After reading it, Kiryu Kazusuke closed his eyes and began to rest.
First of all, one thing had to be made clear: it was impossible for a person to strangle himself to death. After passing out, his hands would naturally loosen.
He would have to endure the pain while fighting against his own survival instinct.
Besides, a half-day tour of the prefectural psychiatric hospital?
No need. No need.
Secondly, he was neither Tom Cruise, the protagonist of the Mission: Impossible films, nor Jason Statham from The Expendables.
So, prying open the elevator ceiling?
No need. No need.
Lastly, he felt that being part of the background, doing nothing and still receiving a reward of 10,000 yen, was actually pretty good.
Inside the elevator car, the faint emergency light stretched the two of their shadows very long.
Apart from the slight sound of Imagawa Ori chewing chocolate, the only thing left in the air was the dull stillness after the ventilation system had stopped—so faint it could almost be ignored.
Time passed, second by second, minute by minute.
Fifteen minutes was enough for a patient with acute appendicitis to go from a dull ache in the lower right abdomen to full-blown peritonitis.
Kiryu Kazusuke stood in one corner of the car, no one knew what he was thinking.
Imagawa Ori leaned against the wall on the other side, her arms folded across her chest, eyes closed, as if she had fallen asleep.
An unknown amount of time passed. It might have been ten minutes, or it might have been twenty.
“Doctor Imagawa, are you all right?”
Kiryu Kazusuke really felt the time was hard to endure, so he took the initiative to break the silence.
“I’m fine. Why?”
Imagawa Ori opened her eyes. In the dim light, her expression was somewhat hard to make out.
“Nothing. Just asking.”
Kiryu Kazusuke nodded and did not speak again.
Another long silence followed.
Just as he thought they would have to endure this until the rescue personnel arrived, Imagawa Ori suddenly spoke.
“Kiryu-kun.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I love money that much?”
“It’s just that Doctor Imagawa does seem to be very short of money.”
Kiryu Kazusuke turned to look at the young specialist.
At Kagura Club, she could force a smile for the sake of a champagne tower. In the hospital, she did not hesitate when accepting patients’ gifts of gratitude. She could even work dozens of hours straight for money.
Although he knew from the light screen that her goal was one hundred million yen, he did not know the reason behind it.
Imagawa Ori opened her eyes and stared at his face in the dim light.
“Kiryu-kun, can you give me seventy million yen?”
Only, as soon as the words left her mouth, even she found them a little ridiculous.
So she could not help but burst out laughing.
Kiryu Kazusuke froze for a moment, then shook his head.
“No.”
A resident at Gunma University Hospital only earned around 180,000 yen a month.
After deducting resident tax, health insurance, the employees’ pension, employment insurance, plus rent, utilities, and food, being able to save 50,000 yen a month was already considered good.
At that rate, even if he did not spend a single yen, it would take him over a hundred years to save seventy million.
Moreover, even if he did have it, the answer would still be no.
The elevator fell quiet again.
A few minutes later.
Perhaps it was because, in an environment like this, a person’s psychological defenses became fragile. Or perhaps she also wanted to distract herself.
“That Okawara’s son.”
“Preperitoneal packing, and a C-clamp. How did you think of that?”
“They won’t teach that in school textbooks. Even the latest surgical journals are highly controversial about that kind of procedure.”
“Many old professors think it’s cutting corners, an irresponsible half-finished job.”
“You’re just a resident. Where did you get the nerve?”
Originally, she had not cared much. In any case, the result had been good, and that was enough.
But now there was nothing to do, so there was no harm in asking.
Besides, she was also a little curious. In an extreme situation where the slightest mistake could kill someone, a student who had just graduated had not only failed to panic, but had instead proposed a viable plan.
That was not scientific.
Kiryu Kazusuke leaned against the handrail and shifted into a more comfortable position.
“It wasn’t about having nerve or not.”
“Given the situation at the time, everyone could see it clearly.”
“Hypothermia, acidosis, coagulopathy. That’s the lethal triad of trauma.”
“The patient’s physiological functions were already on the verge of collapse, so we could only do damage control. As long as he could leave the operating room alive, there would be plenty of chances to go back in and repair things later.”
He naturally could not say that he had seen similar cases in his previous life.
Damage control surgery had originally come from naval terminology.
In 1993, it had been proposed by a doctor from Penn to describe a staged surgical treatment strategy for severely injured patients.
“Damage control.”
Imagawa Ori repeated the words thoughtfully.
Not a perfect surgery, but a pragmatic surgery that allowed the patient to survive.
It did not sound at all like something a rookie doctor could say.
At that moment, from the elevator shaft, there faintly came the intermittent sound of music.
It was “Silent Night.”
It was probably coming from a radio in some hospital room, drifting down through the ventilation shaft. In this sealed-off space, it sounded especially clear.
“Being trapped in an elevator on a day like this counts as a special experience, I suppose,” Imagawa Ori suddenly remarked.
“Yeah,” Kiryu Kazusuke agreed.
“Don’t you have a date?” Imagawa Ori turned her head to look at him. “Christmas Eve is a holiday for couples. Residents may be busy, but surely not so busy you don’t even have a girlfriend?”
“Doctor Imagawa doesn’t have one either, do you?” Kiryu Kazusuke met her gaze and asked in return.
“Me?” Imagawa Ori gave a scoff. “All I have is work.”
Only work. Only earning money.
That was the entire meaning of life.
Thinking of this, Imagawa Ori spoke again. “What kind of doctor do you want to become?”
It was a very grand, and very clichéd, question.
Usually, it only appeared at medical school interviews or in medical dramas.
But on this special night, in this enclosed space, it seemed to have become a topic that could be discussed seriously.
Kiryu Kazusuke thought for a moment. “Me? After my parents passed away, they left behind a sum of compensation money. It happened to be enough for medical school, so I went. I didn’t think that much about it.”
In his previous life, he had once carried the ideal of healing the sick and saving the world.
Later, after recognizing that he was only an ordinary person, he made peace with himself.
Whether he could save a patient or not was not up to him. As long as, when he left the operating room, he could say with a clear conscience that he had done his best, that was enough.
“Pretty honest.”
“Then what about Doctor Imagawa? Why did you become a doctor?”
“Because doctors make a lot of money.”
What a naked, vulgar answer.
Imagawa Ori turned to look at Kiryu Kazusuke, waiting for him to show contempt or surprise.
“You’re pretty honest too.”
But in truth, Kiryu Kazusuke was not surprised by this at all. Instead, he nodded.
The two looked at each other for a few seconds.
Imagawa Ori smiled and said, “You’re not going to criticize me?”
Kiryu Kazusuke smiled as well. “Because money is a good thing. I like it too.”
At eight o’clock that evening.
A sudden crackling sound of electricity came from overhead. Immediately afterward, the elevator car shook violently.
The originally dim emergency light went out, and the bright fluorescent lights instantly came on, dazzling enough to make it hard to open one’s eyes.
Bzz—
The ventilation fan began turning again, sending in fresh air.
The elevator slowly started moving upward.
They were saved.
Both of them let out a breath of relief.
Ding—
The elevator doors opened on the first floor.
Outside was the brightly lit hospital lobby, and several maintenance workers, drenched in sweat, were standing by the entrance with tools in hand.
The maintenance workers bowed repeatedly in apology. “Are you all right? We’re truly very sorry!”
The two walked out of the elevator.
Fresh, cold air rushed toward them, making their spirits lift.
Imagawa Ori walked at the front. She took a few steps forward, then suddenly stopped.
“Kiryu-kun.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for the cake. Though it tasted awful.”
After saying that, she strode away. The sound of her high heels striking the floor echoed through the empty lobby, and she did not look back.