An Odd Fellow (1)

I sat in the empty duty room chair, staring blankly into space. The crazed comment left by 'Truck-Hit Guy' hovered persistently in my mind. 'If you haven't been hit, don't talk.' Fuck. Yeah, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠haven't been hit. And I don't want to be hit either, you crazy bastard. I sighed as I thought of those ghosts who clearly had no intention of growing up, even in death.

Hmm... Let's organize this. Up until now, I had just been lurking on this database, barely scraping by on whatever information trickled out. Like when I posted about the FUO patient, if I got lucky and someone gave me an answer, great. If not, too bad. I couldn't keep going like this. It was far too inefficient. If I wanted to properly tame these bastards and put them to work, I had to lay my cards on the table. 'I'm alive.' Just that one statement. I needed to etch that fact clearly into the minds of those ghosts.

Okay, let's do this. I sprang up from my seat. The problem was how to verify myself. "Verification, huh?" The simplest way was a selfie. Taking a picture of my face and posting it. I pondered for a moment before shaking my head. Am I insane? Imagining myself flashing a peace sign with a dead-eyed expression in this gloomy duty room made me cringe so hard my limbs felt like they were shriveling up. It didn't suit my personality. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Above all, the thought of those ghost bastards holding a beauty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pageant over my face gave me goosebumps. Comments like 'Looking at this guy's face, he must've done nothing but study lol' were practically guaranteed.

Then what other way was there? What about taking a photo of the EMR (Electronic Medical Record) screen? The patient list and prescription records. There was no more definitive proof of being a doctor than that. ...No, wait. A warning light flashed in my head. Violation of the Personal Information Protection Act. The patient's name, age, and diagnosis. All of this was highly sensitive information. If I leaked this, not only would my medical license fly out the window, but I'd also end up with a criminal record.

But wait. "They're ghosts." Oh, right. They were already dead. They were ghosts who couldn't be judged by the law or interfere with reality. Did the Personal Information Protection Act even apply to the afterlife? Was there a Cyber Crimes Unit in the netherworld that would send me a message saying, 'Hell Joseon Slave 1, you are requested to appear for questioning regarding the unauthorized leak of personal information'? The mere thought was absurd, but you never knew. I had to avoid high-risk gambles.

After much deliberation, I came up with the most perfect and safe method. A patient monitor. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation. A monitor where the vital signs of a living human blinked in real-time. It contained absolutely no personal information, yet it would prove more clearly than anything else that this was an active, operating hospital. Nice, let's go with this.

I looked around, picked up a sticky note and a pen, and firmly wrote down the six syllables that symbolized my identity. [Hell Joseon Slave 1] Now, the preparations were complete. I quietly slipped out of the duty room and headed toward the ER station. Fortunately, everyone was so busy that no one paid any attention to a first-year resident tucked away in a corner. I approached a patient monitor next to an empty bed in Zone B.

Beep— beep— beep— The perfect background. I stuck the sticky note in a highly visible spot on one corner of the monitor. Then, I opened the gallery app and pressed the capture button to snap the scene. Click. I returned to the duty room and threw myself onto the bed. The title didn't need to be grand. Just short and impactful. Title: Verification. I'm the active doctor you guys were looking for. I didn't write anything in the body. Just a single photo. Below it, I added one short sentence: 'Taking questions.' Now, I held all the cards. Hehehe. Taking a deep breath, I hit the post button. And then...

After a second of silence, comment notifications exploded simultaneously.

The gallery exploded.

Drunk on satisfaction, I scrolled down. Ghosts from all kinds of departments were appealing to their specialties, courting me with pleas that bordered on screams.

I lowered the hand that was resting on my forehead and opened the post creation window once again.

Instantly, a reaction incomparably more violent than before erupted.

Ghosts from all kinds of departments began to bicker, each claiming to be the ultimate expert. Is this what idols or celebrities feel like? This was more than enough. Now that I had this powerful weapon in my hands, all I had to do was steadily gather LP and acquire the Possession skill. It was at that very moment.

"Dr. Han!" I gasped, snapping my head up. "The patient in bed B-22 seems to have a bit of a fever. Could you come take a look?" "Ah, yes! Understood!" I scrambled to my feet.

Ding— ding— The noisy alarm of a patient monitor. The shouting of a drunkard echoing from afar. The pungent smell of disinfectant stinging my nose. This was my reality. "Fuck, back to work." I muttered a quiet curse and trudged toward bed B-22.

Lee Min-jae, a fourth-year chief resident in Emergency Medicine, stared intently at the retreating back of first-year resident Han Hyeon-jae. Hyeon-jae had directly called a rheumatology professor to diagnose a rare disease like VEXAS syndrome, and then, just a few hours later, he had caught ciguatera fish poisoning. This was the performance of a first-year resident who had only been on the job for a few months? The records of the past few months flashed through Min-jae's mind. Han Hyeon-jae. He was definitely not this kind of character.

"...Hyeon-jae, are you having a hard time?" A patient brought to the ER with alcoholic cirrhosis. Finding a vein in thin, inelastic blood vessels is tricky. But this was a bit much. Hyeon-jae, sweating profusely, had poked the patient's arm four times, and the patient had a look of utter resignation. In the end, unable to watch any longer, Min-jae had spoken to the nurse. "Nurse Jin, I'm sorry, but could you start the line instead?" Hyeon-jae, unable to even lift his head, had mumbled apologies in a voice as quiet as an ant. He was far from an ace. Just a clumsy, clueless first-year resident like any other.

"Hyeon-jae, this patient's chief complaint is epigastric pain. What's your differential diagnosis here?" "Acute gastritis is the most likely! We will consider an endoscopy if necessary!" "Then what tests should we order?" "We will check basic CBC, LFT, and inflammatory markers!" At least his answers were loud and clear.

"Did you throw the differential for acute pancreatitis out the window? Are we not ordering a lipase lab?" "......Ah!" Only then did he let out an exclamation as if he had just realized. Such mistakes were common in the early days of being a first-year. That was exactly his level. He wasn't particularly outstanding, nor was he an absolute disaster who required constant hand-holding. Sure, he was good-natured and diligent. He was just that kind of kid. A clumsy, occasionally pitiful first-year who nevertheless gritted his teeth and got his job done.

But today, Hyeon-jae was a completely different person. Like a veteran professor, he had snatched up two rare diseases in a row. What on earth is it? What happened in the meantime? There was always a reason when a person suddenly changed. Did he... study like an absolute madman? Min-jae stopped his train of thought there.