JAY JAY POV
1 week later
Oh dear God, I haven't had a single surgery in an entire week. Me! A surgeon! My hands are literally itching to hold a scalpel, but I'm stuck here holding intake forms and stethoscopes like I'm in a perpetual loop of 'General Check-up Day.'
And it's all because of those people.
This week has been the weirdest, most exhausting week of my professional life. I've had sixteen new patients—sixteen!—who all specifically requested me. That's at least three or four a day on top of my regular duties.
Tss. Seriously? Is there a 'Visit Dr. Luna Jay' coupon being handed out at the mall?
It's making me go crazy. And the weirdest part? None of them are actually sick!
On Monday, a guy named Felix came in because his finger felt lonely, and another one named Rory said he had a heartache that could only be cured by seeing a pretty doctor. Yesterday, Denzel and Grace brought little Grazel Jay in, and while they were actually nice, they just stared at me for an hour while the kid ate my hidden stash of chocolates.
Then there's my intern, Ci-N. Every time one of these sixteen guys walks in, he acts like they're long-lost brothers, but then he catches himself and starts scrubbing the walls like his life depends on it.
I slumped at my desk, my head resting on a stack of charts. "Ci-N," I groaned.
"Yes, Jay?" he asked, popping his head in immediately.
"Are these people following a schedule? Do they have a group chat? Why is my waiting room filled with tall, handsome men who have no actual medical emergencies? One guy came in today just to ask if I liked fishballs!"
Ci-N let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Maybe you're just... really popular in this area, Jay? You know, the fame of the beautiful surgeon from America?"
"Tss. I'm a surgeon, Ci-N! I should be in the OR, not answering questions about my favorite street food!"
I looked at the next file on my desk. MARK KEIFER WATSON.
He's been here three times this week. Three times. And every time, his "heartbeat" is racing, but when I check him, he just sits there looking at me with those intense eyes, making the air in the room feel like it's about to catch fire.
"Okay, who's next?" I asked, sitting up and fixing my hair.
"Umm... it's a guy named Yuri," Ci-N said, looking at the door. "He says he has a 'rooster-related' injury."
I stared at him. "A what?"
"A rooster-related injury," Ci-N repeated, looking like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.
I let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine. Bring the rooster-man in. But tell him if he's just here to ask about my zodiac sign, I'm going to personally escort him to the psych ward with Mia."
The door opened, and in walked a guy who looked like he'd stepped straight out of an anime. His hair was a brilliant, defiant red—spiky and sharp, just like a rooster's crest.
"Yuri Hanamitchi?" I asked, squinting at the name on the chart.
He nodded, but he didn't sit down. He just stood there, looking at me with those intense eyes. He looked like he was vibrating, like a string pulled too tight.
Tss. Seriously, what is with the guys in this city? Are they all models for Brooding and Intense Magazine?
"Okay, can you please explain your rooster-related injury?" I asked, leaning back and crossing my arms.
Yuri blinked, his cool exterior cracking for a split second. "The what?"
"A rooster-related injury," I repeated, deadpan. "That's what my intern, Ci-N, told me. He said you were here for a bird-related crisis."
I caught Ci-N out of the corner of my eye. He was suddenly very interested in reorganizing the cabinet of sterile gauze, his shoulders shaking.
Tss. I'm surrounded by idiots.
Yuri let out a huff, his face turning a shade of red that matched his hair. "I don't have that. But... I had a broken arm last week, and I want to see if I can get that checked out."
I looked at his hand which looked fine, then back at his face. These guys act like they're in a drama series instead of a surgical ward.
"Okay," I said, getting up from my chair. "Ci-N!"
"Yes, Jay?" he chirped, appearing at the door before I could even finish the second syllable. This intern is faster than a caffeine kick.
"Can you please check Yuri? He's worried about a fracture from last week," I said, gesturing toward the Red Rooster.
Yuri's eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening. "I want you to do it."
I let out a small, tired huff. "Ci-N can do it. You can trust him. He might be an intern here, but he's already a pro—plus, he's a pilot. He knows how to handle things under pressure." I tapped Ci-N's shoulder, giving him a supportive nod, and Ci-N immediately got to work with a mischievous grin that told me he knew exactly how much he was annoying Yuri.
While the two of them were busy with the "broken arm" that I was ninety-percent sure didn't exist, I slipped out of the room. What the hell did I do in a past life to deserve a waiting room full of these guys?
I made my way to the HR office. I needed to pick up my official ID and sign some paperwork for my private practice clearance.
"Ahh, Luna!" the HR manager greeted the moment I walked in.
"Hello, sir," I said, offering a polite smile.
"Hi, Luna. Perfect timing. I want to introduce you to our new staff member, David," he said, pointing at a man sitting on the guest chair.
"Hello," I greeted, tilting my head.
David looked calm and more of a gentleman compared to the rowdy bunch I'd been dealing with all week.
"So Luna, he is the new psychiatrist. Can you please show him around?" the HR manager asked.
I nodded.
Another one for the collection. "Okay, Dr. David, please follow me and I will show you where to go."
As we walked out of the HR office and into the main corridor, I realized he was just as tall as the others. Seriously, what is in the water in this country? I feel like I'm a hobbit leading a tour through Middle-earth.
"So, David," I said, keeping my hands shoved in my lab coat pockets. "You're a psychiatrist. You'll be working on the fifth floor with Mia. She's... well, she's a lot, so good luck with that."
David chuckled, the sound deep and steady, like he'd heard this exact complaint before.
"I heard you're a surgeon. How's it going?" he asked, looking down at me with those calm eyes.
"Bad!" I huffed, my hands deep in my pockets. "I've barely had any actual surgeries since I got here. My hands are literally itching to hold a scalpel! I really need one soon or I might just cut open something I shouldn't."
I paced a little faster, my frustration boiling over. "I've been acting like a regular GP, just doing basic check-ups. I've had fifteen
patients this week alone, and it's the most annoying thing ever. They all come in with these silly, ridiculous reasons! One guy said his finger was lonely, David. A lonely finger!"
David's lips quirked into a smile, but I was on a roll.
"And because of those stupid, fake appointments, I'm missing the real cases. People who actually need a surgeon are probably out there, and I'm stuck here asking if a Red Rooster has bird-peck heartaches. It's a waste of my degree!" I groaned, stopping by the elevator. "Honestly, if this continues, I might just quit. I didn't spend years in the U.S. studying how to fix shattered bones just to hand out lollipops to healthy men."
David stopped beside me, his height making me feel even more like a hobbit on a mission. He looked at me for a long moment, his gaze becoming serious.
"Don't quit yet, Jay," he said softly. "The hospital is just... crowded right now. But I think the real cases, the ones that truly matter—are the ones standing right in front of you. Even if they don't have a wound you can see with your eyes."
Tss. Another psychiatrist talking in metaphors.
"I deal with the visible wounds, David," I countered, pressing the elevator button. "That's what I'm good at. If they want someone to talk about their 'invisible wounds,' they can see you on the fifth floor. I just want to be in the OR."
"Maybe," David murmured as the doors opened.
I checked my watch, realizing I was already running late for my post-shift charting. "Anyways, thanks for listening to my complaints. This is your floor, and your room is G514. So, go straight for about ten feet—well, six or eight for you, because your legs are like stilts—and turn right. You'll see your room. Bye!"
I gave him a quick wave, ready to retreat back into the safety of the elevator, but David didn't move immediately. He held the door open with one hand, looking at me with a warmth that felt like a hug I didn't remember receiving.
"Thank you, Jay. I'll see you around," he said.
I nodded
The doors finally hissed shut, and I was alone in the metal box. I leaned my head against the cool wall, letting out a long, shaky breath
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