Atsumu takes the whisky and glass in front of Kiyoomi and throws back two big gulps. “There, now we’re even—stitch me up!” Kiyoomi squints, trying to see straight. “I was on three.” “Fine, bastard,” Atsumu says and throws back one more. “Fer luck.”

Kiyoomi’s moral compass wins out and they end up in a back room of the bar, with a barely sanitized needle and both doctor and patient stumbling around trying to close up the wound. Atsumu ends up with 16 stitches instead of 8 (seeing doubles, remember?) but their first mate will live another day.