Miyu, holding a bowl of porridge, blinked. "Is Big Brother starving? There's porridge here. I'll feed you."
"Thank you." Shirou was rather moved. He even opened his mouth, ready to drink the porridge and enjoy a warm, harmonious morning.
But could she untie the ropes around his hands and feet first? He needed to use the bathroom—right now!
The porridge from the spoon had already slid down Shirou's throat into his stomach. It was a little hot, and the lingering agony of the Mapo Tofu in his stomach mixed with the warmth of the porridge—
Shirou coughed violently. He had already vomited up the porridge, mixed with some black stuff. Even after a whole night, it still carried a foul stench. The odor rushed into his nose, making him cough even harder, as if he were about to cough out his stomach.
"Big Brother!"
Miyu patted Shirou's back and looked at him worriedly, afraid that he would not be able to hold on.
Shirou shook his head, panting in exhaustion. "Untie the ropes. Let me use the bathroom..."
Miyu untied the ropes, and Shirou clutched his stomach as he struggled forward.
At last, Shirou crawled into the bathroom. Miyu was not very strong to begin with; having her support him might have made it even harder.
Sitting on the toilet, it was like a surging river flowing east, countless streams pouring into the sea—the fierce eruption of a fountain after the final chisel strike. At last, the world was quiet.
Shirou felt like he was already a salted fish. Maybe a dead fish would have been more fitting. A salted fish had merely been mercilessly washed ashore by the sea, unable to flop about on the beach anymore, before eventually drying into that state. But a dead fish was different.