Umemaro 3d - Vol.10 - Dr. Sugimoto-------------s Lecherous Treatment.srt -

“Just relax,” he said, placing the cranial cap over her hair. “I’m going to record a small memory. Nothing painful.”

His laboratory, tucked beneath the dull concrete of Okunoin University, was a cathedral of chrome and humming servers. Few visited. Fewer questioned. The graduate students saw only the published papers—breakthroughs in pain management, memory retrieval, phantom limb therapy. They never saw the private wing. They never saw the padded chair.

And the chair? The chair was scrapped for parts. But in a dozen cheap electronics markets across the city, second-hand neural interface headsets occasionally appear for sale. The price is always low. The warning label is always missing. If you meant something lighter or closer to a different genre, let me know and I can adjust the tone. “Just relax,” he said, placing the cranial cap

Later, alone in his quarters, he played the recording back through the chair. He closed his eyes. He felt what she had felt. And for the first time in years, Dr. Sugimoto smiled.

The next morning, a graduate student found Dr. Sugimoto in the padded chair, the cranial cap still humming. His eyes were open. His expression was blank—not peaceful, not pained. Simply empty , as if someone had erased every sensation he had ever stolen. Few visited

The end came not from the police, nor from a vengeful survivor, but from the machine itself. Neural pathways, once forged, become roads. The more he traveled the roads of cruelty, the more those roads grew inside him. After the twelfth subject—a former teacher named Yuki—Sugimoto felt something crack. Not in the chair. In himself.

He repeated the process. Each victim was a new instrument, each terror a new symphony. He became connoisseur of suffering. He told himself it was research. He told himself the breakthroughs in anxiety treatment would justify everything. But late at night, he no longer bothered with justifications. He simply put on the headset and swam in other people’s nightmares. They never saw the private wing

For six hours, he fed her manufactured sensations—violations of trust, invasions of dignity, the slow burn of helplessness. He watched her vitals spike and crash like a dying star. And he recorded every millisecond.

Dr. Sugimoto was a genius of neural mapping, a man who had spent three decades refining a device called the Synchro-Lens. The Lens could record sensory experience directly from a person’s nervous system and replay it in another subject’s brain. His peers called it the “empathy machine.” They envisioned it curing trauma, bridging political divides, teaching compassion.