The moment the heart stabilized, a wave of silent disbelief spread across the operating room. What Akshat had just done wasn't something people could process instantly, and yet there was no time to stand there in awe. The surgery wasn't over. The most delicate phase had passed, but what remained was just as critical—closing the chest, restoring structure, and ensuring the body could recover from what had just been done to it.
Akshat's gaze remained fixed on the exposed surgical field, his focus unbroken. The open sternum, the carefully reconstructed valve, the surrounding tissues—all of it needed to be handled with precision. Closing an open chest after such a complex procedure wasn't simply about stitching layers back together. It required alignment, pressure balance, infection control, and structural stability.
One mistake here could undo everything. Akshat tryinh to remember the details to cover up the body but he fails to imagine it mentally and can't imagine himself doing it due to constant anxiety he had deep inside his mind.
Then—
A faint electronic tone echoed in the room.
Everyone's attention shifted for a split second toward the main monitor mounted on the wall.
A video call had appeared. The screen mirrored simultaneously onto Alexander's personal phone, the name flashing clearly across both displays.
Dr. Kurana Alexanderia.
For a brief moment, the air changed.
Alexander instinctively moved to cut the call, his hand already halfway to the screen. But something stopped him. His eyes locked onto the name, and a flicker of realization passed through his expression.
"Wait," he said quickly, his voice low but urgent. "Answer it… connect it to the main screen."
There was no time to question.
Within seconds, the call was accepted, and the screen lit up fully.
A man appeared.
Calm.
Composed.
His presence alone carried a weight that was difficult to explain, as if the space around him adjusted to his existence. His eyes were sharp, observant, and disturbingly aware, as though he had already understood everything happening before the call even connected.
This was Kurana Alexanderia.
A name surrounded by mystery.
A figure whispered about in fragments.
And according to the files Akshat had seen—
A man who seemed to know far more than he should.
Akshat didn't hesitate.
He didn't greet him.
Didn't show respect.
Didn't show surprise.
Instead, without even looking away from the surgical field, he spoke.
"You called to help," he said flatly. "Then stop watching and tell me how to close this."
For a split second, the room went completely silent.
No one had expected that tone, the fear in his tone. Not toward someone like Kurana but towards his own limitations.
But on the screen—
Kurana smiled.
Not offended.
Not amused.
Just… interested.
"Good," he said calmly. "At least you understand time matters more than ego."
His voice was steady, controlled, carrying a quiet authority that didn't need to be enforced.
"Listen carefully," he continued.
Akshat adjusted his position slightly, his hands already prepared to move.
Kurana's instructions began—clear, precise, and frighteningly efficient.
"First, ensure complete hemostasis," he said. "No active bleeding. Even micro-leakage will compromise recovery."
Akshat's eyes scanned the surgical field again, confirming stability. Aavya assisted immediately, clearing minor accumulations, ensuring visibility remained perfect.
"Now align the pericardial layer," Kurana continued. "Do not rush the closure. It protects your reconstruction."
Akshat followed exactly, his hands moving with controlled precision as he repositioned the pericardial tissue, ensuring it sat naturally without tension. Each movement was deliberate, guided both by his own understanding and Kurana's instructions.
"Good," Kurana said quietly, observing through the screen. "Now begin sternal closure."
The next step was critical.
Akshat picked up the sternal wires, his focus sharpening further. The split sternum needed to be brought back together and secured firmly, restoring the structural integrity of the chest. He carefully threaded the wires around the bone, one by one, ensuring proper placement.
"Tighten evenly," Kurana instructed. "Uneven pressure will cause post-operative complications."
Akshat nodded slightly, though his eyes never left his work. He tightened each wire gradually, balancing the tension, bringing the sternum back into alignment with careful precision.
The faint metallic clicks echoed in the room.
"Now confirm stability," Kurana said.
Akshat applied gentle pressure, checking alignment, ensuring there was no shift.
"Stable," he replied.
"Proceed."
Layer by layer, the closure continued.
Muscle tissue was sutured carefully, each stitch placed with intention, ensuring proper healing pathways. The deeper layers were closed first, followed by subcutaneous tissue, each stage restoring the body step by step.
The room remained silent except for Kurana's voice and the faint sounds of surgical instruments.
Even the officials who had tried to stop the surgery earlier now stood quietly, watching, unable to interrupt what was unfolding.
"Skin closure," Kurana said finally.
Akshat picked up the final set of sutures.
This part required finesse.
Not just function—
But precision.
Each stitch needed to be clean, aligned, minimizing trauma while ensuring durability. His hands moved steadily, almost effortlessly, closing the final layer with a level of neatness that spoke of control far beyond his years.
When the last stitch was placed, the room fell completely silent.
The procedure—
Was complete.
Akshat stepped back slightly, his eyes scanning the patient one final time. The monitor remained stable. The breathing was controlled. The body, once on the brink of collapse, now rested in a fragile but undeniable state of survival.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Kurana's voice came through the screen again.
"…iimmmppressssiveee."
It was exaggerated but wasn't loud.
But coming from him—
It carried weight.
Akshat finally looked up at the screen, his expression calm, almost indifferent.
"You already knew I'd manage," he said.
Kurana's smile deepened slightly.
"I knew you wouldn't stop," he replied. "That's different."
There was a brief pause.
Then his gaze sharpened just slightly.
"Be careful," he added. "People who step into this level… don't get to step back out."
The call ended.
The screen went dark.
And the room remained silent.
End of ch 54
To be continue...
© 2026 darkstar penguin | Reposting or copying is prohibited.