her clothes.
A wool sweater, a woolen trench coat, not-quite-dry pantyhose, and high heels.
Though she truly recoiled at the clammy, damp chill against her skin, there was no time to care about that now. Fortunately, she had left clothes in the hospital duty room beforehand, just in case.
“You need to go too. They’ll probably be desperately short-handed.”
Imagawa Ori fixed her hair and regained her usual capable bearing.
Although she had no makeup on her face, and the corners of her eyes were still a little red, greed and ambition once again propped up her spine.
According to the original plan, after going to the nightclub tonight, she was supposed to take the train over first thing tomorrow morning and cover the duty shift for the director there, who wanted to go home for the New Year.
In the end, she had not made it to the nightclub, and making that shift was probably out of the question too.
“Fine.”
Kiryu Kazusuke set down his teacup and stood up.
In a chaotic large-scale situation like this, the professors and associate professors would be tied up with the critically injured. No one would have the time to care what a mere resident was doing.
As long as you had the nerve, the lead surgeon’s spot was yours for the taking.
“Let’s go.”
She pushed open the door and strode out.
Kiryu Kazusuke followed close behind.
Passing through the narrow staff corridor, the two arrived in the hotel lobby.
Tonight’s guests were all obediently staying in their rooms. The lobby was empty, with only a dim yellow lamp lit behind the front desk.
Watanabe Tsubasa was sitting behind the counter, dozing off, his head bobbing bit by bit.
Hearing the hurried footsteps, he jolted awake and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth.
“Ah, Doctor Kiryu, Doctor Imagawa…”
He looked at the two of them rushing about, somewhat at a loss.
“Are you… leaving?”
He had thought the two of them were definitely going to spend the night in the lounge. After all, it was already so late, and the road conditions outside were terrible.
“Mm. There’s an emergency at the hospital.”
Kiryu Kazusuke walked up to the counter and answered briefly.
“Watanabe-kun, you have a motorcycle, right?”
His gaze went past the counter and landed on the wall behind it. A bunch of keys hung there, with a Honda emblem on them.
Watanabe Tsubasa had mentioned before that he was working part-time to save money for motorcycle parts. That meant he had a bike.
“Huh? I do, but…”
Watanabe Tsubasa nodded. It was a secondhand bike he had just bought with the money from his part-time job, and he usually treasured it dearly.
“Can you lend it to me?”
Kiryu Kazusuke made the request directly, without any preamble.
Behind the counter, Watanabe Tsubasa looked troubled.
It was not because he was unwilling to part with the bike.
Although he had saved up for it by scrimping and saving, and would indeed be heartbroken if it were wrecked.
What worried him more was safety.
His bike was a street bike, and the tires were not snow tires. It would skid very easily.
Kiryu Kazusuke took a step forward.
“Watanabe-kun.”
“Please lend it to me. I’ll fill the tank and bring it back when I’m done.”
“I’m begging you!”
Of course he knew how dangerous it was to ride a motorcycle in the snow, but as long as he controlled the throttle and his center of gravity, snow of this level could be handled.
Watanabe Tsubasa hesitated for a moment, then still agreed.
“Then… all right.”
After all, Doctor Kiryu had healed his shoulder. He had to repay that favor. And judging by the expressions on their faces, this truly was a matter of life and death.
“The bike’s parked by the back door. A Honda CB400, red and white.”
“There’s only one helmet, so you two… make do with it.”
“Be careful on the road. If it really doesn’t work, just push it back…”
He turned and took the keys down from the wall, then handed them over together with the helmet kept under the counter.
“Thanks, Watanabe-kun.”
Kiryu Kazusuke took the keys and helmet, then turned and left.
Imagawa Ori froze for a moment, then hurriedly followed.
As she passed by Watanabe Tsubasa, her steps paused. She seemed to want to say something, but in the end, she only nodded, as thanks.
The two came to the back door.
The parking shed was nothing more than a simple tin awning, open to the wind on all sides. Several bicycles were parked inside, along with a red-and-white motorcycle.
A Honda CB400.
Classic street bike styling, a round headlight, twin gauges, an exposed engine. It looked a little old, but it had been fairly well maintained.
Kiryu Kazusuke walked over, swung a leg over the bike, planted both feet on the ground, and tested the suspension.
Not bad. A little soft. In the snow, that was actually a good thing, as it provided more feedback on traction.
He inserted the key and turned it. The dashboard lit up.
He squeezed the clutch and pressed the starter.
Zzzzz—vroom!
The engine let out a low rumble, and a puff of white smoke sprayed from the exhaust pipe.
“Get on.”
He handed the helmet to Imagawa Ori.
Imagawa Ori looked at the somewhat worn helmet, then at Kiryu Kazusuke’s completely unprotected head.
“What about you?”
“I don’t need it. You wear it.”
Kiryu Kazusuke could completely withstand this level of cold wind. Besides, when riding in winter, a helmet visor fogged easily; he needed an open field of vision.
But Imagawa Ori was different.
She had only just recovered from hypothermia. If she rode through another stretch of cold wind, then never mind saving anyone—she would have to be admitted to the ICU first.
Imagawa Ori did not act coy either. She took the helmet, put it on, and fastened the strap.
She stepped on the foot peg and climbed onto the rear seat.
The bike sank slightly.
“Hold tight.”
Kiryu Kazusuke’s voice came from in front.
Imagawa Ori looked at the broad back so close before her. This was the first time she had ever been so close to someone of the opposite sex.
She hesitated for one second.
In the end, she still reached out and wrapped her arms around Kiryu Kazusuke’s waist.
Even through the thick gray woolen coat, she could still feel the faint warmth from his body.
Subconsciously, she pressed herself a little closer, resting the side of her face against his coat.
So this was a man’s back?
It was not especially broad, nor did it have that exaggerated sense of muscle.
But it was very steady.
Just like on the operating table, like those hands of his gripping the needle holder—so steady that they put one’s heart at ease.
At this moment, Imagawa Ori felt as though her heart, which had always been suspended in midair, ravaged by anxiety and the desire for money until it was riddled with wounds, had miraculously calmed down.
A strange feeling spread through her heart.
It felt as though she had hidden herself in a safe harbor.
There was no need to think anymore.
No need to think about that one-hundred-million-yen house.
No need to think about how many champagne towers Nakamori Sachiko might open.
As long as she hid behind Kiryu-kun, closed her eyes, and let him face the wind and snow, that would be enough.
“We’re going.”
Feeling the arms around his waist tighten, Kiryu Kazusuke slowly released the clutch.
The bike began moving forward.
Once they left through the hotel’s back door, they were on the main road.
The snow on the road had already been compressed by passing vehicles and had become rather slippery, so he did not rush to accelerate. Instead, he tested the braking force and the tires’ grip.
“Kiryu-kun.”
Imagawa Ori suddenly spoke from behind him.
“What is it?”
“Do you have a license?”
“Nope.”
Kiryu Kazusuke twisted the throttle with his right hand. The rear wheel churned up a cloud of snow mist, then abruptly found purchase on the ground.
The tremendous inertia made Imagawa Ori’s body jerk backward.
“Ah!”
She let out a short cry of alarm and instinctively clung tightly to Kiryu Kazusuke’s waist, her entire body pressing against his back.
It seemed the safe harbor had a leak.
The motorcycle shot into the boundless night like an arrow loosed from the string.