The Duchess, You Say!
“Gasp, huff, gasp... Our lady, our lady has been wounded...!”
The man who came galloping in on a carriage jumped down from his horse alongside another, scooped up the young lady in his arms, and rushed toward us.
That prickish guy is the knight captain of the Rufus Count family? Then that girl must be...
“We’ve brought Lady Marie Rufus of the Rufus Count family. Please, I beg you—treat our lady!”
“Where was she injured?”
Unlike his last visit, the knight captain looked utterly dazed, and the girl cradled in his arms was sobbing too hard to speak properly.
“There was an accident inside the dungeon. The young lord walking ahead got spooked and swung his sword wildly by mistake, slashing our lady’s face... Sniff!”
“No wound left, just a scar. Did you use a Stamina Potion by any chance?”
“Y-yes. Your words from before the dungeon run came to mind, so we rushed here.”
A scar ran between her right cheekbone and jaw. The sickly sweet scent unique to Stamina Potions hung thick in the air. But even a potion couldn’t erase a scar over 10 cm long on a count family lady’s face. That must be why this haughty knight captain had come all the way here pale as a ghost.
The wound has healed, but... Does this knight captain even realize the mistake he made?
Places that treat potions as miracle cures might not grasp it. But since the lady’s life wasn’t in danger, I’d settle the debt this knight captain owed me first.
“Scar treatment is possible, but... If I recall, you said scars were like medals of honor?”
“Th-this isn’t the time for word games! You can’t compare some lowly knight’s face to the precious flower of the Rufus Count family! I apologize for my past words—please, treat our lady... her scar!”
Oh ho, precious flower? Well, thinking about it, the knight captain’s rudeness wasn’t the lady’s fault.
“We’ll proceed with treatment right away. Follow me.”
We headed to the 11th floor, where I had Stella move Lady Rufus straight to the operating room. Before entering, I pulled the Rufus Count family’s knight captain aside.
“By the way... Did you hold the wounded area steady when you poured the potion?”
“Y-yes. How did you...?”
I’d suspected as much. I’d seen patients at the Beauty Tower whose scars lingered due to Stamina Potion use.
“From what I’ve observed so far, Stamina Potions can leave scars depending on the skin. But if you don’t precisely fix the laceration or amputation site in place—like you did here—not only scars but twisted skin can result.”
“N-no, I just wanted to stop the bleeding...!”
The knight captain’s face grew even paler.
“It’s easy to think of the face as one connected piece, but it’s actually like several plates joined together. Unless they fit perfectly like puzzle pieces, when a non-expert like you presses down and pours the potion, the face bonds twisted like this. Oh dear, this is serious. An ‘accident’ like this on our lady’s face.”
“Wh-what should I do? Please, tell me you can fix it!”
The knight captain slid from his chair and knelt on the floor, begging me. It could be tears of loyalty for failing to protect his liege’s lady. But through my micro-expression analysis, he looked like a mid-level manager fretting over his own neck.
“I’ll do my best... But let’s talk later. I’ll start the treatment now.”
“Y-yes? Ah, yes! Please! Make sure our lady has no scars left!”
I gave a light nod and entered the operating room. Stella had everything prepped.
“Director, anesthesia complete.”
“Let’s start. Micro-elevation first.”
Micro-elevation surgery compensates for scars that pull or twist with facial muscle movement.
Good thing the scar isn’t on bone or lips.
But this surgery required utmost care. The skin around Lady Rufus’s long scar had twisted from the potion.
Swish—slice—
I incised the designed area over the potion-twisted section and began full micro-elevation, excising the scar and cutting away the distortion.
Slice—
Skin moves with muscle. Laceration scars like Lady Rufus’s inevitably gap or twist with movement—like a monitor screw loosening over time.
So micro-elevation raises and sutures the skin around such inevitable scars.
Pop—hiss—pop—hiss—
I carefully sutured the excised scar edges, stitch by meticulous stitch.
“Stella.”
“Yes!”
Stella cast healing magic, straightening the lady’s crookedly bonded facial skin. But we were only halfway done.
No deep pitting left, just faint scarring—but facial scars won’t do. Especially not in this world.
Not on a 14-year-old girl just starting to care about her looks.
“Pin-hole cell, now.”
“Yes!”
Pin-hole cell treatment erases burns and scars most effectively. With Stella’s setup ready, I grabbed the CO2 laser and began perforating the scar layer.
Tch-tick—tch-tch-tick—
“Stella, heal.”
“Yes.”
Tch-tch-tick—tick—
“Stella, again.”
“Yes.”
I repeated the foot-switch tempo, lasering delicately and layering Stella’s healing magic several times.
“Stella, last one.”
Stella nodded and cast final healing on Lady Rufus. Treatment complete.
We wheeled her to the waiting room, where the knight captain wailed nonsense about thanking the gods.
Pray to me if you’re gonna beg, not some random god.
He seemed happier than the lady herself—and for good reason. He’d failed to block a clumsy young lord’s sword swing.
The maids paid the bill and left via carriage. I called the knight captain to my office alone.
“Thank you so much, Director. I’ll never forget this grace. We can’t linger with the lady to escort, but what was it you wanted to discuss separately...?”
“Haha, nothing major. Just now, while the maids paid, they asked about the treatment details for the head butler’s records.”
I furrowed my brow, feigning difficulty.
“I said I’d prepare a diagnosis report and send it to you separately.”
“I see? You could’ve just told the maids directly.”
From his tone, he hadn’t caught on yet.
“Ah! Would that have been okay? Our hospital records not just costs, but detailed reasons and procedures.”
I continued with a warm smile, watching his face drain of color by the second.
“It’s fine for me, but reporting that the knight captain gripped the skin wrong during potion use, causing the scar—and then we surgically removed it... That might put you in a tough spot, right?”
His face wasn’t just pale—it was rotting. He got it now.
“Um... Do we need to detail it that much? The results turned out so well.”
“What are you saying? Of course we do. Results matter, but documenting the process prevents repeat mistakes—like gripping with your hand during the potion pour, haha.”
“The more I hear, the more this feels like a joke! Are you threatening me now?!”
Our knight captain suddenly brimmed with menace. I’d spoken so mildly, yet he floored it?
“Oh... I didn’t expect this choice from you, Knight Captain. Most regrettable. See the red light blinking in the ceiling corner? Our crystal orb is pricey—records video and audio. Shall I send it straight to the Rufus Count family?”
“M-my apologies. I misspoke...”
That’s more like it.
I approached, patted his shoulder lightly, and leaned to his ear.
“Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. But until Future’s Day ends this Sunday, I expect a little sincerity from the Rufus Count family knights. Just a little, yeah?”
“Th-thank you. So the diagnosis...?”
“Sunday, after I see the sincerity.”
Dare a sword-swinging punk threaten a doctor? One who’ll make you pay for 30 years? Never mess with a doctor with no backup.
“Oh, and one sincerity item’s set: No booze for the knights when you come.”
“We won’t drink much, maybe a pint or two of ale. Why?”
Why? We’re short on blood.
* * *
Ailene Calendar, October 8th, Saturday. A bountiful Future’s Day—materially and in blood donations—had ended, and another week drew to a close.
“Maaainer! Whatcha doin’? Play with meee!”
“Busy. Go play with Ravi.”
I sat on the sofa sorting documents when Res flapped in, ruining my focus. Tossing the tiny dragon’s body mid-air just brought it boomeranging back—annoying.
“Play with Mainer tooo! You said no work weekends, just rest!”
“Res, the director doesn’t get days off. And it’s just the hospital closing. Cache and the Jo family are all working. Bored? Wanna work too?”
“N-no! I’ll play with Ravi!”
Its hasty retreat was infuriating, but I had bigger fish. Closing weekends wasn’t just from hoarded cash letting me ease up on overwork. Time for medical supply inventory too.
I sighed faintly and answered the crystal orb. Unless urgent, no calls—so definitely about those screw-ups.
“What’s up, Cache?”
Spot on, as expected. Nobility, naturally.
“Figured. You called, so. But I said no work weekends—send ’em away. Tough one?”
Cache tsked at my bored reply and whispered.