The patient's name was Matsumoto Kiyonaga.
He was in his mid-forties, with a lanky look, a wide jaw, and a look that he and Date Wataru must have had in common, much like a gorilla.
His body was badly wounded, having been hit by a shotgun at close range, and although not many parts of the body had been hit, and his abdomen and chest cavity had luckily not turned into a wind-piercing hole, he was partially wounded, and a number of openings had been made in his limb areas.
There was a steady stream of red liquid gushing out of those wounds, symbolizing that Matsumoto Kiyonaga's life force was rapidly draining away, and his blood was soon staining the hospital bed.
Doctors and nurses pushed the bed along furiously, but even so, every ten meters or so, red liquid dripped down the bed, leaving a mark on the white floor tiles.
He hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, still maintaining some degree of consciousness.
With ten patients with gunshot wounds considered an emergency, not to mention the fact that there was a Search Division 1 administrator among them, the doctors on night duty had all awakened and urgently assigned who was in charge of each patient.
The one assigned to Matsumoto Kiyonaga was a doctor specializing in surgery, who ran wildly along with the hospital bed with a face full of despair, hurriedly checking Matsumoto Kiyonaga's condition.
Confirming that there were no police officers around, only people from the hospital, he spoke bitterly, "What if, what if the resuscitation fails?"
"It's a shotgun!"
"Dr. Kanagawa," The unlucky doctor was in tears, "Do you have experience in treating shotguns?!"
Experience in treating, that's not true.
Ichijō Mirai thought for a moment and decided to lighten the mood of the doctor who was almost on the verge of tears, "You think it's bad luck to be the one to operate on this Administrator Matsumoto, don't you?"
The unlucky doctor didn't say anything, but nodded tearfully.
"It's okay," Ichijō Mirai kindly reassured, "It's not the most unlucky."
"The most unlucky is that Administrator Matsumoto is still breathing."
"He didn't take his breath in the car, he's probably going to take his breath on the operating table, or with you as the lead surgeon."
With Matsumoto Kiyonaga's position, Ichijō Mirai thought about it and boldly surmised, "You won't be promoted for thirty years."
"How's that, does it make you feel even more unlucky?"
Unlucky Doctor: "..."
He staggered a bit, almost being carried off by the speeding hospital bed, and barely stumbled and stabilized, his entire being crumpled, "Dr. Kanagawa, it's already that time of the day, and you're still joking!"
"If the resuscitation fails, your future will suffer too, right!"
Sadly, it won't.
Ichijō Mirai thought for a moment and corrected: not in the field of doctors.
As for the future in the police system...the participation of a disguised doctor in a high-level police resuscitation operation will more or less affect his future, but it's not a big problem.
At best, it would affect Dr. Masquerade's plans to get into the guardhouse.
He smiled a little, his eyes flickering over the unlucky doctor's sweaty face, swallowing the 'why don't we wheel him into the morgue while he's still hot' offer, and only reminded, "Ten minutes."
Identifying gunshot wounds was an essential skill for every criminal who ran around the world style.
Ichijō Mirai could tell that this Administrator Matsumoto Kiyonaga was literally down to his last few breaths, and would be completely gagging in ten minutes tops.
Ten minutes, and the unlucky doctor had probably just moved the needle.
This guy was indeed unlucky enough.
There are people who are dead, but alive, like the soon-to-be-dead Matsumoto Kiyonaga, who will remain active in Dr. Bad Luck's memory and continue to visit every late night as promised.
There are those who are alive but dead, like Dr. Unlucky, who at best occasionally swindles in the middle of the night and snaps his eyes open 'Not that I can't figure out why it has to be me who's so unlucky?!!!' .
"...Are you laughing?" The unlucky doctor freaks out a bit, "Am I reading this right, Dr. Kanagawa?"
"How can you laugh at a moment like this?!"
It was so gripping that the other nurses pushing the bed couldn't help but frown, and even Matsumoto Kiyonaga, who was lying somewhat delirious on the bed, moved his eyelids and barely opened his eyes.
He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds, gasping for a weak breath and twisting his head to look at the unlucky doctor who had made the noise, and was stunned for a few seconds when he realized that the doctor was almost full of meltdowns, blinking with effort and turning his head back to the other side to look at Ichijō Mirai.
Ichijō Mirai smiled at him and reassured, "Don't be afraid, you'll be fine in a little while."
There was no use being afraid.
It would be cool in a little while anyway.
The two doctors were so diametrically opposed that Matsumoto Kiyonaga was once again stunned, blinking laboriously, fixedly locking eyes with the kindly and comforting Ichijō Mirai, and then suddenly his face changed slightly as he lifted his hand and tightened his grip on Ichijō Mirai's wrist, "Ichi..."
"Ichi...!" His chest rose and fell violently, the emergency hemostatic measures that didn't work very well in the first place became even more as if they didn't exist, the blood gushing out became faster.
The nurse hastily reached out to hold his hand, "Don't you worry Mr. Matsumoto, please let go of our doctor for now."
She snatched Ichijō Mirai out of the way and hurriedly explained, "Both of you go and get ready, it'll take time for the other doctors to arrive urgently, you'll definitely be the ones to do the first surgery."
They wheeled Matsumoto Kiyonaga into the operating room while the unlucky doctor hurriedly dragged Ichijō Mirai off to change into surgical gowns and do pre-op sterilization.
When treating wounds, it's important to sterilize them beforehand to avoid secondary infections, and Ichijō Mirai understands this and gladly accepts it.
He had hijacked doctors and forced them to shiver and disinfect on the spot and immediately heal his wounds, as well as calmly disinfecting his own wounds and healing them himself, and once or twice buckling a bullet to stop the bleeding in an emergency before disinfecting it afterwards.
But never in a hospital, in the capacity of a doctor to disinfect himself, rather a sense of novelty.
The unlucky doctor's attention wasn't on disinfecting, absentmindedly shuffling his hands quickly, not noticing Ichijō Mirai copying his own disinfecting steps without moving, only wanting to say something, and then stopping, and then stopping, and not being able to help but reconfirm, "Dr. Kanagawa, you really do know how to deal with shotgun gunshot wounds, don't you?"
"You don't seem to be in a hurry at all, surely you will?!"
Ichijō Mirai was very patient, "I really want to tell you not to be in a hurry, but please be in a hurry for a moment."
"If you're any slower, you won't make it in time to put a stitch in Mr. Matsumoto before he breathes his last, it's very unengaging, please hurry."
Unlucky Doctor: "..."
"Are you kidding me?" He collapsed and ran into the operating room. "You are so calm, you must know something. You are the main assistant, Dr. Kanagawa. We must work hard for our future!"
In the operating room, everything was ready.
The anesthesiologist was sitting in front of the instruments, staring intently at the instrument screen, when he heard someone come in so he turned his head, he was wearing a mask and a cap, only the skin of his eyes and eyes were showing, but he could make out some of his demeanor.
A serious look that was not optimistic.
He stepped aside a bit and gestured for the two doctors to look at the various pulsating numbers on the screen, "Prepare yourself mentally."
Prepare yourself mentally for a failed resuscitation.
Unlucky doctor took a hard, deep breath and forced himself to calm down as he stood in front of the operating table, calmly looking down, at Matsumoto Kiyonaga's wound.
The nurse had already performed a simple cleanup, and the blood that Matsumoto Kiyonaga had previously shed had been wiped away, and now new blood was seeping out.
But the wound is clear.
The unlucky doctor is calm.
He stared at the densely-packed wounds for a few seconds, stoically took the stitches and stared at the wounds again, "...I think I'm going to be done for."
The numbers on the instrument's screen were still jumping up and down, and the anesthesiologist could only blush as he injected in some medicine, "Hurry up, he can't hold on much longer!"
It wasn't 'can't hold on much longer', it was 'can't hold on much longer'.
The unlucky doctor only sweated through less than ten stitches before the heart rate on the instrument's screen went to zero and the EKG went vertical as a lying green line.
Matsumoto Kiyonaga is dead.