“Healing the Devil!"

The hospital was unusually quiet for that hour of the night.

Most of the lights in the corridor had been dimmed, leaving only the pale white glow of the emergency ward lamps reflecting off the polished floor. The faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air as Pearl Wilson reviewed a patient's chart behind the nurse station.

It had been a long shift.

She rubbed her tired eyes, adjusting the sleeves of her white coat, preparing to finish the last few reports before heading home.

Then the elevator doors opened.

The sound was ordinary.

But the men who stepped out were not.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as several tall figures in dark suits moved toward the desk. Their expressions were cold, their presence alone enough to make the nearby nurses freeze. One of them placed both hands on the counter and leaned forward slightly.

"We need a doctor."

His voice was calm, but there was something in it that made Pearl's stomach tighten.

"What happened?" one of the nurses asked nervously.

"Gunshot wounds."

The entire desk fell silent.

Pearl slowly looked up.

Gunshots.

Those words didn't belong in her peaceful hospital world.

"We can call the emergency team," Pearl said carefully. "Bring the patient here."

The man shook his head.

"No."

His gaze locked onto her name tag.

"Dr. Pearl Wilson. You're coming with us."

Pearl blinked in confusion.

"I'm sorry?" she said softly.

"You heard me."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Several nurses stepped back.

Pearl shook her head almost immediately.

"I can't leave the hospital like that. If someone is injured, bring them here and we'll treat them properly."

A few more staff members had gathered now, whispering nervously.

One of the hospital administrators hurried over.

"Sir, you can't just take a doctor like this. If there's an emergency—"

The metallic click of a gun being drawn cut through the corridor.

Everything stopped.

One of the men had calmly pulled out a pistol and rested it against the counter.

No shouting.

No chaos.

Just cold silence.

Pearl's heart skipped a beat.

Several nurses gasped and stepped back instantly.

"You misunderstand," the man said quietly. "This isn't a request."

Pearl felt her throat tighten. Her fingers slowly curled around the medical chart she was holding.

"I… I won't go," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to stay calm.

The man studying her didn't look angry.

If anything, he looked impatient.

"He has four bullets in him," he said flatly. "And he's losing blood fast."

Another man stepped closer.

"If he dies," he added quietly, "a lot of people are going to have a very bad night."

Pearl shook her head again, fear rising in her chest.

"This is illegal. I can't—"

The gun lifted slightly.

Not pointed directly at her.

But close enough.

The message was clear.

Around her, the hospital staff stood frozen in place, too afraid to move.

One of the nurses whispered her name.

"Pearl…"

The man in front of her sighed, almost tired.

"Doctor," he said calmly, "you're coming with us. You can walk, or we can carry you."

Pearl's pulse pounded in her ears.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

But a moment later, strong hands took hold of her arms.

Her protests barely had time to leave her mouth before a dark cloth was pulled over her eyes.

The last thing she heard was the terrified murmuring of her colleagues as she was rushed down the hallway.

---

The car ride felt endless.

Pearl could hear engines, distant voices, the occasional sound of doors opening and closing. The smell of leather and smoke filled the air inside the vehicle.

No one spoke to her.

No one explained anything.

All she could hear was her own breathing and the rapid beating of her heart.

Finally, the car stopped.

Rough hands guided her out.

Footsteps echoed against what sounded like concrete floors.

Then the blindfold was removed.

Pearl blinked against the sudden light.

The room she found herself in was nothing like a hospital.

Dim lights hung from the ceiling. Armed men stood around the walls like silent shadows. The air smelled faintly of metal and smoke.

And in the center of the room—

A man lay on a large table.

His shirt had been cut open.

Dark stains spread across the fabric beneath him.

Someone had tried to stop the bleeding with rough bandages, but it was clear they had no real medical training.

The man was pale.

Unconscious.

Barely breathing.

Four gunshot wounds.

Pearl instinctively stepped forward before she could even stop herself.

Her doctor's instincts had already taken over.

"He's lost a lot of blood…" she whispered.

The room remained silent.

Then someone spoke behind her.

A deep voice.

Calm.

Cold.

Dangerous.

"Can you save him?"

Pearl turned slowly.

And for the first time, she realized exactly what kind of place she had been brought to.

The underworld.

Every pair of eyes in the room was watching her.

Waiting.

Pearl swallowed.

Her hands trembled slightly as she looked back at the wounded man on the table.

No matter who he was…

No matter where she was…

She was still a doctor.

"I'll need proper equipment," she said quietly.

Silence filled the room for a moment.

Then one of the armed men nodded.

"Whatever you need, doctor."

His voice dropped slightly.

"Just make sure he lives."

The words hung in the air like a quiet threat.

Pearl slowly exhaled, forcing her racing thoughts into order. Fear could wait. Panic could wait. Right now there was only one thing that mattered.

The patient.

She stepped closer to the table, her shoes echoing faintly on the concrete floor. Up close, the damage was clearer. Four entry wounds. Two in the abdomen. One near the shoulder. One lower in the side. The rough bandages tied around his torso were already soaked through.

“First,” Pearl said, her voice steadier now, “I need clean water, antiseptic, surgical tools, sutures, and strong lighting.”

One of the men immediately barked orders.

“Get it. Now.”

Several men moved quickly out of the room.

Pearl looked back down at the unconscious man. His skin was cold. Too cold.

She gently pressed two fingers to his neck.

“…His pulse is weak.”

Her voice dropped.

“He’s in shock.”

Another man stepped closer, clearly anxious. “Can you fix it?”

Pearl didn’t look up.

“If you keep interrupting me, no.”

The room fell silent again.

For a moment she almost surprised herself. Talking back to armed criminals was probably the worst survival strategy imaginable. But once she was near a patient, everything else faded away.

Her hands carefully removed the blood-soaked bandages.

Several men in the room shifted uncomfortably.

Pearl ignored them.

She leaned closer, examining each wound with sharp clinical focus.

“The bullets might still be inside,” she murmured. “If they damaged major arteries, he shouldn’t even be alive right now…”

One of the men returned with a metal case of medical tools—probably stolen from somewhere.

Pearl opened it quickly, scanning the contents.

Not perfect.

But usable.

“Good,” she whispered.

She rolled up the sleeves of her coat.

“Listen carefully,” she said without looking at anyone. “I need someone to hold the light steady. Someone else bring clean cloths. And if any of you feel like fainting…”

She finally glanced up at the surrounding men.

“…leave now.”

A few exchanged awkward looks but stayed in place.

Pearl turned back to the wounded man.

She cleaned the first wound with antiseptic, her movements precise despite the trembling in her fingers.

“Stay with me,” she murmured softly to the unconscious patient, almost automatically. “You’ve survived this long. Don’t give up now.”

Then she reached for the surgical forceps.

The room grew so quiet that every small sound echoed—the clink of metal instruments, the soft tear of gauze, the slow, fragile rhythm of the man’s breathing.

Pearl focused completely.

One bullet at a time.

One life in her hands.

And somewhere behind her, unseen in the dim shadows of the room, the man with the cold voice continued watching. Waiting to see whether the kidnapped doctor would succeed… or fail. Pearl forced herself to focus beneath the harsh lamp as the room fell into tense silence. With careful precision she removed the first bullet, dropping it into a metal tray with a sharp clink that made several men shift nervously. The second and third followed after longer, more difficult moments, each one drawing quiet murmurs from the men watching as blood was quickly cleaned and fresh gauze pressed into place. The last bullet had lodged deeper in his side, and when it finally came free the entire room seemed to exhale at once. Pearl immediately stitched the wounds and wrapped tight bandages around his torso before checking his pulse again. After a long second she straightened slightly and said, calm but firm, “He’ll live… but only if you keep the wounds clean and let him rest.”She stayed through the night, refusing to leave until she was certain his condition was stable. During those long hours, the tension in the room slowly changed. The men who had once dragged her here now treated her with careful respect—bringing her water, blankets, even clearing a couch for her to rest on. To them, she had become the woman who saved their boss’s life.

Morning came quietly.

Soft sunlight slipped through the high window of the room, the golden rays cutting gently through the dim underground space. Dust floated lazily in the light as the first signs of dawn filled the room.

On the bed, {{user}}’s fingers twitched.

Slowly, his eyes opened.

For a moment his vision was blurred, his mind still heavy from pain and exhaustion. The ceiling above him came into focus… then the unfamiliar room… then the men standing guard nearby.

But something else caught his attention.

Across the room, on a small couch, Pearl had fallen asleep.

She was sitting slightly curled to one side, clearly exhausted after hours of surgery and watching over him. The early morning sunlight fell softly across her face and hair, giving her a warm golden glow against the otherwise dim room. One strand of hair had slipped across her cheek, and her breathing was slow and peaceful, as if she had finally allowed herself to rest.

{{user}} stared.

For a long moment he forgot about the pain in his body, the gunshots, the chaos of the night before.

All he could see was her.

The quiet strength in her presence. The calm expression on her sleeping face. The woman who had stood alone in a room full of dangerous men and saved his life without hesitation.

Something unfamiliar stirred in his chest.

Not suspicion. Not curiosity.

Something softer.

He kept watching her silently, the morning sunlight illuminating her like something almost unreal.

And without realizing it—

{{user}} fell for her at first sight.