… ebullioscopic constant is the elevation of the boiling point of a solvent when 1 mol of a non-volatile solute is added to 1000g of the solvent… can also be expressed as °C mol-1 100g-1… elevation of boiling point when 1 mol of the solute is added of the solvent…
2.48 a.m. already.
Ishida Uryū glanced at the digital alarm clock on his study table – its luminous figures glowed in his semi-dark room. Mid-year exam was approaching and despite faring excellently in all previous monthly tests, he felt his effort was not enough. He needed to work more diligently. He had to strive harder. He had to be better. Hence, he started this burning-the-midnight-oil-schedule since the past fortnight. He thought some reading up on Chemistry was bound to prove beneficial… although maybe not any days now. But perhaps a pre-U text book would be too in-depth for a high school scholar like him.
Surprisingly, none of the facts appeared illogical before him. Everything was precise and solid. He had gotten the hang of those concepts and even deemed the calculation somewhat menial.
A growl of hunger emanated from his middle. He looked swiftly at the time-keeper again.
3.15 a.m.
Ah, so late already? There was an important class tomorrow; his teacher was going to elaborate more on Hooke's Law and he certainly did not want to miss that. A clear head was what he needed for that lesson. And to clear his overly-condensed brain, he was rather keen in lying on the ever so inviting bed, face down on the feather-stuffed pillow…
The stomach could wait until breakfast…
Before long, Ishida Uryū was dead to the world.
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Ring!
The morning lesson was about to commence. Students of assorted antics filed into the previously vacant classroom in separate groups of three and four. Ishida was already there, seated on his chair with the relevant books on his table. Soon, the area echoed with scrapings of furniture on the cement floor and guffaws of laughter from almost every nook of the space. These disturbances rammed mercilessly into Uryū's ear canals. Temples throbbing dully, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the magazine he was reading. If only they would stop behaving so oafishly…
"Ishida!"
He raised his head a fraction.
Kurosaki Ichigo.
The boy came over to his table and placed his navy bag clumsily on the desk, successfully knocking down a copy of "Physics Volume 1".
"Oh, sorry."
Ichigo dived down to retrieve it.
Another pounding hammered the sides of his skull.
Ishida pressed his palm to his forehead, willing the headaches to go away. It was getting more and more irksome now that the discomfort was getting too profound for him to ignore. A flicker of Ichigo's form straightening up forced Ishida to lower his hand and put on that typical severe look.
"Here," the orange haired classmate returned the book to its stack, "Why are you looking so cross?"
He eyed the bespectacled boy. Unaccustomed to this sort of attention, Uryū prodded his glasses up before returning an equally sharp stare.
"I assume that you have something urgent to tell me… which I think you won't be doing so."
"Huh?"
Ichigo turned to the blackboard – Uryū's pupils had averted from his face to roughly an inch next to his ear. Apparently the teacher was already marching into the class and judging by her greatly scrunched visage, she must be in a gray mood. Ichigo glanced between his teacher and Uryū. It would not be wise to test her patience at the moment… guess the talk will have to wait. Hastily, he groped for his bag and once again, several books toppled off from Uryū's desk.
"Kurosaki!" Uryū hissed through gritted teeth.
Ichigo halted. Making sure that the teacher was not observing her students, he turned and made his way for the fallen books.
Then the teacher slammed a number of folders onto her table. It shook fleetingly under the brutal impact the lady had exerted.
Ichigo flinched.
"Fine," he heard a whisper, "I'll pick it up. Go!"
"Thanks man."
He gave the sitting boy a thumb up. When their grumpy teacher turned her heels to face the blackboard, Ichigo sped between rows of tables, half-crouching all the way to remain shielded from view as he searched for his respective place. Ishida stooped lower for his possessions.
Blood rushed to his brain. Momentarily, it felt as if all sound was eliminated from his surrounding. Deaf. Then just as abruptly as the sensation sank, his ear drums caught incoherent words from his surrounding.
"All right! Now which idiot is absent today?"
Ishida grabbed his books and returned quickly to his initial position, too quickly.
Crap.
He slanted his head downwards – his hand supporting its weight.
Darkness shrouded his vision, pushing light away from his eyes. He strained the impaired organs. The patches of blackness twirled… it swerved in and out… but gradually, they diminished from his sight.
He blinked.
"And if the spring is pulled beyond its limit, which is the…"
They did not register. Ishida read the sentences written in chalk twice but none seeped into his mind. Nevertheless, he concentrated relentlessly on his talking teacher. She must be explaining something that made sense… why could he not comprehend anything?
"It will never rebound to its original condition, that is to say its length, shape or size…"
What? Come again?
His brain rattled within its confinement and his stomach felt oddly empty. He thought he had filled it with a glass of warm milk – when he woke up, his body had mysteriously chose to resist food, which sent him pelting to the toilet bowl after three nibbles of plain bread.
"Given a graph like this, how could we find the work done by the elastic object, say a rubber band?"
Again, the bizarre impression of his meager breakfast being vacuumed away swept over his clammy body. He cast his head down and squinted at the desktop.
"Ishida."
His stomach must have contained a hole… that his food leaked out in some ways…
"Ishida!"
The boy started. Forty two eyeballs were directed to him – he had an inkling that six of them which belonged to Ichigo, Orihime and Sado were peering at him with apprehension.
"Ishida Uryū," his teacher called out again – this time, with raised eyebrows.
Void of thoughts, he got to his feet.
"Well, can you tell me how much work is done by the rubber band? In Joule, if you please."
Uryū scrutinized the scrawling in front.
Those are familiar…
He had revised this before. It would not pose much difficulty.
"The area below the graph is equal to the work done –"
He stifled a gasp. His stomach just did a somersault.
"The – the formula to calculate said area is A equals ½ Fχ…"
He was no longer aware of his explanations. Gastric acid lurched higher into his oesophagus…
"F is 12 Newton and χ is –"
Ishida forced his saliva down his throat. Something bitter threatened to pour out from his awfully dehydrated mouth. He had to run for it.
"Sensei?"
She cocked her thin brows higher that they almost disappeared behind copper fringes.
"Can I… can I be excused for a while? The lavatory –"
It would be too late by then. Ignoring the many glares and "Come back here, Ishida!" of his teacher, he rushed to the nearest gents' and readied himself in front of a sink. Still panting, he shut his eyes and rested both arms on the counter.
Cut it out!
For once, his body actually listened to him. He felt fine. The short run he took just now seemed to have relieved his dire need to empty his guts. He looked up at his reflection. No surprise there. He appeared exactly as he imagined his self to be…
Pallid and weary.
Damn…
He turned the water on and allowed it to run through his fingers. Going back to the class now would not be an option… not now… not yet… But if he did not, he would be left out from the lesson. It was an important one… he could not afford skiving class… the teacher had hinted that it might come up in the next test.
Uryū splashed icy water to his face after placing his spectacles on the counter. As he stood there, beads of water trailed down his bony chin, he surveyed his visage once more. It might not have been as how he normally looked like, but at least some colours had returned to the skin. Appearing lively somewhat, Uryū exited the toilet and headed for his classroom.
Ring!
A faraway din erupted at the end of the vacant corridor. It was recess time.
Uryū traipsed at his own pace since Physics would definitely have been over. It was only a matter of time before scores of students flooded the school compound with food crammed into their gaps.
And he was right.
Keigo had vanished into the canteen (Uryū glimpsed upon his silhouette who was yakking loudly about "canteen's new menu") while other classmates were coming his way – bento swinging in their grasps. With this many people evacuating the block, he was ensured brief relief from the triviality of adolescent's nonsense.
Deeply grateful of his luck, he entered the seemingly unoccupied class, save for a solitary figure tapping his foot impatiently by Uryū's seat.
"Oi, Ishida!"
The bespectacled boy walked nonchalantly to his desk.
"Kurosaki, what do you want now?"
"Ah, well, we all decided to go out for lunch at the rooftop. And I wonder whether you want to come with us or not."
Ishida pulled out his chair and sat on it.
"Come on, where's the fun in eating alone?"
"No thanks."
"Really…"
Resigned, Ichigo left Uryū alone with his piles of books.
Watching the taller one leaving, he sighed and relaxed his stance. The buzzing of propelling fans breached the quietness of his free classroom. Within seconds, it coursed into his mind uncomfortably, triggering the morning headache he had earlier. Wanting respite, Uryū rested his prickling temple on the cool surface of his table, cushioning it with his left arm. The sensation did not cease; in fact, it seemed to magnify into a major migraine.
He did not know when his eye lids drooped… he did not know when sleep engulfed him…
Ring!
Ishida jerked awake. Recess was over. Over? And he had not eaten anything…
Knowing full well how time-consuming and tedious the next session would be, he fumbled around in his bag for his lunch box. He might not have the leisure to finish up everything but he needed some nutrition to last the day.
Oh crap.
Numbness slithered in his forearm, snatching what control he had over his limb. Furious and worried all the same of his ailing self, he balled the shivering hand as hard as he could to stop the quivering.
And then, his stomach did another flip back.
Immediately, food did not look very enticing at all. Instead, he drank a mouthful of water in hope of easing the troublesome organ.
"Ishida-kun!"
He nearly spewed his drink in the air.
"Ah… Inoue-san," he adjusted his spectacles more securely up his nose. "What's the matter?"
She grinned very brightly and burst, "I've come up with a brand new recipe yesterday and thought of treating Kurosaki-kun, Sado-kun, Tatsuki-chan… and you!"
This must be nothing good.
"Here it is!" Orihime brandished a queer looking red bun under the stunned boy's nose. "Curry man tao! The filling is chicken curry and I added red bean to the flour to give the skin a reddish tint. Here you go!"
She pushed it forcefully into his shaky hands. Oblivious of Ishida's current state, she smiled again and leaned closer to the boy.
"Err…"
"Tell me how it tastes!" she beamed.
That had got to be the worst.
His instinct nagged him to fling the bun out of the window first chance he got when Orihime was not looking. But after that he would have to lie about her recipe. It was not a very decent thing to do, was it?
Heart thumping quickly, he popped the fortunately tiny man tao into his mouth.
He should have heeded his intuition.
The curry filling scorched his tongue and the pastry was too squelchy to be called a bun. This disastrous combination of flavours merged and when he finally forced it down, his eyes were already teary due to its preposterous spiciness.
"Well?" she asked with anticipation.
"Err…"
Either the truth… or deceit.
"Umm, it's… it's very…"
"All right! Back to your seats! History books out now!"
Their teacher had just arrived in the class. Orihime winked and promised to come ask Ishida on the way home about her bun. And if possible, she could teach him how to cook that himself.
But Uryū was not paying attention to her. His stomach was acting up again and his mouth had gone awfully dry. Coldness conquered his body and the next thing he knew, he was dashing to the toilet.
Bending low to the ceramic sink, he purged whatever there was in his guts down the drainage system. He knew it. It was not wise to accept such treats from Orihime. Her reputation was soaring high as the number one catastrophic chef. Yet he still foolishly stuck one of her abnormal creations into his mouth…
His abdomen muscles constricted again and Uryū threw up into the sink. Now devoid of food, his stomach ached with hunger. However, the second fit of vomiting nudged him to vague panic-ness. He was not very certain that the bun was damaging him. It must be something else…
Ishida loosened the necktie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt. Bothersome as it may be, he needed to release the collar in order to ease his breathing. Shifting his gaze from the sink hole, he turned on the tap to wash down his previous meal. That was when the knob clicked and the door swung open.
"Oh, you here too, Ishida?"
Not him!
The orange haired boy examined the disarray figure hunching over the sink. Necktie and shirt in a mess… this was not how the meticulous Uryū would choose to be portrayed. And something was not right. Ichigo could see the rapid rise and fall of Uryū's chest through the opening of the upper half of his shirt. Something was obviously wrong…
"You don't look like your usual self. Are you okay?" Ichigo commented, closing the door behind him. The bespectacled boy turned to face the new arrival.
"This isn't your business –"
He cupped his mouth and bend over to the sink, retching into the pool of murky water swirling down the pipes.
"Ishida!"
Jadedly, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He felt a firm grasp on his shoulder and sensed the warmness it provided spread to his own skin.
"How are you feeling?" Ichigo asked in alarm.
Ishida merely flashed a weak smile of reassurance. Surely it would be nice if someone else could tell him that it was nothing and that his metabolism was only throwing a tantrum.
Ichigo was not buying it.
"I'll get you the nurse," he said simply.
Ishida leaned on the counter and steadied himself. He did not want to see the school's nurse as long as he could help it. It was not like he had developed some sort of phobia towards medication and doctors...
"No."
Ichigo tightened his hold on the sickly teenage boy.
"What? Don't be stupid! I'm no physician all right but it's as clear as hell that you're not well! So I say I'll take you to the nurse!"
"No," Ishida repeated. "Kurosaki, let go. It hurts," the words came in a barely audible whisper. His vision wavered and he gripped the counter for support. Ichigo waited for him to regain composure. He knew how hard-headed this guy could be. And he knew that Uryū would never accept help consciously from another, especially from Ichigo. Then what else can he do, but to respect his wish?
"Come on," Ichigo muttered, his speech lined with concern, "We'll go back to class."
Uryū had no objection to this. So carefully, he stood independently for a couple of seconds, bracing himself for any sudden urge to go to the sink again before leaving. Throughout the silent walk, Ichigo hovered closely behind him as if on stand-by to catch Uryū should he collapse to the floor. The latter was annoyed to some extent but deep down, he was thankful for Ichigo's good will. On approaching the classroom's entrance, Uryū halted.
"Kurosaki, you enter first."
Ichigo was taken aback.
"Why?"
"I need to fix my uniform."
"Oh. All right."
Upon entering the class, he hurled a last glance at Uryū over his shoulder. Catching Ichigo's deliberate delay by the door, he purposely stared at his feet as though he was suddenly very interested in his white canvas shoes. When he was sure that Ichigo was no where near, he leaned heavily against the wall. Truth be told, the constant pain in his middle had yet to subside and his knees were almost trembling under his weight. Inhaling deeply, he removed the necktie from his collar, buttoned his shirt and smoothen any creases in disorder.
"Where is Ishida?"
The teacher was calling for him. Abandoning all ideas of going back to the toilet to rinse off the lingering rancid taste on his tongue, he admitted himself in and apologized for his tardiness.
If only school ended now…
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He thought someone up there would sympathize with his plague and let him have an undisturbed, comfortable journey. How terribly wrong he was. The sun blazed callously above Karakura, scorching the residents' very neck. And he had to tread slowly back home along the shade-less street…
His stomach was no longer doing ridiculous somersaults and flip-backs; it was twisting and grinding that when it hit its peak, Uryū was forced to stop in his tracks. Five minutes into his agonizing walk, piercing pain infiltrated his middle region.
Damn.
Uryū lowered his bag onto the tarred road and clung to the wooden fence. Another stab to his stomach and a moan escaped his patched lips. Uryū clutched his abdomen, his torso inclining forward somewhat.
His reiatsu.
As quick as his fatigued body would allow, he slung his bag over his shoulder and resumed his pace albeit in a more restrained manner, fighting hard to keep a straight face to masquerade his suffering.
"Ishida!"
He heard hurried footsteps. Then the caller ran past him and turned to face the bespectacled boy.
"Ishida-kun!"
This time, he twisted his neck to the back. Orihime and Sado were jogging towards him. He had a hunch that Orihime was not going to reiterate her recipe to him anytime soon; the typical smile that she used to carve on her façade was missing this afternoon. Somehow, he had a shrewd suspicion that Ichigo had informed them both about his state of health.
"Ishida-kun," Orihime stood by Ichigo, trying to catch her breath, "How are you feeling?"
Hell.
"Fine… I'm fine. Don't worry. I'll… I'll just rest up at home…"
He pushed past Sado and continued along the path. Three more steps and he stopped to look at his friends again.
"And don't follow me."
"Man…" he heard Ichigo whined. Yes, he was that translucent to fathom.
Ishida forced his overworked form to proceed ahead, ignoring their intent eyes on his back. He was doubtful of how long he could keep his pretence up. Already his strength was ebbing, his eyes unfocused, and his limbs losing their feeling…
He noted their slipping reiatsu, not in the sense of magnitude but of location. Judging by their pulsation, their displacement from his location must be quite impressive. That was really fast, did they actually sprint back home?
It did not matter anymore.
Uryū doubled over, his hand pressed hard into his middle. Razor sharp blade sliced and shaved the lining of his stomach. And they cut deeper and deeper… layer by layer… ongoing and never ending…
His legs finally gave in and Uryū sagged to the ground. He propped his body up with an unsteady arm, all the while struggling to maintain a sitting position. And all of a sudden, the torment heightened to a whole new degree.
His mind buzzed as the excruciating slashes in his guts ravaged his severely weakened body. Cold sweat glistened on his forehead. He clenched his jaws, biting back groans of pain. It was too much… the pressure on his physical form was overbearing… it would not be long… his knotted brows relaxed… and his consciousness oozed fast from him.
A pair of arms wrapped around his shaking body.
"Ishida? Can you hear me?"
Blurred outlines surrounded him.
"How…"
"We masked our reiatsu. I know you're acting all tough so we hide ourselves to trail you. We're taking you to the hospital."
"No… K – Kurosaki… ugh!"
A fresh surge of agony tore within him. The vigorous movement of his body being lifted up aggravated his condition – Uryū pushed Ichigo away meekly and retched on the road. Without thinking, the orange haired boy leapt out of the puddle; there was hardly anything in it as he had probably emptied his content in school.
"Oh dear…"
"Ishida!"
Ichigo stretched his arms and caught him before he hit the ground. The boy was cold to his touch and white as sheet in the face. He could hear his raspy breathing, so he was not dead. Orihime and Sado knelt beside them looking almost as pale as Ishida. She was clasping her mouth in horror.
"Kurosaki-kun, we should take him to the hospital."
"No, it's too far away."
Ichigo jarred the unmoving body.
No response.
"Chad, take his bag. We're going to my place."
Without another word, he heaved Ishida up and the group sped to Kurosaki Clinic.
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Softness… warmth… heavy…
Pain.
His eyes fluttered open. Unsurprisingly, he found three forms bending over him – one was sporting orangey bristle, one with long flowing mane and the other was tanned.
It was them again…
"Kurosaki… Inoue-san… Sado-kun," he greeted softly.
"You're awake. Dad, he's awake!"
Ishida grimaced at the ear-splitting shout.
"Oh?"
A gruff, deep voice was heard from the far end of wherever he was. Wherever he was…
"Where am I?" Ishida asked. He raised himself up and his friends backed off to provide him some space. Orihime put her palm on his forehead.
"Inoue-san…"
"I don't think you have a fever. You're not burning."
"I don't think he's here because of fever," Sado quipped.
"Oh, you're already sitting up. How is the pain? Lesser than before?"
An unknown figure showed up beside his bed. The man had stubble worth two weeks at least and a stethoscope coiled around his neck.
Ishida breathed more easily. So he was not at the hospital… or he thought he was not.
"So how does it feel?" the man enquired genially.
"Better, I guess. It's not as intense as… as the previous ones."
"Good, good."
"Where is this place?" Ishida chanced a question. The vividly orange haired boy came to a stand behind the doctor and scratched his scalp.
"Well, this is my father's clinic. He," Ichigo gestured to the smiling doctor, "is my father."
"Oh," his eyes skimmed over their contradicting hair colours. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kurosaki."
"No matter, kid. By the way, is school really that hectic lately, Ichigo?"
"Huh? Why d'you ask?"
"Uryū, is it that busy?"
"Err…"
That was unexpected. It was a very peculiar subject… and a very peculiar fashion of addressing him since this was only their first meeting.
"I guess so."
"Okay," Isshin tucked his hands into his pockets before speaking solemnly, "You cannot skip meals, you know. It's hazardous to your stomach. Now you have to take food in a consistent amount. I advise you set a fixed time for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Erratic time of eating is bad… You have to take something soft for the few days coming or you'll feel like throwing up after each swallow. I'll prescribe you antacid and something else to stop the nausea. Is that fine?"
"Oh… err… yes, Mr. Kurosaki."
Isshin gave him a sympathetic grin before disappearing into his office.
"He said you can go back after you take your medicine. Really, Ishida, is your health that inferior in comparison to those A's? You could've died if we didn't find you there –"
"No one will die of gastritis at that stage."
"Yeah, and when you need to puke again," Ichigo shoved a plastic basin onto Ishida's lap, "Use this. Save you a trip to the toilet."
The bespectacled boy peeled the sheets from his body and placed the container on the mattress. He swung his legs down.
"Whoa, you can use the basin."
"I need to use your lavatory."
"Oh."
Awkward silence settled.
"Well, go straight and turn left. The toilet is next to my dad's office."
Uryū rose to his feet. Orihime promptly rushed to him and held him firmly by the arms.
"Inoue-san, I can do this by myself."
"The toilet is pretty far –"
"I can do this alone."
"But –"
"Please."
Something well hidden in his voice tugged at her heartstring. She knew he did not intend to offend her. She knew he was not trying to act hero here. He just did not want to trouble his friends even further for his sake.
Reluctantly, she lowered her hands.
"Thanks."
Every movement he made gave a jagged jolt in his abdomen. He clutched his sides and limped gingerly to the washroom.
Always the same, Ishida…
Ichigo could only watch him trudge feebly to the end of the clinic's waiting chamber.
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"This better be important, Isshin."
"Well, I just want to ask whether your son is allergic to any specific medication."
A brief pause.
"Why do you ask?"
"Ah, it seems that he's having gastritis. It's good to know that he hasn't entered the ulcer stage yet. There's a good chance he will if he doesn't take care of himself."
"That's none of my concern," the reply came stiffly.
Isshin chuckled.
"Ryūken, the child passed out by the streets. If his friends hadn't sent him here –"
"And your point is?"
"I've stated my point earlier. Is Uryū allergic to any specific medication?"
"Why don't you ask him?"
"You're unbelievable. Your son is in pain and you expect me to bug him while he's not even very conscious–"
"You just want me to feel worried and come over to see him."
Another brief pause.
"Well…"
"That's not going to work."
"Honestly, unless you mention it, no one will dream that you have a son."
But did he want a father like him?
Kurosaki Isshin talked on the phone, trying to coax the director of Karakura Hospital, Ishida Ryūken to drop by and pay a visit to his ill son… all the while oblivious to a certain bespectacled boy who was standing inconspicuously within shadows, hanging on to every single word exchanged between the two very unlikely acquaintances.