Surgery, Boars, and My First Real Meal

The monster charges at me like a Shinkansen at full speed. I barely have time to throw myself sideways, dragging Pururun with me as I hit the ground. Its massive tusks slice through the space where my head was a heartbeat ago, churning up earth in an explosion of dirt and roots.
“Shit!”

I roll onto my feet, unsteady, clutching the pathetic little bandit knife like it’s going to save me. Against this mountain of muscle and malice, it looks more like a toothpick than a weapon.

The boar pivots with unsettling agility for something its size. Its beady red eyes lock onto me. It scrapes the ground, lowering its head again, ready for another charge. Beside me, Pururun trembles violently, shifting from blue to a panicked violet.

“Listen, slime. Hide behind that rock and don’t move. Got it?”

She quivers like she wants to refuse, unwilling to abandon me. Cute, but useless.
“Desperate times, desperate measures! Sorry about this, buddy!”

I deliver a clean, firm kick, sending Pururun bouncing safely behind the boulder. Good. At least I won’t have her death on my conscience along with my own.

The boar charges again. This time I can’t dodge cleanly. I leap aside, but one of its tusks catches my tunic and hurls me violently against a tree. The impact blasts the air out of my lungs. My vision swims, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
Broken ribs. Probably more than one.

The beast whirls around, snorting like an engine, trapping me against the trunk. No escape this time. It lowers its massive head, aiming straight for my chest. In a few seconds I’ll be skewered like a cheap kebab.

“No. No way in hell I’m dying again!”

A cold rage wells up inside me. The same kind I’ve felt countless times in the ER, staring down death as it tried to snatch a patient away. Only this time, the patient is me. And I refuse to give in.

“I need something better than a damn knife!”

And then — something inside me breaks open.
Like a dam collapsing all at once.

A searing current floods through my veins, gathering in my hands. The air around me shimmers, then bursts in a storm of glittering steel.

Scalpels.
Dozens of perfectly sharpened surgical scalpels materialize in the air. But not just scalpels — forceps, clamps, Kirschner pins, surgical scissors… a full operating room arsenal, orbiting me in a deadly ballet.

“What the — ”

No time to think. Instinct takes over. I fling the storm forward with a sweeping motion, like commanding an invisible scalpel hurricane.

The result is a nightmare. Straight out of a horror film.

The blades sink into flesh like it’s warm butter. Scalpels slice clean, precise incisions; forceps and scissors tear through skin; pins punch through bones and cartilage with horrifying surgical accuracy.

The boar lets out a shriek that’s part pain, part disbelief. Its charge collapses mid-stride. The monster crashes to the ground with a bone-rattling thud, convulsing, its body riddled with steel.

Silence falls abruptly. Only the wet, ragged gurgles of the dying beast break it.

My legs give out. That surge of power drains me like a massive hemorrhage. I stumble, fall to my knees, then tip sideways into the dirt. My vision blurs; my lungs can’t find air.

“Shit… I… did that?”

The scalpels dissolve into golden light, leaving only the bloody aftermath carved into the boar’s corpse. I feel hollow, like someone ripped my veins open and let everything spill out. Each heartbeat hurts.

“Not… again…”

The darkness closes in. Another pathetic death, this time after accidentally turning into some kind of surgical grim reaper.

And then —
I’m back in front of the building.

The scene is familiar, but changed.
No blood. No screams. Just her — the girl who jumped. She stands there, smiling brightly, her face bathed in warm light.

“Thank you… for trying.”

I freeze. The grumpy old surgeon who always has something to say… and I can’t get a word out. Her smile pierces me more sharply than any scalpel.

Then everything fades to black.

***

I wake up choking.
Something cold and slimy is plastered across my face. I thrash, gasping. Pururun.
The idiot slime is crying on me, emitting pitiful squeaky noises.

“Goddammit, get off me! You trying to kill me or what?!”

I tear her off and gulp down air like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. My heart hammers in my chest.

“Fantastic. I survive a monster boar, only to get suffocated by a sentient flan. Just perfect.”

My voice lacks bite. Truth is… having something — someone — worry about me feels strange. Not unpleasant.

I haul myself upright, groaning. The boar’s carcass is still there, huge and grotesquely still. My instruments may have vanished, but their work remains. The creature looks like a meticulously dissected anatomy specimen — only the surgeon was a lunatic.

“Holy crap… I did that?”

Pururun chirps and flashes a little floating V-sign above her. Show-off.

I stagger closer. The coppery smell of blood hits me, familiar yet different. I’ve spent years in operating rooms and ERs, but this… this wasn’t saving a life. This was killing. Cleanly. Efficiently. Horrifyingly.
And I don’t know how to feel about that.

My stomach growls loudly, shattering the moment. Right. I haven’t eaten anything solid in… God knows how long. Berries and roots aren’t cutting it. And here I am, standing in front of a literal mountain of fresh meat.

“You think this thing’s edible, Pururun?”

She quivers uncertainly. Honestly, I’m unsure too. It’s got the face of a nightmare. But I’ve seen worse in my life, and I’m starving.

I grab the bandit knife and start skinning the beast. My hands work automatically — precise, methodical. Years of anatomy knowledge kick in. I might be more used to stitching people back together than carving them up, but muscle is muscle.

I slice off what looks like a clean section of loin, avoiding the shredded parts. The meat is dark red, firm, and surprisingly fresh-smelling. Good sign.

“Well, someone’s gotta test it.”

I look at Pururun. She looks back at me, puzzled. Stalemate.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

She wiggles excitedly. She knows the game.
“Rock, paper, scissors!”

I throw scissors. She flattens into a sheet — paper.

“I win! You’re the taste tester.”

She protests with adorable indignation, but I hand her a small cooked piece anyway. To my surprise, she gulps it down eagerly, then goes still. Her colors cycle blue → green → yellow → back to normal.

“Well? Verdict?”

She bounces joyfully. I’ll take that as a “yes.”

I stoke the fire, roast my portion, and soon a mouthwatering smell fills the air — something between pork and wild game. My stomach growls again.

First bite. I chew carefully, analyzing flavor and texture like I’m reviewing a fine dish.
And then —
“Damn. Ugly bastard, but… this tastes like pork.”

Pork with a hint of hazelnut, even. Not bad at all. I devour the rest with feral enthusiasm. It’s the first real meal I’ve had since landing in this insane world.

Pururun protests loudly, seeing me eat so greedily. I grill a chunk bigger than she is and she leaps onto it like a gelatinous black hole. That slime has no bottom.

“Alright. Now that we’re not starving anymore, let’s dry some of this meat and get the hell out of here.”