Conan: What alias? That's my struggle!

The surgery is ongoing.

The ribs have been repositioned.

Close the chest, suture, layer by layer, from the inside out.

Next came the pleura, muscle, subcutaneous tissue, and skin. Each layer was sewn neatly, with stitches so even they looked like they were made by a sewing machine.

After the last injection was administered, the assistant doctor put down the syringe and took a step back.

He glanced at the numbers on the monitor: his blood pressure had risen, his heart rate had stabilized, and the ventilator settings had been lowered. The surgery was over.

A few seconds of silence filled the operating room, then the anesthesiologist let out a long sigh. The scrub nurse began counting the gauze and instruments, while the assistant surgeon finished up. Everything proceeded smoothly, as if this person had been in charge of the surgery from the very beginning.

"Why."

Lin Ye straightened up from the wall, walked to the operating table, and glanced down at Gin's chest. The stitched wound was as neat as a zipper; once the stitches were removed, it would only leave a thin scar. He looked up at the assistant doctor, whose eyes held no hint of self-satisfaction.

I'm just calmly waiting for his evaluation.

Lin Ye thought for a moment and said, "It's fine."

The assistant doctor nodded, said nothing more, and turned to wash his hands.

Lin Ye stood there, watching the person's retreating figure, and suddenly felt a headache coming on. He had figured out two things.

First, the good news. His guess was right; this assistant doctor's skill level was indeed superior to his. No, it should be said, far superior. His few circumcisions just now, though seemingly absurd, had achieved their purpose—he verified that the other party was a very capable assistant.

Of course, no one would doubt that an expert would be crazy to make two incisions in the foreskin before starting surgery; they would only think it was some unfathomable consideration on the expert's part. In the world of Detective Conan, this is called the "Detective Effect"—when someone recognized as an expert does something that ordinary people cannot understand.

People won't think he's stupid; they'll just think they're not smart enough.

Lin Ye understood this information from the eyes of others.

Simultaneously.

The second piece of bad news. According to the operating rules of the Detective Conan world, an assistant doctor with such outstanding abilities has always been suppressed under "Dr. Hashimoto," not daring to perform surgery, not daring to question, and not even daring to give him a second glance—this shows that "Dr. Hashimoto" must have suppressed this person quite a bit during his lifetime.

And he is now Dr. Hashimoto. This assistant doctor, no matter who he is, no matter how calm he seems, must be harboring a rage inside.

In the world of Detective Conan, what is someone who has been suppressed for a long time, who clearly has the ability to perform surgery but can only play a supporting role, called? A "suspect".

And the most dangerous kind—calm, professional, patient, and able to endure.

As Lin Ye watched the assistant doctor's figure disappear at the end of the corridor, he suddenly felt that his situation was even more delicate than before. Perhaps he would also be featured in an episode of Conan's show in his home in the future.

"What the heck?!"

Lin Ye sighed.

They then left the operating room.

……

The ward was so quiet that only the rhythmic beeping of the monitor could be heard. The electrocardiogram waveform pulsed steadily, like a hill that could never be climbed, rising, falling, and rising again. Gin lay on the hospital bed, his face still pale, but with a bit more color than during the surgery.

His eyes were closed, his eyelashes casting a small fan-shaped shadow beneath them. His signature long, silvery-white hair, now cut short, lay scattered on the pillow.

It looks like an oil painting with an unbalanced composition.

Lin Ye sat on the chair next to the hospital bed for a long time.

He didn't look at his phone or flip through magazines; he just sat there, staring blankly at the numbers on the monitor. The nurse came in twice: once to change the IV bag, and the second time to check his blood pressure.

Every time she came in, she saw Lin Ye sitting in the same spot, in the same posture, staring in the same direction. The first time, the nurse didn't dare to ask.

She couldn't hold back the second time.

"Dr. Hashimoto, are you still here?" she whispered, holding the blood pressure cuff in her hand, unsure whether she should put it on Gin's arm.

Lin Ye snapped out of his daze and glanced at her: "I'm checking on the patient's condition."

This answer was so reasonable that the nurse couldn't refute it. Dr. Hashimoto was the best thoracic surgeon at Beika Hospital, and the patient had undergone surgery performed by him—well, he directed others to perform the surgery. It was perfectly normal for the patient to remain in the ward for observation after the surgery.

"Um.."

The nurse nodded, strapped the blood pressure cuff to Gin's arm, and pressed the measurement button. The blood pressure monitor buzzed as the cuff slowly inflated and deflated. The numbers appeared: 118/76, systolic pressure, heart rate 68.

All are within the normal range.

The nurse then recorded the numbers on the splint at the foot of the bed, hesitated for a moment, and turned to look at Lin Ye.

"Dr. Hashimoto," she said in a low voice, as if afraid of being overheard in the hallway, "Should we... give Dr. Miyagi a performance review?"

Upon hearing this name, Lin Ye immediately pictured the calm eyes in the operating room. Dr. Miyagi, the assistant doctor he had temporarily pushed into the lead surgeon position, the one with expert-level skills yet relegated to a supporting role. Performance records, surgical records, the lead surgeon's signature—these things directly relate to a person's income, professional title, and status within the hospital system.

"Remember this," Lin Ye said. "Don't skimp on a single penny."

The nurse was taken aback.

She clearly hadn't expected this answer. In her mind, the relationship between Dr. Hashimoto and Dr. Miyagi could never be summed up by the phrase "fair distribution."

For surgeries performed by Dr. Hashimoto, Dr. Miyagi was already considered generous if he received even a small fee as performance pay. But this time, Dr. Hashimoto actually said, "I don't want a single penny less," which means that the entire performance pay for the surgery would be credited to Dr. Miyagi.

"Okay." The nurse nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute," Lin Ye called out to her. "I'll go back and talk to Dr. Miyagi later."

The nurse paused for a moment.

She didn't turn around, but Lin Ye noticed her fingers tightening slightly as she held the notepad. The word "talk" carries many meanings in the hospital, ranging from "I'll buy you a coffee" to "You're fired." The nurse didn't know what Dr. Hashimoto wanted to talk to Dr. Miyagi about.

But she was certain of one thing—she didn't want to get involved in anything between the two of them.

"I see."

After the nurse finished speaking, she quickly left the ward, leaving Lin Ye alone inside, hesitating as he held a vial of blood from the deceased patient.