Wachon, the bustling outpatient area. A young woman, Marsha, leaned against the corridor wall, vastly impatient and apprehensive.

As a patient brushed past, he accidentally stepped on Marsha’s foot, causing her to jump. A kind voice offered, “Marsha, are you okay?”

Marsha tossed her long hair back, suppressing her irritation. She grumbled, “What kind of joke is it that I have to come to the inpatient department?” The prospect of this visit was unnerving, and the thought of it made her anxious.

Marsha had repeatedly asked Kurel, her doctor, for an appointment, offering extra payment and even requesting a private examination during his off-hours. Given Marsha’s unique status, visiting the outpatient department might attract unwanted attention. However, the doctor flatly refused, stating, “Take it or leave it. I won’t see any patients outside my scheduled outpatient hours.” Marsha’s frustration mounted.

Harel, her contact, knew this, but she subtly checked the surroundings. Seeing that Marsha’s identity remained unnoticed, she exhaled in relief, reassuring Marsha, “Well, Beer’s not more than a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon with very limited outpatient hours.”

Recently, Marsha had been experiencing frequent chest tightness and shortness of breath. She had even fainted a couple of times. Though Marsha understood Harel’s explanation, she was still apprehensive.

Letting out a gentle sigh, Marsha suppressed her irritation and crouched in a recess of the corridor, waiting for her turn. She held a thermos cup, pretending her presence was coincidental. In reality, she was shielding herself from the curious glances of others.

A beep announced, “Patient number 57, Marsha.” The announcement only revealed her identity further. She proceeded discreetly, with several people glancing at her. Inwardly, Marsha braced herself.

Kurel pulled her hat down further, hiding her head, and followed Harel. As the door closed behind Harel, Marsha released a long, held breath.

Pushing her anger aside, Marsha turned to face the data with a newfound determination. She noticed a young man sitting in front of a computer. A glimpse of his wrist was visible despite the white coat and mask he wore. Marsha sensed his tall stature and slightly reddened face; her apprehension vanished instantly.

He looked over at her and skeptically asked, “Is this the doctor you’ve been expecting?” He looked every inch a con artist.

Harel, perceiving Marsha’s skepticism, smiled and tapped Marsha’s sleeve. Even though he didn’t quite fit the traditional image of a doctor, Marsha remained skeptical as she eyed Charles. How could someone so young be a renowned international cardiothoracic surgeon? He was immersed in university studies; yet, here he was, working in the outpatient department and claiming to be a renowned international cardiothoracic surgeon.

Charles paused his typing and looked up at Marsha, saying earnestly, “Ma’am, you might doubt my personality, but don’t question my skills.” If they weren’t in the outpatient department, he might have already started an argument. Previously, some patients doubted his skill, leading to disputes reported to the hospital director—his father, Anthony Penings, who had disciplined him with a stick several times. This taught Charles to control his temper in the outpatient setting.

Marsha wasn’t fazed by his petulance. Instead, she removed her mask and sunglasses, sitting down with a composed look. She crossed her arms and scrutinized Charles. “You’re not some privileged kid who got this job through connections, right? It’s hard to believe someone so young is working here.” She had only one life, and entrusting it to someone like him made her uneasy. She was in the prime of her life and certainly wasn’t eager to risk it.