The attendees took their seats one after another.
The seating arrangement was extremely particular.
The seat of honor naturally belonged to Professor Nishimura, while Secretary Kobayashi occupied the guest-of-honor seat.
Following them were Assistant Professor Mizutani Mitsuma, several senior lecturers and specialists, with Imagawa Ori positioned in the middle section toward the front.
A specialty trainee like Takigawa Takuhei could only accompany them at the lowest seat.
As for the residents?
See that lowest seat closest to the door? That’s where they sit, conveniently placed to jump up at any moment to call for servers or rush the dishes along.
Secretary Kobayashi raised his glass, cutting straight to the chase without any superfluous words.
“To celebrate the successful surgery on Young Master Ōkawara, and to thank the doctors of the First Surgery Department for their exemplary skill.”
“Cheers.”
“Cheers!”
The group responded in unison, draining the beer from their glasses in one go.
The banquet officially began.
Waitresses in kimono filed in, bearing course after course of exquisite cuisine.
Appetizers, clear soups, sashimi, grilled dishes…
Course after course of refined kaiseki was laid upon the table.
“So this is Matsuno-ya…”
“Look at that lacquerware—it looks like real Wajima-nuri.”
“And that sake flask, is it pure silver?”
Tanaka Kenji knelt on his cushion, his eyes roving restlessly about the room as he whispered in amazement.
“Don’t act like you’ve never seen the world before.”
Takigawa Takuhei, seated beside him, rebuked him in a low voice.
“Y-yes…”
Tanaka Kenji hastily withdrew his neck and shut his mouth.
Kiryu Kazusuke poured himself a cup of hot tea.
The atmosphere gradually grew lively.
The junior doctors began lining up to offer toasts to their seniors.
This was also a time-honored tradition of the university medical department—a way to confirm loyalty through alcohol.
Mizutani Mitsuma, holding his wine glass and face glowing red, leaned close to Secretary Kobayashi.
“Kobayashi-san, the success of this surgery was all thanks to Professor Nishimura’s wise leadership.”
“Our entire team also worked day and night, not daring to slacken in the slightest.”
“Especially regarding the use of the C-clamp—we went through repeated deliberation and discussion…”
He rattled on listing their merits, attempting to leave a deeper impression.
If he could forge a connection with this man, whether applying for research funding or campaigning for a professorship in the future, it would provide an extra boost.
Secretary Kobayashi merely smiled faintly, occasionally nodding and taking a sip of wine.
The reflection on his glasses made it impossible to read his eyes.
After a while.
Secretary Kobayashi set down his wine glass, pulled a silver cigarette case from his breast pocket, took out a cigarette, and tapped it twice against the tabletop.
“Professor Mizutani is correct.”
“Teamwork is certainly important.”
“But I’ve heard that night in the ER, there was a young doctor whose performance was extraordinarily eye-catching.”
With a click, the lighter’s flame sprang up, igniting the cigarette.
Mizutani Mitsuma’s smile froze for an instant. Subconsciously, he glanced out of the corner of his eye toward Imagawa Ori, seated not far away.
“Ah, you mean Dr. Imagawa?”
“Indeed, Imagawa is our department’s youngest specialist, with very comprehensive skills.”
“That night, after receiving the call, she rushed to the hospital immediately…”
He was just preparing to push Imagawa Ori forward.
After all, Imagawa Ori was nominally his subordinate; her merits, by extension, reflected his own, Mizutani Mitsuma’s, capability as a mentor.
“Is that so?” Secretary Kobayashi suddenly interrupted him. “The name I heard wasn’t Dr. Imagawa.”
Grayish-white smoke diffused between the two of them.
Mizutani Mitsuma was taken aback.
And Secretary Kobayashi’s gaze, passing through his lenses and over the crowd, landed on Kiryu Kazusuke, who sat closest to the door.
“I heard from the paramedics that the doctor on duty that night was an even younger one.”
“That night in the ER, facing a hopeless situation that even Dr. Namura didn’t dare attempt—the one who proposed the plan for blind C-clamp application and preperitoneal packing… what was his name again?”
“Oh, I believe it was… Kiryu?”
Having said this, he set down his cigarette and took a sip of red wine.
“Ah… well…”
Mizutani Mitsuma opened his mouth, stammering.
According to standard operating procedure, a resident’s contributions were tacitly ignored.
So when this secretary had come to deliver the consolation money a couple of days ago, Kiryu Kazusuke had indeed been on the list, but only as a “participant” in last place.
The surgical records and press releases had long since been polished by him.
The principal credit went to the professor for his command, the execution to Imagawa Ori, and as for Kiryu Kazusuke, he had merely been passing clamps from the side.
This had been an unspoken rule of the medical department for many years.
As a secretary to a congressman, Kobayashi couldn’t possibly be ignorant of these matters, nor could he be bored enough to concern himself with a resident.
Unless… he was doing it deliberately.
Mizutani Mitsuma stole a glance at Professor Nishimura beside him.
And Professor Nishimura Sumika, seated at the head, set down her chopsticks and gently wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
“Kobayashi-san is remarkably well-informed.”
“It’s true that Kiryu-kun performed quite well that night.”
“Though he’s a newcomer, he usually studies very diligently, and his performance that night did indeed exceed our expectations somewhat.”
“However, surgery is all about teamwork.”
“Without Dr. Imagawa’s subsequent precise maneuvers, without the anesthesiologist’s cooperation, relying solely on a resident’s flash of inspiration would not have saved the congressman’s son.”
With a few simple sentences, she framed the matter as a newcomer’s extraordinary exertion while preserving the dignity of the First Surgery Department.
“Of course, of course.”
Secretary Kobayashi smiled and did not dwell on the topic further.
The banquet continued.
Geisha in kimono entered the room, and the sound of the shamisen began to play.
Cups and glasses circulated freely.
Mizutani Mitsuma also spared no effort enlivening the atmosphere, telling harmless jokes and periodically pouring wine for Secretary Kobayashi.
After three rounds of drinks.
A faint flush spread across Secretary Kobayashi’s face; he appeared somewhat intoxicated.
“It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
He undid his suit button and loosened his tie.
“Professor Nishimura, if you don’t mind, would you accompany me to the courtyard for some fresh air?”
“Of course, after you.”
Professor Nishimura stood up with a smile, straightening the hem of her garments.
This was the signal that they were going to discuss serious matters.
The midwinter courtyard was biting cold.
The dry landscape arrangement, illuminated by the night lamps, displayed a solemn, desolate chill.
Secretary Kobayashi did not walk deep into the courtyard but stopped on the projecting wooden corridor, his back to the bustle of the banquet hall.
He pulled out that exquisite silver cigarette case from his breast pocket, flicked out a cigarette, and offered it to Professor Nishimura.
Professor Nishimura waved her hand in refusal.
Secretary Kobayashi did not mind and lit it himself.
Unlike the greasy, slick image typical of political secretaries, Secretary Kobayashi was very thin, even emaciated.
“Professor Nishimura.”
“Regarding next year’s medical budget, I’ve looked at the application your side submitted.”
“That new MRI, plus the expansion projects for two key laboratories—the total budget is three hundred million, yes?”
Secretary Kobayashi exhaled a mouthful of smoke; the white plume was immediately scattered by the cold wind.