In May and June, when Natsu first arrived, the weather in Higashikuni was already hot and heavy.
The nurse was smiling sweetly, but her white uniform clung to her body with sweat. From behind, the faint outline of her bra straps could be seen through the damp fabric.
Sitting on the hospital bed, Shirakawa Natsu held a paintbrush in one hand. After letting his gaze drift away from the nurse, he made a few bold strokes on his sketchpad—adding lace garters to the thighs of the girl he was drawing.
"Of course. A goddess isn't complete without black stockings. Ahem."
A sudden fit of coughing wracked him. Pain lanced through his chest, his face drained of color, and cold sweat gathered on his forehead.
He fumbled for the emergency call button. Even that tiny movement drained what little strength he had left. But in the end, he didn't press it. He had already lived through this scene countless times in the six months since arriving here.
He only pressed that button when it was truly unbearable—when the edges of his vision blurred and his consciousness began to slip away.
Perhaps the goddess of fate had taken pity on him today. The spasm passed after several agonizing seconds.
Panting, Natsu collapsed back against the hospital bed, throwing an arm across his face."Still alive. Again."
He was a time traveler. This world was a parallel Japan, and he had been here for half a year now.
Unlike the usual stories, he didn't need to get used to a new life. The doctors had told him plainly: his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys were all congenitally defective. The fact that he was still breathing was already a miracle.
In other words, he could fall asleep at any time and simply never wake up.
At first, Shirakawa Natsu hadn't panicked. Compared with waking up as a spider, goblin, or slime, being chronically ill wasn't that hard to swallow. Maybe it was just some kind of "special constitution."
But then he saw his parents—ordinary middle-class folk—trying to put on brave smiles as they encouraged him at his bedside. Their warmth left no doubt: they were just normal people. Not hidden grim reapers in disguise.
Their marriage was harmonious, neither was about to board a doomed airplane, and he didn't have a long-lost little sister or some swapped-at-birth backstory waiting to unfold.
"Guess I'm not the protagonist of any novel, huh." Natsu chuckled bitterly and reached for his phone.
After taking a few breaths to steady himself, he dialed a contact saved as Miyabi Aoi.
Aoi was his childhood friend, and a very unusual woman.
The phone rang several times before anyone answered. A faintly breathless female voice came through:"H-hello?"
"Hello. I'm a friend of Miyabi's. Could you hand the phone to her?" Natsu didn't even blink at the idea of some stranger answering.
"Don't take my calls without permission." A magnetic female voice snapped, and the phone was snatched away."Hey, Natsu. What's up?"
"Who was that just now?" Natsu asked, pinching the phone between his shoulder and ear as he tidied up the manuscript he'd been sketching.
"It was a cat~" Aoi's voice had that same husky charm as always, laced with a cynical amusement.
"Your cat's awfully clever," Natsu teased. "Anyway, swing by when you can and deliver this manuscript to the editorial office for me. This one's interesting—a goddess and five ridiculously handsome men."
"So you're starting a new series?" Her voice rose, intrigued. "But your Naruto parody last time cut off right when it was getting good!"
"Weren't you the one who said only kids read that stuff?" Natsu asked with a sly grin.
"I've changed my mind. Your work's good." Aoi didn't sound the slightest bit embarrassed. "I'll pick it up tonight. If that's all, I'm hanging up."
Before the line disconnected, Natsu heard another strange woman's voice in the background.
"Tch, damn it." He snapped his phone shut, scowling. "Childhood friends are supposed to be gentle, sweet, and devoted to the protagonist. Why is mine cooler than me—and better with women?"
There was definitely something off about his so-called childhood friend.
In his previous life, Natsu had majored in fine arts. This parallel world had just as developed an entertainment industry as Earth, but none of the familiar works existed here.
He had decided to spend the rest of his brief life drawing manga. Since he had nothing but time, why not? But he would deliberately end every story at its most exciting point, leaving readers gnashing their teeth.
It was his little prank against the world before his end. A way of leaving proof he had existed—something the universe couldn't ignore.
The sunlight streamed through the window and spilled across the floor. Natsu struggled to rise, his legs trembling beneath him, and shuffled slowly out into the corridor with the aid of a cane.
The scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, though the warmth of the sun dulled its sharpness. Outside, the summer roads were nearly empty. The few passersby clung to the shade of trees or hugged the sides of buildings.
Car horns blared from the street, cicadas shrieked from the branches, and yet—none of it disturbed his mood.
"Hey, did you hear?" one nurse whispered to another nearby. "The gynecology doctor supposedly got involved with a patient. A married woman, no less. Her family stormed in and now the dean's mediating in his office."
"That's a mess." The other nurse sighed. "An affair like that will ruin his career. He had such a bright future."
The two were gossiping animatedly when a cheerful female voice cut in from behind:"Oh? What are you talking about?"
They both flinched and spun around. Upon seeing who it was, they straightened and bowed."Hello, Doctor Arina!"
The woman they called Doctor Arina was in her twenties, smiling brilliantly. She wore a white coat over a fitted blouse that emphasized her curves, paired with a short skirt that revealed long, shapely legs.
"Gossiping again? Until the facts are clear, don't spread rumors that could cause misunderstandings~ If you're that free, go check if the patients need anything."
"Hee hee, yes ma'am~" The two nurses stuck out their tongues playfully and, far from offended, leaned in with teasing grins. "By the way, Arina-sensei, the handsome guy admitted the other day was asking about you."
"Don't you dare mess with the patients!" Arina scolded, knocking each on the head with mock severity. "And young boys are strictly off-limits."
She breezed past Natsu, then suddenly glanced back with a mischievous wink."Mr. Natsu, don't let these old ladies trick you. If any adults harass you… be brave and call the police."
With that, she strode into the ward, her warmth and energy lighting up the room as she greeted each patient with genuine care.
Hashimoto Arina—Shirakawa Natsu's attending doctor—was the very image of a cheerful, dependable big sister.
Natsu admired her deeply, for three very important reasons: her breasts, her breasts, and… her breasts.
"Doctor Arina is really amazing~" one nurse gushed, eyes sparkling. "She's gentle, cheerful, easy to talk to, and was top of her class in med school. She could even become the youngest department director in the hospital."
"Yeah, though she probably already has a boyfriend." The other nurse lowered her voice. "I heard someone saw her leaving with a handsome guy in a Porsche after work."
"A Porsche?! No way! Tell me everything—"
Natsu tuned them out, drawing his eyes away. He had a soft spot for Hashimoto Arina, sure. But with only half a year to live, even survival was a luxury. Love was nothing but nonsense for someone with failing organs.
Besides, just imagining such a beautiful woman in her doctor's uniform leaning close to him… would probably give him a heart attack on the spot.
"Damn it, my heart really does hurt again." He clutched his chest, forcing himself to take deep breaths and silently chant sutras to calm down.
In truth, even sketching a fan manga of Arina was dangerous. His artistic talent might bring her vividly to life on the page—but his body would likely give out before he could use the result.
Better to focus on his serialized manga instead, making sure to end at the most infuriating cliffhanger possible. That way, he could leave behind a legacy of frustrated readers.
"It's about time for my meds," he muttered. Pulling out his phone, he checked the clock.
And froze.
On his home screen—where nothing but simple icons should have been—there was a new app. Its icon was a golden-haired tauren, glowing with such brilliance it was impossible to look away.