The Surgeon Who Returns to Hell

I had just finished my internship as a specialist surgeon for Hunters and had barely begun my residency. Back then, I was quite the rising star. In the operating room, they called me the "God-Hand," and every time the professors saw me, they would insist, "That kid belongs in surgery!" I was fast with my hands and even faster with my judgment. In my late twenties, my body could still endure all-night surgeries. Thanks to a string of successful operations, I started to get a bit full of myself. I was drunk on praise and thirsty for fame. I believed that if I opened them up, I could save them. I labored under the delusion that once I tied, stitched, and closed, it was all over. And so, the me of that time was a foolish piece of trash.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Um, Doctor. About the kid in Bed 7..."

"Ah, the one who came in from the bicycle accident?" I said, barely glancing at the chart. "I caught the intra-abdominal bleeding and took care of the ruptured spleen. I’ve already placed a drain, and the vital signs are stable, so just keep an eye on him until the guardians arrive."

"But since he's a pediatric patient, maybe a little more—"

"It's fine. The surgery went perfectly. You have the new nurse there, right? Use this as a learning experience and have her check the vitals frequently."

The one who had been brought in that day was an eight-year-old child. They said he had collided with a truck while riding his bike. His small body was covered in bruises, and blood was pooling in his abdomen. I had opened that child's belly, tied off the ruptured vessels, cleaned up the torn tissue, and closed him back up. It was, quite literally, a perfect surgery. Of course, I thought there would be some pain immediately after, but the aftereffects would be minor. I believed that in just a few days, he’d be whining in his bed, holding his guardian's hand, and ready to be discharged. I happened to be hungry, and although I was on duty, the surgery was over and the patient was in a stable state. It would take, at most, twenty minutes to run to the Chinese restaurant in front of the hospital. In a university hospital, there was almost no one who would dare touch me. So I thought. It would only take a moment. I’d just eat a bowl of jjajangmyeon and come back.

And in that brief moment, the child I believed I had perfectly saved died.

"No... NOOOOOO!"

"Why is my child like this! You said he was fine earlier! The doctor said he was fine!"

When I returned to the ward, the guardian's wailing reached me first. I stood there, dazed.

"...Huh?"

The reason was simple. The surgery had ended well. But the surgery ending didn't mean the treatment was over. Children were different. I realized too late that even a small amount of bleeding, which an adult could withstand, could be fatal to a child. The smaller the body, the less blood volume it has, and the faster its condition collapses. Even if they look fine at first, at some point, the blood pressure drops, the pulse races like crazy, and then they just collapse. That child had experienced a small re-bleeding after the surgery. It was truly small. If it had been discovered in time, it could have been prevented. If someone had quickly noticed his face turning pale, we could have done something. But we didn't. Because I wasn't in the hospital at the time. The new nurse I had left in charge lacked experience and didn't recognize the signs in time, and as a result, the child died. Because of my complacency.

But what was even more disgusting was what happened afterward. No one properly blamed me. At the time, I was a "super rookie" in the medical field whose name had appeared in the news a few times. The hospital didn't want to blow the incident out of proportion, and since it was the middle of the night, there weren't many witnesses. The nurses kept their mouths shut. The parents didn't seem to have the money for a medical lawsuit or the strength to fight the hospital. Instead, they wept and bowed their heads to me.

"Doctor... thank you for trying your best until the end."

"We know... that you tried to save our child."

The moment I heard those words, my stomach twisted. Thank you? To me? I could have saved your child. But the hospital was quiet, the records were cleaned up, and people still looked at me as a competent young surgeon. That was why I couldn't stand it anymore.

Thud! My fist slammed into the wall. Thud, THUD!

"You stupid bastard..."

Blood trickled down the back of my hand. "What the hell have you done...!"

Since that day, I learned one thing. A doctor's job doesn't end just because the surgery goes well. There are times when watching over the patient to ensure they continue to live is more important than the moment you open and close them. And above all, a doctor who ignores a patient right in front of them whom they could save is worse trash than a doctor who lacks technical skill. Perhaps that was why I had tried to run away. In my past life, because of that guilt, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was worn down by overwork, crushed by night shifts, and eventually died from exhaustion. I thought I had atoned enough, believing I didn't want to return to that hell in this life. Instead of failing to save that one child, I had saved others countless times until I died. I made patients who were brought in covered in blood breathe again. So, I told myself it was okay to stop now. That in this life, I could take a quiet, safe path—be it plastic surgery or dermatology. I wanted to believe that.

But.

"Ah... ahhh..."

A cold sensation touched my fingertips. It was the hand of a Hunter, covered in blood. He was fading, unable to even speak properly. His lips were blue, and his eyes were glazed over. He was in a state where it wouldn't be strange if he died right now. But I could read the shape of his lips. If you live as a doctor long enough, you learn to recognize words without needing to hear them. 'Please save me.' That single phrase.

I closed my eyes and opened them. I wanted to run away. Truly... once was enough for that hell. I wanted to just report his condition and walk away. I wanted to pass the buck and let the doctors of this world handle the rest. I never wanted to put another human life on my fingertips again.

But. To find a way to save a patient who is begging to be saved. Because that was the kind of doctor I had wanted to become.

I glared at the status window floating in the corner of my vision. Since when had this been happening? This damn window had been shoving the same choice at me over and over. Hunter Trauma Surgeon. A devil's whisper, telling me to make the very hell I wanted to escape in my past life my actual profession in this one. Forget cheat abilities—the fact that it was picking the one job I hated most and pushing it on me was disgusting. Still, I had no choice but to ask.

"Hey. If I change my class here, can I save this person?"

The status window flickered in the frozen time.

"...So you're the type that can hold a conversation?"

How kind of you. Like a con artist on the street grabbing you to ask if you "know the way." Saying I definitely wouldn't regret it. That this opportunity wouldn't come again. That it was the choice I desperately needed. "Yeah, right." A laugh escaped me. I thought I had atoned enough ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in my past life. I lived like that until I died, so I wanted to believe it was enough, but it seemed that damn resolution wasn't over yet.

"Sigh... fine. Well, considering my memories are intact, I guess I didn't die properly anyway."

The patient's hand was still cold. But it hadn't completely turned icy yet. "Screw it, I'll atone one more time."

I answered the status window. "Yes."

At that moment, something exploded deep within my body. A sensation, too cold to be light and too vivid to be blood, spread through my veins. My fingertips burned. Pure white text, like operating room lights, floated up one after another before my eyes.

Over the surgical knowledge I already possessed, a strange sensation was overlaid. Skin. Fascia. Ribs. Pleura. Lungs. All those structures appeared superimposed over the patient in front of me. But it wasn't the body of an ordinary person. The skin layer hardened by magic, the muscles pushing back against the incision, even the magic layer condensed like a seal between the ribs. It was as if the laws of a dungeon had been painted over an anatomy textbook.

That was when it happened.

"Cough!" The Hunter on the stretcher vomited blood.

"Bl-blood is coming up!"

"His airway is blocked!"

"Prepare for suction!"

The lobby began to move again. As if the world that had been frozen until just a moment ago had suddenly regained its sound. Dark red blood flowed from the patient's lips. His chest, which had been rising and falling shallowly, now barely moved. Air leaked through his blue lips as if he were gasping. Na Hayoung's face hardened.

"Oxygen saturation is dropping further!"

"At this rate, his airway will close!"

"Damn it... at least make him comfortable—!"

No. That's not what's important right now. I have to secure the airway. But the cause isn't just the blood in his mouth. It's the air trapped inside his chest. That's what's pressing on his lungs, pushing his heart, and stealing his breath. 'I have to get it out first.'

Before the thought even finished, my hands moved.

Light gathered at my fingertips. It looked like a normal scalpel, but it wasn't metal. It was a thin, sharp blade made of magic. But strangely, as soon as I held it, I knew. How deep to go. At what angle to push. How shallowly, how quickly I needed to open him up. I didn't grope below the patient's clavicle, but between the ribs. The standard decompression site. The Hunter's physique. The ribcage hardened by magic. The position of the collapsed lung. The calculations finished in my head.

"Wait, student Jihu!"

"What are you doing?!"

"Stop!"

I heard Na Hayoung's voice. But I couldn't stop. Because the patient was dying even now.

"Don't move," I said shortly. "If I don't take it out now, he'll die."

And then.

SHHHH!

The Hunter-exclusive scalpel pierced the skin.

"Eek?!"

"Ji-Jihu!"

"No, wait—"

Someone gasped. "A B-rank Hunter's body... was pierced?"

The magic layer pushed back against the blade. But the blade didn't forcibly tear the skin and muscle. Following the grain of the magic, it burrowed into the thinnest gap between the ribs. At that moment.

PSSSHHHH!

The air trapped inside the chest burst out with a sound mixed with blood. The patient's body jolted violently. As if a blocked vent had been opened, the shallow, broken breathing took one deep, full breath.

"Haa...!"

The patient inhaled. The entire lobby fell into silence. I gritted my teeth, looking at the blood on my fingertips. Because this was only the beginning.