When Manabe first received the battered burnt body that was Masashi Randoh, he had adjusted his glasses and said, "How in the worlds are you going to expect me to reconstruct such a horrible looking thing into a proper face?" The person, nameless, faceless and ultimately unimportant and somehow managing to turn his damned life upside down by bringing in this charred creature had shot back immediately, "That's your problem, isn't it, Manabe-san?"
He had sighed and muttered and fussed and went out for sake to get high and drunk before returning to the hospital and picking up one of the things they had found in possession of the charred body which was not burnt. For future reference... He had stared at the dirty ash-smudged photo blearily and had used one finger to wipe away the ash. After that, he had abruptly gotten to work.
Whatever Randoh might say, Manabe had always known that the thing lying before him, naked and charred and burnt and disgusting, was a man. With a penis and testicles and manly chest hair, he was sure. The muscles were impressive too, he must admit, firm and toned and healthy to inquiring fingers, you don't get to see many like this now-a-days. Most of the time, poor Manabe was treated to an endless line of flabby fatty bodies wobbling and jiggling before him for inspection and perfecting. So this, no matter how charred the body is, still made for an interesting study.
Manabe had really wanted to see what was under all that charred flesh and skin. That was the only reason he had gotten to work on stupid Masashi Randoh, with his stupid macho posturing and stupid actions and stupid love for a stupid teenage girl who without a doubt would reciprocate his stupid feelings and then would procreate with him and make a stupid family together. Then everybody would have a good time. Ha. Ha. Ha. He was that fat old man, what was his name? Santa Claus, he had given Musashi Randoh an early Christmas present.
That silly teenage boy was not even supposed to live in the first place. He was supposed to be dead. And nobody had come forward to pay those bills, those bills for the hard night's work and tired research on his body. Manabe had done his homework. He had dropped down to the police station, asked for records and all that, slipped into the funeral that Randoh's grieving family had held and had slouched hot and bothered and angry under a dark blue sweater and tan coat. The puppet masters had sent some weird people to him after that.
Manabe did not try to contact Randoh's parents again.
He hates them.
Oh well. It was a fair deal both ways, wasn't it? He did get a human lab rat and show off his genius while the puppet masters took his research for other undoubtedly illegal and dangerous purposes. For all Manabe knew, his research and genius was being squandered around the whole bloody globe, killing thousands of people and allowing crime lords to flee their respective punishments. Oh, he was always one to get his skinny clever fingers into stuff that was sticky and chewy and has gobbets of fat and flesh and blood mixed into it, wasn't it?
Manabe bets Randoh doesn't even know that people were watching him, hiding behind shadows and blocky cement buildings, listening him talk his inane stuff to that girl and other classmates. Manabe knows that Randoh doesn't know.
Randoh has terrible luck, Manabe decides.
It was his terrible luck that got him into that fireball hullabaloo crash, it was his terrible luck that he was alive; it was his terrible luck that enabled him to be delivered to Manabe's pristine doorsteps. Manabe doesn't have a bleeding heart. He doesn't do things for charity. He likes the smell of money, the smooth metallic surfaces or gentle touch the coins and notes bring. Manabe Jun does not do things out of the goodness of his heart.
Manabe decides he hates Randoh's stupid crises.
That time of the health inspection, that time when the flu hit him way too hard and somehow, with Randoh being the sufferer, it ballooned into a massive crisis that almost got government people checking his body over and... Basically, it blew out of proportion. And the crisis he hates most? The crash that first introduced Masashi Randoh into his little closed life.
Manabe thinks that if Randoh ever found out why Manabe even did the surgery to him in the first place, Randoh would hate him forever.
He doubts that Randoh would beat him up like what he always does, day in day out, jokes and laughter and with no sincerity behind those punches. He thinks that Randoh would ignore him. Shut him out, close him, forget about him and pretend that Manabe Jun does not exist. He knows that Randoh would do that, and that Randoh would cry choked harsh tears behind closed toilet doors and barricaded rooms. Because Randoh would think that crying was unmanly, and he would think that he hates Manabe so why would he cry for him?
Manabe knows that he deserves it.
He thinks that he would kill himself if Randoh ever did that to him.
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