The morning light filtered through the gaps in the blinds, falling in patches onto a ledger stained yellow with coffee rings.
The air was thick with the mixed scent of rubbing alcohol and coffee, stale and weary.
When Ethan Rayne pushed the door open, he heard the crisp "ding—" of the bell, and saw Mary Mason hunched behind the counter, flipping through something.
She wore a grey-white coat, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair neatly tied back, and her fingers long and slender. She looked less like a doctor and more like an artist preparing to dissect the world.
Ethan Rayne greeted her, "Good morning. No classes today?"
"Only the morning is free." Mary Mason didn't look up. "Bad news: we owe the pharmacy three thousand dollars, and the electric bill just arrived."
"And the good news?"
"The clinic hasn't been shut down yet."
Ethan Rayne pulled two cups of coffee from his bag and placed them on the table.
"A reward for coming in to work with only half a day off."
Mary Mason took the cup and sipped it. "This is a meaningless bribe. I'm still charging you eighty dollars."
She had originally agreed on twenty dollars an hour, but Ethan Rayne found the calculation tedious, so they settled on eighty dollars for the morning, eighty for the afternoon, and eighty for the evening. It sounded like more than twenty dollars an hour, but it was practically the minimum wage for a medical student intern.
"Eighty dollars for a wonderful morning! That's a bargain!"
Piled on the counter were several medical records, a few receipts, and a newly purchased stethoscope.
Mary Mason opened the ledger, her fingertip tracing the numbers.
"You are five days away from bankruptcy," she said flatly.
"That's two more days than I thought." Ethan Rayne smiled. "Don't you think that's a positive sign?"
"Positive? The last time you said 'positive,' this place nearly got shut down by the Health Bureau."
"That just proves I'm a man of faith, at least."
Mary Mason couldn't help but roll her eyes.
She had never believed in God, and certainly didn't believe "faith" could pay the rent.
The two sat down together to drink coffee.
"Before you arrived, I saw two Patients," Mary Mason mentioned, seeming to perk up a bit when talking about Patients. "One cracked his head open in a fight, and the other got his foot smashed."
Ethan Rayne: "Wow! If you work a little harder, I might be able to hire a nurse now."
Mary Mason: "You can barely afford my salary, and you want to hire a nurse? Also, why is it my job to work harder?"
"I'm working hard, too." Ethan Rayne leaned against the doorframe, examining the flickering overhead lamp. "But if that lamp keeps flickering, I think we might both need to see an ophthalmologist."
"Ding—" The doorbell suddenly chimed, interrupting their coffee break.
A young deliveryman entered, clutching his arm, a look of pain on his face.
"Sorry, I got injured... I heard this place is pretty affordable."
"Lie down." Mary Mason got up quickly.
Ethan Rayne put on gloves and walked over, asking, "How did it happen?"
"Cut myself accidentally while opening a box."
"A typical laceration," Mary Mason said while examining the wound. "Shallow cut, no stitches needed, just simple treatment."
She cleaned, bandaged, and applied medicine in one smooth motion.
Ethan Rayne helped by handing her tools and cutting bandages, playing the role of a good assistant.
Five minutes later, the Patient sat up, lightly touched his tightly wrapped arm, and looked visibly relieved.
"How much do I owe?" He pulled out his wallet, revealing crumpled bills inside.
"Twenty dollars," Mary Mason quoted a compromise price.
"Ah? Doctor, you're a good person."
"Is that so? Feel free to come again next time!"
The deliveryman thanked them and walked out briskly.
Mary Mason put the money in the register. "See? This is our most common case—the cost of cheap labor."
Ethan Rayne: "Our reputation is growing, and haven't you noticed? They really trust us."
Mary Mason snorted. "Or they're just simply poor."
"There is only one disease in this world: poverty." Ethan Rayne inexplicably recalled a line from his previous life.
Mary Mason: "If poverty is a disease, then we are both seriously ill! And this disease is contagious! Your sympathy will get us shut down!"
"Don't worry, I'll give you severance pay before we close."
Mary Mason glared at him, but couldn't help but laugh.
Just as they were about to clear the counter, the door was violently shoved open, and a middle-aged man stumbled in, both hands pressed tightly against his abdomen, blood seeping through his fingers.
His voice was hoarse: "Doctor—help... help me—"
Before he could finish, he collapsed onto the floor.
"Emergency!" Mary Mason's voice and actions started simultaneously. She bent down to check his breathing. "Weak pulse, low blood pressure, possibly traumatic blood loss. Ethan Rayne, close the door and get the sterile pack!"
"Got it!" Ethan Rayne immediately put on gloves, pulled down the blinds, and flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed."
The air instantly grew tense.
The man's shirt was stained deep red with blood, and there was a clean, roughly fifteen-centimeter-long gash across his abdomen.
Mary Mason's breath hitched when she saw the wound. "A knife wound... not an industrial accident. Looks like he was stabbed."
"Estimated blood loss of six or seven hundred milliliters, mild shock reaction," Ethan Rayne added.
The smell of blood was thick, tightening their throats.
They worked together to lift him onto the operating table. The Patient was disoriented, his breathing shallow, and his skin was already pale from blood loss.
Mary Mason quickly checked his pupil reflex. "Comatose state, blood pressure eighty, weak pulse—we need to stop the bleeding and stitch him up immediately."
"Understood." Ethan Rayne pulled down the surgical lamp and handed her hemostats, suture needles, and thread.
The light shone on the Patient, his pale skin appearing almost transparent.
Mary Mason tore open the gauze in one fluid motion. "Iodine—"
"Here."
Mary Mason bit her lip, her fingers trembling slightly, but her movements remained precise: debridement, pressure to stop bleeding, and suturing the incision.
The sound of the needle piercing the skin was particularly jarring in the small examination room.
Ethan Rayne handed her new tweezers, cotton swabs, and alcohol wipes.
"Pulse dropping," he reported, frowning at the monitor.
"He won't last." Mary Mason gritted her teeth. "I have to speed up."
She increased the rhythm of her stitching. Blood continued to seep out, staining her white gloves red.
"Breathing is weak," Ethan Rayne reported. "Blood pressure has dropped below eighty."
"Damn it—" Panic entered Mary Mason's voice for the first time. "He's going into shock!"
The lamp flickered, and Ethan Rayne's hand subtly pressed against the Patient's chest.
He murmured softly, like reciting a prayer no one could hear.
There seemed to be an unusual fluctuation in the air, and a faint Warm Light emanated from his palm—extremely shallow and brief, like a sliver of light at dawn.
Mary Mason was focused on the stitching, while Ethan Rayne simply lowered his eyes, his expression calm.
Mary Mason didn't notice that Ethan Rayne's fingers were still slightly warm—the light had vanished, but the residual heat remained.
A few seconds later, the heart rate slowly recovered, jumping from forty beats per minute to fifty, then sixty.
Mary Mason paused, hardly daring to believe it. "Blood pressure... is rising?"
"Is it? The glucose must be kicking in."
"That fast?"
"Sugar is the strongest magic in the world."
Mary Mason didn't have time to argue; she quickly completed the final stitching, knotting, and bandaging, her movements clean and decisive.
"Bleeding is controlled. He's temporarily out of danger."
Ethan Rayne reached out and supported her shoulder, helping her sit down in a chair. "Well done, Doctor Mary."
She pulled off her gloves and let out a long breath. "By rights, he should be kept for observation for at least six hours."
"The problem is, we don't have a ward right now." Ethan Rayne smiled. "But it's fine, he probably won't mind."
The air still smelled of blood and iodine, but the clinic returned to silence.
The Patient's breathing became steady, and his face regained some color.
Mary Mason leaned over to check his status. Her heart was still racing, and she couldn't help but whisper, "That's so strange. He was barely breathing a moment ago."
Ethan Rayne: "There are always miracles in medicine."
As Mary Mason checked his blood pressure again, the Patient's hand suddenly twitched.
Immediately after, he let out a muffled groan.
"He's waking up?" Mary Mason was stunned.
The man struggled to open his eyes, forcing out a hoarse sentence: "I... I didn't die?"
"You almost did," Mary Mason said. "Five more minutes and you would have been on the local news."
The man blinked, recovered his senses, and tried to prop himself up, but Mary Mason firmly pressed him back down.
"Don't move. You just had twelve stitches."
"I... I don't feel that bad."
Ethan Rayne leaned closer. "I have to remind you, that wasn't a simple scratch. You should listen to the doctor."
The man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "But I really... feel quite well. No dizziness, and I can move my limbs."
Mary Mason frowned. "That's not scientific."
"Perhaps he has a strong basal metabolism," Ethan Rayne said earnestly. "Some people just recover quickly."
Mary Mason shot him a look, clearly unconvinced. She had personally watched the man lose consciousness and his pulse weaken, yet now he acted as if nothing had happened.
The man took a few gasps of air and suddenly pushed himself up. His movements were slow but steady.
He looked down at his bandaged abdomen—the gauze was new and dry, with no visible bloodstains.
"You guys... are incredible!" he chuckled hoarsely. "I need to leave."
"Leave? Are you kidding me?" Mary Mason couldn't help but raise her voice. "You need at least two days of observation for an injury like that!"
"I can't." The man shook his head. "They'll come looking for me. Staying here will only implicate you."
As he spoke, he pulled out a stack of crumpled cash and pushed it onto the table.
"This is the consultation fee, and... thank you."
Mary Mason tried to stop him, but Ethan Rayne gently pressed her wrist.
"It's okay," he whispered. "Let him go."
Mary Mason looked at the man's complexion, then at his surprisingly steady gait—he truly did not look like a Patient who had lost several hundred milliliters of blood.
As the man reached the door, he looked back at them.
"If I get the chance in the future, I'll come back here."
"You're welcome anytime," Ethan Rayne replied.
The man smiled and disappeared into the sunlight.
The moment the door closed, silence returned to the air.
Mary Mason stared at the empty doorway, her brow furrowing tighter. "That is highly irregular. He just had twelve stitches, and he walked out on his own?"
Ethan Rayne leaned against the doorframe, carelessly sipping his cold coffee. "I told you—sugar is the strongest magic in the world."
"Ethan Rayne, I'm serious."
"Me too." He smiled. "But—maybe he's just a very lucky guy."
—Target Status Update: "Recovery" effect has vanished.