Hey there. I know some of you haven't read the synopsis so before you ask, yes this is a translation. But it is NOT a 1:1. I busted my ass off fixing some of the mistakes and *Chinese* elements in this fic.
I also changed the Chinese names into more... acceptable and more recognized names.
AI is used but I'm always checking for inconsistencies.
***
Tokyo Metropolis, Chiyoda Ward.
Inside a hospital's ICU emergency room, the atmosphere was tense enough to suffocate.
"Doctor, the patient's breathing is weakening! Blood pressure is dropping, and platelet levels are critically low!"
"Begin emergency protocols. Stabilize blood volume and prepare platelet transfusion immediately!"
"Yes—wait, Doctor! The patient's heartbeat has stopped!"
"Move! Prepare the defibrillator! Cardiac stimulants, now!"
Voices overlapped, sharp and urgent, cutting through the mechanical beeping of monitors as medical staff rushed to fight for a single fragile life.
Nearly an hour later, the emergency room finally fell silent.
The operation could be considered a success—for now. Once the patient's condition stabilized and the machines confirmed no immediate abnormalities, the exhausted nurses and assisting doctors quietly filed out, their faces pale with fatigue, as if they had just returned from a battlefield with no gunfire.
The attending physician removed his gloves and surgical gown. Before leaving, he paused and turned back, his gaze lingering on the teenage boy lying motionless on the operating table. Regret and pity surfaced in his eyes despite years of professional detachment.
Sixteen or seventeen years old—an age meant to be bright, reckless, and full of possibility.
And yet fate had been cruel.
The boy had been diagnosed with an extremely rare form of leukemia. An incurable disease. At best, chemotherapy could slow its advance, buying time at the cost of unbearable suffering.
This surgery had dragged him back from the brink of death, but only temporarily.
The cancer was already in its late stages. Malignant cells had spread throughout his body.
Even with optimistic estimates, he had no more than a week left to live.
"…Such a shame," the doctor murmured, shaking his head softly. "So young…"
As he stepped out of the emergency room, a nurse hurried over.
"Doctor, the patient's name is Youichi Okita. His family is abroad, and we haven't been able to reach them yet."
"No family contact at all?" the doctor asked, frowning. "What about friends? Teachers?"
"We've reached his homeroom teacher. They're attempting to contact his parents. Also—one of his classmates is waiting in the hospital lobby."
"A classmate?" The doctor hesitated briefly. "Very well. Bring her here. Some things need to be explained clearly."
"Yes, sir."
Inside the ICU, after the medical staff had left, the boy slowly opened his eyes.
His consciousness was hazy, thoughts drifting like fog.
"W… where am I…?"
He tried to move, only to realize his body refused to respond. Not even enough strength to lift a finger.
Turning his head slightly, he noticed machines beside the bed, thin tubes connected to his body. A cold, unfamiliar sensation crawled over his skin.
"This is… a hospital?"
Before he could think further, a sharp, crushing pain erupted throughout his body, as if something inside him were tearing apart. His vision swam, darkness closing in.
And once again, consciousness slipped away.
"Doctor, I'm his classmate. May I ask… what illness does he have?"
The girl standing before the doctor was Eriri Sawamura Spencer.
As a member of the school's art club—and one of its most prominent students—she had been chosen to visit on behalf of the group.
A few days earlier, Youichi had collapsed suddenly in the art room and been rushed to the hospital. Everyone assumed it was simple exhaustion or low blood sugar. A couple days' rest, they thought, and he'd be back sketching at his desk like always.
But days passed.
He didn't return to class.
He didn't show up at the clubroom.
Worry spread quietly among the members.
"Eriri, you're in the same class as him," someone had said. "Could you go check on him for us?"
Truthfully, they weren't close. She had barely spoken to him more than a handful of times.
All she really knew was that he was a transfer student from overseas, obsessed with manga, who had joined the art club shortly after arriving.
"…Fine," she had sighed. "I guess this is what seniors are for."
The doctor looked at the petite blonde girl standing before him, her anxious eyes fixed on his face. His expression darkened.
Telling the truth felt unbearably cruel.
But it was his duty.
After a moment of silence, he spoke quietly.
"He's suffering from late-stage leukemia."
The words hit like a physical blow.
Eriri froze, eyes widening, her mind refusing to process what she'd just heard.
Cancer.
She knew exactly what that meant.
"We've done everything we can," the doctor continued, his voice heavy. "Please contact his parents as soon as possible. His condition is extremely unstable… I'm afraid he may only have a few days left."
"…What?"
Her legs gave way slightly, and she stumbled back, covering her mouth as disbelief and shock overwhelmed her.
When consciousness returned again, clarity finally followed.
Lying in the hospital bed, Youichi understood what had happened to him.
Memories—foreign yet intimate—had been forcibly pushed into his mind, and once they settled, the truth became impossible to deny.
He had transmigrated.
Into another version of himself, living in a parallel, fictional world.
In this world, Youichi Okita was terminally ill.
An incurable cancer. No treatment. No miracle.
After countless painful chemotherapy sessions, he and his parents had chosen to abandon treatment, deciding instead to treasure whatever time remained.
That was why he had come to Japan—to study manga, to do what he loved until the very end.
But reality had been merciless.
He hadn't even been here long before his condition worsened dramatically.
The time he thought he still had… was gone.
His life had entered its final countdown.
"…This version of me really got the short end of the stick," he thought bitterly.
Others reincarnated as prodigies or chosen heroes.
He reincarnated as someone already standing at death's door.
Even if this was a world he had once dreamed of living in… what meaning did it have now?
With a pained sigh, he slowly closed his eyes.
And then—
["Draw Manga with Your Life" System bound successfully.]
A cold, emotionless voice echoed in his mind.
His eyes snapped open.
He knew exactly what this meant.
A cheat.
The kind every transmigrator dreamed of.
And it was tied to manga.
Before all of this—before becoming Youichi Okita—his previous life as Soji Nagumo had been spent as a struggling artist. Unknown. Unsuccessful. But deeply, stubbornly in love with manga.
Then came the realization.
"…Wait. 'Draw manga with my life'?"
[Notice: Host remaining lifespan — 7 days.]
[System interface activated.]
[Host: Youichi Okita][Remaining Lifespan: 7 days][Health: 5/100 — grants 2 additional hours of conscious activity per day]