Chapter 0005
Morning light filtered through the small window of the hospital dormitory, casting a warm glow across Yoon Mu-shin's face. His eyes opened slowly, consciousness returning after a night of deep, dreamless sleep. Before he could fully orient himself, a familiar blue interface materialized in his field of vision.
[Congratulations Host receiving Daily Reward;
[Daily Reward Received!]
Basic Traditional Chinese Medical Arts (Specialist Level)
Basic Meridian Sensitivity: You can faintly sense the flow of qi within the human body, especially at key meridian points. Allows detection of tension, blockages, or imbalances — but no manipulation or advanced diagnosis yet.
Basic Dantian Knowledge: You now understand the structure and theory of the Dantian (lower, middle, upper) and its relation to inner energy. You can apply gentle pressure techniques to soothe a patient's core energy, but cannot unlock or manipulate Dantian flows.
Basic Acupuncture: You have mastered control over 10–15 foundational acupuncture points for minor pain relief, calming nerves, reducing inflammation, and rebalancing light energy disturbances. (Advanced or esoteric techniques locked.)]
[These Skills are all Basic at Specialist Level]
[Please Do Note That, Qi isn't the Supernatural Qi That Are Usually Mentioned In Stories, It's More Like Human Lifeforce And Vitality]
Mu-shin blinked, processing the unexpected notification. Traditional Chinese medicine hadn't been part of his formal education, either in this life or his previous one. Yet now, as the system's knowledge integrated with his consciousness, he could suddenly visualize meridian pathways throughout the human body—channels through which vital energy flowed, connecting seemingly unrelated parts of the anatomy in ways modern Western medicine often overlooked.
He sat up, flexing his fingers as new sensations tingled through them. It was as if his tactile perception had been enhanced, tuned to detect subtle variations in temperature and energy beneath the skin's surface. The knowledge felt both ancient and immediate—theoretical understanding paired with practical application.
Glancing around, he confirmed his roommates had already left for their shifts. The dormitory was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of hospital activity filtering through the walls. Mu-shin checked his watch—6:30 AM. Early, but not unusually so for a hospital schedule.
He gathered his toiletries and headed for the communal shower room. The facilities were basic but clean—multiple shower stalls with privacy curtains, sinks with mirrors above them, and benches for changing. A few other residents were finishing their morning routines, exchanging brief nods of acknowledgment as they passed.
Under the warm spray of the shower, Mu-shin allowed himself a moment to reflect on the previous day's events. His first day as an intern had been extraordinary by any standard—a mass casualty event, dozens of patients treated, political alliances formed, and system skills acquired. It was a lot to process, but his military background had trained him to compartmentalize, to focus on the immediate task while maintaining awareness of the broader situation.
After drying off and changing into a fresh set of scrubs with his intern badge prominently displayed, Mu-shin felt ready to face his second day. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday's lunch.
"Excuse me," he asked a passing nurse in the corridor. "Could you direct me to the staff canteen?"
The nurse—her name tag read Park Min-ji—smiled politely. "Take the elevator to the basement level, then follow the signs. You can't miss it."
"Thank you," Mu-shin replied with a small bow.
The hospital corridors were already bustling with the morning shift change. Nurses hurried between stations, orderlies transported patients to various departments, and doctors reviewed charts while walking. It was organized chaos, the complex choreography of a major medical facility coming to life.
Following the nurse's directions, Mu-shin found the staff canteen easily enough. The large room was filled with round tables, most already occupied by hospital staff grabbing breakfast before their shifts. The air carried the mingled aromas of coffee, rice, soup, and various side dishes—a traditional Korean breakfast adapted to institutional scale.
He joined the serving line, accepting a tray with steamed rice, doenjang jjigae (soybean paste stew), grilled mackerel, and various banchan side dishes. A carton of milk tea completed the meal—protein, carbohydrates, and caffeine to fuel the demanding day ahead.
Scanning the room, Mu-shin spotted an empty table near the window and made his way toward it. The canteen's buzz of conversation created a comfortable background noise as he settled in to eat. He was halfway through his meal when a familiar voice called his name.
"Dr. Yoon! You're up early."
Mu-shin looked up to see Nam Kyung-soo approaching, accompanied by four other men in resident uniforms. The Chief Resident's face bore the same friendly expression as yesterday, though slight shadows under his eyes hinted at a long night shift.
"Chief Nam," Mu-shin acknowledged, rising slightly in respect.
"No need for formality here," Nam said with a dismissive wave. "Mind if we join you?"
"Please," Mu-shin gestured to the empty chairs.
Nam settled into the seat across from Mu-shin while the others arranged themselves around the table. "Let me introduce my colleagues," he said. "These are Kwon Hyun-sik and Jo Sung-hoon, both third-year residents in our ER Department."
The two men nodded in greeting. Both were tall—easily over 180 centimeters—with the confident bearing of doctors who had found their footing in the hospital hierarchy. Kwon had sharp features and observant eyes that seemed to be constantly assessing, while Jo had a more approachable demeanor, his smile reaching his eyes.
"And these are Shin Woo-jin and Baek Tae-hyun, second-year residents," Nam continued, indicating the two younger doctors.
Shin and Baek offered polite greetings. They appeared closer to Mu-shin's age, their expressions showing the mix of confidence and uncertainty that came with being neither novices nor veterans.
"Everyone, this is Dr. Yoon Mu-shin, our newest intern and yesterday's hero," Nam announced with a hint of pride.
Mu-shin shook his head modestly. "I was just doing my job."
"And doing it exceptionally well," Nam countered. "Dr. Lee Sang-wook specifically mentioned your performance to me. Do you know how rare that is?"
The other residents exchanged impressed glances.
"Dr. Lee praised you?" Kwon asked, leaning forward with interest. "The Trauma Specialist himself?"
"Not just praised," Nam said, clearly enjoying the moment. "He said, and I quote, 'That intern has better instincts than half my attendings.' Coming from Dr. Lee, that's like receiving a royal commendation."
Mu-shin felt a flush of embarrassment at the public praise. "I'm sure he was just being kind."
Jo Sung-hoon laughed. "Dr. Lee doesn't do 'kind' when it comes to medical assessments. If he praised you, he meant it."
"Speaking of Dr. Lee," Nam said, his tone shifting to something more official, "he asked me to tell you that he wants to see you in his office after breakfast."
Mu-shin nearly choked on his milk tea. "Dr. Lee wants to see me? Why?"
"He didn't share details," Nam replied with a shrug. "But I should probably mention something you might not know yet—Dr. Lee isn't just a Trauma Specialist. He's the Deputy Director of the entire ER Department."
This revelation hit Mu-shin like a physical blow. Yesterday, he'd spoken to one of the hospital's highest-ranking doctors as casually as if he were a senior colleague. The implications were significant—such a high-ranking official taking interest in a new intern could be either a tremendous opportunity or the prelude to intense scrutiny.
"That's... unexpected," Mu-shin managed, trying to maintain his composure.
"Don't look so worried," Shin Woo-jin chimed in. "Dr. Lee is tough but fair. If he's interested in you, it's a good thing."
"Definitely," Baek Tae-hyun agreed. "Some of us have been here for years without getting a personal meeting. You must have really impressed him."
The conversation shifted to more general topics—recent cases, hospital gossip, recommendations for affordable apartments near the hospital. The atmosphere was collegial, with the kind of dark humor and shared understanding that developed among those who regularly faced life-and-death situations together.
"You should join us for rounds sometime," Kwon suggested to Mu-shin. "We could use someone with your diagnostic skills."
"Or assist in some minor procedures," Jo added. "Always good to get experience across different areas of emergency medicine."
Mu-shin was about to respond when the canteen's ambient noise level dropped noticeably. He followed the others' gazes to see a group of five people entering—three men and two women, all wearing surgical department badges. Their leader, a powerfully built man with classically handsome features, surveyed the room with undisguised disdain before his eyes locked onto their table.
"Trouble incoming," Baek muttered under his breath.
Nam straightened in his chair but maintained his friendly expression as the surgical residents approached. "Good morning, Dr. Seo," he greeted the leader. "What brings Surgery to our humble breakfast table?"
Seo Junwoo—as his name tag identified him—didn't return the pleasantry. Standing at their table with arms crossed, he projected an aura of superiority that seemed almost comical in its intensity.
"Nam Kyung-soo," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "Still collecting strays for your department of misfits?"
The four people flanking him—two women and two men, all wearing expressions of similar disdain—snickered at the insult.
Nam's smile didn't falter. "Was there something you needed, Dr. Seo? Or did you just miss our company?"
Seo's eyes narrowed. "What I need is for your department to stop dumping hopeless cases on Surgery and then blaming us when they don't survive. Three patients last night—all critical, all with minimal documentation, all rushed to us at the last possible moment."
"All victims of a major traffic accident," Nam countered calmly. "All stabilized as much as possible in the ER before transfer. All documented according to protocol."
"Your 'protocol' is a joke," one of the women—Choi Jiwon according to her badge—interjected. "Half the transfer forms were incomplete."
"We were dealing with a mass casualty event," Jo Sung-hoon defended. "Documentation sometimes takes a backseat to saving lives."
"Excuses," the tallest of the surgical residents—Han Taeyang—scoffed. "Always excuses from the ER."
Mu-shin observed the exchange with interest. The animosity was palpable, yet there was something performative about it, as if both sides were playing roles in a long-established drama. He remained silent, not wanting to draw attention as the newest and lowest-ranking person at the table.
His hope was in vain. Seo's gaze shifted to him, eyes narrowing. "And who's this? Another addition to your collection of mediocre doctors?"
Nam's smile finally faltered. "Dr. Yoon is our newest intern. He single-handedly treated over twenty patients during yesterday's crisis while you were nowhere to be found."
"An intern?" The second woman—Hung Hyunwoo—laughed incredulously. "You're letting interns handle mass casualty triage now? No wonder your transfers are such disasters."
Mu-shin maintained a neutral expression, but inside, his military training was kicking in—assessing threats, identifying weaknesses, planning responses. These people were bullies, pure and simple, using their position to intimidate those they perceived as beneath them.
"I heard about you," Seo said, leaning down to bring his face closer to Mu-shin's. "The intern playing doctor. Let me give you some advice—know your place. Interns observe and learn. They don't pretend to be heroes."
"With all due respect," Mu-shin replied, his voice calm and measured, "when there are patients needing care and I have the skills to provide it, my 'place' is wherever I'm most useful."
A tense silence followed his words. The surgical residents seemed taken aback by his direct response—clearly, they were accustomed to intimidating interns into silence.
Seo recovered quickly, his face darkening. "Skills? What would an intern know about real medical skills? You've barely started. I've been cutting into people and saving lives while you were still memorizing anatomy charts."
"Perhaps," Mu-shin acknowledged with a slight nod. "But yesterday, those patients didn't care about our ranks or years of experience. They just needed someone to stop their bleeding and stabilize their injuries."
Yoon Seokmin, the fourth surgical resident, snorted derisively. "Listen to him. One day in the hospital and he thinks he's a consultant."
"You should watch yourself," Seo warned, jabbing a finger toward Mu-shin. "Surgery and ER have a long history, and you've just picked the losing side. Cross us, and your internship will be a living hell."
With that parting threat, Seo straightened and gestured to his entourage. "Let's go. The air quality improves dramatically away from the ER table."
The five surgical residents departed with the same arrogance with which they'd arrived, leaving an uncomfortable silence in their wake.
"Well," Nam said finally, "that was actually one of our more pleasant interactions with Surgery."
The tension broke as the others chuckled.
"Are they always like that?" Mu-shin asked, genuinely curious.
"Pretty much," Kwon confirmed. "Seo Junwoo is their ringleader—third-year surgical resident with family connections to the hospital board. He thinks he's God's gift to medicine."
"And the hospital politics?" Mu-shin pressed. "Is it really as adversarial as they make it seem?"
Nam sighed, his expression growing more serious. "It's complicated. The rivalry between ER and Surgery goes back decades. Part of it is structural—we compete for resources, budget allocations, staff assignments. Part of it is philosophical—different approaches to patient care."
"But the biggest issue," Jo added, "is the transfer system. We stabilize patients in the ER, then send the surgical cases to them. When a patient doesn't make it, Surgery often blames our initial management, while we might question their surgical decisions."
"It's a vicious cycle," Shin explained. "We send them patients who are already critical—that's the nature of emergency medicine. Some don't survive, and Surgery's mortality statistics look worse as a result, which affects their department ranking and funding."
"Meanwhile," Baek continued, "they accuse us of poor documentation, delayed transfers, and inadequate stabilization. Some of those criticisms might occasionally be valid in a crisis situation, but they've become blanket accusations."
Mu-shin nodded slowly, processing this information. The conflict made more sense now—it wasn't just petty rivalry but a systemic issue with real consequences for both departments and, more importantly, for patients.
"I can see why there's tension," he acknowledged. "From their perspective, we're sending them patients who might die despite their best efforts, and those deaths reflect poorly on their department."
Nam looked surprised at this balanced assessment. "Most new ER staff just adopt our department's viewpoint without considering Surgery's position. That's... refreshingly objective of you, Dr. Yoon."
"In my experience, understanding your opponent's perspective is essential to finding solutions," Mu-shin replied, drawing on his military background without explicitly referencing it. "Or at least to navigating the conflict effectively."
The others nodded thoughtfully, and the conversation gradually returned to lighter topics as they finished their breakfast. Eventually, Nam checked his watch and stood.
"We should get going. Morning rounds start in fifteen minutes." He turned to Mu-shin. "Don't forget—Dr. Lee is expecting you in his office. Fifth floor, east wing, end of the corridor. You can't miss it."
Mu-shin thanked them for the company and watched as the group departed, their white coats disappearing into the hospital's morning bustle. He finished his milk tea, contemplating the complex web of relationships he'd entered. Hospital politics were different from military hierarchies, but power dynamics remained fundamentally similar—alliances, rivalries, territory, and reputation all playing crucial roles.
After returning his tray, Mu-shin made his way to the fifth floor as directed. The east wing housed administrative offices rather than patient rooms, the décor subtly shifting from clinical functionality to a more corporate aesthetic. Polished nameplates adorned doors, and the flooring changed from practical linoleum to carpeting that muffled footsteps.
At the corridor's end stood a door with a simple plaque: "Lee Sang-wook, M.D. - Deputy Director, Emergency Medicine." Mu-shin took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and knocked firmly.
"Enter," called the now-familiar deep voice.
Dr. Lee's office was surprisingly modest for someone of his rank—functional rather than ostentatious. Bookshelves lined with medical texts and journals covered one wall. A desk occupied the center of the room, its surface organized with neat stacks of files and a computer monitor. The window behind offered a view of the hospital grounds and the city beyond.
Dr. Lee himself sat reviewing documents, his surgical scrubs replaced by a crisp white coat over professional attire. He looked up as Mu-shin entered, his expression unreadable.
"Dr. Yoon," he acknowledged. "Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat."
Mu-shin sat in the chair indicated, maintaining the respectful but not subservient posture that had served him well with superior officers in his previous life.
"I've been reviewing your file," Dr. Lee said without preamble, tapping a folder on his desk. "Graduated top of your class at Sanggyeong Medical University. Perfect marks in both theoretical and practical examinations. Glowing recommendations from your clinical supervisors." He looked up, eyes sharp with assessment. "An impressive academic record."
"Thank you, sir," Mu-shin replied simply.
"But academic excellence doesn't always translate to clinical competence," Dr. Lee continued. "Many top students struggle when faced with the realities of hospital medicine—the pace, the pressure, the need to make decisions with incomplete information."
He leaned back in his chair, studying Mu-shin with the intensity of someone accustomed to making life-or-death judgments in seconds.
"Yesterday, however, you demonstrated skills that go beyond what I'd expect from even a promising intern. Your clinical decision-making, your procedural technique, your ability to prioritize in a crisis—these are abilities that typically develop over years of practice, not days."
Mu-shin remained silent, recognizing that no response was required yet.
"It makes me curious," Dr. Lee said, leaning forward slightly. "About your background. About what shaped you into the kind of doctor who can step into chaos and immediately begin bringing order to it."
The question hung in the air between them—not directly asked but clearly implied. Mu-shin considered his response carefully. He couldn't reveal his previous life or the system, but he could offer a partial truth.
"I've always been drawn to high-pressure situations," he said finally. "I find clarity in them. When there's no time to second-guess, you learn to trust your training and your instincts."
Dr. Lee nodded slowly, seeming to accept this answer even while suspecting there was more to the story. "Whatever the source, your abilities are unusual. And I don't believe in wasting talent on conventional pathways when accelerated development is possible."
He stood, moving to the window and gazing out briefly before turning back to Mu-shin. "Most interns spend their first months observing, assisting, and handling only the most routine cases under close supervision. It's a necessary part of the learning process for most. But for some—a rare few—that traditional approach is more hindrance than help."
Mu-shin felt a surge of anticipation. Dr. Lee was clearly leading to something significant.
"I'm proposing an experiment," the Deputy Director continued. "I want you to spend today in the ER's Minor Procedure Room. You'll select one nurse as your assistant and treat the cases that come through—minor lacerations, simple fractures, uncomplicated infections. Nothing life-threatening, but real clinical experience nonetheless."
The offer was extraordinary—interns were rarely given such autonomy so early in their training. It was both an opportunity and a test.
"This will be an evaluation," Dr. Lee clarified, as if reading Mu-shin's thoughts. "How you perform today will determine your path forward in this department. Demonstrate the same competence you showed yesterday, and I'll authorize an accelerated training schedule that allows you to take on more advanced cases sooner. Struggle, and we'll return you to the traditional intern rotation with no penalty—everyone has different learning needs."
He fixed Mu-shin with a penetrating gaze. "Do you understand what I'm offering?"
Mu-shin nodded, the weight of the opportunity settling on his shoulders. "I do, sir. And I appreciate the chance to prove myself."
"Good," Dr. Lee said with a decisive nod. "Report to the Minor Procedure Room at 9 AM. Select any available nurse as your assistant—choose wisely, as teamwork is essential in emergency medicine."
The dismissal was clear. Mu-shin stood, bowed respectfully, and turned to leave.
"Dr. Yoon," Dr. Lee called as he reached the door. "One more thing."
Mu-shin paused, looking back.
"I'm aware you've already encountered some... friction... with the Surgery Department." A hint of amusement crossed Dr. Lee's face. "Don't let their posturing distract you. Focus on the patients. That's all that matters in the end."
With a final nod of acknowledgment, Mu-shin left the office, his mind racing with the implications of what had just transpired.
The Deputy Director of Emergency Medicine had just offered him a chance to fast-track his training—an unprecedented opportunity for an intern on his second day.
As he walked down the corridor, a smile spread across his face. The weight in his chest wasn't anxiety but anticipation. This was his chance to prove himself, to establish his place in this new world not through connections or politics but through demonstrable skill.
With renewed purpose in his step, Yoon Mu-shin headed toward the ER, already mentally preparing for the challenges ahead.