Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Emergency Quest (2)
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Director's hearty laughter echoed through the room.
His heavy hand patted my shoulder a few more times before he finally nodded in satisfaction and said, “Yeah, keep up the good work,” leaving with the fellow.
I didn’t straighten up from my 90-degree bow until they were completely out of sight.
Senior Choi Soo-min watched me with a complicated smile mixing shock, sympathy, and a hint of respect.
“You’re... really good at this social stuff...”
I could only manage a weak smile.
In the corner of my vision, the quest window still blinked, screaming ‘Time Remaining: 00:52:17’.
I’d wasted eight precious minutes on schmoozing with the director.
Gripping my frayed nerves, I dragged over an empty station chair and sat down.
I had to find a patient.
Zone A, resuscitation room, isolation room.
Every critical care area in the ER was empty.
That left only one possibility: a patient classified as mild or moderate but whose condition was rapidly deteriorating.
There had to be someone overlooked by the doctors and nurses.
I logged into the EMR system. The familiar hospital logo popped up, followed by a list of all patients currently in the ER.
I scrolled the mouse wheel, opening charts one by one for patients in Zone B, the general beds.
First patient. 24-year-old female, chief complaint: abdominal pain.
Came in last night complaining of mild lower abdominal pain.
Vital signs stable.
Blood work all normal.
The attending’s note read ‘R/O simple gastroenteritis’.
Suspected simple gastroenteritis.
Probably just constipation or menstrual cramps. Pass.
Second patient. 38-year-old male, chief complaint: common cold.
Cold?
A cold?
Runny nose, cough, low-grade fever for two days. Asked why he came, and he said it was near his office, so he stopped by after work.
This is a tertiary care emergency medical center.
Did he have any idea how much his copay would hurt here?
He could’ve gone to a local clinic ER. I’d never come here for that. Too stingy with my own money.
I vented inwardly and moved to the next chart.
Third patient. 45-year-old male, chief complaint: acute intoxication.
Cops brought him in after finding him passed out on the street.
Blood alcohol level 0.25%. Vitals stable. Just sleeping it off. Pass.
Fourth, fifth, sixth...
Colds, body aches, headaches, indigestion, dizziness, colds, colds, colds.
“Ha... fuck.”
A curse slipped out unbidden.
My fingers grew sluggish on the scroll.
Something was wrong.
Not a single one of these patients was dying.
Most of them could be discharged right now with zero issues.
I stopped the mouse and leaned my stiff neck back. The red quest window filled my vision more sharply.
‘Time Remaining: 00:41:03’
Time ticked away, deepening my suspicions without a single clue.
Ugh... Was the status window screwing with me?
Maybe this was all just an elaborate hallucination in my head.
The VEXAS diagnosis was a lucky fluke, and this emergency quest was the system’s fake bait to mock me.
A reasonable doubt, right?
But... those rewards—‘1,000 LP’ and ‘Unlock Hidden Trait’—they were too tempting to ignore.
And what if I’d missed a patient who really needed help?
‘Back to square one.’
I shoved down my doubts, scrolled back to the top.
Age, sex, comorbidities, current meds, allergies...
I compared every blood test value to normals, tracked trends against prior results.
Reopened X-rays and CT reads, straining my eyes for subtle lesions radiology might’ve missed.
But the results were the same.
Clean. Pristine.
Textbook mild cases in a row.
No shadow of death anywhere.
I slumped back against the chair in defeat.
Time slipped away mercilessly—under 30 minutes left. Adrenaline drained, leaving only exhaustion and failure.
Where the hell was it?
‘A patient dying unattended in the hospital.’
The quest text haunted my mind.
Was I overlooking something basic?
Or was the patient not even in the ER?
Finally, I closed the EMR window.
Words and numbers on a screen wouldn’t give me answers.
I stood and slowly walked the ER.
Scanning Zone B beds one by one, glancing around. Quest time: about 20 minutes left.
Anxiety choked me, but I feigned calm, acting like a doctor leisurely rounding.
Approaching one bed, I yanked open the curtain of a sleeping patient.
A woman in her twenties jolted awake.
“What is it, doctor...?”
Her eyes screamed, ‘Who’s this lunatic?’
I scanned her face and the bedside monitor vitals in one second. Stable heart rate, normal oxygen sat. No issues.
“...Uh, no, just checking your blood pressure’s holding. Go back to sleep...”
I mumbled awkwardly and pulled the curtain shut.
Her baffled stare burned my back, face flushing.
I repeated the madness a few more times.
Pinched the foot of a drunk snoring guy to check response, shone a light in a headache patient’s eyes to test pupil reaction.
Patient complaints and nurses’ puzzled looks stabbed like daggers.
My wandering steps halted at Bed B-17.
A man in his mid-50s lay groaning. Sweat beaded his forehead, face pale. Classic acute gastroenteritis.
The one I’d seen in EMR earlier.
Came in with vomiting and abdominal pain; suspected food poisoning, getting fluids and observation.
Hmm, anything special here?
I pulled out my phone, reopened EMR to check the chart.
54-year-old male. Chief complaints: vomiting, diarrhea, abdominal pain. R/O acute gastroenteritis.
Vitals stable, blood work showed mild dehydration but nothing else.
Nothing there. Textbook case. No way this guy was dying.
As I turned away disappointed, he called weakly.
“Hey... doctor.”
“Yes, sir? You okay? Stomach still bad?”
“No, not that, but getting up’s tough. Could you grab me a glass of water? Throat’s so dry...”
The water cooler was right by the station—easy enough.
I nodded, headed over, filled a paper cup with cold water from the blue button.
Back to him, handed it over.
“Here you go. Drink slowly.”
He bowed gratefully, took a sip. Then said something bizarre.
“...Ah! Doctor, I’m fine with cold water, not lukewarm, heh heh. Thanks anyway.”
“...?”
I doubted my ears.
Lukewarm water?
Something was off.
I’d definitely pressed the cold blue button.
Hadn’t tasted it, but the condensation on the cup screamed cold.
Yet he felt it as lukewarm.
“Sir, does the water feel hot to you?”
“Huh? No, not lava-hot. Just lukewarm. I prefer cold, you know. Heh heh.”
He laughed it off casually.
But I couldn’t laugh.
Warning bells rang in my head.
I brushed it off vaguely. “Got it. I’ll bring cold next time.” Then headed back to the station.
My heart pounded again.
I rushed to Senior Choi Soo-min, explained what happened.
“Senior, B-17 patient. Gastroenteritis, but I gave him cold water and he said it was lukewarm? Seems like a temperature sensation issue.”
She lit up with interest.
Opened EMR, scrutinized the chart again.
“Temperature sensation abnormality... Super unique symptom, but hard to act on alone. Could be transient from severe dehydration or electrolyte imbalance... Or rarely, neurological.”
She pondered, chin in hand, then gave the standard line.
“Let’s redraw labs and consult neuro? Ask the on-call neurologist to take a look.”
As expected.
No real solution.
Symptom too vague and nonspecific—lacking grounds to dig deeper.
“Yes, got it,” I said, but my insides burned.
‘Time Remaining: 00:08:43’
Consult neuro, they see the patient, run tests, find cause—how long?
Would the patient—and my quest—hold out?
I stood alone in the station corner, anxiously eyeing B-17.
Ah, it’s gotta be that guy... What now...
Post on the ‘Undead Doctors Gallery’? But what to say?
‘54M, gastroenteritis symptoms plus temperature sensation abnormality. Thoughts?’ No guarantee of a clear answer like VEXAS.
...Screw it.