Miracles. What were they? Under what concepts of the universe did they operate? Was it magic? And could one utilize this phenomenon on a large scale?
"Haaa~" A sigh reverberated inside a sleek white room. The floors were marble with a tinge of cream for an authentic effect, while the walls and ceiling were of the same pristine material, giving the space the appearance of a luminous cube. Sunlight streamed through a single massive window, illuminating the room in a sterile glow. It was a typical doctor's office - though this particular one carried an air of meticulous neatness and style.
Behind a sleek, neatly arranged, curved mahogany desk sat a man in a white coat. His head rested against the plush headrest of his leather chair, deep in thought. Despite his age, he possessed a fit physique. His hair was white yet stylish, his gray brows furrowed in concentration. A moment later, he opened his eyes, a sharp gleam flashing across his brown irises.
"Will this work out? The patient was practically on his last breaths, yet somehow, he managed to hold on longer than expected." He stroked his chin, his gaze drifting absentmindedly across his lush office.
'If only I could take him to my lab... 'His eyes flickered with restrained imagination. But no - this particular patient could not be taken off the surface. Too many eyes were on him. The media had latched onto the event with fervor, sensationalizing 'The Fall of the Binge Eater' that had occurred last night. Countless people were tracking his every move, waiting to see if he could save the boy who had nearly become its meal.
If only he could've...
A knock on the door interrupted his train of thought. Taking a moment to compose himself, he called for the person outside to enter.
"Pardon my interruption during your break, Professor, but it's time to return to the theater," a blonde woman announced as she stepped inside. She was dressed in crisp white attire, a checklist in one hand. As she tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, the professor's sharp gaze fell upon her, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. Yet, despite the cold fear trickling through her, a confused warmth bloomed in her cheeks - a mingling of trepidation and something else.
The doctor rose to his feet, his expression unchanged as he walked toward the door. She instinctively made way for him - only to stifle a sharp gasp when a firm hand suddenly gripped her rear.
Her fingers clenched around the clipboard, raising it slightly to her face in a futile attempt to suppress a sound that threatened to escape her lips.
"How's he doing, Karen?" The professor's voice remained entirely nonchalant, as though his hand hadn't wandered inappropriately at all. He continued walking toward the elevator, his grip unwavering.
"He… he… ahh~" Karen exhaled shakily before forcing herself to focus. "He's showing little to no compatibility with the transplants… Well, not 'incompatible' exactly, but rather, he's like a black hole, absorbing everything we integrate into him. Are his antibodies that aggressive?" She stroked her chin in thought, her professional demeanor overtaking the flustered haze from before.
"Insatiable, he is." The professor chuckled. The boy was technically compatible with Rize due to their shared blood type, AB. However, he was taking in far more than necessary. "Guess we'll just have to advance forward and see where this goes."
As they neared the operating room, he finally released his hold.
Upon entering, they proceeded to the inner room to undergo sanitation and dress appropriately. Minutes later, the professor and his assistant stepped into the surgical theater, where three other individuals stood waiting around a metallic slab under the stark, fluorescent light. The air was thick with antiseptic, and the room's temperature remained chillingly cold from the steady hum of the AC.
"Professor. Doctor. Sir." The three acknowledged his presence, nodding in respect as they took their positions and resumed the operation.
This marked the fifth procedure performed on the patient. Ever since he had been rushed in the night before, they had been operating on him non-stop, taking only brief intervals to rest. Each time they closed him up, thinking a transplant had been successfully integrated, the machines would indicate a new, unfathomable activity within his body.
Kidney, liver, lungs, bone marrow… they had attempted to replace several of his organs. Yet, strangely, his body never rejected the transplants. It didn't just accept them - it consumed them.
He was changing, absorbing the transplants and rewriting his very DNA. His immune system was waging war against both his original components and the newly introduced ones. And yet… there were some exceptions. Some of the transplants were recognized as true residents of his body and were left untouched.
The surgeons couldn't suppress the unease clawing at them.
"This is an abomination," one of them muttered under her mask. The others found themselves subconsciously nodding in agreement.
Even the professor - who had encountered countless medical phenomena - felt his pulse quicken. Cold sweat dripped down his forehead. An assistant hurried to dab him dry as he sliced open the patient's abdomen once more.
And then, all movement ceased.
Everyone in the room stared.
The boy's insides were a grotesque mess - his body reconstructing itself, devouring the old as it ushered in the new.
Karen swallowed thickly, her breath catching as she stared at the patient's open body. Hesitantly, her gaze drifted upwards - tracing along his chest, up his throat, past his jaw - until her eyes met his.
Her heart stopped.
He was awake.
Karen inhaled sharply, a paralyzing chill locking her lungs as her brown eyes met a pair of abyssal black ones. Impossible…
He shouldn't be conscious. Not with the anesthetic gas. Not with the sheer trauma his body was enduring.
But there he was. Unblinking. Silent. Watching her with an empty, soulless gaze.
The first time he had woken up mid-operation, the room had erupted into chaos. She could still hear the echo of her own scream. The only person who hadn't reacted with panic was Professor Kanou. He had simply stepped back, studied the boy, and after determining that the patient wasn't thrashing or reacting to pain, continued the procedure.
The patient never spoke. Never resisted. He simply observed.
And that in itself was more terrifying than anything else.
Hours bled together as the surgeons pressed forward, opting to assist his body in integrating the new tissue rather than fight against its unnatural consumption. The media's interest in the ongoing procedure had faded, their excitement dulled by the sheer length of the operation. Still, they remained watchful, awaiting the day the boy would be discharged.
Finally, after days of relentless procedures, Dr. Sophie made the last stitch. She exhaled deeply, setting down her tools before glancing at the young man on the table.
Her breath hitched.
Even now, as the final operation concluded, he was staring directly at her.
Sophie forced a weary smile, her exhaustion battling against the primal unease gnawing at her.
"Well," she muttered, "I guess we're finally done with you… for real this time."
She crossed her fingers mentally. 'God, I need a vacation.'
"It'll be a while before you're discharged," she continued, masking her nerves with casual conversation. "We need to monitor your adaptation. Your… changes."
She visibly shuddered at the memory of his organs devouring themselves.
The patient said nothing. He simply stared.
Sophie quickly turned on her heel, exiting the theater with the assistants trailing behind her.
Behind them, the boy remained still. Silent. Waiting.
His gaze drifted across the now-empty operating room, the only sound breaking the silence being the steady beeping of a nearby machine. The harsh, sterile light bathed the room in an artificial glow, casting elongated shadows that flickered with the occasional hum of medical equipment.
The operations were over. At least, for now.
He could still feel the lingering effects of the numbing gas—its invisible tendrils seeping into his lungs, clawing at his mind in a futile attempt to drag him into unconsciousness. He acknowledged it absently, his body aware of its presence yet utterly unaffected. Over time, they had resorted to increasing the dosage of enflurane through his mask, desperate to overpower whatever unnatural resistance lay within him.
It was a reckless gamble. An amount like this would have easily put down a horse. No - an elephant. Perhaps even a young whale.
And yet, for him, it was meaningless.
Their efforts had proven useless. No matter how much anesthetic they pumped into his system, no matter how carefully they calibrated the dosage, it never mattered. He could not be forced into sleep. Not unless he willed it.
The realization had likely unsettled them. No, it had terrified them. He could see it in their hesitant movements, in the way their gazes lingered too long when they thought he wasn't aware. The quiet, unspoken fear in their eyes, as if they had been performing surgery on something inhuman.
And maybe, just maybe... they were right.