Chapter One: This Life Has Begun

Tokyo, Tokyo Medical and Dental University Hospital.

Golden sunlight streamed through the slats of the blinds into the dimly lit office, gilding the thick piles of documents on the desk and making the white-tiled floor gleam. Reflected light cast the entire gloomy room in resplendent brilliance, reminiscent of Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s famed golden tearoom—layer upon layer shifting ceaselessly, like the ascending steps of an ivory tower.

Yet, for all its splendor, the place was cold and desolate.

A draft from the window stung with icy chill, while inside the department, the noise was like a bustling market—everyone engrossed in their own affairs.

As per custom, today was Professor Zaizen’s morning clinic in the First Surgical Department.

Amid the bustle of white coats and nurse uniforms, only one young man seemed out of place. On his desk sat a cardboard box crammed with files and books.

Snatching up his white coat and swinging it over his shoulders, the tall, sharp-featured young man gathered a stack of documents. Suddenly, he stood up, his voice booming like thunder: “Everyone!”

The busy, noisy First Surgical Department fell instantly silent. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to him—some puzzled, some annoyed, some disdainful, others sympathetic.

“I have always been grateful for your guidance,” the young man continued in a loud, cold voice. “From today onward, I will be transferring to Forensic Pathology. Until we meet again.”

With that, he offered a slight bow, grabbed his box, and strode out of the department.

The name badge on his coat swung wildly.

Tokyo Medical and Dental University Hospital, Department of Forensic Pathology, Intern, Muneyuki Uesugi.

Ignoring the murmurs behind him, the young man carried his box against the flow, leaving the First Surgical Department behind. From the hospital’s main entrance, the morning’s commotion grew louder—another tense day had begun.

Patients began filing into the lobby. Nurses in crisp uniforms registered them at the front desk. Emergency doctors jogged by with IV stands. Elderly men with pallid faces sat blankly on metal chairs, eyes fixed on the big screen, while anxious parents led children, seeking information.

Bustle, noise, yet order in chaos.

He alone was out of place—a solitary island in a sea of humanity.

Interns were not allowed to use the elevators alone; he had to shoulder his box through corridors and stairwells.

The Department of Pathology was tucked away in the darkest, most remote corner of the medical building. Colder than any other department, the air was thick with disinfectant and dust. At the corridor’s end, a locked glass door blocked the way, behind which a heap of discarded IV poles, wheelchairs, and beds obstructed further passage. The morning sun had yet to reach this place, but the shadow of death had long lingered.

Hospitals are places where death happens every day. Doctors are people who make their living by recording the birth and death of others.

Here, silence was terrifying, but not unexpected. Other departments cared for the living; here, they tended the dead.

As soon as the door opened, a strong whiff of formalin assaulted his senses. Human organs floated in jars on the shelves; stacks of folders told the story of humanity’s endless battle with disease. On the monitor, images of lingering cases remained. Behind the desk, an elderly man—gaunt as a monkey, deep wrinkles, hair slicked back over a sparse crown—looked up from his paperwork.

“You’ve arrived?” His voice was dry.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Muneyuki Uesugi. From today, I’ll be interning under Professor Okouchi. I look forward to your guidance.” The young man bowed with his box in hand—his form not quite standard.

“I’ve already heard,” the old man replied, leaning back in his chair, hawk-nosed and commanding without effort, hands resting on the armrests. “You’re here to be a doctor, not a politician. This is a national hospital, not a contest for who can shout the loudest.”

“…I apologize,” the young man said, his expression cold as the moon in a deep well. He set down his box and bent slightly. “I only…”

“I wasn’t planning to take on any more apprentices, if not for your grandfather’s request.” The old man put down his papers, fingers interlaced, his gaze chilly. “Are you sure about this? Forensics is infamous as a ‘7K’ profession.”

“Do I have any other choice now?” Uesugi bowed again. “Before I formally become your student, may I ask you one question?”

The old man said nothing, gesturing with his eyes for Uesugi to continue.

“Was it wrong for me to do what I did?”

“Uesugi,” the old man replied, as if he had anticipated the question. He pondered a moment, then shook his head. “Whether to tell a patient the truth about their condition—there’s never a right answer. Medicine is not absolute. We wage an endless war.”

“Perhaps, as Zaizen said, your disposition is better suited to the dead than the living. The dead do not speak. All we need do is state the facts.” The professor had not finished when a louder sound erupted from the ceiling above.

An emotionless female electronic voice echoed down the cold corridor of the inpatient wing, followed by the hurried shuffle of many feet.

“Professor Zaizen, conducting rounds.”

To be a professor leading morning rounds was every doctor’s dream—a dream now out of reach.

“In a national hospital, the loudest voice is the professor’s,” Uesugi remarked, glancing at the ceiling. “And the most skilled.”

“We have too many politicians here, and too few doctors,” Professor Okouchi said, forcing a smile. “If you have no further questions… welcome to the Department of Forensic Pathology, Uesugi.”

Uesugi managed an awkward smile in return, a complex ache stirring in his chest—part pain, part strange pleasure. He recalled the twenty-two years of his life, and his eyes rippled with emotion.

He was not of this world. By the usual definition, he was a transmigrant from China.

But unlike other transmigrators, Muneyuki Uesugi didn’t awaken to his previous life until his second year of high school, and it happened only because he accidentally touched a statue of Bishamonten that his brother Sadakazu had brought back from an archaeological site. In that instant, his past life memories returned.

Yes, he was born into the Uesugi family—the very Yamanouchi Uesugi clan descended from Kenshin Uesugi, the “Dragon of Echigo,” and the Uesugi of Yonezawa, with Kagekatsu Uesugi as their lord. He was the family’s second son, raised in comfort and privilege: his grandfather a professor at the University of Tokyo, his father director of the Tokyo Cultural Exchange Center, and his brother an archaeology researcher at Waseda University.

Over the years, Muneyuki had learned to quietly accept the truth of his transmigration and his new identity. Life had to go on, no matter what. He had to live, and live well.

Of course, if this path could one day lead him to reunite with the person who first guided him into medicine, that would be even better.

One side effect of transmigration was that Muneyuki craved authenticity. Nothing felt more real than seeking truth in a world filled with falsehood.

He liked the truth.

Unfortunately, patients did not. He received the most complaints in the medical affairs office. While other doctors and nurses would use “kind” lies to gently probe patients about their understanding of their illness, Muneyuki would always answer directly if asked—for example, “it’s cancer.”

Nor was his medical skill exceptional—getting into Tokyo Medical and Dental University was simply the result of dogged memorization, a holdover from his previous life as a small-town grind.

The result: he was transferred from the prestigious surgical department to forensic pathology.

Forensics? Even dogs wouldn’t study it!

Pathology? Not even dogs would go!

Surgery was always the most sought-after department. Forensic medicine had no perks, practically no research grants, and no seniority-based promotions. The work was dirty, exhausting, and dangerous. The smell of corpses clung to you no matter how many times you bathed.

Transferred to forensic pathology—Muneyuki’s life was as good as decided.

Moreover, it was a cursed profession. In this world’s medical history, forensic doctors seemed to die mysteriously or succumb to sudden illness at a much higher rate than normal doctors—no sane person wanted the job.

Professor Okouchi’s “7K” referred to the seven most detested work conditions in Japan: dangerous, dirty, exhausting, strict, no holidays, no makeup, and no chance of marriage.

Forensics checked every box.

His whole family’s prospects were now doomed.

Advise someone to study medicine, and you’ll be struck by lightning. Advise someone to study forensics, and they’ll be condemned to endless hell, eating at the same table as filth.

But Muneyuki had no other choice. Perhaps, as Professor Okouchi said, he was more suited to the dead than the living. The dead required less consideration.

“Get familiar with the place. The police will be here soon,” Professor Okouchi intoned, his face impassive as ever. “Is this your first time with a body?”

“Yes,” Muneyuki replied curtly. Faced with the “falseness” of this world after transmigrating, he remained cold and aloof.

The chilly, silent atmosphere was not enlivened by the arrival of a newcomer. Professor Okouchi sat behind his desk; Muneyuki unpacked and arranged his things. The two, old and young, exchanged not a word of small talk.

Professor Okouchi, Tokyo Medical and Dental University Hospital’s professor of forensic pathology, former head of the medical faculty, and, like Muneyuki’s grandfather, a recipient of the Emperor’s Prize—a true heavyweight in the medical field.

He was not easy to get along with. If not for Muneyuki’s grandfather, he would never have taken him as a student.

It felt a bit like the Patriarch Bodhi reluctantly taking on the Monkey King as a disciple.

So, when would Professor Okouchi rap his staff three times?

Muneyuki set up his things, awaiting the police.

Why had he chosen medicine?

The reason was simple: his family, a renowned scholarly clan, promised to cover all tuition and living expenses if he could get into a top-tier international university or one designated by the Ministry of Education.

Muneyuki had no reason to refuse.

In two years, he boosted his academic deviation value from 20 to nearly 70 and was admitted to the Tokyo Medical and Dental University’s School of Medicine. The family celebrated.

The sorrows and joys of mankind are never truly shared. For Muneyuki, it was only ever about winning his family’s support.

Yes, tuition alone at Tokyo Medical and Dental University was 1.3 million yen per year. If you added in miscellaneous fees, equipment costs, club fees, and living expenses, it totaled at least 3 million yen a year.

Even as a transmigrant, Uesugi lacked the courage to incur over 8 million yen in scholarship loans before even entering society.

Yes, most “scholarships” in Japan were actually loans—to be repaid, with annual interest rates never below 3%. Scholarship loans had even become a financial product.

Damn this little country.

…

After a while, someone arrived.

Two tall men in suits knocked on the forensic pathology department’s door—an older and a younger man. The elder had a greased middle part, large eyes and nose, and looked to be in his forties.

The younger was thin, sharp-faced, and pockmarked, with a fierce look and somewhat fresher hair than his oily superior.

“Sorry to trouble you again, Professor Okouchi,” the elder said, showing his credentials.

“Naoki Tanaka, Inspector, Otsuka Police Station, Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department.”

Detectives?

Muneyuki thought to himself; only detectives wore plain clothes.

A case?

The other, Senior Police Officer Kuwabara, introduced himself as well.

A classic old-young pairing.

“Shall we?” Professor Okouchi rose slowly, and Muneyuki hurriedly introduced himself.

“A newcomer?” Inspector Tanaka looked Muneyuki up and down with interest. “Wow, it’s been ages since we’ve had a rookie in forensics. Your name is Uesugi, right? The Uesugi of Lord Kenshin?”

“That’s right, the Uesugi of Lord Kenshin,” Muneyuki replied, feeling a wave of oily familiarity.

“Then your first time will be with me, Naoki Tanaka!” the inspector joked, offering his hand. “There are a lot of elderly in this area, so we’ll be relying on you often. Looking forward to working together!”

“Likewise…” Muneyuki reluctantly shook the inspector’s greasy hand.

Sure enough, as soon as they got in the police car, Inspector Tanaka took a keen interest in Muneyuki.

Steel and concrete flashed by outside as the conversation flowed inside.

“Hey, kid, you’re a good-looking guy. Got a girlfriend? Is she well-endowed?” Inspector Tanaka was in high spirits. Japanese workplace veterans loved to tease newcomers with awkward questions. He’d already seen that Professor Okouchi had no intention of shielding Muneyuki, who was a pure rookie—an easy target for hazing.

It was a standard East Asian test of obedience—a glorious tradition.

Ah, the fate of a forensic doctor.

Muneyuki rolled his eyes and replied irritably, “No girlfriend, but I do have a lover from Musashino University. She’s not well-endowed, but her legs are long. We’ll probably date a few more months before I find another.”

“Wow, young Uesugi, you play the field!” Tanaka laughed, wolfing down a rice ball. “Get ready; this one should be over quickly.”

“The deceased, Masao Endo, seventy-two, lived in a three-generation household. He was once a construction foreman and had been semi-disabled since age seventy.”

“Yes, on the day of the incident, he didn’t get up, but the family didn’t pay much attention until just before noon. When they checked, they found he’d hanged himself. The scene matches the family’s account. We need a professional to sign the death certificate.”

“I see,” Muneyuki replied blankly. “So, not an unnatural death?”

“How many unnatural deaths do you think there are?” Inspector Tanaka replied, clearly tired of the question. “Just rule it a suicide and be done. This is your first autopsy, isn’t it? You don’t want to make things complicated, do you, young Uesugi?”

Me? My first time, and you want me to do it?

Perhaps reading Muneyuki’s expression, Professor Okouchi finally spoke.

“Yes, you’ll do it.”

So, on the very first day—he’d be handling a corpse.

Muneyuki closed his eyes.

His fate was sealed.