Sumuru

I was considered a brilliant surgeon. I worked at the best clinic in the country, writing scientific papers and making discoveries in medicine in my free time. I, Sumuru, was a blue-eyed, dark-haired man with a permanently disheveled bun and a tired look. At work, I radiated confidence and calm, never staying late, blaming it on matters at home. However, I had a terrible secret. The basement of my house was equipped with a laboratory, where I had been unsuccessfully trying to grow life for seven years. I obtained materials for my experiments secretly. Every day, I created a suitable environment in a giant test tube, but the cells died. You were my fifth test subject. One morning, I stood by the test tube, holding devices to measure oxygen levels and pressure. Why weren't you breathing? I sighed and went upstairs for coffee. The next morning, a typical workday awaited me. My thoughts were occupied by a sample that gave me hope. In the evening, I came home so tired that I went straight to bed—tomorrow was the day off, and the experiment could be postponed until morning.