2026, Pakistan
The air hung thick with the smell of dust, cordite, and something metallic—the lingering scent of recent conflict. Crumbling walls stood stark against the harsh sunlight, remnants of what had once been a fortified terrorist base. Now, silence reigned, broken only by the occasional gust of wind whistling through shattered windows and the low murmur of voices from the British Army special unit soldiers scattered among the ruins.
They had successfully rescued the hostages after a fierce firefight. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the bone-deep weariness that followed intense combat. Soldiers checked their gear, tended to minor wounds, or simply sat, catching their breath in the relative safety of the cleared compound.
Amidst the debris, leaning against a section of destroyed wall, sat Surya. His tactical gear was scuffed and dusty, his face smudged with grime, but his eyes were clear as he gazed up at the vast, indifferent azure sky. He seemed lost in thought, momentarily detached from the harsh reality surrounding him.
A fellow soldier, fully equipped and scanning the perimeter, approached him. "Surya?"
Surya turned his head, his gaze shifting from the sky to the familiar face of his teammate, Andrew.
"Area's clear," Andrew reported, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet he still wore. "Command says we rest for thirty minutes, then move out. Back to base camp."
Surya offered a faint smile, a brief flicker of warmth in his otherwise focused expression. "Good news. Sit down, Andrew. Catch your breath."
Andrew hesitated for a moment, then removed his helmet and sank down onto the rubble beside Surya, the sudden weight of his gear settling with a soft clink of metal and fabric.
They sat in silence for a while, the shared experience of the mission creating a bond that needed no words. Andrew finally broke the quiet, his voice softer now, more reflective.
"You know," he began, picking up a small stone and turning it over in his gloved hand, "I joined up because... well, the usual reasons. Serve the country, make the family proud. Duty, honor, all that."
He glanced at Surya, whose gaze had drifted back to the sky. "What about you, Surya? Why did you sign up? You're different from the rest of us. Smart, disciplined... Command's already talking about promoting you to Squad Leader next rotation. What drives someone like you to choose this life?"
Surya remained silent for a long moment, the question seeming to pull him back from some distant thought. When he finally answered, his voice was quiet, almost gentle, yet carried an undercurrent of steel.
"Money," he said simply.
Andrew blinked, taken aback. "Money?" He looked genuinely surprised. "But... you could do anything. With your intelligence, your record... joining the military just for money?"
Surya turned to face him, a faint, almost sad smile touching his lips. "You wouldn't understand unless you've known what it's like to have nothing, Andrew."
He saw the lingering doubt in his friend's eyes and elaborated, his voice losing its usual crisp military tone, becoming softer, more personal. "I come from a very poor family. Backwater village in India. The kind of place the world forgets exists."
Andrew nodded slowly. That part wasn't entirely surprising; many soldiers came from backgrounds where the military offered a path out of poverty.
"I had a sister," Surya continued, his gaze becoming distant again, focused on a memory only he could see. "Three years younger than me. She was... everything. Bright, full of life."
He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "One day, she fell while playing. Hit her head. Just a small cut, we thought. Nothing serious."
His voice grew tight with suppressed emotion. "But it wasn't minor. It got worse. Infection, swelling... She ended up in the hospital, bedridden."
He looked directly at Andrew now, the pain in his eyes raw and unfiltered. "We couldn't pay the hospital bills. My father begged, pleaded. My mother cried until she had no tears left. But the doctors... they were indifferent. Rules are rules, they said. No money, no treatment."
Surya's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "They threw her out. Literally carried her out and left her on the street outside the hospital while people... people pulled out their phones and recorded it. Our desperation, her suffering... it was just content for them. Something to share online."
Andrew listened, horrified, his own discomfort paling in comparison to the anguish etched on Surya's face.
"She died a few days later," Surya finished, his voice flat, devoid of inflection now, as if the emotion was too vast to be contained in simple words. He looked away, blinking rapidly.
After a moment, he turned back to Andrew, the sad smile returning, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That day, I learned the true value of money, Andrew. It's not about luxury or greed. It's about dignity. It's about having the power to protect the people you love. It's about not being helpless when the world decides you're disposable."
He picked up a piece of shrapnel from the ground, examining its sharp edge. "If you have money, you have the luxury of not being poor. If you don't have money, you have every reason to be poor, and the world will remind you of it every single day. I decided then... I would never be that helpless again. I might not become rich, but I will never die poor. Not like my sister did."
Andrew felt a profound sense of empathy mixed with discomfort. He wanted to offer words of comfort, but what could he possibly say that wouldn't sound hollow in the face of such tragedy? He simply nodded, acknowledging the depth of Surya's pain and the fierce determination born from it.
******
Present Day - Seoul Baek-eun Hospital
The sterile white ceiling of the hospital dormitory came into sharp focus as Yoon Mu-shin's eyes snapped open. The lingering emotions from the dream—the dust of Pakistan, the raw grief for his sister, the cold determination forged in loss—clung to him like a shroud.
He lay still for a moment, allowing the dream's residue to dissipate, replaced by the familiar reality of his second life. He was Yoon Mu-shin now, an intern doctor in a world similar to, yet distinct from, the one he had left behind. But the core motivations, the deep-seated drive shaped by Surya's past, remained.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Mu-shin sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The dream had been vivid, a stark reminder of the path that had led him here—a path paved with loss and fueled by a desperate need to ensure that money, or the lack thereof, would never again dictate life or death for those he cared about.
He stood, stretching muscles stiff from sleep, and headed for the shower, the routine actions helping to ground him in the present. The warm water washed away the last vestiges of the dream, leaving him focused and ready for the day ahead.
********
Doctor System In Another World
Season 1 ; Not A God
*******
Later that morning, Yoon Mu-shin walked through the bustling corridors of the Emergency Medicine Department, a subtle smile touching his lips. In the month since his dramatic arrival and subsequent integration into the department, his reputation had grown remarkably.
Nurses greeted him with genuine warmth and respect as he passed the station. "Good morning, Dr. Yoon!" "Hope you have a good shift, Doctor!" The polite smiles weren't just directed at any intern; they were for him, the favored protégé of Deputy Director Lee Sang-wook, the intern whose skills consistently surpassed expectations.
His first stop was the general wards where patients he had previously treated were recovering. He moved from bed to bed, not just glancing at charts but engaging with each patient personally. His approach was methodical yet compassionate.
"Good morning, Mr. Kim," he greeted an elderly man recovering from pneumonia. "How was your breathing overnight?"
He listened attentively to the patient's response, then used his stethoscope to check lung sounds, comparing them to the previous day's findings. His enhanced senses, augmented by the system's skills, allowed him to pick up subtle changes—a slight decrease in wheezing here, a persistent crackle there.
Using his [Eye Of The Doctor] and newly acquired [X-Ray Vision], he performed quick, non-invasive assessments. For one patient recovering from a fracture, his X-ray Vision confirmed the bone alignment remained perfect without needing a formal follow-up X-ray. For another patient admitted with abdominal pain, his focused examination detected faint guarding and rebound tenderness that hadn't been noted in the chart, prompting him to recommend further investigation.
He offered advice freely. To a diabetic patient whose blood sugar was fluctuating, he provided practical tips on diet management within the hospital setting. To a patient recovering from minor surgery who complained of constipation—a common side effect of pain medication—he recommended specific mobilization exercises and dietary adjustments.
For minor issues discovered during his rounds—a dressing needing reinforcement, a mild skin irritation near an IV site—he often addressed them himself, his movements quick and efficient, embodying the nickname that had begun circulating among the staff: "Touch of the Wind." His speed and dexterity were such that treatments were often completed before patients fully registered what was happening.
When patients required more significant follow-up based on his findings—like the man with subtle abdominal signs—he didn't hesitate to communicate his concerns to the primary team, ensuring continuity of care. His thoroughness and willingness to go beyond the typical duties of an intern had earned him the trust and appreciation of patients and staff alike.
After completing his rounds in the wards associated with the Emergency Department, Mu-shin decided to check on patients in other areas of the hospital, part of his ongoing effort to gain broad clinical exposure as mandated by his internship program, even with his accelerated track under Dr. Lee.
As he approached a General Surgery ward, he noticed a group of residents conducting morning rounds. Four familiar faces—Lee Hyunwoo, Kim Jaemin, Yoon Seokjin, and Han Jiwon, all third-year residents he recognized from previous encounters, though they had never spoken directly—were clustered around a fifth figure.
Mu-shin hesitated. Entering a ward actively being rounded on by another department's residents, especially residents from the rival Surgery Department, felt like crossing an invisible boundary. Hospital etiquette dictated a certain deference to the primary team responsible for the patients in that ward.
He decided it would be inappropriate to proceed and was about to turn away when a stern voice cut through the corridor's ambient noise.
"Dr. Yoon?"
The title, spoken with crisp authority, made Mu-shin pause. He turned back to see the fifth figure detaching from the group and looking directly at him. It was Chief Resident Lee Joon-hyuk, the highly regarded leader from the General Surgery Department whom Mu-shin had observed previously but never formally met.
Mu-shin had heard the whispers about Lee Joon-hyuk. Tall, imposing, with model-like features and an air of intense focus, he was considered the surgical counterpart to the ER's own Nam Kyung-soo. While Nam was known for his approachable demeanor and seemingly effortless competence (earning him the nickname "Blindman" for his ability to operate almost by memory after initial assessment), Lee Joon-hyuk possessed a different kind of reputation. His diagnostic skills, particularly his palpation technique, were said to be almost preternatural. Nurses and junior doctors spoke in awe of his "Hand of Nature"—an ability to discern subtle abnormalities through touch alone, as if his fingers could sense the body's inner workings.
Now, that formidable figure was looking directly at him, his expression unreadable but undeniably commanding.
Mu-shin walked toward the group, acutely aware of the hostile glares directed at him by the four surgical residents accompanying Lee Joon-hyuk. Their resentment was palpable, fueled by the ongoing departmental rivalry and perhaps by Mu-shin's own burgeoning reputation as the ER's rising star.
"Chief Resident Lee," Mu-shin greeted respectfully, offering a slight bow that encompassed the entire group, despite the animosity radiating from Joon-hyuk's subordinates. "Good morning."
Lee Joon-hyuk nodded curtly, his stern expression unchanging. Unlike his residents, he showed no overt hostility, only a focused intensity as he assessed Mu-shin.
"Dr. Yoon Mu-shin," he stated, his voice calm but resonant. "The 'Touch of the Wind.' Your reputation precedes you, even in the surgical wards."
Mu-shin felt a flicker of surprise. He hadn't realized his nickname had spread so far or that the Chief Resident of Surgery would be aware of it.
"I've heard impressive things about your skills," Lee Joon-hyuk continued, ignoring the disdainful snorts from his residents. "Efficiency, diagnostic accuracy, procedural dexterity... qualities we value in surgery as well."
He paused, his gaze unwavering. "They say you possess unusual insight. Since our paths have finally crossed, I find myself curious. I would like to learn from you."
The statement hung in the air, stunning not only Mu-shin but also the surrounding surgical residents. A Chief Resident asking to learn from an intern? It was unheard of.
"Sir?" Lee Hyunwoo, one of the third-year residents, sputtered. "Learn from *him*? He's just an ER intern!"
Lee Joon-hyuk silenced him with a single sharp glance before returning his attention to Mu-shin. "My request is genuine, Dr. Yoon. True skill recognizes no rank or department affiliation. If you possess knowledge or techniques that could benefit my patients or improve my own abilities, I consider it my duty to seek them out."
His words were direct, devoid of sarcasm or challenge. It was an honest, almost humble request from someone renowned for his own extraordinary talent—a testament to his dedication to medicine above hospital politics.
Mu-shin felt a mixture of embarrassment and respect. "Chief Resident Lee, I am still just an intern. My experience is limited..."
"Experience is relative," Lee Joon-hyuk interrupted smoothly. "Results are absolute. Your results speak for themselves. I wish to understand the methods behind them."
Before Mu-shin could formulate a response, the other surgical residents erupted.
"This is ridiculous!" Kim Jaemin exclaimed, stepping forward aggressively. "His reputation is clearly inflated by the ER trying to make themselves look good!"
"'Touch of the Wind'?" Yoon Seokjin scoffed. "More like 'Touch of Luck'! Anyone can look good treating minor scrapes in the procedure room."
"He probably just steals credit for the nurses' work," Han Jiwon added venomously, ignoring the warning look from their Chief Resident.
"How dare you request to learn from someone who probably cheated his way through medical school?" Lee Hyunwoo directed at his Chief, his face flushed with indignation.
Their voices rose, echoing in the corridor, attracting curious glances from passing staff and visitors. The residents seemed determined to tear down Mu-shin's reputation, their professional jealousy overriding any sense of decorum or respect for their own Chief Resident's request.
Lee Joon-hyuk's expression remained impassive, but a dangerous glint entered his eyes as he listened to his subordinates' outburst. Mu-shin stood silently amidst the verbal assault, his mind analyzing the situation, assessing the motivations behind the hostility.
This wasn't just about departmental rivalry anymore. It was about insecurity, about established hierarchies being challenged by unexpected talent. His presence, his skills, his rapid advancement under Dr. Lee's mentorship—they represented a threat to the status quo these residents clung to.
As their criticisms grew louder and more personal, Mu-shin met Lee Joon-hyuk's gaze across the small space separating them. The Chief Resident gave a barely perceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of the situation, perhaps even a test of Mu-shin's composure under fire.
The confrontation hung in the air, unresolved, the tension thick enough to cut with a scalpel.