Horse Girl, Your Friend is Fighting Her Way Out of the Horse Racing Track

The muscles in the back move, the lumbar spine bears the weight, and the abdominal muscles contract.

All organs are functioning normally.

'Really...it doesn't hurt anymore?'

Poetry and Wine's eyes were a little moist; she bit her lip tightly, trying not to make a sound.

But at that moment—

You definitely won't die; at most... you'll just be in constant pain.

Godolphin's Arabic voice rang in my ears.

A very slight stinging sensation came from the fingertips of my left hand.

It felt like being gently pricked by a needle.

The actions of poetry and wine froze.

She looked down at her left hand, which appeared perfectly intact, fair and slender, without any abnormalities.

'It's probably just my imagination.'

The black-haired horse told herself this, and then continued to move her body.

But the stinging pain did not disappear.

It began to spread.

From fingertips to palms to wrists, it felt like something was slowly moving under the skin.

The stinging pain turned into a burning pain.

The burning pain turned into a throbbing pain.

The throbbing pain turned into a familiar, excruciating pain.

Poetry and wine began to turn pale.

She stared intently at her left hand, watching it begin to tremble uncontrollably.

'No……'

The pain continued to spread.

From the left hand, to the left arm, to the shoulder, to the chest.

My heart started to throb, each beat accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain, as if someone were pricking it with a needle.

Then comes the right hand, the legs, the spine, and the entire skeleton.

The pain surged back like a tide, wave after wave, growing stronger and more intense.

'No...no...I...I...I beg...please...'

The breaths of poetry and wine began to quicken.

The blue and white figure being pursued is called Miracle: Chapter 121 There's no such thing as dying without skillful play.

Poetry and wine, the fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, the nails digging deep into the flesh of the palm.

Fresh blood slowly flowed out of the wound.

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and dripped down his cheeks.

'Why……'

Why again...?

The fleeting hope was brutally crushed by reality.

The pain is back.

'No...no...at least not now...not...three years...'

The pain not only returned, but it was also more intense than before, as if it were punishing her.

Poetry and Wine's body began to tremble violently; she bent over, pressing her hands tightly against her chest.

She gritted her teeth, trying not to make a sound, but the veins on her forehead were bulging, and her face was contorted with extreme pain.

The sky outside the window was still gray; the rain had stopped, but the dark clouds had not yet dispersed.

There were winding water streaks left on the glass.

"This...doesn't conform to medical common sense."

A voice suddenly rang out.

Poetry and Wine suddenly looked up and saw a middle-aged doctor in a white coat standing by the bed, holding a stack of test reports.

His brows furrowed into a deep frown, and he would occasionally look up at her with a strange gaze, his eyes gleaming with a morbid excitement.

"When they brought him in, it was clearly cardiac arrest; his cardiac enzyme levels were alarmingly high. I thought we had to prepare for the worst. But now the indicators..."

He flipped through the report, his voice fervent.

"Heart rate is normal, blood pressure is normal, myocardial damage is being repaired rapidly, and even micro-tears in the muscles are healing at an incredible speed."

"This recovery speed... young lady, have you undergone any special genetic modification in the past? Or does your family have any special genetic history? I suggest you cooperate with us for a comprehensive—"

That's outrageous! Even genetically modified organisms are getting involved.

"go out."

The sounds of poetry and wine are so faint they are almost inaudible.

She leaned against the headboard and stiffly pulled the IV needle from the back of her hand.

A bright red bead of blood emerged from the needle hole, quickly congealed, and then disappeared at a speed visible to the naked eye, restoring the skin to its original state.

"what?"

The doctor was taken aback.

I said…

Poetry and wine raise their heads.

His dark eyes were filled with resentment.

A terrifying aura emanated from her.

"Go out, I need to rest."

The doctor was terrified by those eyes.

That's not the look a teenage girl should have.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately wisely kept quiet, reluctantly put away his medical record folder, and left the ward.

The door closed gently behind me.

The room finally quieted down.

Poetry and wine lowered their heads, staring intently at their own hands.

These are very beautiful hands.

Slender and long, with fair skin, distinct knuckles, and neatly trimmed nails, these are the kind of hands that people would praise as "suitable for playing the piano."

But at this moment, these hands are trembling.

It was trembling violently.

Someone is piercing the flesh with fine needles one by one, and countless earthworms are crawling under the skin, causing the pain to pierce the flesh with endless cries.

The black horse once again pushed her body to its limit.

The price is double the suffering.

She had just thought the pain had gone away.

The girl still clung to hope almost frantically.

But reality gave her a resounding slap in the face.

The pain not only didn't disappear, but because of that brief period of "painlessness," it became even more unbearable upon returning.

It's like a drowning person finally surfacing to breathe, only to be violently pushed back underwater.

Overflowing despair is more painful than never having had hope at all.

The sky outside the window grew even darker.

The watermarks on the glass window were still there, hanging down in streaks.

"Why do this?"

A weak but clear voice came from the nearby hospital bed, breaking the deathly silence.

Poetry and wine stiffened for a moment.

why?

She mechanically turned her head to look in the direction from which the sound came.

The black horse ears trembled slightly before drooping down.

Riko Kashimoto has woken up.

Although her face was still as pale as paper and her lips were chapped, her light golden eyes had regained their clarity.

With her fever reduced and fluids replenished, she was pulled back from the brink of death within a few hours and quickly pulled out of danger.

She was lying half-reclined on the hospital bed, her body trembling slightly due to weakness.

But his pale golden eyes were fixed intently on the poetry and wine, without blinking.

His eyes held a complex expression.

Aside from guilt, there was an indescribable sorrow.

What is cherished is self-destructing, and the observer is powerless to stop it.

"The doctor said... you carried me here on your back."

As Riko Kashimoto looked at Shi and Sake's still messy black hair plastered to her cheeks, a sour feeling welled up deep in her throat.

"Six kilometers."

Her voice began to tremble.

"rainstorm."

The tone became a little stronger.

"heart disease."

His eyes gradually reddened, and tears welled up in them.

"Poetry and wine...Are you courting death?"

The last sentence was almost shouted out.

Poetry and wine did not answer immediately.

She simply raised her hand and scratched her hair hard.

The wet strands of hair slipped through my fingers, bringing down a few drops of cold water.

The intense pain from inside her body made her breathing rapid and irregular, her chest heaving violently.

"You saw it too..."

Her voice was eerily calm.

"I won't die, and you've come back to life. That's enough."

right.

Although the money hasn't been fully repaid, the debt of gratitude for saving my life should at least outweigh the medical expenses alone...

The black-haired girl looked at Riko Kashimoto with some hesitation, a hint of uncertainty flashing in her eyes.

She was waiting for a response from the other person, a "thank you" or "you did the right thing".