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Summary
‘“If only I could figure out how to heal people, I could have saved him,”’ she parroted, mimicking the sorrowful tone Gojō had taken only minutes ago. ‘Well, he’s in a mortuary drawer now.’
Shōko would know. She was the one who put him there after determining the cause of death, as though it wasn’t blatantly obvious when Gojō brought the poor guy in, looking as broken as the assistant manager in pieces in his arms.
Wrong place, wrong time. Too little, too late.
‘But there’s still hope for me,’ she said, as though they were discussing the weather. ‘So come on, Gojō, save me.’
Shōko performs surgery on a limb that's long past saving.