Life had a funny way of sneaking up on Dr. Vice Xong. As he stepped out of the neatly maintained cab in front of the towering Bao University Hospital in Feng Mo City, he didn't see it coming. His mind was too busy replaying his modest dreams—saving lives, making his family proud, maybe buying his dad a better workbench someday. The future felt close enough to touch.
A small, nervous smile tugged at his lips as he adjusted the strap of his one-handed bag. At five-foot-nine, Vice wasn't imposing—lean from years of study over sleep, with a slightly long neck and pale skin that betrayed too many nights indoors. His shoulder-length black hair, neatly tied back, swayed as he walked toward the glass doors of the hospital entrance. His light brown eyes darted to his bag, fishing for his name tag with hands that trembled just a little. Chiseled jaw or not, he didn't feel handsome today—more like a kid playing dress-up in a white coat.
The sign-in detector beeped softly as he pressed his tag against it, marking his arrival. 'First day at Bao Hospital,' he thought, swallowing hard. 'Don't screw this up, Vice.'
The main lounge buzzed with life—patients reuniting with smiling families, doctors weaving through the crowd with quiet purpose. Vice's eyes widened at the scale of it all. The reception podium loomed like a circular fortress, nurses bustling around it like sentinels. He clutched his bag tighter, feeling small but determined. 'This is it. This is where I prove I'm not just some average guy with a degree.'
"Doctor Vice!" a familiar voice chirped, snapping him out of his daze.
He turned, already knowing who it was. "Lisa," he said, his tone half-exasperated, half-relieved.
Lisa bounced up in her sterile pink nurse's uniform, shorter than him by a good few inches. Her hair was swept into a tight bun, pink lipstick popping against her dark eyeshadow—a look Vice had seen a million times since med school. "Aren't we both looking good?" she teased, not waiting for an answer. "Though I had to tone down my beauty so I don't give some poor soul love sickness. The terrors of being one in a billion."
"Yeah, yeah," Vice muttered, rolling his eyes. 'Bet you're the one lovesick over yourself,' he thought, suppressing a smirk. Lisa's antics were a lot to handle this early, but her energy was a lifeline in the chaos of life.
They navigated the hospital using the overhead signs, Vice stealing glances at patients and staff. His mind raced — 'How do they all look so calm?' — while Lisa chatted beside him. The Administrative Office wasn't far, and soon they stood before Dr. Cho Song, the head doctor and director.
"Good morning, Dr. Cho," Vice and Lisa said in unison, bowing slightly.
"Morning, my new talents," Dr. Cho replied, stirring a cup of tea piled with ten sugar cubes. His scanty hair and wise black eyes gave him a grandfatherly air, though the sugar mountain raised Vice's brows. "Have a seat, please."
Lisa shot Vice a look, one eyebrow arched. He knew that expression—years of school had honed their silent language. He could almost hear her: 'Ten cubes and now honey? Is this old man begging for diabetes?' Vice stifled a grin. 'Eight's my limit, and I'm not telling her or Mom that.'
"I'm so pleased you two chose our hospital—the Feng Mo branch, at least," Dr. Cho said, pausing for a sip of his steaming, syrupy tea. "There's not much to discuss, but I'd love for you to stay with us, even through hell and back."
Vice blinked. 'Hell and back? What's that supposed to mean?' A flicker of unease stirred in his chest. 'Is something wrong with this place?'
Dr. Cho's gaze softened, warm and earnest. "I say this because I want to see fine youths like you grow into true sages of the field. I can almost see it—in your eyes, your posture. Greatness awaits."
The old man's words hit Vice like a jolt. He nodded, caught up in the sincerity, though part of him squirmed. 'Greatness? Me? I just want to not mess up today.' Dr. Cho rambled on, painting a future Vice could barely imagine, and by the end, Vice was nodding so hard his neck ached. 'Okay, he's kind. Really kind. I'll give him that.'
---
As Vice and Lisa left the office, Dr. Cho Song slumped slightly, exhaling a tired breath. He glanced at the stack of papers on his desk—written speeches, including the one he'd just delivered. 'Please, let it work,' he thought. Headquarters was breathing down his neck, and he needed these kids to stay. "Damned headquarters," he whispered, watching Vice and Lisa head toward the Truman Centre.
---
"Does that mean he wants to die of diabetes?" Lisa murmured as they stepped into the hall.
Vice shrugged, a faint smile tugging at him. "Maybe he's just that kind. Sugar makes you happy, right? Could be why he's still so bright at his age."
Lisa popped a bubble gum into her mouth— 'Where does she even hide those?' Vice wondered, long past being amazed— "I don't know about that."
"We'd better get to the Trauma Centre," Vice said, picking up his pace. They walked in silence, Vice mentally mapping the hospital—'Left for radiology, right for ER'—his nerves buzzing beneath his calm exterior.
They arrived to chaos.
The Truman Centre was a storm of motion—nurses darting, patients groaning, and Dr. Nam, the head doctor, pacing with a phone to his ear. "Doctor Nam, I need an assistant for this operation. We can't start with any hope of success with our—" He yanked the phone away, stared at the screen, and cursed under his breath.
"Head doctor!" Vice called, stepping forward.
Dr. Nam's head snapped up. "Doctor Vice, thank the heavens. Follow me."
Vice's heart slammed against his ribs as they rushed to the operating theater. 'This is it. First real test.' He kitted up—mask, gloves, gown—his hands shaking as he tied the strings. 'Don't screw up. Don't screw up.' Stepping into the theater, he froze. Blood gushed from the patient's abdomen, a fountain the nurses couldn't staunch. Dr. Nam barked orders, but Vice's ears rang. 'This is bad. Really bad.'
He lunged to assist, grabbing tools, following Dr. Nam's lead. "Clamp here—now!" the head doctor snapped. Vice obeyed, his mind racing. 'I can do this. I studied for this.' But the patient's vitals plummeted—beeps turned to a flatline. Dr. Nam swore, stepping back. Vice stared at the still body, hands trembling, blood staining his gloves.
"We couldn't even start," Dr. Nam muttered, voice hollow.
Vice's chest tightened. 'I failed. My first day, and I failed.' The room blurred as guilt clawed at him. 'I should've been faster. Smarter.' Then, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
"Failure detected. Patient lost. Medical System activated. Host: Vice Xong. Objective: Master the art of life. Bestowing baseline protocols..."
Vice blinked, breath catching. 'What the hell—?' Before he could process it—the dead patient, the voice reverberating in his skull—a wave of vertigo slammed into him. His knees buckled, and he hit the floor hard, landing on his backside with a thud. Blackness crept into his vision, swallowing the chaos, the blood, the shame.