"That's perfectly normal."
"Because, given your current level of understanding, it really is difficult to grasp."
His words were openly arrogant, with no attempt to disguise it.
But somehow, he said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, no one could find any grounds to refute him.
"So, I haven't come here today to argue, nor to clarify."
He paused, then spoke slowly in a tone like a god proclaiming an edict:
"I've come merely to inform you."
"From today onward, human medicine will enter a new era."
He raised his hand. The enormous screen behind him lit up at once.
There were no complex charts, no dry data. Only one line of clean, massive white text.
[Human Metabolic Reconstruction and Gene-Induced Repair Technology]
Below the stage, there was first a sea of blank confusion.
Most people had no concept of what this term meant. It was overlong, drenched in science fiction.
But the few authorities seated in the front row, after seeing that line and quickly searching a few keywords on their phones, had their expressions shift instantly.
From bewilderment, to shock, then to horror, and finally to a near-fanatical, disbelieving worship.
These were the true national-treasure-class scholars who stood at the apex of the biological pyramid.
One elderly professor was so moved he rose from his seat. His hair was streaked with white, and he held Nobel-level prestige in the field of genetics.
Trembling, he pointed at the screen, his lips quivering, but couldn't get out a single word.
Seiji Fujiwara was satisfied with the changing expressions of the audience.
He didn't rush to explain. He savored a moment of that absolute, "unknown"-borne sense of control. Then, slowly, he began to speak.
His tone was full of patience and condescension, like a university professor delivering an introductory lesson to a roomful of kindergarten children.
"I know that for the vast majority of you, this term may be too profound."
"To put it simply, this latest technology I have developed can fundamentally resolve every physiological disease you currently recognize. Including, but not limited to, cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer's, and... aging."
"What?!"
"What nonsense is he spouting?"
"He's lost his mind, hasn't he?!"
His words detonated like a nuclear bomb across the entire venue.
The audience erupted into chaos. Cries of shock, voices of doubt, peals of mocking laughter rolled in waves.
Masao Takahashi laughed wildly without regard for his image, as if he had just heard the biggest joke of the century.
"Hahaha! Seiji Fujiwara! Do you think you're filming a science fiction movie? Solving aging? Why don't you just say you can grant immortality?!" He pointed at Seiji Fujiwara and shouted toward the media reporters in the audience, "Did everyone see that? This is the level of the heir of the Fujiwara conglomerate! A self-aggrandizing madman living in his own delusions!"
Yet, in the face of this tide of doubt and ridicule, Seiji Fujiwara's expression remained as flat as ever, almost cold.
He simply gave a soft snap of his fingers.
The huge screen behind him changed scenes in an instant.
It was no longer cold text. It was a live security feed from a laboratory.
The camera focused on a glass incubator. Inside was a small white mouse. It had just been anesthetized, and its right hind leg had been cleanly severed at the root.
"This is an ordinary lab mouse, gene-tagged." Seiji Fujiwara's voice came calmly. "Just now, we cut off its right hind leg."
The audience held their breath. They didn't know what he was trying to do.
"Now, please watch carefully."
As his voice fell, on the screen, a robotic arm extended slowly into the incubator. It
injected a tube of liquid into the mouse. The liquid was pale blue, faintly luminescent.
In the next second, a scene that completely shattered the worldview of everyone present unfolded.
Under everyone's gaze, captured live by the high-definition cameras, on the severed wound where the mouse's right hind leg had been, the flesh and blood began to writhe and proliferate.
The speed was visible to the naked eye, defying every principle of biology.
Bone, muscle, blood vessels, nerves, skin...
Like time-lapse photography on fast forward.
A brand-new, completely intact hind leg, in just thirty seconds, regrew before everyone's eyes, miraculously, out of nothing.
When the mouse awoke from anesthesia, it used that brand-new hind leg to run nimbly and unhindered around the incubator.
Just moments ago it had been on the verge of death!
The entire National Convention Center fell into a deathly silence.
Every pair of eyes was wide, every mouth hung open. Their minds went blank. They couldn't comprehend what they had just seen. They even began to wonder if they had fallen into some collective hallucination.
It took an unknown stretch of time before the audience erupted with a tidal wave of gasps and chatter. Within those voices were shock and fanaticism.
"My god... what did I just see?!"
"Limb regeneration... is this real?!"
"God... it's a miracle! A true miracle!"
And Masao Takahashi, who had just been laughing arrogantly, now had the smile completely frozen on his face.
The color drained from his face at a speed visible to the eye, leaving him pale as paper.
His lips trembled, his body retreated two steps without his control, and he dropped down onto a chair.
"No... impossible..." he muttered to himself.
His eyes were filled with an extreme, incomprehensible terror. "This is... this is a hoax... it's CG! Special effects you recorded in advance!"
Seiji Fujiwara looked at his pitiful state, his face holding not even a hint of mockery.
He simply spoke in a tone of stating fact, calmly: "I know you still don't believe it. That's all right."
He snapped his fingers again.
"My assistant will, right now, send the complete fundamental theoretical data of this technology, along with detailed papers exceeding three million words, and the related preclinical experimental data models, in real time to the personal email of every registered expert present."
The instant his voice fell, every phone and tablet of every expert in the audience chimed at the same moment with a new email.
They opened the messages on instinct. When they saw the theoretical materials, all of them fell silent. The data was as exhaustive as a mountain, as vast as the universe. Every figure was flawless beyond reproach, every line of logic so rigorous it made them shudder.
They knew this was no hoax.
Because knowledge of this caliber simply could not be fabricated. It was enough to inaugurate a new era of human civilization.
This was "truth." Irrefutable, crushing all before it.
Masao Takahashi looked at the expressions on the faces of the experts around him. Those expressions, like people who had received a divine oracle, were fanatical and worshipful. He knew he was finished.
Everything he had done before, that fabricated "side-effect" report, the public opinion attack he had launched, the business rules he had believed in...
In the face of the technology Seiji Fujiwara had displayed, all of it appeared so absurd, so laughable, so... insignificant.
That technology was enough to alter humanity's destiny, like a creator god.
He had gone from a director controlling the entire stage to a lowly clown. A laughingstock for everyone.
...
...
The conference ended.
In an atmosphere bordering on fanatical, almost religious.
When Seiji Fujiwara announced the end of his speech and prepared to step down from the stage, every scholar below who bore the title of "authority" or "expert" went completely mad. They were like a swarm of believers who had laid eyes on their savior.
Without restraint, they surged forward, surrounding Seiji Fujiwara on all sides. The aisles of the venue became impassable.
"Mr. Fujiwara! No, Lord Fujiwara! Please, take me on! I'll do anything for you! Even if it's only sweeping floors in your laboratory!" The Nobel-level genetics professor who had risen earlier was now weeping openly. He clutched at the hem of Seiji Fujiwara's clothing, pleading bitterly.
"Lord Fujiwara! Your technology will completely change the future of mankind! Please allow us to follow in your footsteps!"
"We are willing to disband all our existing research projects! We only ask to participate in this great undertaking under your guidance!"
Their faces were filled with fanaticism and worship.
And an extreme bliss, born from being able to witness history with their own eyes and touch truth itself.
In this moment, Seiji Fujiwara was no longer merely the heir of the Fujiwara conglomerate.
He had become the sole, supreme god of Japan's medical world.
He had completely seized control of Japan's medical past, present, and future.
And in the face of this tidal wave of worship, Seiji Fujiwara's expression remained that flat, almost cold one. He simply waved a casual hand, signaling for security to push back the frenzied crowd.
Then he made an extremely natural gesture. But in the eyes of everyone present, that gesture was steeped in supreme authority.
He casually shrugged off the priceless suit jacket from his shoulders and held it back behind him.
Fuyumi Irisu had been standing quietly behind him, like a shadow.
She immediately stepped forward and extended both hands. With a posture practiced and natural beyond words, she received the jacket and, in the same motion, smoothed the collar of his shirt.
Then she took out a bottle of mineral water from her handbag. The water had been prepared in advance, at the right temperature. She unscrewed the cap and respectfully presented it to him.
The whole sequence flowed like running water. Steeped in some indescribable understanding. The understanding between a private secretary and her master.
The old foxes in the audience, those "authorities" who had marinated their entire lives in the worlds of fame and power, exchanged knowing, meaningful glances at the sight.
They understood instantly. The genius young woman of the Irisu Family and this newly minted "god of medicine" shared an extraordinary relationship.
But so what?
In fact, this was only natural.
Wasn't it the proper scenery for a man this great to be adorned with one or two equally outstanding, beautiful women at his side?
They didn't merely opt for tacit acceptance with speed.
Some even felt a flicker of envy in their hearts toward Fuyumi Irisu. To be able to attend at such close range upon a god, that itself was the highest honor.
Fuyumi Irisu naturally felt the gazes turned upon her. Those gazes were full of complex meaning.
She kept her head lowered, no expression on her face. But beneath the gold-rimmed glasses, her eyes held endless sorrow and self-mockery.
She knew that from this moment on, her identity had been completely and publicly branded into everyone's eyes. That identity was "Seiji Fujiwara's possession."
She had become an ornament to his power. The most beautiful, most prized trophy of his glorious victory.
Surrounded by the fervent crowd, Seiji Fujiwara, with his "trophy" in tow, walked slowly toward the venue's exit.
At that moment, Fuyumi Irisu's phone vibrated silently inside her handbag.
She took out her phone and glanced at the urgent message displayed on the screen. Her expression shifted slightly.
She quickened her steps to keep pace with Seiji Fujiwara and reported in a low voice.
"Boss, the Chitanda Family just placed an urgent call."
"They said they followed our previously provided 'Sonic Pest Control' protocol exactly, performing daily maintenance on the land. But early this morning, every plot of treated land has shown an unexplained, large-scale 'withering' phenomenon."
"Initial assessment is that Masao Takahashi has made his move in the agricultural sector as well."
Seiji Fujiwara stopped in his tracks. He turned his head and looked out through the floor-to-ceiling window at the bustling streets of Tokyo. Once again, that cold, amused smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh?"
"It seems a new game is about to begin."
...
...
Morning in Kamiyama.
The air was thick with the fragrance of rain-soaked earth, mingled with the green scent of newborn rice shoots.
The Chitanda Family's main paddy.
The tender green rice shoots had once again radiated vibrant life. After that "miraculous" purge of the pest plague, they shimmered with the glow of life under the morning light.
Eru Chitanda's father now revered Seiji Fujiwara as a god.
It was a sonic maintenance plan, simple in appearance but extremely demanding of environmental conditions. Every day, like the most devout of believers, he personally led the family in tending this land with meticulous care.
He had even erected a small shrine at the edge of the field. Inside, what was enshrined was not a traditional deity, but a wooden tablet. Carved on the tablet were the two characters "Fujiwara."
Yet that tranquility was broken today.
The new president of Abundant Future's Japan division, Masao Takahashi, personally led a delegation to call upon the Chitanda Family. His bearing was extraordinarily humble, as if he had come "bearing thorns to beg forgiveness."
"Chitanda Patriarch, on behalf of Abundant Future, I extend the most heartfelt and profound apology to you and to the entire Kamiyama Region. For the heinous crimes committed by my predecessor Kengo Yamamoto, I am deeply, deeply sorry."
In the reception hall, Masao Takahashi bowed deeply.
A perfect ninety-degree bow, his posture lowered all the way to the dust. His face was filled with sincerity and remorse. It was impossible to connect him with that sinister, venomous serpent.
The Chitanda Patriarch, this simple, honest old man, watching such a "sincere" posture, found that most of the resentment in his heart had dissipated.
The old tradition that "you don't strike a smiling face" left him somewhat at a loss.
"Mr. Takahashi, you've spoken too gravely. Since Lord Fujiwara has already punished the guilty party, let this matter be put behind us."
"No! It cannot be put behind us!" Masao Takahashi immediately said with "righteous conviction."
He raised his head, his eyes glistening with "sincere" tears.
"The mistakes my company committed must be made right by us! Lord Fujiwara's sonic technology is, of course, miraculously skillful, but it is, after all, an exogenous form of intervention. It treats the symptoms, not the root. To allow this great land to recover its most primal, purest vitality as quickly as possible, our company's research team has worked through nights without rest to develop a complementary 'Specialty Pesticide' and a 'dedicated Nutrient Solution'!"
He clapped his hands.
An "agricultural consultant" behind him immediately presented two glass bottles.
The consultant wore a brand-new white coat, looking dignified and venerable.
The glass bottles were beautifully packaged, like luxury goods. He wore white gloves and held them with both hands.
"This pesticide can completely eliminate any new pest emergence. And this Nutrient Solution has been custom-formulated by us specifically for the soil environment of the Chitanda Family. We have employed the most cutting-edge biotechnology imported from Germany. As long as it's used in conjunction with Lord Fujiwara's sonic system, I guarantee that within three days, the rice yield of your family will double again on top of its current baseline!"
His words were laced with temptation.
Every word struck precisely on the heartstrings of an old farmer.
The Chitanda Patriarch looked at that "Nutrient Solution," and a flicker of being moved appeared in his eyes. After all, no one would turn down a better harvest for their own family.
Lord Fujiwara was a god. But if the grace of a god could be paired with the effort of man, wouldn't that be even better?
At that moment, Eru Chitanda walked into the reception hall. She had just returned from collecting soil samples outside.
She looked at Masao Takahashi's face, with its blade hidden behind a smile, then at that bottle of "Nutrient Solution." Under the sunlight, the liquid took on a strange, overly vivid blue, and her brow instinctively furrowed.
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