Chapter 18: The Weight of a Promise
The stairs were a new circle of hell.
Each step was too high, forcing an awkward, lunging motion. The air grew hotter, thicker, and seemed to have less and less oxygen. The sound of running feet died, replaced by a symphony of agony: a chorus of ragged, desperate, painful gasps. The tunnel was no longer a test of stamina; it was a test of will. It was a sheer, vertical climb against a wall of exhaustion.
Yuta's world shrank to the three steps in front of him. His legs were no longer his own. They were jelly, lead, and fire, all at once. His shoulders ached from the weight of his small pack.
"That's... it..."
A clatter of plastic on stone. Yuta looked over, his vision blurry.
Leorio had stopped. He was slumped against the hard, concrete wall, his face a deathly, greenish-white. His briefcase had fallen from his nerveless fingers, skidding a few steps back down.
"I'm... done..." he panted, sliding down the wall into a sitting heap. "Finished. Just... just leave me. You... you can't fail... because of me..."
Kurapika stopped, a few steps above. "Leorio! Get up! This is precisely the moment the examiner is waiting for. He's thinning the herd based on willpower alone!"
"Willpower...?" Leorio laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "My willpower's... fine. It's my legs... that have... submitted their resignation... I'm a... a washed-up... old man..." His eyes rolled, and he looked like he was about to pass out.
"Leorio!" Gon, who had been far ahead, was suddenly there, jogging back down the steps, his face a mask of concern. Killua followed, his skateboard under his arm, his expression one of pure, feline boredom.
"See?" Killua said, his voice echoing flatly. "He's done. You guys should leave him. He's just dead weight."
The words—dead weight—struck Yuta. He looked at Killua's cold, logical, dark-blue eyes. It was the same cold, detached logic Kurapika had used in the swamp. It was the same casual dismissal of life Hisoka had shown. Yuta hated it.
He looked at Leorio, a pathetic, sweating, defeated man. He remembered the storm. He remembered the chain of bodies. He remembered Leorio's furious, grieving, passionate confession in the captain's quarters: I'll become a doctor who works for free.
Yuta moved before he thought. He didn't say a word. He walked stiff-legged back down the three steps he'd passed and bent over. He grabbed the handle of Leorio's briefcase.
He pulled. It was heavy. What in the world did this man carry in here?
"Yuta... kid..." Leorio's voice was a whisper. "What... are you...?"
Yuta grunted, slinging the briefcase's strap over his free shoulder. The weight was immediate and terrible. It threw off his balance. The strap cut into his neck, and the case slammed agonizingly against his hip with every movement.
"You're... not... dying... here," Yuta panted, the new, awkward weight a fresh, burning agony. He looked at Leorio, his sky-blue eyes filled with a desperate, stubborn fire. "You... told us. You're going... to be a doctor. Doctors... don't quit."
There was a moment of shocked silence.
Gon's face split into a brilliant, blinding grin. "YEAH! Yuta's right! We're a team!" He bounded down, grabbed Leorio's arm, and slung it over his own small shoulders. "Come on, Leorio! I'll pull you!"
"You're... all... insane..." Leorio wept, his exhaustion and emotion overflowing.
Kurapika watched Yuta, who was now trembling under the combined weight of his pack and the briefcase, his face pale but his jaw set like iron. A look of profound, surprised respect entered Kurapika's eyes. He nodded once, a sharp, definitive motion. He moved to Leorio's other side.
"Let's go," Kurapika said.
Killua watched this all unfold, his head tilted. His assassin's logic was completely, bafflingly short-circuited. "You're all crazy," he said, and it wasn't an insult. It was a statement of pure confusion. "You're all going to fail... just for this one guy."
He watched Yuta, the "Sword-guy" who had frozen in fear, now willingly take on a burden that would almost certainly make him collapse. It was the stupidest, most illogical thing he had ever seen.
It was... interesting.
"Whatever," Killua sighed, shaking his head. "Don't blame me when you're left behind." He turned, hopped on his board, and shot up the stairs, a silent, silver blur.
The next stretch was the worst of Yuta's life. He was no longer just running. He was carrying. He was part of a chain. Every step, the briefcase slammed into his hip. Every step, the strap tried to saw through his shoulder. Every step, his father's words echoed: Protect them.
He hadn't been able to protect them from Hisoka. But he could do this. He could carry this stupid, heavy bag. He could be strong in this small, dumb, physical way. It wasn't the strength of a hero. It was the strength of a mule. And right now, that was enough.
Left foot. Right foot. Left... foot...
The world was gray. And then, it was white.
A brilliant, blinding, square-shaped white light appeared ahead. The exit.
"Light!" Gon yelled, his voice hoarse. "We're here! We're at the end!"
That final, desperate hope gave them a new surge of energy. They half-dragged, half-carried Leorio, stumbling and coughing, out of the tunnel.
Yuta burst into the light, his legs giving out. He fell to his knees, his entire body screaming. The briefcase strap snapped, and the case fell open, spilling... not gold, not weapons, but dozens of medical textbooks, heavy as bricks.
He, Gon, and Kurapika collapsed in a panting, heaving, sweating pile on soft, wet, green grass.
Yuta blinked, his eyes adjusting, and looked around.
The air was thick. The visibility was zero. A familiar, cold, white fog wrapped around them. A familiar, fetid, rotting smell filled his lungs.
"No..." Leorio moaned, his voice a ghost. "No... it can't be... We... we ran all that way... just to end up... in the swamp again...?"
The sense of despair was absolute.