The 18

Chapter 134: Human Body Hospital (4K)

『Lung』

Kamihara Shinji glanced at the sign before the door, but before he could examine it further, a thunderous roar echoed from the staircase above. The sound was louder than what he’d heard at the 『Heart』 door. Was the lung door closer to the upper floors? Or did each door lead to a separate space? Perhaps the path below was an escape route, a race against the flow of blood.

There was no time to ponder. Kamihara bolted down the stairs, determined to see what lay at the bottom. Most would tread carefully in such a dark, eerie space, but Kamihara sprinted without hesitation. His enhanced physique, bolstered by his spiritual power, allowed him to move swiftly. He cared little for his life, unconcerned about the dangers of his reckless pace.

The staircase had no railings, suspended in the void, with endless darkness below on either side. Yet, Kamihara had entered with a resolve to die if necessary. After what felt like an eternity, he spotted a faint light below—a door. The roar above grew deafening. Without pause, he reached the door and read the sign: 『Heart』.

The heart door? His mind raced. The five viscera and six bowels—perhaps the layout mirrored the human body. If the brain was the starting point, the lungs were indeed closer than the heart. To test his theory, he didn’t enter the heart door. He knew what awaited inside: surgeons ready to extract his heart, as he’d already experienced.

Why not let the blood torrent claim him instead? Upon revival, the blood would surge again, giving him time to explore further. The space seemed bottomless, and he briefly considered jumping, but the risk of eternal imprisonment in an endless void deterred him. If there was a bottom, he’d die and revive there, but without a door, he’d be trapped.

Death wasn’t frightening; eternal confinement was. At least, entering a door and dying from the surgeons’ hands was a single death, not a loop like Matsunai’s torment. Kamihara’s thoughts flashed as the blood torrent approached. The stairs were straight, not spiral, with only a landing at each organ door. Oddly, the blood didn’t spill over the rail-less sides.

He realized the blood’s roar began the moment he entered, as if targeting him specifically. While running, he pondered this, but focused on his surroundings. The space was too dark to see clearly; a sudden turn could send him plummeting. Fortunately, the stairs were straight, bending only at the organ doors.

As he thought, the blood caught up, engulfing him. His body dissolved in seconds.

One minute later, Kamihara rose again, the third death that day. Without hesitation, he dashed downward, the blood’s rumble already resuming. The torrent was relentless, targeting any living being in the space. Humans might outrun blood in a large area, but the narrow staircase, wide enough for two and a half people, ensured the blood would eventually overtake him.

For ordinary monitors, this would be a death trap, but Kamihara had lives to spare. As long as death wasn’t agonizing, he could endure.

Soon, he reached another door. Looking up at the faintly glowing sign, he saw two bloody characters: 『Liver』.

Should he enter? He wanted to know if each door offered a way to avoid death. Earlier, he’d avoided the lung door, unsure if the space was interconnected. Seeing the heart door confirmed each door linked to a specific operating room in Harajuku Hospital.

He’d already died in the heart door; what awaited in the liver door? Without hesitation, he pushed it open. Unlike other monitors, who merely investigated anomalies’ killing methods and reported to the Special Division, Kamihara sought to contain them. Ordinary monitors prioritized survival, but he had lives to burn. Pain was familiar; nothing rivaled Matsunai’s soul-tearing agony.

Entering the liver door, drowsiness washed over him, as before. Resisting, he opened his eyes to see surgeons and nurses surrounding him, their faces different from those in the heart door. Each door had its own team.

As he fought sleep, a sharp pain erupted in his abdomen. Damn! He cursed inwardly, his thoughts shattered. Clenching his teeth, he endured. Soon, the lead surgeon held his liver aloft. Realizing it was the liver door, his vision blackened, and he died.

Reviving a minute later, Kamihara checked his notebook: Lifespan: 96 days. Four deaths. Calmly, he exited the operating room without waiting for discovery.

Seated on a bench, he jotted notes. Each door inflicted inhuman torment, though self-inflicted—he could have succumbed to sleep, avoiding pain, but that yielded no information. Why did lying on the table induce such drowsiness? Was the anomaly merciful, sparing victims pain? Unlikely—there had to be a reason.

It was past six, nearly seven. He’d spent over three hours at Harajuku Hospital. Undeterred, he called the director again, requesting to observe another surgery, this time a liver procedure. The director, puzzled by his post-surgery vigor, agreed reluctantly.

Twenty minutes later, Kamihara entered the operating room. As the surgery began, the door appeared. He stepped through, hearing the blood’s roar above. Closing the door, he gazed at the 『Liver』 sign, then descended the stairs at a measured pace, knowing he had time before the blood reached him.

He even observed the vast, dark space, its size unknown, the impenetrable blackness suggesting a massive underground expanse. Nearing the next door as the blood’s roar intensified, he read the sign: 『Spleen』. Without pause, he entered.

Drowsiness hit, but he resisted, lying on the table as surgeons and nurses encircled him. He memorized their masked faces, noting they differed from previous teams. Then, a grunt escaped him as the lead surgeon extracted his spleen. As expected, he died.

Reviving, he pushed open the door. A nurse outside gasped, “Who are you? How did you get in there?”

Kamihara fabricated an excuse, then asked, “Where do I go for spleen issues?”

The nurse, ignoring his question, grabbed him sternly. “Who are you? How did you enter the operating room?” She’d been outside, and no one had passed.

Sighing, Kamihara called the director, explaining vaguely, and handed the phone to the nurse. After a minute, her expression softened. With the director’s assurance, she dropped the matter. “For spleen problems, go to general surgery,” she directed. “Downstairs, to the right.”

“Thank you,” Kamihara said, heading to the second floor. Entering general surgery, he saw a doctor in a white coat on the phone. Waiting, he studied the doctor’s face, his heart tightening. This was the lead surgeon who’d extracted his spleen.

When the doctor hung up, Kamihara approached, glancing at his name tag. “Dr. Furukawa, were you just performing surgery?”

“Surgery?” Furukawa looked up, confused, then shook his head. “I’ve been here. Are you a patient?”

“No,” Kamihara smiled. “Sorry to bother you.”

Outside, his expression darkened. Furukawa was indeed the surgeon, yet his spiritual probe detected no lie. The truth dawned: the hospital staff were controlled or hypnotized. They were unaware of their actions during surgeries.

Recalling his revival after the heart extraction, the staff had claimed no one used the operating room, and his probe confirmed their honesty. Now, he understood: hypnotized, they didn’t know they’d been used. Their answers reflected their conscious knowledge, not lies.

Seated, Kamihara wasn’t elated by this discovery, though it was a small comfort. The anomaly—likely the hospital itself—could hypnotize its staff. He recorded this, then called the director again, requesting to observe a spleen surgery.

Twenty minutes later, he entered the operating room. As the surgery commenced, the door materialized. He stepped through, closing it behind him. Ignoring the blood’s rumble, he descended to the next door: 『Kidney』. He entered without hesitation.

Surgeons and nurses surrounded the table, emotionless, treating him like a lab rat. But he knew they were hypnotized, their bodies puppets. Like mistaking clothes for ghosts on a balcony, his initial fear was misplaced. As his kidney was removed, he expected death, closing his eyes. Yet, consciousness lingered. Pain throbbed from the extraction site, cold sweat beading on his skin.

Opening his eyes, he saw the lead surgeon suturing him crudely, without anesthesia. The pain was relentless. Eventually, the staff left. Why hadn’t he died? Lying on the table, pale and drenched, he realized: kidney removal wasn’t fatal. Organ trafficking existed for a reason.

Struggling to his feet, he winced, the pain sharp. Better to die and reset. But this survival was a breakthrough—the kidney door might be a path to avoid death. Other doors, tied to vital organs, led to instant demise. This could be the anomaly’s escape route.

Yet, beyond the pain, he felt an odd sensation, similar to post-appendectomy. A vague discomfort he couldn’t place. Clutching his side, he headed for the door, but nurses rushed in, alarmed. “Why are you up? Lie down!”

Puzzled, Kamihara let them guide him back to the table. Were they treating him as a regular patient? After his previous deaths, he’d revived alone. This time, alive, they saw him as a post-op case. Transferred to a hospital bed, he half-listened to a nurse’s instructions.

Once alone, he called the director. “Inspector Kamihara, the surgery was perfect, right? Trust Harajuku Hospital,” the director chuckled.

Kamihara paused, realizing the director was also hypnotized, as expected. Ignoring the praise, he said, “I need to observe another kidney surgery soon.”

The director, baffled by his insistence, reluctantly agreed, fearing post-op complications under his care. Half an hour later, Kamihara, limping from pain, entered another operating room. The kidney extraction left him weak, the unanesthetized wound throbbing with each step. He couldn’t run like this.

Inside, as the surgery began, he entered the door, staring at the bloody 『Kidney』 sign. The blood torrent arrived, dissolving his body.

One minute later, he rose, body restored. His gaze lingered on the dark staircase below. Having confirmed the kidney door’s survivability, he prepared to explore further, investigating the remaining organ doors.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter 135: The Door to Avoid Death? (8K)

Upon receiving the call, Kamihara Shinji immediately headed to Harajuku Hospital. He didn’t bother requesting leave from school; he simply skipped class. The school, aware of his Ghost Club’s presence, turned a blind eye. The principal and board, ordinary people, knew only that Kamihara was not to be trifled with. As long as he behaved, they left him alone. He attended school to savor youth, not to be bound by rules.

Taking the train to Chiyoda Ward, he arrived at Harajuku Private Hospital. No matter how many times he observed it, even with his spiritual pressure, the hospital appeared utterly normal. Yet, he now suspected the entire building was an anomaly. Most puzzling was its ability to kill without alerting monitors—a stealth that astonished him.

He’d pondered this, concluding it was tied to the hospital’s nature. If the hospital itself was the anomaly, it could manipulate surgeries, making the doctors unwitting killers. This would explain why he never sensed the anomaly’s presence; the deaths were technically caused by human hands.

The organ doors, appearing only during surgeries, supported this theory. He’d also learned that unlike other hospitals, Harajuku’s operating rooms lacked cameras—a potential clue or mere coincidence. Without surveillance, the anomaly could act freely during procedures.

But another question lingered: why did surgery patients survive initially, dying later, while he died immediately? Was it because he’d entered the organ doors’ inner space? Pushing these thoughts aside, he entered the hospital.

Familiar with the observation protocols, he changed, disinfected, and entered the operating room. This time, it was a liver surgery, but he paid little attention, focused on entering the anomaly’s space to investigate each door and uncover its killing rules.

As the door, blending with the wall, slowly appeared, Kamihara slipped through unnoticed. Inside the dark void, the blood’s roar echoed from above. Calmly, he closed the door, glancing at the faintly glowing 『Liver』 sign, then descended the stairs unhurriedly, knowing he had time.

He even took a moment to sense the vast, impenetrable darkness, imagining a colossal underground expanse. As the blood’s roar grew louder, he reached the next door: 『Spleen』. Without pause, he entered.

Drowsiness washed over him, but he resisted, lying on the table as surgeons and nurses surrounded him. He memorized their faces, noting they differed from previous teams. A grunt escaped as the lead surgeon extracted his spleen. As expected, he died.

Reviving, he exited the door. A nurse outside gasped, “Who are you? How did you get in there?”