Ultraman: It turns out this is the easy mode.

"That's amazing! How did this person do that? Is it yoga?"

"How did this person's head end up on their butt?"

The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor cast a stark white glow, and the smell of disinfectant filled the air. Several nurses huddled around the crack in the ward door, their fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe, their eyes wide open. The on-duty doctor's medical record folder slipped from his hand, scattering papers all over the floor, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed intently on the scene inside the observation window.

At this moment, Rokufen Gigendo was lying in a hospital bed.

A white sheet covered his chest, and the monitoring equipment in the room beeped regularly. To the doctors, it was a miracle! After all, he hadn't recovered from the effects of Dark Zagi's power, leaving him in a state where his head was practically in the position of a hemorrhoid.

His face was turned toward the ceiling, his features completely upside down—his eyes were fixed on the bed frame, and his mouth opened and closed, revealing the depths of his throat. Strands of black hair were scattered on the sheets, and where his head should have been was now only a clean cut, its edges surrounded by dark purple energy ripples. Whenever he tried to turn his head, his entire body would contort, his bones emitting a teeth-grinding grinding sound.

The attending physician trembled as he raised his stethoscope, the metal probe bobbing in the air, unable to find its proper place. A nurse pushed a medicine cart down the corridor, the wheels making a jarring noise as they got stuck in the floorboards, but no one reached out to help. Fine droplets of water condensed on the windowpane, and from the outside, the outline of the body appeared strangely distorted in the shadows of the curtains, as if forcibly folded and rearranged by an invisible force.

Rokubungi Gendo's fingers clenched the bedsheet, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth, his voice echoing eerily in the ward from that wrong spot: "What are you useless idiots still looking at? Prepare for surgery immediately! Reposition your head back to its normal position! Do it now!"

The attending physician adjusted his glasses, pulled a voice recorder from his white coat pocket, and the red indicator light illuminated. He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the sextant-like face, and his pen scribbled rapidly across his notebook: "The patient demonstrated a strong will to live; the nervous system maintained full function despite the extreme misalignment. Such a case has never been seen in any medical literature."

"Shut up!" Rokubungi Gendo's body twisted on the hospital bed, the purple ripples around his head flashing violently. "I'm not your experiment! I'm the commander of NERV! Get me the best surgeon, now!"

The attending physician straightened up, waved to the interns at the door, his voice filled with barely suppressed excitement: "Contact the editors of The Lancet and tell them we've discovered a miracle in human anatomy. The patient's head and torso were completely separated yet he maintained vital signs. That's enough to publish three papers—no, I'm going to start a whole new research direction. Call the pathology department and have them prepare the most precise slide-cutting equipment. I want to record the changes in every single cell."

Rokufenki Gendo's eyes were bloodshot. He tried to sit up, but his neck was empty, and the movement caused his torso to fold in reverse. He roared, his voice echoing dully from below: "You madman! I order you to get treatment immediately! I want to return to normal! I don't want to be used as research material! Do you hear me? I'm going to sue you! I'll make sure you can't stay in this industry!" The attending physician ignored him, taking out his phone and snapping several photos of the bed, the flash going off repeatedly in the dimly lit room. He turned to the nurse and instructed, "Go to the archives and get that organ donation consent form. Although the location is wrong, the patient's vocal cord position is extremely unique, which is of great value for studying sound wave transmission. Also, contact the medical school's live-streaming team; I want to do the world's first live teaching session during next week's grand rounds."

Sextans Gendo's body trembled violently, the lines on the monitor jumping wildly. He forced out the words through clenched teeth, each syllable seeming to be slammed out with all his might: "You...you...scientific maniac, I'm going to kill you! The first thing I'll do when I recover is shove you into the mouth of an apostle! I'll make you regret ever being born! Perform the surgery immediately! Now! Right now! I don't want to be some academic specimen! I am Sextans Gendo! I am the Commander!"

The attending physician finally looked up from his notebook, gazing at the furious body on the hospital bed with the eyes of someone admiring a perfect exhibit: "Excitement will cause blood pressure to rise, which is detrimental to the current blood circulation pattern. The patient's current circulatory system relies entirely on the vascular network in the lower body to supply the head. If this counter-physiological structure can be maintained stably, it's enough for me to win a Nobel Prize. I suggest you remain calm and cooperate with us to complete the six-month observation period. This would be a contribution to all of humanity."

"Six months?!" Rokubungi Gendo's pupils contracted, his voice sharp and distorted with rage, "I'm going to tear this hospital down! I'm going to make everyone pay the price! Give me an anesthesiologist! Give me a scalpel! Give me... give me..." His voice suddenly stopped, his face turning purplish-red from lack of oxygen due to excessive excitement.

The attending physician calmly pressed the call button and said into the microphone, "Prepare a sedative. The patient's emotions are unstable, which will affect the accuracy of data collection. Use double the usual dose. Anyway, his brain blood supply pathway is different from that of ordinary people, and his metabolic rate should also be different. This is a good opportunity to test drug tolerance."

The intern leaned against the wall, his phone screen lit up in his white coat pocket. Head down, shoulders trembled, fingers swiping rapidly across the screen. A nurse nearby glanced at it, immediately covering her mouth, a suppressed laugh escaping between her fingers. The phone screen displayed several blurry photos: the back of a high-ranking military officer in uniform, crouching on some kind of equipment in an extremely humiliating posture. The accompanying title, in bold, read "The Real Daily Life of Humanity's Savior," with the source listed as an anonymous leak.

The attending physician put away the recorder, and his gaze towards Rokubungi Gendo changed. It was no longer a purely professional scrutiny, but a complex look mixed with curiosity and contempt. He flipped through the medical record in his hand, the papers rustling: "I heard you hold a high position of power in the intelligence agency? Then you should know that some things, once uploaded to the public network, can never be completely deleted."

Rokubungi Gendo's upside-down face twitched; he keenly sensed the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. The intern suddenly turned around, his back to the bed, his body trembling even more violently. Suppressed whispers echoed down the corridor; several footsteps paused at the door, then quickly moved away, accompanied by suppressed snickers.

"What are you looking at?" Rokubungi Gendo's voice came from below, hoarse with unease. "Put your phones down! That's an order!" (End of Chapter)