For the last half of that sentence, Imagawa Shiori had deliberately put extra weight into her tone.
Kiryu Kazusuke understood immediately upon hearing it.
Within the food chain of a university hospital, plundering the intellectual fruits of junior doctors was not merely tacitly permitted—it was even regarded as a form of cultivation.
This made him think of a man named Nakamura Shuji.
It was around this era that, in that small rural company called Nichia Chemical Industries, Nakamura Shuji had just invented the high-brightness blue LED that shocked the world.
This invention would earn the company hundreds of billions in profit.
And what did Nakamura Shuji receive?
Twenty thousand yen.
A mere twenty thousand yen in patent bonus money—not even enough to take his colleagues out for a proper drink at an izakaya.
This was Japanese corporate culture. It was also Japan's White Tower culture.
Collective supremacy, the annihilation of self in service to the public.
Personal talent and effort had to be devoted to the organization without compensation.
The organization ate the meat; the individual might not even get to drink the broth, only allowed to smell it. And after smelling it, don't forget to cry out "Thank you for your guidance!" with tearful gratitude.
This culture of exploitation was engraved in the very marrow of this nation.
The hospital was no different.
All glory went to the professor; all profit went to the hospital; all blame went to the lead surgeon; all menial tasks went to the resident.
"Dr. Imagawa."
"If I didn't mishear, you mean I am to do everything?"
"And in the end, I only get to be a third author?"
Kiryu Kazusuke fixed his gaze on Imagawa Shiori's exquisite yet cold face.
"Well? Are you dissatisfied?"
Imagawa Shiori furrowed her brows. She didn't like Kiryu Kazusuke's tone.
Wasn't this how residents were supposed to be?
Working desperately, performing desperately, just to remain in the department, just to earn the favor of senior physicians, just for a sliver of opportunity.
She had gone through the same thing herself.
Writing PowerPoints for professors, looking up materials for associate professors, even helping seniors take care of their children or wash their cars.
That was the rule.
Once Kiryu Kazusuke became a professor, he could do the same to others.
But right now, he was just a resident. Having his name appear in a journal at all was already pretty good. What more could he want?
"I refuse."
Kiryu Kazusuke shook his head decisively.
Imagawa Shiori was stunned. Her order had actually been refused?
"What did you say?"
She thought she was having auditory hallucinations from not sleeping well last night.
"I can rewrite the surgical record."
"But as for the paper, I'm sorry. Please tell Professor Nishimura that I'm afraid I cannot do it."
Kiryu Kazusuke shook his head, clarifying his stance.
The surgical record had been part of his duties to begin with. Takigawa Takuhei had taken it over previously, so asking him to write it again now was perfectly reasonable.
Imagawa Shiori's frown deepened.
If this were Tanaka Kenji, a fellow resident, he would have immediately prostrated himself at her feet, thanking her with tears of gratitude.
"Why?"
Imagawa Shiori's face darkened, and the atmosphere around her plummeted.
But Kiryu Kazusuke merely looked out the window. The snow was still falling, dyeing all of Maebashi City white.
A few seconds later, he turned back.
"Dr. Imagawa."
"At Club Kagura, you promised to let me be the first assistant. I kept your secret and helped you fend off Nakamori Sachiko's entanglement."
"That was the deal we agreed upon from the start."
"Later, on the operating table, I completed the Kirschner wire fixation, saved that operation, and preserved your reputation as well."
"So, I don't owe you anything."
"Therefore, I'm sorry, but I do not accept this unequal exploitation."
His words were clear and logical.
Imagawa Shiori, standing opposite him, blinked her large eyes.
She wanted to say something threatening, like "Do you still want to stay in the First Surgical Department?"
But she had a premonition that if she really said it, Kiryu would probably take off his white coat on the spot and go enjoy life.
This job with twenty-four-hour shifts every other day—whoever wanted it could have it.
That wouldn't do.
That said...
It was clearly exploitation, yet they had to call it guidance. Clearly snatching credit, yet they had to call it support.
No one dared to pierce this veil.
But Kiryu Kazusuke didn't care.
So there really were people who simply did not care about fitting in.
Imagawa Shiori gritted her teeth.
Bastard.
How could this guy be even more pragmatic than she was?
But she knew in her heart that there was nothing she could do to him.
This kind of high-level paper involved extremely complex biomechanical analysis and surgical logic derivation; only someone who truly understood the technique could write it.
Namely, Kiryu Kazusuke himself.
If he wasn't willing to cooperate and casually threw together a bunch of garbage data to get by, the paper would be ruined.
But...
Imagawa Shiori recalled Professor Nishimura's eager gaze and the strict order to "submit the first draft within one month."
What a headache.
Since hard tactics wouldn't work, she would try soft ones—or rather, moral blackmail.
"Kiryu."
"This is for the good of the department."
"Professor Nishimura values this paper greatly. If it gets published, it will greatly enhance the reputation of the entire First Surgical Department."
"You're a member of the department. Surely you have some sense of collective honor?"
"Besides, if you earn the professor's favor, even if the associate professors want to make things difficult for you later on in the department, they'll have to think twice."
Imagawa Shiori softened her tone, though the content still sounded somewhat stiff.
These were the lines Associate Professor Mizutani often used.
Every time he made subordinates do work, it was the same script: "for the collective," "for the future," "for the greater good."
Usually, it worked very well.
But Imagawa Shiori clearly hadn't mastered the essence.
Associate Professor Mizutani would usually be all smiles. Regardless of what he said, he looked utterly sincere.
But Imagawa Shiori had spoken with a cold face the entire time.
Still, it wasn't her fault.
After all, she was only good at saying flirtatious things to lonely women.
"Dr. Imagawa, you're not cut out for ideological work."
"It's more charming when you talk money directly."
Kiryu Kazusuke smiled. Naturally, he wouldn't accept being manipulated, no matter who it was.
Imagawa Shiori was speechless.
Her cheeks flushed slightly; whether from anger or something else, it was hard to say.
"Are you going to write it or not?"
She couldn't be bothered to pretend anymore and laid her cards on the table.
"No."
With that, Kiryu Kazusuke took the surgical record from the windowsill and turned to head back to the department.
Imagawa Shiori watched his departing figure.
"Fine. Fine. Very good."
"You've got guts."
She nodded several times, laughing out of anger.
Wasn't it just one paper?
Who was Imagawa Shiori?
A genius who had entered medical school at sixteen and become a certified specialist at twenty-eight.
In medical school, while those wealthy young masters and ladies were busy with mixers, skiing, and squandering their youth, she was working at a convenience store until three in the morning.
Sleeping only three hours, she could still score perfectly on exams.
And after entering the hospital, within the rigidly hierarchical First Surgical Department, which was almost entirely monopolized by men.
Without background or backing, she had relied on double the on-call hours and triple the surgical volume, ruthlessly climbing over the dignity of countless seniors to rise to the top.
So, even without Kiryu Kazusuke, she could handle it herself!
She should be able to handle it... right?