Actually, It's Not Dangerous!
The man's story felt like a cliché I'd heard somewhere before. But when you consider it was real life, it hit different—no way it couldn't.
A father desperately scraping together money to save his daughter, who'd contracted an incurable disease from prolonged exposure to corrupted mana after getting caught in a gate. It wasn't that long a tale, but his raw emotion seeped through every word. Enough that for a split second, I wondered if there was something I could do to help.
"Well, at least I got it off my chest to someone. Feels a bit lighter now."
He thanked me like that was the end of it. What did I even do to deserve that much gratitude?
"Yeah, can't stay here forever. Time to head back to my daughter."
I glanced down at the vials tucked in my robes. I'd brought a bunch just in case things got dicey—recovery potion included, plus one to improve her condition. Lungs wrecked by gate mana corruption? Those two should do the trick.
While I stared at the potions, debating, the man was already standing, bidding me farewell.
Should I give them to him? What if it doesn't work and makes things worse—instead of a friend, I make an enemy? Sure, this recovery potion was the result of my research based on implanted knowledge, and I'd tested it on myself. Effects guaranteed. The only question was whether it'd work on an incurable disease.
...But if I don't, she's doomed to suffer and die anyway, right? Stranger or not, now that I'd heard the story, it'd nag at me for days. So I mustered the courage of a lifetime.
I dashed after the retreating man and gently tugged his sleeve. He looked down at me in shock, clearly not expecting it—his rugged face looming from my low vantage point, making me feel my tiny size all over again, heart softening.
Explanations are a hassle, so I silently pulled out the potions. If he's an awakener like he implied, magic shouldn't faze him. I conjured paper and pen, scribbled instructions on dosage, and handed them over.
I'd heal her myself if I could, but I have to hide who I am, so I'm giving you these potions I made.
Give them in this order:
1. Purple vial first.
2. Then the clear recovery potion.
She'll recover instantly. Guaranteed.
The man stared blankly at the potions and note in his hand, utterly baffled.
That should do it. The recovery potion's insanely potent—what's not to love? Theory says it can reattach severed limbs or regenerate organs. Pure theory, since I wasn't about to injure myself just to test. But minor cuts healed the instant I drank it, no side effects. Shattered lungs? One sip, good as new.
Ignoring his bewildered "What is this?" I teleported away. Not to casually return to the police station—nope, just in case he tried tracking me.
I wanna live quietly. Pure whim on my part.
Anyway, that's that!
"What... the hell is this?"
He stared at the potions the little girl had handed him, then at the spot where she'd vanished.
He'd thought she grabbed him on his way out for some reason, but nope—just left potions and a note with instructions before pulling a vanishing act.
He'd known she wasn't ordinary, what with the mana cloaking her, but still...
Feed her these in order and she'll recover.
He couldn't believe it. They'd poured fortunes into treatments that did nothing. Doctors said permanent lung damage like hers was a future-tech fix at best—right now, all they could do was slow the decline. And if the corrupted mana spread too far? Prepare for the worst.
No hope. Even the doctors said so.
He agonized over the vials. If they worked—if she really healed—it'd be a miracle. Seeing his bedridden girl gaze up at him, smiling through agony, tore his heart every time. How many nights had he sworn alone to cure her?
This could be the chance. But what if it wasn't? What if it failed—or worsened things? No reason for the girl to lie, but why seek him out with mystery potions? If they truly cured an incurable disease, their value was incalculable. Handing them over just like that?
"Can't trust it."
Yet somehow, he didn't think the girl was lying. What to do? Give them or not?
Lost in thought, he found himself at her hospital room. She lay there, staring at him through the breathing tube—hooked to an ECMO machine taking over for her ruined lungs.
"Suyeon-ah."
He clutched the note tightly. This was all he had left to believe in.
Carefully propping up his daughter, he showed her the vials as she eyed him curiously.
These will make you better. Hard to believe, but if it's true...
He swallowed hard. Even so, it had to be her choice. He scribbled on the girl's note and showed her.
Not sure I trust it, but someone said it'll heal you instantly.
If you want to try, raise your hand.
Her eyes widened at the note. After a moment's thought, she looked up at him.
Wasted away from months in bed, but her intent was clear: she wanted to drink it. Better to try than waste away dying.
He gave a bitter smile. "Yeah... okay."
Purple vial first? It looked ominous, but he popped the lid without hesitation and handed it over.
Suyeon swallowed it without pause.
No turning back now. He quickly opened the recovery potion and gave it to her. Down it went, just as easily.
Silence fell. The clock's tick-tock echoed deafeningly.
Minutes dragged, but nothing changed. Placebo? Lie? Side effects incoming?
Doubts swirled—then her eyes flew wide.
"What is it?"
She glanced at her body, then at him. "Dad...?"
Her voice—clear, after years of silence.
Her pale, gaunt face flushed with returning color, healthy glow blooming. Still skinny from malnutrition, but undeniably healthy.
"You okay?"
Hard to believe even seeing it. He asked in a daze.
She beamed up at him, nodding vigorously.
His hands shook as he pulled her into a trembling embrace. Her once-cold fingers now burned with wonderful warmth.