Tokyo, Genesis Company.
"Fujiwara-sensei."
Holding a tablet and scanning the data, Megumi spoke calmly.
"After the group completed the acquisition and integration of Tohto Medical, a total of thirty-seven doctors at the level of department chair or associate professor—from surgery, internal medicine, and other key departments—have been dismissed."
Seiji gave a brief "Mm," saying nothing more.
It was an inevitable process.
After taking over the hospitals under the medical group, he was bound to remove people who were too deeply tied to Tohto Medical's old leadership.
They would never become his people.
And they couldn't be trusted anyway.
"However," Megumi continued, "the number of level-four surgeries handled by our hospitals has dropped by forty point three percent year-on-year. The success rate of completed surgeries has fallen from ninety-two percent to eighty-one point seven percent."
She paused, then added, "At the same time, nearby competing hospitals—such as the University of the Capital Affiliated Hospital and St. Luke's International Hospital—have rolled out aggressive incentive policies in response to our loss of core staff. This month alone, we've lost more than three hundred high-net-worth appointment clients."
Megumi looked at Seiji.
His expression remained calm. With a slight shift of thought, a translucent interface that only he could see appeared before his eyes.
At the top of the screen were a few concise words:
[Elite Active Doctors in Japan]
This was the stage-one reward granted by the system after he completed the capture of Toyokawa Sakiko.
The timing couldn't have been better.
Seiji's gaze swept over the list and settled on one profile.
[Name: Mishima Tsukiki]
[Skill Evaluation: General Surgery Professor-level]
[Current Status: Resident physician at Hayama Prefecture Public Hospital, facing suppression]
Professor-level skill meant that, in the field of surgery, Mishima Tsukiki was unquestionably elite. At any major hospital, he could easily command an annual salary of thirty million yen or more.
He could even become the flagship name of a general surgery department.
But a person's ceiling wasn't determined by technical skill alone.
Human relationships were also part of the equation.
The doctors on the system's list all shared a similar trait: outstanding ability, but blunt personalities, poor at currying favor with superiors.
In other countries, they might still have room to rise.
But in Japan…
Seiji offered no comment, only thinking to himself:
Recruiting him now would be a true lifeline in the snow.
He closed the interface.
"Megumi."
"I'm here."
"Make preparations. Tomorrow, we're going to Hayama Prefecture Public Hospital."
"…Hayama Prefecture?"
Megumi froze for a moment. She pulled up a map app and quickly realized it was a small county town on the outskirts of Tokyo.
Its public hospital was even more obscure.
Why go there?
She looked at Seiji in confusion.
But he had already closed his eyes again, as if resting.
"…Understood, Fujiwara-sensei." Megumi swallowed her questions and said no more.
Remote Hayama Prefecture was shrouded in endless rain.
The air carried a damp, decaying scent, perfectly matching Mishima Tsukiki's mood.
For him, this was the darkest day of his thirty-eight years of life.
Nine in the morning. Morning conference.
Based on the special condition of an elderly patient with a complex abdominal aortic aneurysm, he had stayed up nearly all night. After reviewing nearly ten years of literature, he designed an ingenious minimally invasive interventional embolization plan.
It would not only minimize surgical trauma, but also preserve the patient's future quality of life to the greatest extent, avoiding the enormous risks and long recovery associated with traditional open-chest surgery.
He had even prepared detailed contingencies for possible intraoperative complications.
Yet when he submitted the plan—one forged from his own blood and sweat—the response he received was Director Imada's impatient expression.
Director Imada didn't even finish the first page before rudely interrupting him.
"Doctor Mishima!"
"D-Director?"
"I'll say this again. This is Hayama Prefecture Public Hospital, not the University of the Capital where you used to work!" Director Imada barked. "We have our own surgical standards! Who's going to understand this fancy nonsense of yours?"
"Are you trying to show off how impressive you are?"
"Or do you expect everyone in our surgical department to drop what they're doing just to help you with your so-called 'academic research'?"
Bang!
With undisguised disdain, Director Imada threw the proposal onto the floor.
"We'll follow the original plan. Open surgery, artificial graft replacement. Stable, mature, no room for mistakes." He shot Mishima Tsukiki a cold look and snorted.
Around the conference table, colleagues wore different expressions.
Some showed sympathy, others indifference—but more than a few were quietly pleased.
They were long used to the director's style, and they didn't mind seeing this unsociable "genius" get slapped down.
Mishima Tsukiki watched in silence as the plan—extremely unfriendly to elderly patients—was passed unanimously.
All he could do was sit down in humiliation, clenching his fists beneath the table until his knuckles trembled from the force.
That afternoon, Mishima Tsukiki continued working.
In the hallway, he ran into a younger colleague, Doctor Kobayashi, who had secured the department's only spot for advanced training in Tokyo through flattery and brown-nosing.
Kobayashi wore a fake, self-satisfied smile. He deliberately blocked Mishima's path and patted his shoulder warmly.
"Senpai, you've really worked hard."
"I heard about the meeting this morning. To be honest, your skills are recognized as the best in the entire hospital."
"But handling relationships with your superiors is important too."
Mishima Tsukiki glanced at him and said nothing.
Kobayashi leaned in closer, lowering his voice, the mockery growing thicker.
"In today's world, what matters is connections—knowing how to 'communicate.'"
"When you're buried in your office studying those headache-inducing papers, I'm out golfing with the director. That's why I get to go to Tokyo to learn the latest techniques, while you stay here—no matter how many years longer you've been here, still just a resident."
He shook his head as if in pity.
"Senpai, take my advice. If you want to keep working here, don't go against the director."
With that, Doctor Kobayashi turned and left, whistling.
Mishima Tsukiki stared at his retreating back, teeth clenched tight.
That night, Mishima Tsukiki returned home, exhausted.
As always, his wife, Yuko Mishima, gently took his briefcase and prepared a hot meal.
He ate mechanically, pretended to be tired, and lay down on the living room sofa, closing his eyes—but sleep wouldn't come.
"Already asleep…?" his wife murmured, turning away.
Soon after, he heard the balcony door slide open softly, followed by her hushed voice on the phone with her mother.
"…Mom, it's me. Yuko."
Her tone was deliberately light.
"Yes, we're both doing fine. You don't need to worry. Right, I'm healthy."
"Tsukiki? Of course he's fine! He's the pillar of our family!" Her voice even lifted, as if sharing good news. "Everyone at the hospital relies on him. All the complicated surgeries are handled by him."
"The director? The director really values him. He's always praising him in front of everyone!"
The more Mishima listened, the more his chest ached.
He heard his mother-in-law ask if he'd seemed down lately.
"No, no," Yuko replied quickly. "He's just tired from work. Once he's off, he wants to rest. You know how serious he is about his job."
"I've told him many times, but he won't listen… Mm, mm, I know. I'll take good care of him."
"Money? We have enough. Don't worry about us."
On the other end, his mother-in-law seemed unconvinced and kept talking.
Through the narrow slit of his half-open eyes, Mishima Tsukiki clearly saw his wife—who kept saying everything was fine—covering her mouth with her free hand, shoulders shaking as tears fell silently.
That scene was like a red-hot branding iron, searing itself into his heart.
Soon, Yuko hung up, wiped away her tears as fast as she could, fixed her expression, and tiptoed back into the living room.
She draped a blanket over him, then turned and went into the kitchen to wash the dishes.
Mishima Tsukiki suddenly opened his eyes, pain filling them.
He looked toward the kitchen, then quietly got up and left the apartment.
Outside, rain poured down.
The icy droplets lashed his face, yet he felt no cold at all—his heart had long since been riddled with holes.
He went to a local izakaya and drank shochu, one glass after another, numbly forcing it down his throat.
Until he was completely drunk.
When he stumbled back out into the night, the world spun wildly, but one thought remained unnaturally clear in his mind.
Not far away, the railway tracks glimmered with a deathly sheen beneath dim streetlights and cold rain.
End it.
End this humiliating, hopeless life.
At least… don't drag her down with me anymore.
He staggered toward the tracks. Past glory, present humiliation, future despair—scene after scene flashed before his eyes.
Just as his foot was about to step onto the cold steel—
Headlights pierced through the rain, illuminating the small patch of ground before him.
"So bright…" Mishima Tsukiki froze, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
"Doctor Mishima."
A voice called out.
"Who?" He looked over in confusion.
The rear window slowly rolled down.
A handsome young face appeared, deep eyes watching him with a faint smile.
"My name is Seiji Fujiwara. I hear your skills are impressive. Interested in changing jobs and coming to work at my hospital?"
"Huh?" Mishima Tsukiki stared, mouth hanging open, wondering if he'd misheard.
…
The car door closed silently behind him, cutting off the rain and noise of the outside world.
Mishima Tsukiki sat stiffly in the back seat as the alcohol haze rapidly cleared.
He didn't even know how he'd gotten into the car, or why he'd agreed to get in based on a single sentence.
Seiji Fujiwara?
That name sounded familiar… like he'd heard it somewhere before.
But this face—wasn't it far too young?
His mind raced.
A scam? A prank?
He considered many possibilities.
Yet the luxurious interior of the car made it clear this was no cheap ride.
And the calm, heavy presence about this young man was nothing like that of an ordinary person.
Could this be… divine intervention?
Mishima Tsukiki's thoughts spiraled.
The car stopped in front of the only hot spring inn in town that could be called upscale.
Seiji stepped out first.
"Doctor Mishima, please," the driver said, opening the door for him.
"Ah… thank you." Mishima reacted a beat late before getting out.
He followed Seiji inside almost unconsciously.
It wasn't until he was led into the inn's top-class suite that he finally snapped back to his senses.
"W-What is this?" Mishima Tsukiki asked uneasily.
"Please sit down. Have some tea and calm yourself."
Seiji smiled, poured hot tea, and set the cup down across from him.
"…Thank you." Mishima sat down in silence.
He lifted the cup, took a sip, then spoke slowly.
"If you're a con artist, I suggest you find someone else. I don't have any money. You won't get anything from me."
"A con artist?" Seiji laughed, pulled out a business card, and handed it to him.
"Doctor Mishima, once you're sober, look me up."
"I'm something of a public figure myself."
With that, Seiji stood up and left the suite with a smile.
"Go enjoy the hot springs and get some good rest. I'll come see you tomorrow morning at ten."
Then he was gone.
Mishima Tsukiki was left alone, staring blankly at the thin business card in his hand.
Late at night, Mishima Tsukiki returned to the apartment in a daze.
Yuko greeted him anxiously.
He said nothing. He went straight into the room and, under his wife's puzzled gaze, carefully typed in the name:
Seiji Fujiwara.
Click.
He pressed Enter.
Instantly, the screen filled with information.
One glance was enough to make his breathing stop.
[Founder of Genesis Group]
[Youngest business elite of the century, controlling a trillion-yen capital empire]
[Youngest winner of the Ranpo Prize]
[The new god of Asian finance, shaking global capital markets single-handedly]
[Literary prodigy]
[Time magazine Person of the Year cover: The man defining the next decade]
[New light novel volume! Debuted at the top, still unchallenged]
[Forbes commentary: His appearance marks the arrival of a new era]
[Personal asset valuation: Impossible to estimate due to complex, multi-sector holdings]
Mishima Tsukiki opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to make a sound.
Real… or fake?
Did someone like this… really exist in the real world?
Debuting as a light novelist, winning major literary awards, founding companies to produce anime, variety shows, and dramas—and even defeating TV networks?
This was a monster.
Trembling, Mishima Tsukiki ignored the time and immediately grabbed his phone, calling an old classmate—Tanaka Kenichi, now a surgery professor at the University of the Capital Affiliated Hospital.
Tanaka was one of the most outstanding of their cohort and had become a pillar of one of Japan's top hospitals, known for his calm and steady demeanor.
Once the call connected, Mishima practically whispered, "Ah… Tanaka? It's Mishima. I want to ask you something… Seiji Fujiwara. Have you heard of him?"
"Seiji Fujiwara?" Tanaka sounded surprised.
"If you mean that monster of a young man from Kyoto, then yes, I know him. What's wrong?"
"Why are you suddenly asking about Seiji Fujiwara?"
Mishima swallowed hard.
After a few seconds of silence, he said shakily, "Tanaka… Seiji Fujiwara came to recruit me today. He said he wants me to work at his hospital."
The other end went quiet for a long time.
"Tanaka?"
"Mishima!" Tanaka suddenly shouted. "Listen to me! I don't care what you're doing—accept it!"
"Even if you have to kneel, kneel and say yes!"
Mishima Tsukiki was stunned.
Even kneeling… he had to accept?
Tanaka continued excitedly, "Do you know this? Our director—the director of the University of the Capital Affiliated Hospital—spent an entire month preparing just to get a chance to say a single sentence to him at an economic summit reception. In the end, he couldn't even get within three meters of him!"
"Mishima, listen carefully. This might be the biggest—and last—chance of your life. You absolutely cannot mess this up!"
Tanaka's loss of composure was far more shocking than any article online.
Mishima's mind went blank, as if starved of oxygen. His ears rang as he stood there, clutching the phone, unable to move for a long time.
He didn't sleep all night.
The next morning, Mishima Tsukiki arrived at the hospital with dark circles under his eyes, moving as if in a dream.
Then he saw a scene he would never forget.
"What's going on…?"
The shabby street in front of the hospital had been completely cleared. The usually lazy security guards now stood ramrod straight, sweat beading on their foreheads.
Several luxury cars slowly pulled up. Their imposing, chilling presence plunged the entire hospital into an eerie silence.