Chapter 132: 『Heart』
Kamihara Shinji ignored the nurse’s advice to rest in bed. After his appendectomy and questioning the surgical team, he got up and followed the nurse, Miwa Yorino, back to the operating room. The room was pristine, showing no anomalies. “These are the tools used in your surgery,” Miwa said, entering as instructed to assist Kamihara fully.
Kamihara took the surgical tools, snapping the scalpel in half with a flick of his fingers. Tweezers and other instruments followed, all destroyed. Miwa’s professional smile stiffened, her heart trembling. She increasingly viewed the teen as unhinged.
Kamihara frowned, checking if the tools were rule-based items. They weren’t. Where had things gone wrong? The appendectomy’s small operating room meant limited space. He methodically wrecked every device, then, noting Miwa’s fearful expression, reassured her, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover the costs.” The Hinata family would foot the bill, not him.
He rechecked the room, then asked Miwa, “Any surgeries scheduled soon?”
Startled by his abrupt question, she recovered quickly. “Let me check. Dr. Kawakami from cardiology has a heart transplant in ten minutes.”
“I want to observe,” Kamihara said.
Miwa hesitated, her face troubled. His unyielding gaze made it clear this wasn’t her call. She reported to the director, who, aware of Kamihara’s status, approved without delay. After changing, disinfecting, and taking precautions, Kamihara entered the larger operating room. His unfamiliar presence drew curious glances, but the director’s orders silenced questions. The staff kindly briefed him on surgical observation protocols, which he acknowledged with a nod.
During the procedure, Kamihara stood far back, avoiding interference. He scanned the unconscious patient on the table, then watched the bloody operation unfold. Recalling Matsunai’s heart-ripping attack, he averted his gaze briefly—his first time witnessing such gore. He admired the doctors’ resilience but quickly adapted, searching for anything odd. His own surgery’s blackout suggested an anomaly had induced sleep, doing something undetected. Observing another operation might reveal clues.
Deploying his spiritual pressure, he sensed the surroundings. The lead surgeon worked diligently, the team coordinated smoothly—nothing seemed amiss. Kamihara’s brow furrowed. Was his approach flawed?
His gaze swept the room, and he froze. A door had appeared on the wall, its color blending seamlessly with the surroundings, nearly invisible without scrutiny. His expression grew grave. Had it just materialized? During his surgery, lying on the table, his spiritual pressure inactive, he’d missed it, his view limited to the ceiling. Perhaps it vanished post-surgery.
Unwilling to wait hours for the heart transplant to conclude—and unsure if doors appeared randomly or in every surgery—he sorted his thoughts. Quietly approaching the door, he took a deep breath and pushed it open.
Inside was pitch-black, devoid of light. The operating room’s bright lights didn’t penetrate. Hesitating, Kamihara closed the door behind him. A faint click sounded as it shut. Instantly, a dim fluorescence glowed ahead. His pupils contracted.
A sign hung before the door, emitting a weak, firefly-like light. In blood-red characters, it read: 『Heart』.
As he pondered, his nose twitched, catching a faint metallic scent. The blood-like odor grew stronger, accompanied by a rumbling sound from above. Kamihara’s heart raced, but he stayed composed, suppressing tension to assess the space. The darkness limited his fourth-stage spiritual senses, barely illuminating the path. He stood at a stairwell, with steps ascending beside him and descending ahead. The 『Heart』 sign marked the door at the landing.
Before he could decide, the rumbling roared in his ears. A blood-soaked torrent engulfed him. Instinctively opening his mouth, he tasted its metallic tang, realizing it was blood—a massive flood surging down the stairs. Yet, instead of being swept away, his body dissolved, as if submerged in acid, eroded in seconds.
One minute later, Kamihara stood again. As he rose, the rumbling returned. Another blood torrent was coming.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 133: 『Lung』
Hearing the roar, Kamihara Shinji had no time to think. His options were to ascend, descend, or return through the door to reality. Ascending was blocked—the blood surged from above. He chose a third path: buying time. He needed a safe space to hypothesize about this door’s world, not be pressured by the relentless blood flood.
Before the torrent arrived, he reopened the door, stepping back into the operating room. But as he entered, he found himself lying on an operating table, surrounded by masked surgeons. Struggling to speak, a crushing drowsiness hit. Only his taut nerves kept him conscious; otherwise, he’d have blacked out.
Suppressing shock, he rasped weakly, “What are you doing?”
The surgeons ignored him, proceeding with the operation. The lead surgeon sliced into his chest without a word. Searing pain jolted Kamihara, forcing a sharp gasp. He hissed, but the agony persisted. Surgery without anesthesia? The crude technique felt more like murder than medicine.
Enduring the unanesthetized procedure, Kamihara realized its excruciating toll. He could escape the pain by succumbing to the drowsiness clouding his mind, but he suspected he was caught in an anomaly’s killing rule. Fainting was risky—he needed to uncover the rule. Two days of investigation had yielded little; he barely grasped the anomaly’s killing method.
Now, he had a clue: during surgeries at Harajuku Hospital, a door appeared in the operating room. Entering it during the heart transplant led to a sign reading 『Heart』. Did other operating rooms connect to different realms? Other organs?
As he pondered, he deployed his spiritual pressure, heart skipping when he sensed no anomaly activity. Was the anomaly dormant, not killing? Impossible. Pain overwhelmed his thoughts. Clinging to faint consciousness, he glanced at the lead surgeon—and his pupils widened. In the surgeon’s hand was a beating heart.
He removed my heart? The thought plunged Kamihara into darkness.
One minute later, he awoke, enduring the pain’s aftershocks. Scanning the room, he realized it wasn’t the heart transplant operating room he’d observed. Clearly, this was another. Ignoring the surroundings, he checked the wall where the door had been—it was gone. Instead of leaving, he waited, testing if his resurrected self would face another heart extraction.
After a while, the operating room door opened. A nurse in surgical garb gasped at the stranger. “Who are you?” Seeing Kamihara’s surgical attire with a chest hole, she fumed. “How did you get in?”
Doctors, alerted by her voice, entered, equally baffled. “Who are you?” one demanded.
Kamihara studied them, brow furrowed. They were ordinary people. Were the surgeons who operated on him ordinary too, or anomalies? A quick question would clarify. Brushing them off with an excuse, he learned no one had used this room recently. The surgeons who cut him open were likely the anomaly.
A new question arose. If the anomaly used Harajuku’s operating rooms for surgeries, how had it gone undetected? Unless… Standing in the hospital corridor, watching nurses, doctors, and patients pass, Kamihara considered: could the staff be non-human?
Was it possible? Reflecting on two days of interactions, he doubted it. The staff’s speech and logic were impeccably human. Anomalies lacked sentience and couldn’t write medical records. Even the Chihaya family’s doll anomaly, mimicking Chihaya Mashiro, only copied her final diary entry, lacking originality. Thus, Harajuku’s staff were ordinary people, not anomalies.
Sitting on a bench, Kamihara jotted notes on borrowed paper from the director, organizing his findings. One question loomed: did every operating room during surgery spawn a door? Contacting the director, he requested to observe another surgery. The director, relieved Kamihara’s focus on surgical observation suggested no major hospital scandal, agreed.
After disinfecting and dressing, Kamihara entered another operating room. This time, a middle-aged patient underwent tuberculosis surgery—a major procedure. A nurse explained the patient’s condition, but Kamihara, clueless about medicine, nodded vaguely. As the surgery began, he ignored the operating table, scanning the walls.
Soon, a door slowly materialized. Approaching it, he knew the staff couldn’t see it—perhaps only third-stage spiritual sensitives could. Pushing it open, he found the same pitch-black void, untouched by the operating room’s light. Stepping inside, he closed the door gently.
A faint glow illuminated a sign. Kamihara looked up.
『Lung』
(End of Chapter)
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