I limped toward her unsteadily, one hand outstretched in supplication, the other pressed to my "injured" ribs—steps halting, body swaying as if on the verge of collapse.
She raised the knife again, point quivering at my chest, her whole body shaking with conflicted fury. "Don’t co closer! Didn’t I tell you to get lost? Never contact us again! I will kill you—don’t test !"
I stopped right in front of her—re inches away, close enough that she could feel my labored breaths ghosting over her skin, sll the coppery blood. The knife hovered perilously close to my heart, her hand unsteady.
"Sister Yuko..." I whispered, my voice breaking with feigned despair, eyes locking onto hers—pleading, vulnerable. "Do you really think that? You really don’t trust at all...? After everything?"
Her hand shook harder, tears pouring down her cheeks in silent rivers. The knife didn’t move forward—but neither did she pull away.
The alley fell into a heavy silence, broken only by our ragged breathing... and the quiet, insistent drip of my blood on the cold concrete.
I held Yuko’s trembling hand—the one still clenched white-knuckled around the knife handle—firmly but without force, my fingers curling over hers to keep the blade pinned exactly where it rested against my chest. She thrashed once, twice, trying to wrench free, her wrist twisting violently under my grip.
"Let go of my hand, you bastard!" she snarled through gritted teeth, voice splintering at the edges. "I don’t want to hear another word of your filthy lies—just let go!"
I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my gaze to hers—slowly, deliberately—and let every trace of defensiveness fall away. My eyes held only quiet, aching tenderness, the kind that hurts more than anger ever could. No defiance. No smirk. Just raw, unguarded affection staring back at her.
"I’m so sorry for hurting you, Sister Yuko..." I whispered, voice soft, almost reverent. "But there really is nothing between Marina and . Nothing like that. Never was. I swear it on everything."
Her lips peeled back in furious disbelief. "Shut up! Shut up—I don’t want your nonsense—let go—!"
I exhaled, long and heavy, letting my shoulders drop as though the weight of the world had finally crushed .
"Then..." I said quietly, eyes never leaving hers, "...it’s better this way. If dying at Sister Yuko’s hand is what it takes... if it helps you let go of even a fraction of the pain I caused you... Then I’ll take it. All of it."
Her breath caught like a hook in her throat. "W-what are you—Jack—stop—!"
Before the words could finish leaving her mouth, I leaned in—slow enough that she registered every centiter, fast enough that she couldn’t pull away in ti.
The knife sank ho.
From her vantage, it was perfect horror: the blade disappearing inch by inch until only the handle remained, pressed flush against my blood-soaked shirt.
Dark red blood instantly, spreading in a wet, obscene flower across my chest, soaking through fabric in seconds and dripping in thick rivulets down my ribs.
I coughed—once, wet and ragged—crimson spraying across my lips and chin. My knees gave way with perfect timing; I crumpled forward, collapsing straight into her arms.
"I... I’m sorry... Sist..." I rasped, the words fading into a broken gurgle as my head lolled against her shoulder, body going limp.
Yuko’s world stopped.
For one endless heartbeat, she simply stared—at the knife handle protruding from my chest, at the blood pouring out in pulses matching my heartbeat, at the way my eyes fluttered half-closed like I was already slipping away.
Then the scream tore out of her—high, animal, shredded.
"JACK—NO—NO—NO—GOD NO—!"
She caught before I hit the ground, dropping to her knees in the filthy alley, cradling my upper body against her chest like I was made of glass. Her arms locked around so tightly I could feel her shaking through every inch of contact.
"Jack—Jack—look at —please—don’t—don’t do this—!" Her voice cracked into hysterical sobs, tears flooding down her face in hot, unstoppable streams. "I didn’t—I didn’t an—Jack—wake up—please—!"
She rocked back and forth, one hand flying to the knife handle—hovering, terrified to touch it, terrified to pull it out, terrified of everything.
Blood seeped between her fingers as she finally pressed both palms over the wound, trying desperately to hold the life inside .
"No—no—no—this can’t—Jack—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—I was angry—I was so fucking angry—but I didn’t want this—I never wanted this—!" Her words tumbled out in choking gasps between sobs.
"Please—don’t leave —don’t leave Haruna—don’t leave us—I forgive you—I forgive you for everything—just don’t die—please—Jack—!"
She buried her face in my hair, body convulsing with wrenching cries, tears, and snot mixing with the blood saring her cheeks. Her mind was a screaming loop I could almost hear without telepathy:
[What have I done—what have I done—he’s dying—he’s dying because of —I killed him—I killed Jack—I killed the man my sister loves—I’m a monster—oh god oh god oh god—]
"Jack... Jack... please... I can’t—I can’t live with this—I can’t—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—!" She clutched harder, as if sheer force of will could keep my heart beating. "I hate you—I hated you—but I—I—don’t go—don’t leave alone with this—please—!"
Her hands shook so violently that she could barely keep pressure on the wound. Blood kept coming—warm, sticky, everywhere—coating her fingers, her shirt, her thighs where I lay against her.
She looked down at the spreading crimson and let out a keening wail that echoed off the alley walls.
"I didn’t want to hurt him like this... I just... I was scared... I was so scared he’d hurt Haruna... but this—this is worse—this is so much worse—Jack—please—breathe—please—just breathe—!"
With frantic, trembling fingers, she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, nearly dropping it twice before managing to dial ergency services.
"Ambulance—please—hurry—he’s—he’s stabbed—knife in his chest—he’s bleeding out—he’s dying—please—please co now—!" Her voice broke into fresh sobs as she rattled off the alley address.
"Don’t hang up—don’t—tell them to hurry—he’s—he’s not moving—Jack—Jack stay with —!"
She never let go of . Not for a second. She kept one blood-slick hand pressed over the knife, the other cradling my head, rocking , whispering broken apologies and pleas into my ear the entire ti the sirens grew closer.
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