When Irish opened his eyes again, the intense spinning sensation and overly bright light left him dazed for quite a while. It took him some time before he finally remembered where he was.
The wound in his chest, pierced through by a sniper bullet, still throbbed faintly. He could clearly feel the sharp sting of fabric rubbing against it, but Irish, with his extensive experience of being injured, knew that the inside had healed enough not to hinder his movements.
He had seen similar miracle drugs in the organization before, but most were for emergency treatment—gels that quickly sealed wounds to prevent infection and keep them from impairing movement, for instance. Medicine with effects like this was something he had never seen before.
"So this is what gives you confidence, Kumeru." Irish did not look up at the person seated across from him, muttering as if to himself, "You really do have some tricks up your sleeve."
He had suffered a wound that went through his lungs and lost a great deal of blood, yet after closing his eyes and receiving treatment from Sherry for a while, his internal injuries had completely healed.
Even the surface wound seemed to remain only as proof that he had indeed been seriously injured, entirely within his pain tolerance.
"So what I saw before I passed out wasn't a hallucination. That was Scotch, wasn't it?" Irish abruptly pressed the question.
He had lost consciousness too suddenly earlier, and after waking up, Sherry's appearance had stirred his emotions. He had not had time to ask, but he did not think it had been a hallucination.
He was not close with Scotch and had only met him a few times. No matter how absurd it was, even if it had been a dying hallucination, Scotch should