For the remaining suturing work, Takigawa Takuhei, as the lead surgeon, could have already left the table.
“Kiryu, I’ll take it from here.”
But he took the needle holder from the scrub nurse and began operating.
There was no reason for him to put on airs after having learned from the case, only to have Kiryu Wasuke do the finishing work for him.
“Good work.”
Kiryu Wasuke didn’t stand on ceremony. He stepped down and changed out of his scrubs.
He removed his surgical mask, tossed it in the trash, turned, and pushed open the door to leave the operating room.
As the airtight door hissed shut.
Inside the operating room, only Takigawa Takuhei remained, still suturing the skin, along with the nurses organizing instruments and the anesthesiologist.
The silence was somewhat eerie.
Only the rhythmic beeping of the monitor and the occasional buzz of the electrocautery knife broke it.
Takigawa Takuhei kept his head lowered.
With the needle driver, he gripped a curved triangular needle, pierced the skin, tied a knot, and cut the suture.
Once. Twice.
Though his speed couldn’t compare to the dazzling fluidity of Kiryu Wasuke’s technique, it was still passable.
“Um, Doctor Takigawa…”
The scrub nurse finally couldn’t resist breaking the silence. As she counted the hemostats, she feigned nonchalance.
“That Doctor Kiryu just now… is he really just a resident?”
She hadn’t been at the hospital long, but she had assisted many famous doctors. Yet there were few who could explain such a complex reduction so thoroughly and perform it with such ease.
“Yeah. He just graduated this year.”
Takigawa Takuhei’s hands paused for half a second, then resumed their normal rhythm.
The circulating nurse also leaned in, interjecting while entering billing items into the computer.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Aren’t residents supposed to still be learning how to write charts and tie knots?”
“So how come when he directs surgery, he feels even more like…”
She stopped mid-sentence. In the end, considering Takigawa Takuhei’s pride, she swallowed the words “more like the lead surgeon than you.”
But the meaning was already obvious.
That scene just now had been far too counterintuitive.
A young resident, fresh out of graduation, had directed a specialist trainee through a high-difficulty reduction with just a few words.
Such a scene of the lower overriding the higher was simply unheard of in an operating room.
As early as the mid-1980s, with the reforms to Japan’s medical system, the nursing department had already broken free from its traditional status as a “physician’s accessory.”
This led to one result—
Although these nurses worked alongside doctors every day, they did not participate in the morning conferences, case discussions, or internal politics of the department office.
When it came to who was a genius in the department or who was the professor’s current favorite, their information often lagged behind.
They only cared about results.
Whoever operated quickly, had a good temper, and didn’t cause them trouble was a good doctor.
And in the usual impression, residents were just a bunch of rookies who drew blood, ran errands, got scolded, and clumsily fumbled around on the operating table, needing the nurses to clean up after them.
Takigawa Takuhei set down the needle driver.
Under normal circumstances, he would definitely have felt humiliated and inwardly furious.
But today, he wasn’t angry at all.
He only somewhat regretted that they hadn’t participated in Shinya Suzuki’s surgery.
If they had seen Kiryu Wasuke snap even at a board-certified specialist like Ori Imagawa, they would have thought the sky was falling.
“Tch.”
A light scoff came from behind the monitor—it was the anesthesiologist who had stayed silent this whole time, Koura Ryoji.
“What’s so surprising?”
“You should have seen that guy on the operating table for Representative Okawara’s son.”
“C-clamp blind insertion, preperitoneal packing.”
“Back then, even that good-for-nothing Namura was too scared to move. That kid held the whole scene together on his own.”
He took off the stethoscope hooked over his ears and twirled it in his hand a couple of times.
Unlike the nurses, anesthesiologists were still attached to the department office and fell under the professor’s authority.
It was not until the late 1990s that the anesthesiology department would gradually gain independence as an “Operating Room Administration Department” or “Perioperative Management Center.”
Precisely because of this, surgeons always saw themselves as the protagonists of the operating room, treating anesthesiologists as mere technician assistants.
This had always left Koura Ryoji simmering with resentment.
But Kiryu Wasuke was different.
During the surgery just now, when directing the reduction, Kiryu Wasuke had deliberately glanced at the monitor, confirming that the depth of anesthesia was sufficient and muscle relaxation was perfect before giving the order to proceed.
That was the greatest respect one could show an anesthesiologist.
He knew what he was doing.
So he didn’t mind putting in a good word for Kiryu Wasuke in front of the nurses.
“Eh?! Really?”
“But wasn’t that credited to Professor Nishimura and Doctor Imagawa?”
The circulating nurse stopped typing, swiveled her chair, and looked at him with eager curiosity.
“That’s why I say you lot have long hair but short sight.”
Koura Ryoji snorted, pulled out the anesthesia record, and showed it to everyone, eliciting a round of surprise.
The circulating nurse seemed to have developed a strong interest in Kiryu Wasuke.
“By the way, Doctor Takigawa, Doctor Kiryu graduated from Gunma University too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then was he famous in school? The type of honors student who rakes in scholarships?”
“Well… I’m not really sure. I’m several years his senior.”
Takigawa Takuhei gave a noncommittal answer.
In truth, he had checked. Kiryu Wasuke’s grades in school had been only slightly above average—not particularly outstanding.
This was also what puzzled him the most.
Could there really be someone who was a clinical prodigy, suddenly awakening the moment they stepped up to the operating table?
“Then… does he have a girlfriend?”
The scrub nurse suddenly changed the subject, asking an unrelated question with flushed cheeks.
She looked to be barely in her twenties, exactly the age when one is full of romantic daydreams.
Although residents didn’t earn much now, judging by his skill alone, his future was absolutely boundless.
If she could make a move now…
The anesthesiologist Koura Ryoji beside her was startled and also immediately pricked up his ears.
“Girlfriend?” Takigawa Takuhei was applying a dressing. He thought carefully. “I don’t think… I’ve never heard anything about that.”
“Usually I just see him hanging out with that loudmouth Tanaka. Otherwise, he’s either writing charts in the department office or rushing to grab discounted meals in the cafeteria.”
“I’ve never seen him close with any girl.”
“He should be… single, I think?”
Hearing this answer, the eyes of both the scrub nurse and Koura Ryoji lit up simultaneously.
“That’s wonderful!”
“Doctor Takigawa, how about the nursing department and First Surgery hold a mixer?”
“Make sure to invite Doctor Kiryu.”
The circulating nurse also joined in the commotion. She had clearly noticed that the girl beside her had feelings of that sort toward Kiryu Wasuke.
The operating room instantly became a tea party.
“Ahem! Ahem!”
Koura Ryoji, sitting behind the anesthesia machine, cleared his throat loudly twice.
“I say, have you forgotten what time it is?”
“Are we transferring the patient back or not?”
“If you drag this on, the anesthesia is going to wear off. When the patient starts making a fuss in the OR, let’s see how you handle it.”
As he spoke, his hands nimbly organized the various tubes.
What was the point of a mixer with the nursing department?
If Kiryu Wasuke wanted to drink, wouldn’t going with him be enough? He could also conveniently invite along his cousin, a third-year student in Gunma University’s Faculty of Education.