A few days later, thanks to Miwako's tireless, meticulous treatment and his own tenacious vitality, Hizashi's condition finally stabilized, and his life was no longer in danger.
Once he could move slowly with someone supporting him, the squad cautiously relocated to another, better-hidden temporary camp beside a clear stream farther inland.
The dark clouds of war still hung low, and an oppressive atmosphere lingered everywhere.
But for this team, which had only just crawled back from the brink of hell and undergone a rebirth of both body and soul, this hard-won, relatively safe respite was precious beyond measure, like fresh spring water to a traveler in the desert.
In the early morning, milky mist still filled the forest clearing, carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the foliage, casting scattered shafts of light.
Hizashi sat against an ancient tree so thick it would take several people to encircle it, with soft moss cushioning his back. His face still bore the pallor and weakness left by his injuries.
His pure white eyes had regained their former clarity and composure.
He watched Shinji in the clearing, moving slowly and intently through exercises to help him adjust and recover in the morning light. He remained silent for a long time, as though reassessing the teammate who had fought beside him and saved his life at the most critical moment.
At last, he spoke slowly. His voice was somewhat low as he was only just recovering, but exceptionally clear. "Shinji."
Shinji stopped his gentle Taijutsu movements, steadied his breathing, and turned toward him with a questioning look.
"That day-in the Shattered Rock Zone," Hizashi said softly, as though afraid to disturb the forest's stillness, yet every word reached Shinji clearly, "-thank you."
He paused. A trace of complicated,