The crimson stain on the concrete had painted a grim testament to the battle, a final, brutal canvas of his existence. The years, each one a nail hammered into the coffin of his soul, had finally taken their toll. Yet, even in the face of oblivion, a strange sense of peace bloomed within him. He had fought, he had striven, he had poured every ounce of his being into protecting those he held dear. And now, with his purpose served, he allowed himself to surrender, not to defeat, but to the quiet embrace of death. He was no longer a weapon, merely Satoru, a man finally granted respite.

The blood loss had been a roaring torrent, dragging him down into the abyss. Then, just as he teetered on the precipice of nothingness, the roar subsided into a gentle hum. He could feel a breeze, soft and tender, touching his skin. The hard, unforgiving cement had transformed into a bed of soft earth, tender grass caressing his limbs. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, a groan escaping his lips as he pushed himself up. His body felt...whole. The searing pain, the jagged edges of his wounds – gone.

He lifted his head, his heart seizing in his chest. There, bathed in the gentle glow of an unseen sun, stood Suguru. There was no malice, no cold calculation, only a profound sorrow, tinged with an almost unbearable tenderness on his face. It was a gaze Satoru had both yearned for and feared for so long.

He clutched desperately at the grass, his fingers digging into the earth as his voice, raw with disbelief, rasped out. "Suguru...is that...is that you?" He wasn't sure if this was another hallucination, a cruel trick of his dying mind. He had spent so long trying to both bury the memories of his best friend and simultaneously hold onto them, afraid that letting go meant letting go of a part of himself. His heart, so recently stilled by death, now beat with a frantic urgency, a desperate longing for confirmation. "Is this...real?" He had to know if he was finally free from the weight of his sins, to finally see his friend in peace.