Early in the morning, Hayashi woke from a deep sleep.
He blinked against the pale light, rubbing his eyes, and immediately sensed that something was terribly wrong.
It wasn't just slightly off—everything about this place screamed danger.
What the hell is this place?
He sat up, scanning the room. A small device somewhere nearby beeped in rhythm with his own heartbeat.
He tried to move his right arm, but a sharp pain shot through it, forcing him to stop. Looking down, he saw an intravenous line pulling on the skin of his forearm. His pulse quickened, and the machine's beeping accelerated in response.
Who am I?
Where am I?
What am I doing here?
Confusion clenched him. Then a sharp, relentless pain throbbed in the back of his head, piercing and unforgettable.
Carefully, he raised his left arm—the one without the IV—and pressed his fingers against his scalp, searching for the source. Beneath the tangled mass of hair, he felt a hard, scarred ridge, stitched together by a dozen or more sutures, already partially healed.
He closed his eyes, straining to remember what had happened.
The last thing he remembered was preparing to strike down Uchiha Yama, when the man said something that forced him into unconsciousness.
"Calm down," Hayashi muttered to himself, clutching his head.
The room's layout suggested a hospital. Three possibilities immediately came to mind.
First, after he had fainted, perhaps Shinnosuke had found him and brought him here to some hospital. But judging by the instruments and furnishings, this did not look like Konoha; it resembled large, modern hospitals from his past life.
Second, he could have fallen victim to Uchiha Yama's genjutsu. That seemed unlikely, however, since he had avoided looking at Yama's eyes. Then again, the Mangekyō Sharingan was unpredictable; some genjutsu didn't even require eye contact.
Third, after collapsing, Yama might have actually killed him with a kunai, and he had somehow transmigrated again.
There was no TV in sight—otherwise, perhaps he could have turned it on to see some mustached man in a suit announcing, "I am Iron Man!"
The third scenario terrified him most. He did not want another transmigration; too many unfinished matters weighed on him.
Just then, a middle-aged man in surgical scrubs hurried into the room, alerted by the alarms of the heart monitor.
His hair was slightly greasy, a thick beard streaked his chin, and behind large lenses, his eyes radiated concern.
"Oh, you're awake! Heavens, that's a miracle," the man said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. Then, with a hint of apology, he introduced himself: "I'm Philip Jameson, Doctor Philip."
"What happened to me? Where am I?"
"You were in a car accident. Someone brought you here immediately."
A car accident? Hayashi's mind raced. He wasn't in the ninja world anymore.
While he processed this, Doctor Philip pulled out a form and sat beside the bed.
"Alright, let's not worry about that yet. We couldn't verify your identity, so we need to fill out your medical record."
Switching to a serious tone, he asked, "What is your name?"
Hayashi paused, then shook his head. He had no idea what was happening, and he could not risk explaining transmigration. The safest approach was to pretend amnesia.
Doctor Philip shone a penlight into his eyes. "Occupation?"
Hayashi remained silent.
"Any pain anywhere?"
"Headache," he admitted, the blinding light intensifying it.
Doctor Philip finally put the light away, grasped Hayashi's wrist, and checked his pulse.
"What day of the week is it?"
Hayashi shook his head again.
After several more questions, Doctor Philip paused his recording, stood, and spoke softly, his account voice steady and reassuring.
"Don't worry. Preliminary diagnosis: mild amnesia. Stay still, don't get excited, and rest. Your memory will gradually return."
He instructed the nurse nearby to prepare a syringe, then injected the medicine through the IV.
"This is a mild sedative to calm you, and it will also relieve some pain," he explained.
Once the injection was complete, Doctor Philip stood, preparing to leave. "Get some sleep. Press the call button if you need anything."
The lights went out, and the nurse followed him.
Hayashi lay in darkness as the sedative swept through him, threatening to drag him back into sleep. He fought it, forcing his eyes open.
He tried to sit, but his body felt like solid cement, resisting every effort.
Turning slightly, he faced the window. In the darkness, his shadow was gone, replaced by the towering façade of a building outside.
Despite the pounding pain, Hayashi's mind recognized it instantly.
Having lived in this state for twenty years, he could not mistake the landmark.
His pulse raced as he pressed the call button, despite the sedative coursing through his veins.
Doctor Philip returned, panting lightly. "Are you alright?"
Hayashi shook his head. "Am I in… New York?"
"Good," Philip nodded, as if confirming a thought. "Your memory is starting to return."
"No," Hayashi said, pointing to the tower. "I recognize that. That's the Oriental Pearl Tower."
Doctor Philip switched the lights back on, revealing the hospital room. The skyline outside faded under the glare. Approaching the bed calmly, he reassured Hayashi:
"Don't worry. This is retrograde amnesia from your head trauma. It's common, and there will be no permanent brain damage."
Hayashi frowned, concern lingering. Doctor Philip continued, "And you don't need to worry about expenses. The driver responsible will cover everything."
Medical expenses? Hayashi's mind barely registered that concern.
"What year is it? What's the date?"
"You should rest. I think—"
"What year is it today?!" he demanded again, the heart monitor sounding urgent.
Doctor Philip hesitated, exchanged a glance with the nurse, then whispered, "Alright, but don't get too excited. It's March 28, 2019. You've been in a coma for almost a year."
Hayashi exhaled slowly. He understood now. He hadn't transmigrated—he had returned to his original life.
---