Securing the Airway is Critical (5)

Thump, thump, thump. My heart was still hammering wildly against my ribs. The hellish scene that had just unfolded in Zone A was still vivid before my eyes. The bright red blood splattered on the sleeve of my white coat made it feel all too real.

...I saved him. Me. With these hands.

A hollow laugh escaped my lips. I had to share this. This insane experience was too overwhelming to keep to myself. I had to post it there—my only outlet, the place where my mentors from hell gathered. The Gallery.

As soon as the blue interface materialized, I began typing with fingers—no, thoughts—that were still trembling with excitement.

The notifications exploded. I scrolled down, feeling like someone cracking open a bag of popcorn.

A feast of endless question marks. Why?

A wave of criticism and mockery washed over me. Sure, talk all you want. I looked at the vivid red blood splatters on my white coat and mask. Click. Without a word, I tossed a photo into the comment section.

The gallery fell into a dead silence for a second. And the thing that broke the silence was sheer shock.

The atmosphere completely flipped. Doubt turned into awe and amazement. I scrolled down, soaking in the satisfaction. Yep, nothing beats proof.

Plan B?

I stared blankly at the comment. A surgical airway? Slitting the throat? Ah. Oh, right. The thing I got wrong during the simulation. Without thinking, I replied with pure, honest simplicity.

A heavy silence fell. And then...

It had begun.

The gallery completely erupted in a mix of fury and shock.

I had nothing to say to that bone-shattering truth. Now that I thought about it, he was right. I had only assumed success. I hadn't considered failure for even a single second, not even for a fleeting moment. Was this that famous "tunnel vision"?

I let out a hollow laugh at their reactions. Yeah. Even I think I'm a bit of a psycho. I stared blankly at the chaotic mix of mockery and praise filling the gallery. What did I just do? Did I save a life, or did I just get lucky in a massive gamble? My head throbbed. Dozens of comments were piling up in real-time as they argued, analyzed, sneered, and marveled among themselves. To these crazy ghosts, my life-or-death struggle was clearly the ultimate source of entertainment.

As the madness continued for a while, a single comment was posted that silenced all the noise. It was written in an archaic, grand tone, as if by the forum's administrator.

...A verdict? What kind of bullshit is this? Is this a Roman court? Dumbfounded, I stared at the screen.

Hitting me with the hard facts. I couldn't find a single word to refute it.

A malformed talent. Is that a compliment or an insult?

Well, that's true.

I nodded quietly. Yeah, he's right. Every word of it is true. As Descendant of Hippocrates finished his grand speech, the final sentence was finally delivered.

...Why the fuck is it so long?

The gallery instantly turned into a festival. ...Applause? I stared blankly into the empty air. This entire situation felt incredibly surreal. I had just returned from a life-or-death struggle, and these ghosts were awarding me some shitty title—I couldn't even tell if it was a reward or a punishment—and clapping among themselves. A wave of profound disillusionment washed over me. A deep, dark reality check. Ah, whatever. Giving up on everything, I decided to just play along. In this crazy world, going crazy along with it might be the only way to survive.

Sigh. I quietly closed the gallery window. I lost. There was no winning against these lunatics. Sitting in the Duty Room, I quietly muttered the title the ghosts had just bestowed upon me.

'A doctor with trash hands but great airway management, who saved ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a patient but almost killed them.'

...Damn it. I can't even deny it.