Miracle at Midnight

"You're too late."

My heart plummeted.

"By the time you brought her in, she had already lost too much blood, and her intracranial pressure was rising rapidly. We suspect brainstem damage. At this point, surgery isn't even possible."

"What... what are you saying?"

"You need to prepare yourself. Even if we miraculously manage to save her life... there's a very high probability she'll be left in a vegetative state."

My legs gave out and I staggered.

The doctor's words kept driving into my ears.

"Even if she does wake up... the brain damage is severe. More than half of her cognitive abilities and physical functions won't come back. Recognizing people, holding a conversation... you should assume those will be beyond her."

The world spun.

The doctor's explanation faded into a distant, droning hum.

I stumbled to the doors of the intensive care unit. It wasn't visiting hours, but I begged and pleaded until they finally let me through.

The heavy automatic doors slid open, and warm air and the hum of machines washed over me.

Beep— beep— beep—.

A rhythmic, yet somehow chilling, mechanical sound.

The moment I pulled back the curtain, my breath caught in my throat.

The woman lying in that bed was not the mother I knew—the stubborn, unbreakable woman who had raised me. It was just a small, fragile body, laid out all alone.

A thick ventilator tube was buried deep in her mouth, and countless lines and IV cords were wound tightly around her nose, her throat, her arms. It looked as though those tubes were desperately clutching a lifeline that could snap at any moment.

Every time the machine forced a rush of air into her lungs, only her gaunt chest rose and fell with labored effort. Her face was so swollen it had lost all semblance of itself, and her bloodless, pale skin wore the shadow of death.

The deep lines carved into her forehead. The hair she'd never gotten around to dyeing, gone white at the roots. Every trace of a lifetime of hardship stabbed at my chest.

My gaze followed my trembling fingertips down to my mother's hand.

A hand hanging limply outside the blanket. A rough, work-worn hand, the knuckles thick, dirt still lodged beneath the fingernails as if she'd just come in from the fields. That warm hand that had come up to Seoul not long ago and smacked me on the back, asking if I'd been eating—now it was frozen solid, like a shard of cold glass.

"Mom..."

A raw, scraping sound tore out of my throat.

What good was seven billion won sitting in my account? What good was an ability that could skip through time? The helplessness crushed me—I couldn't even take the place of that single tube buried in my mother's throat.

A stroke of luck that had come out of nowhere. And a trial that had struck just as suddenly.

I collapsed to my knees, clutching my mother's cold hand. The chill of the floor crept up through my knees, but it was nothing compared to the regret and despair burning in my chest.

What good is money... what good are these powers, if I can't save her...

Clutching at straws, I stared into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the empty air.

"Status Window..."

My voice came out shaking.

Eight work hours. I'd only worked Monday, so it was only natural.

To unlock a new ability, I'd need thirty-two more—four full days of work, exactly.

Four days...

The doctors had said she might not even survive the night. And even if she did hold on, there was no guarantee the next ability would have anything to do with healing.

Look at what I'd gotten so far. Lottery, real estate, crypto, fashion, singing, stealth... All of them, without exception, had served my office life and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my wealth. Did this cold, ruthless office-worker system even have a power that could save a person's life?

"Ugh... aaahh..."

I clutched my head and let out the groan I'd been holding back. Behind me, my father sat slumped in a chair, head bowed, utterly motionless. His shrunken shoulders were so pitiful I couldn't bear to look at him.

Please... anything... I'll take anything...

If the system chose me as a Player, there had to be a reason. It wouldn't have showered me with all that luck just to make me lose the person most precious to me for nothing.

"Please save her... please save my mom..."

My tears dripped, one by one, onto the back of my mother's hand.

And then.

Amid the mechanical sounds of the silent ICU, the system's crisp notification tone rang out. Different from usual—far grander, far brighter.

My head snapped up.

My work hours couldn't possibly be full. Was this a system error?

A golden light rippled in the empty air, and a massive message window appeared.

What was this? What did any of it mean?

The messages kept coming.

And then, dazzling letters filled my entire field of vision.

"Long-Term... Employee Perk?"

My breath caught. Come to think of it, today was my hire anniversary.

At an ordinary company, ten or twenty years of loyal service got you, at best, a gold keychain, a plaque of appreciation, or a few days of reward vacation.

But this was the System. A gut feeling swept through me that this reward would be on an entirely different level from anything the real world had to offer.

Without hesitating—no, nearly snatching at it—I pressed the [ACCEPT] button in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠empty air.

"Accept! Accept!!"

The light shattered into fragments and soaked into my body. Then a new window appeared.

Direct Family Medical Support Voucher... complete cure...?

My heart pounded like mad. With trembling hands, I looked at my mother's face—the fragile figure barely keeping her chest rising and falling on the ventilator.

I shouted without a second's delay.

"Use the Medical Support Voucher! Target: my mother!"

Vmmm—

Along with the sound of the system, a warm, gentle green light bloomed from my palm. That light traveled down my mother's hand and spread, slowly, ever so slowly, across her whole body.

It was light like spring sunshine. Wherever it lingered and passed, color began to return. A flush crept across her once-ghostly cheeks, and warmth flowed back into her frozen fingertips.

Beep— beep— beep—

The erratic, frantic beeping of the heart monitor gradually settled. Her oxygen saturation, which had been falling—72... 71... 70—began reversing course at an impossible speed. 80... 90... 98... 100.

Blood pressure: normal. Pulse: normal.

And then.

"Mmm..."

A small groan escaped my mother's lips. At the same time, her tightly closed eyelids trembled, then slowly opened.

"...Son?"

Clear, bright eyes—every trace of haze completely gone—were looking straight at me.

"Mo... Mom?"

I covered my mouth, unable to believe my eyes. Behind me, my father, who had been sitting in a daze, sprang to his feet and rushed over.

"Honey! Are you back with us? Do you know who I am?"

"Aiyo, you're so loud... What's all the fuss about? I just nodded off for a minute, I think..."

My mother, looking irritated, reached up and tried to pull the ventilator tube out of her mouth with her own hand. A strength that should have been medically impossible.

Just then, alerted by the shrill alarms, the medical staff came sprinting in.

"What's going on! Patient, you mustn't! If you move—huh?"

The doctor in charge skidded to a stop at her bedside. He rubbed his eyes and looked back and forth between the monitor and my mother.

"Wh... what in the world..."

"Doctor, my mom woke up. She's talking."

The doctor, his face frozen in disbelief, took out his penlight and checked her pupils. Then he pressed his stethoscope to her chest and double-checked the monitor readings.

"This is impossible... her brainstem reflexes are back? The hemorrhage? The intracranial pressure?"

He shouted for the patient to be moved to the CT suite immediately. Even amid the flurry of her bed being wheeled out, my mother refused to let go of my hand.

"Dong-su, have you eaten? Why is your face only half there?"

A woman who had just come back from death's doorstep—and all she could think about was whether her son had eaten. Choking back the sobs that came surging up, I barely managed to nod.

"I ate, Mom. I ate a lot."