Vice slid out of the cab as it jolted to a stop outside Bao University Hospital, water still dripping from his soaked jacket, hung around his forearm. The driver grumbled about the upholstery, but Vice handed over a damp bill and jogged towards the hospital's glass doors shimmering ahead.
Bao's glass tower sliced through the Feng Mo drizzle, a stark outline in the gray dawn, its sleek lines reflecting the city's restless pulse. His watch blinked 5:57 AM. 'Three minutes,' he thought, chest tight as he dashed across the wet pavement, shoes slapping against the slick concrete.
He slipped into the lobby—sterile air humming with soft beeps, a cleaning drone gliding over the polished tiles—and veered toward the staff lounge, his breath fogging briefly in the cool air.
He stepped in, catching his breath, when a sharp voice cut through the hum. "Vice!" Lisa—his med-school lifeline, pale-skinned, eyes glinting beneath heavy makeup—waved from a cluster of nurses by the coffee machine.
Her pink scrubs rustled as she grinned, leading the pack toward him like a swarm of bright moths. Pretty nurses—some pale, some tan, all in Hansang-pink scrubs—closed in, their chatter buzzing like static.
"Bus stop guy, right?" one said, smirking, her voice teasing. "Saw it on tiktok, hero moves!" another chimed, stepping too close, her eyes wide with curiosity.
Vice's neck heated, his hands shoving into his pockets as he forced a tight, lopsided smile. 'They've seen it already?' he thought, shifting his weight, eyes darting toward the door for an escape.
"Morning, Lisa," he said, voice steady but low, nodding at her with a quick glance, he nodded to the other nurses. "I—uh—need to check in." He edged back, offering a shy wave to the group, his fingers barely peeking from his damp sleeves.
Lisa's laugh—sharp and knowing—followed him like a spotlight. "Sure, run off, star!" she teased as he slipped out, brushing past a chair, the lounge's warm light fading into the corridor's cool hum—white walls stretching ahead, faint holo-signs blinking directions to wards and offices.
'Ahh, damned that woman,' he thought, glancing back to ensure no one trailed him. 'Social media.' He cursed silently, shaking his head. Everything spread like wildfire on tiktok and X, and not being on it didn't shield him from the buzz.
The corridor stretched quiet around him, the soft whir of a vent overhead blending with the distant clatter of a cart.
He headed for the Trauma Centre, its glass doors glinting at the end of the hall, when a nurse—short, pale, tablet clutched tightly—stopped him. "Dr. Xong?"
He nodded, meeting her gaze briefly.
"Dr. Cho's office. Dr. Nam's there—talking something. Said to fetch you when you arrived." Vice nodded again, swallowing hard. 'About what?' he thought, unease creeping in like a cold draft.
He tugged at his damp shirt, the fabric sticking uncomfortably, and moved on, passing a quiet hallway—vending machines humming faintly, a holo-clock ticking 6:07 AM on the wall.
Director Cho's office sat at the heart of the admin wing, its door ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hall. Vice knocked lightly and stepped in, the scent of tea hitting him—bitter, warm, cloyingly sweet.
Dr. Cho, wiry and wild-haired, hunched behind a desk swamped with papers, slurping from a cup with his pinky out, the gesture oddly delicate for his frazzled air. Dr. Nam, broad and gruff, sprawled in a chair across from him, sipping his own tea.
Sugar cubes teetered in a bowl between them, nearly spent, a scattering of wrappers hinting at their indulgence. 'How much did they dump in there?' Vice thought, eyeing the pile, imagining their tea as syrupy mush, thick enough to choke on.
"Vice, my boy!" Dr. Cho boomed, his voice warm but edged with a grin, nearly spilling his cup as he waved Vice in. "Sit—don't drip on my floor!" Vice eased into a chair, the cushion sagging under his damp weight. Dr. Nam grunted a greeting, sharp eyes flicking over Vice's wet shirt but offering no comment, his silence heavier than words.
"Morning, sirs," Vice said, dipping his head respectfully, hands clasped tight in his lap to steady them. 'What's this?' he thought, the silence stretching until Dr. Cho clapped once, making Vice flinch slightly.
"Your contract!" Dr. Cho said, grinning like he'd solved a puzzle, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and exhaustion. "Headquarters—what'd they promise you, pay-wise? Tell us!"
Vice's ears warmed, his gaze dropping to the desk's cluttered surface—papers, a pen rolling loose. 'Why this now?' he thought, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. "Well, I—" he started, voice quiet but even, but Dr. Nam cut in, gruff as gravel.
"Come on, Xong. Mine's 50k monthly—Hansang dollars, earned the hard way." He smirked, sipping his tea, the cup dwarfed in his grip. "You're fresh—can't be that bad. Saw your bus stop clip on X. Ballsy move."
'I thought old men weren't supposed to scroll X,' Vice thought, feeling oddly ancient himself despite his youth. Nam's bluntness eased the knot in his chest, though. "31k monthly," he said, voice low but steady, meeting Nam's eyes briefly before flicking toward Dr. Cho. "That's what they gave me."
Dr. Cho grinned, slapping the desk lightly, the sound muffled by papers. "31k! A steal! Not during my days, mind you." His grin faded into a sigh, hands gesturing wide. "Might need adjusting, though. The Trauma Centre budget's getting cut."
Vice's stomach lurched. 'Cut?' he thought, picturing frayed cables sparking, blunt tools slipping in his hands. Dr. Nam slammed his cup down, the clink sharp, his scowl deepening. "Bloody idiots. We're hanging by threads as it is."
Dr. Cho waved a hand, shushing him like a fussy toddler, his tone shifting to earnest. "Which is why you're here, Vice!" He leaned in, tea sloshing slightly in his cup. Dr. Nam took over, the chair creaking as he shifted his bulk forward.
"Listen, Xong," Nam said, voice rough but firm, cutting through the room's warmth. "Cho and I have been hashing it out. The Feng Mo branch, Bao's rep, is slipping. Critical care's a graveyard—too many losses. Budget's tied to numbers. You're in on this."
Vice frowned, tilting his head slightly. "In how?" he asked, keeping his tone even, though his fingers tightened against each other.
"Performance," Nam said, jabbing the desk with a thick finger. "You and me—we save more critical cases, drop the death count. Boost the stats, rep climbs, budget follows. Saw you trending this morning on X—people love a savior."
Dr. Cho snorted, sipping his tea with a grimace. "They've already got that in Dr. Teng. That's why he'll be snagging your trimmed budget."
Vice swallowed, the weight pressing down. 'Savior?' he thought, the word feeling foreign, heavy. Dr. Nam's eyes narrowed, reading his silence like a chart. "You're green, but you've got it. That X clip—bus stop kid? That's what we need—every damn day."
"It's a gamble," Dr. Cho added, popping a sugar cube into his mouth like a lifeline, chewing thoughtfully. "Win, you stabilize, and your budget grows. Lose, and you'll be praying to keep the current promised budget. Headquarters isn't messing around."
Vice's mind raced. '1,050 points,' he thought, the system's glow flickering in his head—Anatomy, Physiology, and more, his edge to close the gaps. This was bigger—patients, Lisa, his family, all what he'd work to earn for them and himself was at stake. He saw the bus stop girl again, foam on her lips, his hands steady but powerless beyond the basics. 'No more average,' he'd sworn. This was it—real, raw, now.
"Yes," he said, voice calm but firm, meeting their gazes for a moment before dropping back to his hands, fingers still laced tight. "I'm in."
Dr. Nam grinned, a rare flash of teeth breaking his stony face. "Solid, kid. Knew it." He crunched a sugar cube, smug as ever. Dr. Cho beamed, tossing his next cube and missing, letting it roll off the desk with a soft thud.
"Done!" Dr. Cho crowed, his voice brightening as he set his cup down.
Vice rose, bowing slightly, the damp chill in his shirt fading under a surge of resolve. 'I'll make it work,' he thought, the system's promise humming in his mind like a quiet engine.
As Dr. Nam and Vice left Director Cho's office, the older man sank into his chair, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at invisible sweat. If Dr. Teng kept racking up prestige, Cho's job could slip away—demoted to some backwater branch.
They needed the Trauma Centre to match the General Surgery ward's shine. He took a deep breath, watching the two doctors disappear down the hall. That was just the first of his worries. If the Trauma Centre pulled this off, it'd be the first step—not just to secure his job, but to save the entire Feng Mo branch.