The emergency ward was as chaotic as ever—nurses rushing past, the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air, and the distant beeping of monitors providing a constant rhythm to the madness. It was a place of urgency, of life and death hanging by a thread. And today, it was also the place where I, Dr. Lin, had just arrived.

The hospital administration had introduced me with minimal ceremony. Dr. Lin, temporary surgical consultant. That was it. No pomp, no warm welcomes. Just a few uninterested nods and a couple of sceptical glances.

To them, I was just another locum doctor—one of those transient, interchangeable faces who came and went like passing clouds. A temporary hire, nothing more.

I had seen it before.

I wasn't naive. The way they looked at me said it all—young, unproven, foreign. The surname 'Lin' hinted at my Asian roots, but my accent was unmistakably British. A mix that often confused people more than it intrigued them.

And so, as I stepped into the staff room, I found myself at the receiving end of that all-too-familiar reception: thinly veiled disinterest, if not outright hostility.

"New guy?" One of the senior surgeons barely glanced up from his coffee.

I nodded. "Dr. Lin."

"Another locum?" A nurse muttered to a colleague. "How long before this one quits?"

I pretended not to hear.

"Where were you before?" a resident finally asked, more out of obligation than curiosity.

I shrugged. "Here and there."

That didn't help my case. They wanted credentials, a name-drop of some prestigious hospital, a sign that I belonged. Instead, all they got was a vague answer and a face that didn't quite fit.

"Right," the senior surgeon said, unimpressed. "Try not to slow us down."

And with that, I was dismissed.

Fine. I wasn't here to make friends.

But soon enough, they'd see.

They could underestimate me all they wanted.

What they didn't know was that I wasn't just some disposable temp, nor was I some desperate junior looking to pad my CV. I had my own system, my own rules, and above all—my own team.

And at the heart of it all was her.

Su Yan.

Not a doctor, not a nurse, not even part of the official medical staff. And yet, when things took a turn for the impossible, when the scalpel alone was no longer enough, she was the one who stepped in.

Because the truth was—she was no ordinary girl.

She was the medical system itself.

Not a program, not an AI, but something far beyond human comprehension. A true deity of healing.

But right now? Right now, she was just a spoiled girl I had long since indulged.

And, as if summoned by thought alone, there she was.

"Kai." A familiar voice rang through the staff room, completely out of place amidst the sterile atmosphere of the hospital. Sweet, melodic, and filled with nothing but affection.

Heads turned. The surgeons and nurses who had just been ignoring me suddenly found something very interesting to look at—her.

Su Yan stood at the doorway, dressed in casual yet elegant clothes, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. A single glance was enough to confirm what I already knew—she was beautiful. Effortlessly, unfairly so.

And in her hands? A lunchbox, neatly wrapped in a delicate cloth.

"You forgot to eat," she pouted, striding over as if she owned the place. Which, in a way, she did.

The room was silent.

One of the residents was gaping. A nurse looked between me and Su Yan, clearly struggling to reconcile the image of an ignored temp doctor with the fact that this girl had just walked in calling me by my first name, completely at ease.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Su Yan, you can't just barge in like this."

"Why not?" She blinked, all innocence, as she placed the lunchbox in my hands. "You're not eating properly. That's far more important."

I shot a glance at the others in the room. Stunned silence.

One of the surgeons finally cleared his throat. "Uh… Dr. Lin?"

I gave him a dry look. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "Who…?"

Su Yan beamed. "His most important person."

Dead silence.

I exhaled, barely suppressing a chuckle. She really was spoiled.

Fine. Let them talk. Let them wonder.

Sooner or later, they'd understand.

I wasn't here to be liked.

I was here to save lives.