Vice slumped onto the stone bench by the koi pond in the front yard, the night air cool against his sweat-damp skin. The pond shimmered under the moon, orange and white fish darting beneath lily pads, their soft splashes blending with the hum of crickets. He stared at the glowing blue text hovering before him, teasing him with a loading screen.
[50% Until Unlocking…]
[75% Until Unlocking…]
His mind ticked with each jump, a restless drumbeat of hope and nerves. 'What's it gonna be?' he wondered, fingers tapping his knee. He didn't know what to expect—just clung to a faint dream that it'd make him better. Better at saving lives, better for his family, better at lifting them up—Dad's workbench, Mom's worries, Kai's art, Lila's dreams. The countdown climbed, his thoughts echoing its rhythm.
[100% System Has Been Unlocked.]
[Use the command: "System" to Awaken the system functions.]
Vice sucked in a deep breath, the sweet scent of lilies filling his lungs. His heart thudded, heavy with wishes. One word could change everything. "System," he whispered voice barely a ripple in the quiet.
The air flashed—blue text exploded before him, sharp and sudden. He jerked his head back, blinking at the light only he could see.
[You have gained 5 Life Points from administering to the twisted ankle of patient Arlerong.]
[You have gained 5 Life Points from treating the fever of patient Mei-Lin.]
Messages poured in, one after another—thirty-something patients from his chaotic first day, each a tiny victory. His eyes raced to keep up, chest tightening with a strange mix of pride and disbelief. Then, as the flood slowed, a new display flickered into view.
Name: Doctor Vice Xong
Titles: N/A
Traits: N/A
Life Points: 195
Skill Shop [Command "View" to open]
Quest Menu: N/A
'195 points?' He leaned forward, itching to dig deeper. Before he could say "View," another message cut in, sharp and unbidden.
[Quest Received: Fallen Ballerina.]
His heart plummeted, a cold stone sinking into his gut. 'Lila.' He only knew one ballerina in the neighborhood—his cousin. He shot to his feet, the pond's calm forgotten and bolted for the house. The text chased him, haunting his frantic steps.
[The Mirror holds no love, the mirror holds no affection, the mirror holds no warmth, but it holds one thing, her expectation. If only another thing would reflect her, perhaps the eyes of a cherished cousin. Without his gaze she spins and dances, a silent scream to reach the ever-growing expectation of herself. Look at her and let her know she is enough before she rises no longer.]
The poetic lilt didn't soften the blow. 'Lila's hurting,' he realized, the words slicing through him. 'I haven't been there for her.' He cursed himself, frustration burning as he tore through the dark house. Memory guided him—past the living room's shadowed couch, down the narrow hall, floorboards creaking under his pounding feet—until he reached Lila's door. He yanked it open.
She lay crumpled on the floor, a small heap by her mirror. "Lila!" Vice's voice cracked as he rushed to her, dropping to his knees. The system's text flared again, but he ignored it—blood roared in his ears, drowning everything but her. She felt tiny in his arms, fever-hot skin searing his hands as he scooped her up. 'So small,' he thought, a pang hitting him. He stumbled out, clutching her tight, and raced to the center garden.
The old plum blossom tree loomed in the square courtyard, its pink petals glowing faintly under the moon, blooming endless and stubborn. Vice dropped to his knees beneath its cold shade, laying Lila gently on the grass. His hands shook as he fumbled for the emergency kit—one of many stashed around the house, thanks to him and Mom. He ripped it open, supplies spilling out.
'Focus,' he told himself, breath hitching. He checked her eyes—dull, unfocused—then pressed a hand to her forehead. Scorching. Pulse weak but steady. 'Fever. Bad one.' Mental and physical fatigue, he guessed, built up from her relentless practice sessions. He dug into the kit's injection pouch, fingers scrambling past vials until he found the fever reducer. With a steadying breath, he prepped the needle and slid it into her arm—quick, clean, practiced. He followed with saline from the kit, hooking it to her vein with a makeshift drip.
Minutes stretched, taut and silent, until Lila's eyes fluttered open, glassy but awake. "Vice," she rasped, barely a whisper, yet it cut through the night's buzz like a bell. "Is that you?"
"It's me, Lila. It's me," he said, voice thick. He fumbled for words—comfort wasn't his strength. 'What do I even say?'
"You look like you're gonna cry," she teased, a weak smile breaking across her sweat-slick face. Her fringe clung to her forehead, long hair tangled under his hand at her back. Her pale lips parted again. "You won't see me perform Friday, will you?"
The question stabbed him. He'd sacrificed so much—family time traded for med school, shifts, the grind—and it still wasn't enough. 'I've let her down,' he thought, glimpsing blue text in the corner of his eye before shaking it off. "We'll talk tomorrow, Lila. We'll figure it out. I'll call Kai to stay with you. Mom and Dad'll be back Wednesday. You'll be fine."
Her smile softened, and she drifted off, breath evening out. Vice exhaled, shaky, and carried her back to her room. 'Even sick, she's cheering me up,' he marveled, laying her on her bed with care. The system had gone quiet— 'sleep mode, maybe.' He didn't call it.
Instead, he trudged to the dining room, the house still and dark around him. The traditional low table sat ringed with kneeling mats, his spot waiting. He sank onto the mat, knees creaking, and reached for the covered tray Lila had left. Dumplings, udon noodles, kimchi, vinegar-pickled sides—her cooking, as always, was perfection. 'Better than Mom's,' he thought, smirking. 'But I'd never say it. That tennis bat still haunts me.'
He dug in, chopsticks clicking, the warm broth soothing his frayed nerves. The day's weight—failure, the quest, Lila—it all melted a little with each bite. When he finished, he shuffled to the bath, steam rising as he scrubbed off the sweat and fear. Clad in boxer shorts, he collapsed onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. The green glow of his digital clock read 9:57 PM. 'Exhausted,' he thought, bones aching. He blinked—and it was 2:27 AM.
'Fu*k, when did I doze off?' he groaned, rubbing his eyes. He'd meant to check the system. Sitting up, he inhaled, ready to say the command. Before it left his lips, the system flared to life—blue text assaulted him, as if it'd heard his intent.
[Quest Completed: Fallen Ballerina.]