When I “died,” no one heard my heart beat anew.
The original owner's genjutsu had brought everything to an end, leaving me, a doctor transmigrated from another world, with the worst possible start.
A body ravaged by a terminal illness, its chakra exhausted.
A pair of eyes willingly sacrificed to complete a farewell ritual, plunged into eternal darkness.
An identity the whole world believes to be dead, where even breathing gives me away.
This is everything I, a modern surgeon, inherited in the world of Hokage.
My younger brother's hatred, the Akatsuki's exploitation, the hostility of the entire shinobi world: every burden the original owner carried now weighs on my shoulders, not a gram lighter. And the only “surgical instruments” at my disposal are modern medical knowledge, utterly incompatible with ninjutsu, and this blind, frail body that must relearn even how to stand.
Darkness has become my only curtain.
But what doctors do best is search for the source of an illness by touch and judge whether life remains by experience, even in absolute darkness.
I cannot see the light, but I have begun to “see” so much more: the way chakra flows through the meridians like blood, the faint sounds of flesh and cells breaking down, and... the possibility of “stitching” this ruined body back together with this world.
Resurrection? No.
This is simply the most difficult emergency surgery I have ever performed, on myself, in the shadows where no one knows. And the first incision must be made into this body.
I have lost both my eyes. Now, with these sightless hands, I will take hold of the scalpel of fate.
