AN: This is probably the hardest chapter to write because this is a transition chapter and overall, it seemed impossible. It's still fun because I came up with a lame-assed attempt to explain the reason why Kurumi and Kuniharu never wondered if their children, a genius, and a psychic, were really theirs.
I also tried to think about all the places that Kusuo had not been to. He had been to space several times. He likes to be at home almost all the time. We do see him at graveyards. We do not see him at hospitals though.
Another note, if I recall the hospital procedures over there correctly, all people who suffered a stroke are taken to the intensive care unit for 12 hours. So being in an intensive care unit is not an indication of the severity of the issue, but it's more like a procedural checkbox for the medical condition.
Chapter 4 - Hospital
Hospitals were miserable places for Kusuo mainly due to his telepathy. The thoughts that flittered through a hospital were often intense, and extreme, and loud.
First, there was the hospital staff. Rural hospitals were often understaffed, underpaid, and underequipped compared to city hospitals. That led to grumbling, discontent, stress, apathy, and sometimes, outright mistreatment of patients.
The patient and family lied so often to themselves, to the doctors, all for the sake of appearing far nobler than they were. They never say exactly what they did to get themselves in their current predicament. Then the family told the doctors that they want absolutely the best treatment, to keep someone alive, when they secretly just want their lingering relative who had been a lump on a bed for the last six months to just die already.
Then there were those patients with insanity, dementia, or Alzheimer's. It was like listening to a broken record of emotional gibberish, without warning of violence or laughter. The people around them were just a fickle in their thoughts and often frightened. In this case, they are even less than ghosts in flesh.
The worst were the ones who experience genuine heartbreak and agony. No, Kusuo did not enjoy hearing the thoughts and wails of a wretched mother who just lost her young son due to an accident.
But, Kusuo was still here, in a hospital. Combine the variety of thoughts at a hospital with a day-long headache and indecipherable images, Kusuo felt a heated, hazy fog in his head, like his brain had turned into jelly. That irritating high pitched noise was back. The precognitive images seemed foggy too, like seeing through gossamer silk where everything had a white film. He could make out something round, something squarish, but no idea what they were.
And that creeping anxiety was still there, seemingly taunting him to solve the mystery of the problem that he woke up with.
"You okay, Kusuo?" asked his dad, Kuniharu, looking concerned. "You look...green."
The father and son pair were confined to the lobby visitor waiting area due to visitor limits in the intensive care unit. Mom and grandma were in grandpa's hospital room, making sure that everything was taken care of. The father and son did not have to be there since it was obvious that mom and grandma were the unquestioned decision-makers in grandpa's health. Still, both felt obligated to be present, to sit around and be bored since this was a close family member. Moral support was important.
Great. I'll aim for blue next time, thought Kusuo of his father's remark. What's with people comment on his color? They were in a hospital and everyone was on edge. For far too many times that day, Kusuo repeated, "I'm fine." He looked at his father speculatively. "You're nervous."
Kuniharu expected his son to observe this. "My father died in a rural hospital like this," said Kuniharu. "The doctors told us that he's going to be fine to then he died after we all went home. I know that Kumagoro is going to be just fine. The doctor said it. Your mom believes it. You've said it so it must be true. But I cannot help but be nervous."
The explanation oddly surprised Kusuo. As a psychic, there was almost nothing about his parents that he did not know.
His parents were elemental people, though, focused on living the day-to-day, being happily married, raising their boy together. His parents relived their happy times together, the initial meeting, the dates, the wedding, but rarely anything before that. It was almost if there was a gaping hole before their life together and no thoughts as to the future.
Come to think of it, Kusuo also never met his paternal grandparents. All he knew was that dad, like mom, was an only child and that paternal grandma was still alive. No, in all the time they had visited family, it was with the maternal grandparents. This seemed strange in a patrilineal society like theirs.
"How come we never visited grandmother and grandfather?" asked Kusuo of the obvious question at hand.
Kuniharu shrugged. "My dad, your paternal grandfather, died before I got college and I'm estranged from them because I married your mother and at a relatively young age," said Kuniharu. "Your grandmother, Risa, didn't approve."
That reasoning seemed strange in itself. Kurumi was a cheerful, devoted mother and wife, involved member of the neighborhood association, and highly respected by other moms. She was the primary reason that her sons were generally good, a feat in itself.
Hearing Kuniharu's other internal thoughts, Kusuo realized that his father was not lying. His father's memory of Risa was rift with images of hellfire and ice hail. She must had been a scary woman or bipolar. Could this be the preception due to his father's usual gutless nature?
Grandpa Kumagoro inspired similar imagery in Kuniharu. But to Kusuo, Kumagoro had always been a softie who loved his daughter and doted on his grandsons. Kumagoro disliked Kuniharu, mainly because Kumagoro considered Kuniharu as the man who stole away his precious daughter.
"You want to see a picture of them?" asked Kuniharu, his thoughts still on the woman named Risa.
Kusuo nodded ever so faintly, actually curious now. His telepathy let him know details thought words, not so much the detailed thought images.
Kuniharu fished out his smartphone from a pant pocket. He scrolled through several work-related manga works before pausing at the personal photos. "I recently visited your grandmother. She lives in the city near the office and I thought to take some pictures of old photos, just in case she disowns me again. Here is their wedding photo." Kuniharu handed over the phone.
It was an old photo, the one where the colors saturations seemed off. But it was a formal photo of a couple in their traditional Shinto wedding costumes along with members of their extended family.
The couple seemed normal enough. They were of average lanky built, with brown-black hair. They looked like the type of people that most people would look at and not give a second thought. Since it was a wedding, the groom wore the traditional male costume of a black jacket and muted blue hakama. The bride was in a traditional white wedding kimono, with a decorated bridal hat. They seemed happy and somber at the same time.
Most of the wedding party looked their part, with the women wearing tasteful kimonos and the men electing for a more western look to accentuate and celebrate the happy new couple. There were probably two dozen or so people in the wedding party. In the faces and people's images, Kusuo saw the remnants of his own facial features and body build. Those images reassured him.
Ever since he was born, Kusuo had this unspoken question of whether he was Kurumi and Kuniharu's child, or anyone's really. Kusuo knew that his eyes and hair were drastically different from his parents and sibling, even if his boneset was similar to them. If Kuusuke was not related, that was fine; no need to be related to that jerk. That question was eventually pushed to the back of his mind. His telepathy told him that everyone, his parents, his maternal grandparents, even his evil older brother, recognized him as their kin. But, as Kusuo learned early on, people can lie to themselves just as easily. Since Kusuo's telepathy picked up on surface thoughts, he had no way of knowing if there was a deeper reason why people came to their current beliefs. Seeing the photo helped pushed that infernal question of belonging even further away.
Kusuo kept on studying the photo on the small smartphone screen, looking away every once in a while so he did not end up looking at the phone circuitry. In his study, someone caught his eye. There was this particular little child, probably between five and seven-years-old, standing to the far side of the bride with a number of women relatives. The girl wore a pale green child's kimono with a thick red obi belt. Her tiny hands clutched at the tall woman beside her, seemingly trying to hide in between the colorful kimono fabrics. Despite the faded quality of the picture of a photograph taken at least fifty years ago, there was no mistaking the color of that hair.
Magenta pink. There was someone in his extended family, with that same ugly, unusual, overly loud, eye-catching, impossible, magenta pink hair.
Kusuo felt his world view change fundamentally. How come he just learned of this now?
Then, doubts entered Kusuo's mind. What if it was hair dye? A wig? A trick of the picture's color saturation? His eyes playing tricks on him because of his headache. Or what if it's another convoluted parallel universe, time travel thing where it was himself in the picture?
God, if he did exist, hated him. The universe disappointed him so often that he approached anything that went swimmingly his way with suspicion.
"Who is this?" Kusuo enlarged the area of the photo and showed the image to dad. Due to the original picture size and the small features, the girl's face was blurry.
"I don't remember her name," said Kuniharu. "I was told that she was the youngest sister of your grandmother. So that would make her your grand aunt."
Seriously? Do I have to spell out the question for you? thought Kusuo. Were his parents really that blase about how different their son looked from everyone else? And why did they never mentioned this person in the family that would've assured him all those times that he sat alone on the playgrounds? "Her hair. Is it natural?"
"Oh. That! Yes. yes. Of course! You know people don't allow hair dying of a child so young. Yes, in my family, children of your coloring pop up every once in a while. So we didn't find you all that odd when you came out looking like you did. More than anything, we thought you were adorable...well, not as adorable as Mama, but adorable nonetheless"
The explanation made Kusuo felt a tiny bit glad. He always had a problem in trying to feel that he belonged. His parents were so unlike him, mentally and physically. He could barely relate to people and their emotional experiences. As a child, he was desperate enough to use mind control on the world, to change people's genetic makeup on a fundamental level, just to change the hair color so he could even slightly feel that he belonged, that he did not stand out.
But right now, in one of the places he hated being in, he received unexpected hard evidence that he belonged to the Saikis, that his place in the family was unquestioned; that he was truly of their flesh and blood. That lingering doubt was completely banished.
Kusuo felt an unexpected tug at the corner of his lips, one that was not part of his successful attempt to get people to leave him alone.
Then, god decided to be up to his usual tricks and sent Kusuo yet another stabbing pain in his head. This time, he doubled over in his chair, and clutching his head, putting enough pressure that would've pulverized concrete. This time, his heart was raced at the unfamiliar stress that was placed on his body. Unrelated images, with that white film, appeared in his mind's eyes again. The combination of his headache and precognitive images scrambled all the inner thoughts of people that were trickling into his brain through telepathy, causing people's voice to sound like garbled noises through a poorly tuned radio.
This had to be a continuation of his psychic ability trying to warn him of something. But what? Did something bad happen to grandpa? That cannot be because repeated clairvoyance indicated that grandpa was getting the ideal treatment. Maybe something happened to the extended family that he did not even knew existed? No, he was not familiar with them so he had no point of comparison. What about his friends?
"Kusuo?" Kuniharu looked at his son curiously, unfamiliar with the possibility of physical ailments afflicting his younger son. At least, not in recent time. "Are you sure you're alright."
Before Kusuo could respond, Kurumi and her mother, Kumi, came out of the double door that led to the treatment wing of the hospital. They look relieved, but still rightfully concerned. It looked like grandpa would have to stay overnight so the doctors can make sure that no adverse neurological had occurred and a second night for observation.
"Mama!" greeted Kuniharu, his concern immediately turned toward news of the grandfather. "Everything went well then?"
Kumi smiled faintly. There were still traces, and lines of worry on her face, but she was relieved, compared to how confused and scared she was during lunchtime when Kumagoro doubled over. "Yes. The doctors said everything is alright. He's already up and complaining about the food and how the nurses being so awful to him. What do you think, Kurumi?" Inwardly, though, grandma had that one lingeringly tought. At least he's *garbled* now and isn't *garbled* all day.
Kurumi was behind Kumi, busy looking at her phone and frowning. Why isn't...*garbled*...picking up? Realizing that Kumi was looking at her, Kurumi put her phone away in the purse. I'll just try *garbled* later.
"Yes. He's back to his usual irritable self," Kurumi said with an encouraging smile, mirroring her mother. Her father was fine and she saw it with her own eyes. Her father was just getting old and these things are to be expected. "He's kept on telling us to go home, go to bed."
Kusuo still had enough presence of a mind to catch the euphemism. Meaning that he practically yelled and commanded you to leave, while begging you to stay.
In the next few moments, the adults in the family chatted with each other while Kusuo recovered mostly from his most recent bout of the sudden head stabbing pain. The pain had depressed down to bearable level again, but that creeping anxiety was no longer at the edge of his awareness. He felt the strangest urge to panic.
Perhaps this was a side effect from such an awful day. He did have an all-day mid-term exam, grandpa's health scare, a stressful encounter with Teruhashi, having to teleport people to the hospital, and having dad drop that bombshell of a fact about his paternal family. He had barely eaten anything all day and all the events of the day made it impossible to even want food. He really needed some time alone and some sleep. He seriously considered skipping school tomorrow.
"Ku-chan," called Kurumi. "Thanks for helping out. Can you do us one more favor? Can you teleport all of us home?"
The day might finally end.
AN: I imagine Kusuo must have wondered why he was so different and if something like that happened so to explain his existance. He must've, at some point, wondered if he even belonged. So I wanted to capture that side. Hopefully, I did the part justice.
