The third year at AUMC began not with excitement, nor with curiosity, but with a quiet sense of disappointment that settled deep within Akshat Aether's mind, because as he sat through the lectures, watching professors explain procedures with careful precision and rehearsed authority, there was not a single concept presented before him that felt new, not a single explanation that pushed his understanding further, and not a single demonstration that matched what he had already experienced with his own hands in real, unforgiving conditions, because everything they described in structured words and diagrams, he had already lived through in moments where hesitation meant death and precision meant survival.
When the topic of advanced cardiac surgery was introduced, the lecture hall subtly shifted into a more focused atmosphere, as the professor began explaining the complexity of the Ross Procedure, detailing how it involved replacing a diseased aortic valve with the patient's own pulmonary valve, followed by the placement of a donor valve into the pulmonary position, emphasizing the technical challenges, the risk of failure, and the level of expertise required to perform such a surgery successfully, but as the explanation continued, Akshat's gaze drifted slightly, not out of boredom, but because every word being spoken felt like a repetition of something he had already executed under far harsher conditions.
He remembered it clearly.
The patient had been young, barely conscious, their heartbeat unstable and collapsing under pressure, their body already nearing the threshold where recovery seemed impossible, and there had been no perfect operating room, no team of specialists guiding each step, and no margin for error that textbooks often assumed, because the situation demanded immediate action, forcing Akshat to step in without hesitation, making decisions in seconds that would normally require hours of preparation, as he carefully excised the damaged aortic valve, preserving the surrounding structure with an accuracy that came not from formal training but from instinct sharpened through experience, before repositioning the pulmonary valve into place, ensuring alignment, flow integrity, and structural stability, all while the patient's condition fluctuated dangerously, because even the slightest miscalculation could have ended everything.
And yet, he succeeded. Perfectly enough to pull the patient back from death.
The lecture continued, moving toward another advanced procedure, the Ozaki Technique, where the professor explained how the aortic valve could be reconstructed using the patient's own pericardium, treated and shaped into new cusps to restore proper function, highlighting its innovation, its complexity, and the level of surgical creativity required to perform it successfully, but once again, Akshat found himself detached from the explanation, because this too was something he had already faced, not in theory, but in reality.
That patient had been worse.
Their condition had already deteriorated beyond what standard procedures could handle, their original valve structure too damaged to be repaired conventionally, forcing Akshat to improvise in a situation where failure was almost guaranteed, as he harvested pericardial tissue with careful precision, treated it under improvised conditions, and manually shaped each cusp, aligning them with an understanding that came not from textbooks but from a deep, almost unnatural grasp of how the human body functioned under extreme stress, because there had been no time to question, no time to doubt, only time to act.
And once again—
The patient lived.
Sitting there in that lecture hall, listening to explanations that simplified what he had experienced in its rawest form, Akshat realized something clearly, something that set him apart from everyone else in that room, because while they were learning how to save lives through controlled methods and guided instruction, he had already crossed that boundary, stepping into a space where survival depended not on perfection, but on dominance over chaos itself.
By the time the classes ended, nothing within him had changed.
No new knowledge.
No new challenge.
Only confirmation of what he already knew.
As he walked through the corridor once again, the same silent authority followed him, the same unspoken pressure that made others step aside without resistance, and it was there, in that familiar passage, that he encountered her again.
Kuroda Haruki
This time, there was no confusion.
No surprise.
Only recognition.
Their eyes met, and unlike before, neither of them looked away, because something had shifted between them, something that didn't require words to be understood, yet demanded to be acknowledged, as the silence stretched longer than what would be considered normal, filled with unspoken thoughts, unspoken emotions, and the weight of everything that had happened between them.
Finally, she spoke.
"Sorry for before… maybe I did too many unforgivable things."
Her voice was steady, but beneath it carried a subtle tension, a mixture of regret and restraint that she refused to let fully surface, as if she had already accepted the consequences of her past actions.
Then, after a brief pause, she lowered her gaze slightly, though not completely, maintaining enough strength to face him.
"May the successor show mercy on me."
There was respect in her tone.
But also fear.
Not the kind that made someone weak, but the kind that came from understanding exactly who stood in front of her.
Akshat watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before speaking in a tone that carried neither cruelty nor softness, but something far more grounded.
"Be better."
The words were simple, yet absolute, carrying an expectation rather than a suggestion, as he stepped closer without hesitation, lifting her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze directly, not allowing her to hide behind lowered eyes or controlled expressions.
"I didn't notice before," he continued, his voice calm, almost casual, yet layered with something deeper, "but your face is quite beautiful… instead you've built yourself like a weapon."
His gaze moved slightly, observing her with a clarity that stripped away pretense.
"You could be a good girl."
For a moment, time seemed to pause.
Because those words, simple as they were, struck something far deeper than intended, causing her eyes to fill with tears almost instantly, not spilling over, not breaking her composure completely, but gathering just enough to reveal the cracks beneath her strength, because what he had touched was not her pride, nor her identity as a fighter, but something buried far deeper—
Her past.
Her loss.
Her family.
And Akshat saw it.
Not just the tears.
But what caused them.
The destruction.
The helplessness.
The trauma she carried silently.
And for the first time in that moment, his expression shifted slightly, not into sympathy, but into awareness, as he stepped back just enough to create space, breaking the intensity before it pushed her further.
"It's a joke, silly… don't cry."
His tone lightened just slightly, not mocking, but deliberately easing the tension he had created, as he looked at her again, this time with a clearer intent.
"Work under me," he said, his voice steady, grounded, "and I'll buy your family back."
There was no hesitation.
No uncertainty.
"And after that… I'll destroy the Fallen Star Auction."
The words landed heavily, carrying a scale that went far beyond personal ambition, because this wasn't just about saving her family anymore, it was about dismantling something much larger.
Her eyes widened slightly, the tears still present but now mixed with disbelief, as she spoke without thinking.
"Destroying the auction… are you crazy? They can kill you in a moment."
Akshat didn't react strongly.
Didn't argue.
Didn't explain.
Instead, he answered with the same calm certainty that defined him.
"I'm the successor."
A brief pause.
"I know much more than you."
And that was enough.
Because his confidence wasn't arrogance.
It was knowledge.
---
Later that day, as the sun began to fade and the city shifted into its quieter hours, Akshat finally returned to his villa after months of absence, the place standing untouched yet somehow expectant, as if it had been waiting for his return without needing confirmation, and as he stepped toward the door, unlocking it with the same casual ease that defined his actions, there was no anticipation in his expression, no curiosity about what awaited him inside.
But the moment the door opened—
The atmosphere shifted.
Inside, standing in the kitchen with effortless presence, was a strikingly beautiful woman, her skin a deep, smooth shade that contrasted sharply with the vibrant green of her hair, creating a visual that was both unusual and captivating, as she moved casually while cooking, dressed in nothing more than a bikini that made her lack of concern for normal boundaries immediately clear, her posture relaxed, as if she belonged there without question.
And on the sofa—
Ryuki sat comfortably, completely at ease, watching television as though this entire situation was perfectly normal, as though Akshat's sudden return after months meant nothing out of the ordinary.
For a brief moment, Akshat simply stood there, taking in the scene without reacting outwardly, his gaze shifting between the two, processing the unexpected reality before him, because this—
This was not what he had left behind.
And yet somehow—
It felt like something he would have to deal with next.
End of ch 67
To be continue...
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