Chapter 27: Yusuke's Despair
Everything was too quiet.
Yusuke hated it.
His fingers gripped Keiko's limp hand, knuckles white, his entire body trembling.
Her skin was cold.
Too cold.
Her breathing was too weak.
And no matter how many times he whispered her name, she didn't respond.
His chest felt like it was being ripped apart.
She had always been his strength.
The one who kept him grounded.
The one who never let him fall too far.
And now—
She was dying.
And he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
"Keiko.. You're not allowed to leave me, dammit!"
Yusuke squeezed his eyes shut.
He wasn't used to this kind of pain.
He was used to fighting, to taking hits and hitting back harder.
But this?
Watching her slip away?
This was worse than any battle he'd ever fought.
His throat tightened.
His body shook.
I can't lose her. I can't.
Shigure had already explained it.
Keiko's injuries were too severe.
Her blood loss.
The damage to her body.
If something wasn't done soon—
No. NO.
Yusuke's hands clenched into fists.
He had already made his decision.
He would sacrifice his own years, his own life force, to save her.
Even if it meant he wouldn't live long enough to see their child grow up.
Even if it meant he was shortening his own future.
Because if she died—
There was no future.
There was nothing.
He could already feel it.
The second he saw her on that floor—*chained, beaten, bleeding—*something inside him had shattered.
And when he found out she had been carrying their child the whole time?
It destroyed him.
How many times had she curled up in that cold, dark cell, protecting their baby with shaking hands?
How many times had she clenched her teeth through the pain, too afraid that if she cried out, Mikuri would find out?
How many times had she bled, suffering alone, terrified for their child?
And he wasn't there.
His fault.
All his fault.
His breath came out uneven. His head bowed, his fingers shaking violently.
"Keiko…"
His voice broke.
She didn't move.
Didn't even flinch.
He was losing her.
A painful roar built in his chest, but he swallowed it down, biting his lip so hard he tasted blood.
He wouldn't break.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
Then—
A sound.
A weak, feather-soft whisper.
"...Yusuke…"
His heart slammed against his ribs.
His head snapped up so fast his vision blurred.
"Keiko?!"
Her eyes fluttered.
She barely opened them, her lashes trembling, her breath so, so faint.
She was too weak.
But she was there.
Alive.
Yusuke cupped her face, his hands shaking.
"I'm here, babe. I'm right here," he whispered, his voice unsteady.
Keiko's lips parted, but no sound came out at first.
Then—
A whisper.
"…I'm sorry."
Yusuke froze.
His stomach dropped.
"What?" His voice was barely above a breath.
Keiko's lashes trembled.
"I… I kept it from you…" she whispered.
Her hand shakily moved toward her stomach.
Yusuke couldn't breathe.
His fingers curled around hers, pressing her palm gently against her abdomen.
Even though she was weak—even though she could barely move—she was still protecting it.
Protecting them.
Yusuke swallowed hard.
"Keiko…"
Tears slipped down her face, but her smile was so faint, so exhausted.
"I didn't want you… to worry…"
Yusuke's eyes burned.
His jaw clenched, his entire body stiffening.
"You idiot," he whispered, his voice shaking. "You think I wouldn't want to know?"
Keiko's eyes softened.
"You had… enough on your shoulders."
Yusuke exhaled sharply.
She had been trying to protect him.
Even when she was the one suffering.
Even when she was being broken apart.
Even when she had every right to ask for help.
She carried it alone.
And that made it hurt so much worse.
Yusuke leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers.
His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheek.
"You're never alone," he whispered, his voice cracking.
"I don't care if the world's falling apart. I don't care what I have to go through. If it's you… if it's us…"
His breath shuddered.
"I'll always be here."
Keiko's lips trembled.
A faint, barely-there nod.
"…Yusuke…"
Her voice was so weak.
So fragile.
He tightened his grip on her hand.
"I got you," he whispered. "I'll always have you."
But even as he said the words—
Even as he held her close, swearing he'd never let her go—
His chest still ached.
Because he knew.
This wasn't over.
She was still hanging by a thread.
And if this didn't work—
If his life force wasn't enough—
He would have to watch her slip away.
And he wasn't sure if he'd survive that.