Seven Women Surrounded Me

The seven women encircled me in the temple courtyard, right in front of the herb warehouse. The morning air was bitterly cold.

“Calyx.”

Celes, standing at the center, looked down at me. Even as an apprentice, she was already being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠called a saintess candidate. Her face, her bloodline, her divine power—there wasn’t a single flaw. And because of that, she believed even more firmly that she was right.

“Why didn’t you attend the dawn service today?”

“…I was on night duty. All night.”

“So you skipped it? The service to the Goddess?”

Celes’s elegant eyebrows arched gracefully.

“Do you truly think the excuse of being tired will work when it comes to serving the Goddess?”

“…………”

You’re the ones who dumped the night shift on me. The words rose all the way to my throat, but I swallowed them. Even if I said it, the seven of them would simply close ranks and claim, “The youngest is making excuses again.”

“Well, of course,” one of the girls beside her scoffed. “The very fact that a man crawled in here claiming he could become a vessel for the Goddess is already an excuse in itself.”

“Exactly. Healing is the sacred work of pure maidens. Isn’t the entire class tainted because something like him is mixed in?”

“They even say we have to use separate holy water. Anything he’s touched.”

The seven of them giggled, with me trapped in the middle. This was the daily morning ritual. Celes would find fault, and the rest would chime in. The justification was always the same: the Goddess’s purity. The sacred domain. They who protected it were righteous, and I who defiled it was a sinner.

The exclusion was elegant. There was no seat for me at communal meals. They told me to eat separately “for the sake of purity.” I was also excluded from prayer gatherings because a man’s presence would cloud the prayers. Instead, all the menial labor fell to me. The reason? “Men have strength, after all.”

They excluded me in the name of divinity and used me in the name of convenience.

“Organize the entire herb warehouse today. By grade,” Celes said as she turned away. “Oh, and you’re on night duty for the second floor again today.”

“…But I stood watch yesterday too.”

“Where is there room for shifts in the Goddess’s work? Those who are lacking must simply serve more.”

Those who are lacking. She was talking about me.

The seven of them filed out in a rush. At the very end, Celes dropped her own basket of herbs at my feet with a dull thud.

…………Ha.

I stared down at that basket.

Hospital or temple, the concept might change, but the grinding was the same. The only difference was that back there it was “because you’re a first-year” and here it was “because you’re a man.” Hierarchy or purity—humans were frighteningly good at finding excuses to chew someone up and spit them out.

My name is Lee Do-hyun. In my previous life, I was a doctor in South Korea. A brand-new one who had just gotten his license, shining with fresh hope.

After being ground down for over a decade, the day I finally got my name tag pinned to my white coat, I thought: Finally. Now only good things are left.

I’d make money. Meet a pretty woman, get married. Sleep in on weekends. The kind of doctor’s life I’d seen in dramas. The reward for over a decade of suffering.

…I died before I could receive any of it.

How long had it even been since I got my license? After a thirty-six-hour shift, I stepped out of the operating room and collapsed right there in the hallway. Cardiac arrest. Death by overwork. At twenty-nine.

There wasn’t even an obituary. The hospital probably just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled the empty spot with another body. And when I opened my eyes again—I was here.

The Holy Kingdom that worshipped the Goddess. Right in the heart of it, the Grand Temple. In the body of an apprentice healer named Calyx.

At first, I was excited. Another-world reincarnation. A second chance at life. I thought maybe it was finally my turn in one of those common stories where you wake up as a crown prince or a sword saint.

But.

A healer. Medical field again. Helen Keller, Florence Nightingale… what sin did I commit in my past life?

Still—there was one small comfort. There were a lot of pretty women here. The entire temple was full of them. A whole lot.

The problem was that every single one of those women hated me enough to kill me.

That afternoon, the temple’s main gate burst open.

“Healer! Where’s a healer?!”

Two burly men came running in carrying a stretcher. On it lay a man. Blood was dripping steadily from beneath the stretcher.

I reflexively assessed the distance. Pale complexion, cold sweat, shallow and rapid breathing. Consciousness—clouded. The trail of blood left behind was vivid, meaning significant blood loss.

“H-his leg got crushed under a carriage! The cargo wagon wheel went right over—” the guardian sobbed.

The man’s trouser leg was soaked dark red. The thigh. Femoral artery. If that ruptures, you have only minutes at best.

The on-duty healers rushed over in a crowd. Celes and her group too. But none of them—laid a hand on the stretcher. Instead, they formed a circle around it and clasped their hands together.

“O Goddess. Please, in your mercy, take away the wounds of this pitiful soul.”

The prayer began.

“…………”

I stared at the scene for a moment, dumbfounded. Blood was gushing. A man was dying. And they were simply clasping their hands, closing their eyes, and chanting prayers like a song. Without even touching the wound.

In this world, that was normal. Healing was the Goddess’s power. All humans could do was pray to request that power. Touching a wound directly was evil medicine—a sacrilegious superstition.

But prayer didn’t stop arterial bleeding.

The man’s lips on the stretcher were turning blue.

…This won’t do.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I pushed through the crowd and knelt beside the stretcher. I tore open the trouser leg to expose the wound and pressed my fingers firmly into the inner upper thigh where the femoral artery ran. The gushing blood immediately slowed.

“W-what are you doing?!”

Celes’s scream erupted from behind me.

“We are in the middle of prayer! We are petitioning the Goddess, and you dare lay your hands—”

“Give me some cloth. Clean. And a long, sturdy cord. Quickly.”

“Calyx!”

“Does prayer stop bleeding?!”

When I shouted while looking back, Celes faltered.

“…Do you even know how much blood this man is losing per minute? With every verse of your prayer, he’s losing a cupful and dying.”

No one brought any cloth. Their faces said they couldn’t possibly assist with evil medicine.

Fine. I’d use my own. I tore a long strip from the hem of my apprentice robe, wrapped it twice above the bleeding point, and pulled it as tight as I could. A tourniquet. Then I pressed directly on the wound with my palm. One, two, three… The pulse I felt at my fingertips slowed. What had been spurting now only seeped. The man’s breathing gradually grew deeper.

“…………”

The courtyard fell deathly silent. The healers who had been praying closed their mouths and stared at the sight. At how evil sleight of hand had stopped the blood that the Goddess’s prayer could not.

Sweat dripped from my forehead. It was a procedure I had done who knows how many times across two lifetimes.

“He’s alive. For now.”

The moment I muttered that while catching my breath—

“…Remove that.”

Celes’s voice was trembling. With rage. Not relief.

“You have defiled the Goddess’s domain with a man’s hands. This is not healing. It is blasphemy.”

Someone approached and reached out to undo the tourniquet I had tied.

“Don’t touch it!” I slapped the hand away. “If you loosen that now, it’ll burst again. Then he really will die. If you want to save him—just leave it alone.”

The healer glanced at Celes. She bit her lip and glared at me. It was the look of someone who saw saving a life as a crime. Saving with hands what prayer could not was not a comfort to her, but a desecration. In her world, what mattered more than who lived was how they had been saved.

“Record it,” Celes said coldly. “Apprentice Calyx has once again invaded the Goddess’s domain with evil medicine.”

The man had lived, yet when his guardian tried to bow to me repeatedly, crying “Th-thank you! Thank you!” Celes’s group blocked him.

“Do not misunderstand. The Goddess has taken him into her mercy. That man merely committed an impious act.”

The guardian looked back and forth between me and Celes with a bewildered expression. I simply stood up, brushing the blood from my knees. I didn’t even have the energy to argue. It had been the same in my previous life. The patient I saved after staying up all night would be credited to someone else during morning rounds. The only difference now was that saving a life had gone from being credit to being a sin. I had taken one more step down.

I was just… tired.

The sun began to set. The temple’s daily duties were over, but mine were not. Preparing for the dawn service, organizing the herb warehouse, and the second-floor night duty that had been dumped on me again. Even if I had two bodies, it wouldn’t be enough.

Just for a moment. Just a short moment. I wanted to sit somewhere and catch my breath.

My feet moved on their own toward one place. The western end of the temple—the confessional. It was said to be the place where one confessed sins to the Goddess. A narrow, dark room divided by a single old wooden partition. A place where the innocent had no reason to come and the guilty were afraid to enter. So it was always empty.

To me, it wasn’t a place for prayer. It was like a corner of the on-call room from my previous life. No one looked for me there, no one called ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me, and for a little while I could simply not be anyone. That single square of darkness had recently become my only refuge.

I opened the creaking door and sank into the worn wooden chair. My shoulders felt like they weighed a ton.

“…Ha.”

A sigh escaped me automatically. I looked up at the ceiling. A ceiling so dark it couldn’t even be seen.

“God, I’m really going to die at this rate.”

It was a phrase that had been stuck in my mouth since my previous life. It just popped out whenever I was exhausted. I must have said it a dozen times a day in the hospital. I’m going to die. I’m going to kick the bucket. This is shortening my lifespan. Every Korean person says that, right?

“At this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rate, I’ll really be dead within a year.”

I dragged both hands down my face.

“If you’re going to take me anyway, at least take me gently. Don’t kill me again after making me work overtime. Once was enough.”

There was no god to answer. And even if there was, he probably wouldn’t understand Korean. I simply muttered to myself like that inside the empty darkness.

I had no idea that someone was holding their breath on the other side of the partition.

On the other side of the partition was Celes.

At first, she had come to catch him. After seeing that spectacle during the day, her anger hadn’t subsided. A man had once again defiled the Goddess’s domain, and instead of punishment, he had nearly received bows from the guardian. This time, she was determined to make sure he received formal discipline. With that resolve, she had watched Calyx throughout the day’s duties.

And she saw him abandon his work and slip into the confessional.

…Slacking off as well. Using the sacred confessional as a place to be lazy.

She planned to catch him in the act. She intended to be a witness to whatever impious thing he was doing—so she held her breath and sat down in the adjacent booth.

That was when she heard it.

Celes’s shoulders flinched. Death. In this world, it was a word that must not be spoken lightly. Death was the Goddess’s sole authority. For a human to utter its timing was the gravest blasphemy against the divine. Another reason for discipline had just been added. That was what Celes thought at first.

…One year. Celes’s fingertips froze. In that instant, a passage she had memorized countless times since childhood unfolded in her mind on its own.

At the end of one year. The Goddess’s side.

…It’s a coincidence.

Celes shook her head. Anyone could complain that they were going to die. The mention of one year was probably just a habitual phrase. Linking it to the prophecy was a stretch.

But then—

Celes’s breath stopped. There was no fear in his voice. She knew those who insulted the divine. They laughed, or were arrogant, or trembled in terror. She had never once seen a human speak of their own death with such calm.

As if simply stating that it would rain tomorrow. Without resentment or struggle. The next line of the prophecy rose in her mind automatically.

One sign.

…No. It can’t be.

Celes gripped the partition with trembling hands. It was merely overlapping coincidences. That was what she wanted to believe.

And then—it all collapsed.

A man facing death. Until the very last moment, he spoke of his duty. Overtime. Service. The arduous work of serving the Goddess. Even while dying, he could not let it go from his hands. The final line of the prophecy.

Two signs.

The pieces began to fit together in Celes’s mind. A calm confession of death. A duty he could not release until the end. And earlier that day—when everyone else merely clasped their hands in prayer, he alone had knelt and stopped the blood of a dying man. Even tearing his own clothes to do it. Then having his achievement stolen, being condemned as a blasphemer, and yet turning away without a single word of protest. The one who had saved with his own hands a life that prayer could not save. The hand that had come closest to the Goddess’s power. The very man she had spent her entire life pointing at as the embodiment of sacrilege.

Three signs.

…No way.

All color drained completely from her face.

No way… that man is…

The prophecy that had slept in the temple for a thousand years. Right now, beyond this narrow confessional. It was awakening through the mouth of the youngest apprentice she had trampled on yesterday and today in the Goddess’s name.

Beyond the partition, Celes covered her mouth with both hands. A sound threatened to escape. The urge to tell someone immediately and the terror that this must never be spoken aloud screamed inside her head at the same time.

Eavesdropping on a confession before the Goddess was a sin. Recklessly speaking the name of the prophecy’s subject was also a sin. Even knowing that—the matter was simply too great.

She had overheard the heaviest secret in the world from the man she hated most.

Celes staggered to her feet and fled the confessional. As if running for her life.

And inside the dark confessional on the other side of the partition—Calyx, completely unaware of any of it, remained slumped in the old chair, nodding off.

Because today, once again, he had been ground down until there was nothing left.