The hospital corridor was a mausoleum of fading echoes. Screams still lingered, clinging to the sterile walls like stubborn stains, though the frantic footfalls had long since ceased. The air itself seemed petrified, suspended in the terrible moment between life and death, thick with the weight of all that had transpired.
But the pain—
The pain was very much alive. It burned through the oxygen, turning each breath to fire, as if the very atmosphere conspired to tear the soul apart.
"HEAL HER, GODDAMN IT!" Ethan's voice shattered the silence, torn and desperate. His hands hovered over Jinra's broken form, trembling with the futile hope that he might somehow, by sheer force of will, stitch her back together.
She lay before him, barely recognizable. A dying star, wrapped in sterile linens. Her skin was seared black in places, the left side of her face a ruin of melted flesh and exposed bone. Each shallow, ragged gasp seemed like it could be her last.
And yet—
No one moved.
"We can't!" A nurse's voice cracked, fragile as ice underfoot.
The chief physician stood frozen, his face drained of color. His fingers curled into fists so tight, the tendons stood like taut cables beneath his skin.
"The law—she's a minor. Without guardian consent, any intervention is—"
Ethan moved faster than thought, his hands seizing the doctor by his scrubs, slamming him against the wall with such force the framed diplomas rattled. "SHE'S DYING!" Spittle flew from his lips, his pupils dilated, his voice a raw growl. "AND YOU'RE QUOTING PROCEDURE?!"
For a moment, the doctor's mask slipped. Exhaustion. Guilt. Fear.
"You think I want this?" His voice was a whisper, laced with despair. "I have three daughters at home. If I break protocol... No license. No career. No way to feed them." His throat worked, a desperate sob hidden beneath his words. "This system... it's not made for mercy."
Ethan's grip slackened. Blood welled where his teeth had sunk into his own lip, his hand trembling as he released the doctor.
"So you'll let a child die," he said softly, the words like daggers, "to keep your comfortable life?"
The silence that followed was complete, suffocating.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Inexorable.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom of the corridor. No ID badge. No scrubs. Only a hooded figure, faceless and still.
Outside, tires screamed against the asphalt. Government vehicles disgorged black-suited agents in perfect unison. And then—
The President.
His usually immaculate tie hung loose. His eyes, wild with something darker than fear.
"WHY IS SHE STILL HERE?" His voice was a hammer, striking without mercy.
The nurse didn't hesitate. "STRETCHER NOW!"
Chaos erupted. Orderlies materialized. Jinra's limp form was transferred in a blur of motion.
"No promises," a resident muttered as they rushed away. "Her vitals are—"
"I don't care what they are." The President turned to the chief physician. His voice dropped to something cold, something terrifying. "You think medicine is about rules? About signatures?"
The punch wasn't hard.
But the contempt behind it could have leveled cities.
"She's a child."
Operating Room — 11:57 PM
The cold here was different. Not the chill of air conditioning, but the deep, unyielding cold of a morgue.
Ten surgeons moved around Jinra's table like specters in a macabre dance.
"Open femur fracture—bone fragments in the muscle."
"Left lung collapsed—needle decompression!"
"Liver's pulp—we're losing her!"
"CLAMP THAT ARTERY!"
"SEIZURE—MIDAZOLAM STAT!"
"Cardiac rhythm failing—"
"START COMPRESSIONS!"
Blood slicked the floor. Sweat dripped into open wounds. Every second was a war against the inevitable.
"Left eye unsalvageable. Bowel perforation—sepsis risk critical."
"Too much damage. Transplants aren't an option."
The lead surgeon glanced at the clock.
12:14 AM.
He peeled off his gloves, his face drawn, the weight of failure pressing upon him.
"Call it."
The President was waiting outside.
"Well?"
"Her liver is gone. Rib cage shattered. Heart barely beating." The surgeon swallowed hard. "Even with magic... we can't fix this."
Ethan fell to his knees.
But then—
A whisper from the EKG tech: "Sir... she's still fighting. Her vitals... they shouldn't be possible."
The President's gaze fixed on Ethan.
"Then we change the rules."
Twenty Minutes Later
The doors burst open.
Three figures entered. And between them—
The legend walked like a rumor given flesh. No ID. No name. Just the weight of a hundred whispered stories.
The surgeon recoiled. "The Divine Hand...?"
A nod.
"Not me." Unknown gestured. A young man, no older than his early twenties, stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, cold, surgical in their precision.
No words. Only action.
His palms met Jinra's chest.
Light exploded.
Bones snapped back into place. Organs shimmered like mirages before reforming, tracing sigils in the air with the grace of a master. A needle appeared, flashing through the air, leaving behind a trail of shimmering energy.
For one perfect moment—
Peace.
Then Jinra's hand shot up.
Her fingers closed around the healer's throat.
Silence.
Absolute.
And in her skull, a voice like the shattering of glass:
UNKNOWN ENERGY DETECTED
SYSTEM REBOOT: 100%
SKILL UNLOCKED: [DIVINE REGENERATION]
Her body moved without her.
Flesh knitted. Sinew rewove. Smoke poured from every orifice as her cells rebuilt themselves from the inside out.
Unknown exhaled sharply. "Cain. Look."
The President's aide didn't blink. "We're witnessing evolution in real-time."
But Jinra's grip didn't loosen. The healer's face turned purple.
Steel flashed.
Ethan's blade severed Jinra's wrist cleanly.
The healer collapsed, choking.
The stump smoked.
Then—
It regrew.
Complete. Perfect.
A resident began to cry, his sobs trembling through the air.
And the oldest surgeon present whispered what they all knew:
"This isn't medicine anymore."
"This is a miracle."