They made it downstairs. Hinata leaned on Souta more than she wanted to admit.
The kitchen was still open, and Souta gave a few extra coins to get a bowl of fish stew and some herbal tea the cook promised could "fix anything." Hinata only managed a few spoonfuls, her hands trembling. Souta sat across from her, watching closely.
"Feeling better?" he asked, leaning back.
"A little," she said, voice barely there. "But it's not enough. The poison is deep. I need a real antidote, or it'll keep spreading."
Souta nodded, already thinking. "Alright. Then we find someone who knows about poisons. A healer. Maybe even a shady apothecary. Someone in this town has to know something." He looked at her. "You trust me to handle it?"
Hinata looked up at him. Her pale eyes studied his face. She was weak, more than ever—but with him, it didn't feel scary. "Yes," she said quietly. "I do."
"Good." He stood up and held out his hand. "Then let's move. I'm not letting some fire-throwing lunatic take you out."
The next few days changed everything. Souta led the search for a cure. Hinata rested when she could, saving her strength. He returned each day with herbs, teas, anything he could find. Some helped a little—easing her fever, slowing her breathing—but nothing stopped the poison.
Still, she trusted him more each day. He stayed with her every time she woke up in pain. He never gave up.
One night, they sat by the river behind the inn. Hinata leaned against a tree, tired and pale. Souta tossed small stones into the water. They didn't speak much, but the silence wasn't awkward.
"You don't have to do all this," Hinata said suddenly, her voice soft. "You could just leave. Dying… wouldn't be the worst thing."
Souta stopped, looking at her with a mix of irritation and amusement. "You serious? I'm already in too deep. And you're not getting rid of me that easy." He smirked, but his eyes were serious. "We're a team. You saved me from those rogues. I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything," she said.
"Doesn't matter. I'm staying." He moved a little closer, his shoulder brushing hers. "So deal with it."
Her heart skipped—not because of the poison, but because of him. She'd spent years being used, judged, controlled. But Souta didn't treat her like that. He just saw her. And slowly, what started as trust was turning into something more—something she wasn't ready to say out loud, but couldn't ignore.
"Fine," she said, leaning into him a little. "But when this is over… you owe me tea."
He nodded and looked at her face. This was Hinata—but not the shy girl from old stories. She was 25 now, and beautiful in a calm, strong way. What could he say?
Days passed in a blur. Souta searched nonstop—questioning shopkeepers, dealing with healers, even threatening a back-alley dealer. The poison was slow, but cruel. Hinata's skin turned pale, her breathing shallow. Black lines spread from the wound on her arm. It was getting worse.
Souta didn't stop. He would drag her back from the edge, no matter what. Hinata stayed conscious through sheer willpower. Sometimes, when their eyes met, she gave him a small look of thanks. That kept him going.
Then one evening, just as the sun was setting, Souta burst into their room. He held a small vial of green liquid in his hand, dirt on his cloak and blood on his knuckles.
"Found it," he said, breathing hard. "Old woman in the market said it's an antidote. Made from shadowroot. Said it slows down hidden poisons. Cost me half my money and a favor I'll probably regret."
Hinata sat propped up in bed, weak but awake. Her eyes scanned him—messy hair, tired face, bruised hands. "You look terrible," she whispered, smiling faintly.
"Yeah? You're not winning any pageants either," he said, kneeling beside her. He pulled the cork from the vial. A sharp, earthy smell filled the room. "This might burn. Ready?"
She nodded.
He helped her drink, steadying her head. She coughed, her body shaking as the liquid went down. Souta held her steady, whispering, "You've got this."
She finished it and slumped back, gasping. He watched closely.
Minutes passed. Then, slowly, the tightness in her face eased. The black lines stopped spreading. Her breathing calmed, and some color returned to her cheeks.
Souta finally exhaled. "You're still here," he said, smiling. "Told you I'd fix it."
Hinata looked at him, her eyes clearer. "You did," she whispered. Her voice was still soft, but full of warmth.
The antidote didn't fully cure her. It slowed the poison, gave her time—but the old woman warned that the real cure would be harder to find. Souta didn't tell Hinata that. She needed hope, not more bad news.
What she also didn't know was that Souta had been secretly using his dōjutsu to help suppress the poison. But because he wasn't anywhere near Mikoto, it only worked at a fraction of its power—barely 20%.
Still, he wasn't giving up.
Not now.