"Betsuni, betsuni," he waves the thanks off, and glances curiously down as Cesare's grasp makes the plastic creak. "That's a nine after the two, Cesare-kun," he says helpfully. Really, he could wake up now, having done with Miquel what he intended to, but feeling the pain firsthand would only distract him from setting the cause right.
Or mostly right. Those muscles are going to take some work, they way they've formed so strangely around the malformed bone. He sighs privately to himself. It's not something to regret, but the coming months will be annoying.