Mizutani Koshin continued his report: “Additionally, regarding the publicity for this surgery, the hospital’s Public Relations Department has already prepared the press release.”
“The headline is ‘First Surgical Department Successfully Treats Severely Injured Polytrauma Patient, Showcasing the Top-Tier Strength of the National University Hospital.’”
“It places emphasis on the professor’s wise leadership and decision-making.”
He had remained in this position for so many years relying not only on academic papers, but also on this ability to read the minds of his superiors.
“Mm.”
Professor Nishimura nodded impassively.
She was no longer a fresh graduate who would wear her preferences on her face for all to see.
Kiryu Kazusuke, at the very back of the group, was not impassive either.
This was because he knew very well that in the press release, he—the one who had proposed the critical “C-clamp” and “preperitoneal packing” protocols—would not even have his name appear.
As for Imagawa Ori, she might only receive a single line of mention.
This was reality.
In this white tower, credit flowed upward, while blame was pushed downward.
“Kiryu-kun, are you listening?” Tanaka Kenji nudged his arm. “Mizutani Koshin is really something, huh? He can attribute everything to the professor.”
Kiryu Kazusuke agreed: “That, too, is a skill.”
Not everyone could integrate flattery into their very breath.
At any rate, he could not do it.
The procession continued moving.
Professor Nishimura set a brisk pace, spending no more than three minutes at each bedside.
Most of the time, she simply listened to the attending physician’s brief report, then nodded or pointed out one or two harmless issues.
This was less a ward round than a display of power.
She enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by the crowd.
But Kiryu Kazusuke noticed that when her gaze swept past an empty bed next to the ICU, her brows furrowed slightly.
That bed had originally belonged to a post-operative infection patient.
“Where is the gangrene patient?”
The professor’s voice suddenly turned cold.
“Th-that patient…”
Mizutani immediately began stammering evasively.
“Due to a family request, yesterday… he was transferred to the branch hospital.”
“Transferred?”
Professor Nishimura turned around, her gaze sharp as a knife, looking directly at him in front of everyone.
She demanded in a low, severe voice: “Was it because he was incurable, and to avoid dragging down the department’s cure rate statistics, you chased him away?”
Cold sweat instantly poured down Mizutani Koshin’s forehead.
“Mizutani-kun.”
“I have taught you—as a surgeon, your skills need not be perfect, but your heart must not be dirty.”
“For the sake of those pretty statistics, pushing such a high-risk patient to the branch hospital—do you think the doctors there are better at treating him than us?”
“Or do you think I’ve grown old?”
Professor Nishimura’s voice was not loud.
But this calm statement was more devastating than any roar.
“I am terribly sorry! It was my misjudgment!”
Mizutani Koshin reflexively bent at the waist to a full ninety degrees, not daring to lift his head.
He did not dare make excuses.
Before the professor, making excuses was defiance, and defiance was courting death.
“Do not let it happen again.”
Professor Nishimura coldly dropped those four words, turned, and continued walking forward.
The rest of the group trembled with fear.
And that was precisely the purpose of the fixed Monday professor rounds.
A warning.
Did Nishimura Sumika truly care whether the patient lived or died?
Not necessarily; it mainly depended on whether you were a VIP of the hospital.
And clearly, a patient whom even Mizutani Koshin would transfer away simply because he found it troublesome did not belong to that category.
Kiryu Kazusuke looked at the specialized residents and lecturers who usually carried themselves with such arrogance, now all shrinking their necks like quails.
Humanity had created hierarchy, and then proceeded to torture itself within that hierarchy.
One hour later.
The rounds ended, and the large group dispersed.
The doctors returned to their respective posts. Kiryu Kazusuke pushed the cart back to the nurses’ station and returned the medical records to their places.
“Kiryu-kun.”
A voice sounded behind him. It was Mizutani Koshin.
“Come over here for a moment.”
His face wore a deeply sincere smile as he beckoned with his hand.
He really should have let Imagawa Ori come and see this.
Kiryu Kazusuke stopped what he was doing. Beside him, Tanaka Kenji cast him a glance that said *You’re on your own.*
The two of them went to the end of the corridor, to the smoking area.
Mizutani took out a cigarette, lit it, took a deep drag, and exhaled a smoke ring.
“The secretary of Assemblyman Ōkawara came by just now.”
“Donated a sum of research funding to the department.”
“He also brought some personal gifts for the doctors who participated in the surgery.”
“This is for you.”
Saying this, he pulled an envelope from his pocket and weighed it in his hand.
“Th-this isn’t appropriate.”
Kiryu Kazusuke looked at the envelope and waved his hand in refusal.
This—this was not because he regarded money as dirt, nor was it because he possessed noble medical ethics.
Rather, he did not want to appear too eager.
At any rate, if the giver truly wished to give, they would insist again; if not, they would simply take this as an out.
“Take it.”
Mizutani stuffed the envelope into his white coat pocket, his movements intimate, like a senior caring for a junior.
Kiryu Kazusuke accepted it; to refuse further would have been discourteous.
It was just a shame that Imagawa Ori wasn’t here; she really should come and learn from this firsthand.
If back when she had begged him to write her paper, she had displayed this attitude and presented a gift with both hands, then he might have considered it.
“Thank you very much for Professor Mizutani’s consideration.”
Kiryu Kazusuke gave a slight bow, neither putting on the affected airs of one overwhelmed by favor, nor wearing the cynical aloofness of the self-righteous.
This made Mizutani Koshin even more satisfied.
Sensible.
This was a young man capable of surviving in the tower.
“Work hard. I have high hopes for you.”
Mizutani Koshin patted his shoulder, then turned and left, humming a tune.
Kiryu Kazusuke reached into his pocket and felt the thickness of the envelope.
Not bad—he estimated it was about a hundred thousand yen.
This was what it meant to be a great figure; even as a mere trainee, he could still get a share.
…
Returning to the doctors’ office, the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
The professor’s rounds were like a low-pressure system passing through; its aftereffects lingered.
Kiryu Kazusuke walked to his seat.
Next to him, Imagawa Ori was sitting there, staring blankly at a stack of materials in front of her.
Her desk was piled high with books: *Clinical Biomechanics*, *Fracture Treatment*, *Hand Surgery Atlas*…
All of them thick, weighty tomes.
There were also several scattered hand-drawn sketches covered in complex mechanical analyses.
But clearly, progress was not going well.
On the letter paper she was using to draft her paper, aside from the title, there were only a few lines, and most of those had been crossed out.
Imagawa Ori twirled a pen in her hand, brows tightly knitted, her entire person exuding a prickly, irritable aura.
Kiryu Kazusuke knew she was worried about her paper.
But that had nothing to do with him.
That was what he had originally thought, until a faint red hue suddenly appeared at the bottom of his vision again.
[Imagawa Ori: If I look at Kiryu like he’s trash and scold him a couple of times, will he listen obediently? Damn it, how am I supposed to fabricate this “stress conduction”?]
[Convergent World Line—]
[Branch One: Time to order lunch bentos for all the doctors in the office; forget hers when ordering from the convenience store. (Reward: 10,000 yen cash)]
[Branch Two: Take advantage of her desperation; since she loves money so much, offer to sell the first draft for 500,000 yen. (Reward: Upon completion of the paper, demotion to Motomachi Red Cross Hospital)]
[Branch Three: Exploit her predicament to extract maximum profit from her, and enjoy her smile. (Reward: Anatomic Fracture Reduction Technique · Perfect)]