Treating the Reluctant Patient
The infirmary was quieter than I'd expected that early in the morning. The reason was simple: not a single student had shown up, even as lunch hour approached.
"Hmm."
No injuries? Or maybe the school hasn't informed the students yet? Various thoughts crossed my mind, but nothing concrete. The principal had mentioned gathering all the students for an explanation at some point... Come to think of it, school starts soon anyway. Might as well handle it all at once instead of twice.
I'd told Lee Hayun I'd see her before the other students. But at this rate, no need for that.
Leaning back in my chair, I glanced at the clock—still just 9 a.m. Nothing to do. So even in my pristine white coat, I might as well have been unemployed.
Having lots of free time before school starts was definitely a perk... but wasting it like this felt like a shame. What else could I be doing instead? As I stretched and brainstormed ideas—
Knock knock.
A welcome sound. I called out toward the door right away.
"Come in."
Just like the voices I'd heard passing the infirmary in middle or high school. My role as a health committee member was basically a student, but... honestly, I wasn't sure. By my real age, I was practically a teacher.
Rubbing my aching shoulders from sitting too long, I watched the infirmary door swing open.
The person who entered was...
"Nice to meet you. Woojin, right?"
A man. And one who greeted me way too familiarly from the get-go. Any budding interest vanished instantly.
"That's me. What can I do for you?"
"The principal was bragging about you. Said a healing-type transcendent had joined us."
"Ah."
But he looked a bit old for a student. Mid-30s, maybe. Yet he hadn't switched to casual speech with me, so probably someone used to formal talk. Add in his well-built neck muscles, his subtle attempt at youthful fashion, and dropping the principal's name...
"You're a teacher, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Combat instructor."
"'Yeah'? So you used to be a hero?"
"Spot on. Retired about half a year ago."
"Hmm."
"Weird, though. Most people recognize my face. A-rank hero Bulldog..."
"Sorry, I'm bad with faces."
"Haha, without my ability active, I just look like a nice guy."
I didn't care to know, and it wasn't useful info anyway. An A-rank was right below the numbered heroes—impressive, but that was it. I'd rather have some famous female hero from my past life drop by.
As I picked words to shoo him away...
"Aigoo..."
"..."
By the time I noticed, he'd already plopped down on a random bed like he owned the place.
...Right. He was here as a patient.
No choice. I stood and walked over.
"You don't look hurt. Where is it?"
"Would I come just to chat? It's here... hss..."
He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the wound: a brutal bruise. Dark purple-black and throbbing. Spreading my hand to gauge it, it covered my palm and more. Bone damage seemed likely.
Yet he'd walked in fine.
"Might sting when my fingers touch."
"Psh, a hero can handle that."
Did a dump truck hit him? Or did he tumble down three flights of stairs and snap his arm? I placed my hand on the musclebound creep's forearm and got to work fast. For this level, three minutes tops.
"..."
"..."
The problem was those three minutes. I'd kept it professional—no small talk, lest he start dropping by uninvited. But silent treatment? Awkward as hell. Me gripping some buff guy's arm... the picture was weird.
Cough.
...Back in my villain days, this never bugged me. Oh well. Time for chit-chat.
"What happened? Not a simple stair tumble."
"Had a combat drill with a student."
"Combat drill?"
"Yeah. Some kids, especially combat-focused ones, get practical training based on their abilities."
His explanation narrowed it down. Hero-aspiring transcendents at Miren Academy output way more power than average. Like fire mages: one makes a tiny goblin flame from their hand; an academy kid engulfs a whole building.
Same for summoners crafting weird lifeforms, evolution-types boosting raw strength, mutation-types shapeshifting at will.
"..."
Looked like he ate a haymaker from some ridiculously strong student.
"You lost, huh."
I softened it.
"Nah, I won. I'm the teacher—go easy based on level."
"Then the student..."
He looked a tad sulky, pride bruised. So the kid must've gotten wrecked. I swallowed the rest as he continued.
"She flew solo into a wall."
"Pardon?"
"One of the few called in during break. Good potential, but her body's fragile—struggles with control."
"..."
"Usually manages fine, but today she was spacing out, making mistakes."
"..."
"Think her ankle snapped..."
"I already asked her. Told her to come with. But she insisted on 'normal' treatment..."
"Then let me, the health committee member, ask. What bullshit is this? It's not drugs."
Sweaty guy—cold sweat, probably. I followed the teacher out, past the main building and gym, to a massive cube of a structure. The Training Center, supposedly.
Inside: sky-high ceiling, mostly empty. Didn't matter to me. I scanned corridors for the infirmary.
Spotted the green cross quick. Principal said they'd keep some infirmaries open for when I'm busy. Whatever.
I shoved future worries aside and entered.
"...Ack..."
"..."
There sat Lee Hayun on a bed, fiddling with crutches. So damn sunny. Made me wanna tease her nonstop.
I returned the nurse's awkward greeting and approached Hayun slowly.
"What're you doing?"
"H-Huh? Doing? ...Me?"
"You got hurt."
"Umm..."
She set the crutches down daintily, but couldn't hide the splint-wrapped, bandaged ankle. Nor the way she squirmed up the bed, pulling the blanket—no dice.
I grabbed the blanket at her foot and yanked it up. Her bandaged foot poked out anyway.
Kyaa! Tiny scream, legs folding—but the swollen ankle made it pointless. Like a bunny fleeing a hunter, flailing.
"I'm not charging you. Why pull this here?"
"...Well... Um..."
I knew why. Embarrassed from last night. But I just wanted to mess with her.
"This'll heal right up? Sis?"
"Hey, don't poke...! What if the anesthesia wears off..."
I tapped the hard cast. She cupped her ankle clumsily with both hands.
Sighing down at her.
"Stay still. I'll fix it."
"..."
She nodded faintly from under the blanket, black ponytail peeking.
Same as when I left her hangover meds this morning. Shy alone with me, but didn't mind treatment.
High-maintenance girl.
"Next time, come straight to me."
"..."
"Unless it's urgent, you first."
That way, lock the door for fun—no one the wiser. Swallowed the real reason and sat beside her. Bed creaked; she flinched, drawing legs in.
I caught her retreating ankle gently.
"Hurts to touch?"
"...N-No. Anesthesia's good..."
"Then stick it out like last time. Straight."
Hand on the bandages, I ordered. Hesitantly, her pale leg draped over mine. Toned from training, nice flesh. If this were my infirmary, I'd stroke it slow, gauge reactions.
Two witnesses here, though. Next time.
She'd probably hurt herself again soon anyway.
Adjusted position, flicked her calf playfully—smack—grinned, and started on the ankle.
Luckily, not badly twisted—shallow injury. No wonder just a half-cast. Even sloppy prior treatment, done in under a minute. Same as the street sprain.
If any other patient, we'd part happy. But...
Tripped fleeing me? Felt wrong to just heal and send her off kindly.
...Wait. After last night, maybe she masturbated solo.
"..."
She waited primly, blanket to her forehead. I extended mana further, scanning her body.
Her frequent masturbation spots.
Her most sensitive unknown area.
All...
......
......?
"U-Um."
"Yes."
"When's it done...?"
"Almost."
"B-But why keep touching my ankle...?"
"Almost. Finishing up."
"Ugh..."
"Hold on."
Muttered, checked the oddity more.
Rest unchanged. Untapped erogenous zones clean; frequent spots a tad more developed than last.
But one thing: her thigh, briefly groped amid last night's tongue play, way more sensitive now.
So, yeah—she rubbed it after I left. Hilarious.
"...Ow... Nn, hng..."
"Done, sis."
"Got it... Hey! Stop hitting...!"
Flicked her defenseless white calf a few more times.
Marking my territory. Lightly.
Smack, smack.