As I walk out of the emergency room, a woman rushes over to me.

"You're a doctor, right? My son scraped his knee. Hurry up and come treat him!"

I am about to explain, but she glares at me and questions indignantly, "Isn't a doctor supposed to save people? You have time to slack off, but you have no time to treat my son's wound. Is that it?"

She grabs my collar and drags me toward the ward.

I try to explain, "Ma'am, I’m not—"

But she doesn't listen at all and slaps me across the face. "Not what? Are you blind? Can't you see my son is bleeding? Instead of helping my son, you treat those poor nobodies! If you keep delaying my son's treatment, I won't let you off!

"Get on your knees and apologize to him right now! Otherwise, I'll file a complaint and have your license revoked!"

I endure the sharp pain and struggle to lift my head. In my five years of practicing medicine, this is the first time I have ever been complained about by a living person.

"It's not that I won't treat him. I am a forensic pathologist..."

I had just finished reading the deceased patient's treatment report, and all I wanted was to get back to the lounge and collapse onto the bed.

But as I turned the corner, a figure suddenly lunged in front of me and grabbed my arm.

"You! You! Stop right there!"

I froze at the abrupt shout.

Looking up, I saw a woman, perfectly made-up and decked out in designer clothes, holding out her hands to block me.

"You're a doctor, right? My son scraped his knee and is bleeding badly! You need to come with me and treat him now!"

Before I could respond, she tried to drag me toward the treatment room.

I had stayed up all night performing an autopsy, and so I was both mentally and physically exhausted. All I wanted was some rest.

As a forensic pathologist, I wasn't even licensed to treat living patients.

I waved my hands, trying to explain.

"Ma'am, I…"

She cut me off sharply. "You're wearing a white coat, so aren't you a doctor? I saw you just standing there, doing nothing. You're clearly slacking! What? You have time to play with your phone but not to bandage my son?"

Then, she tugged at my coat, her face full of disdain. "Doctors are supposed to save lives! My son's leg is injured, and you just stand there? Do you want him to die?"

Her barrage left my mind blank.

"Ma'am, I understand your concern, but your son's wound really needs another doctor. I can't help you."

I thought I had phrased it politely enough, but her eyes narrowed, and suddenly she shoved me hard.

I stumbled back, my back slamming against the wall.

"I'm telling you, treat my son's wound right now!"

I steadied myself, feeling my chest aching. Even though I was usually patient, my anger boiled over at this moment.

"Sorry, I can't."

I refused her outright and reached for my phone to call the hospital director.

At that, Florence Crater's anger flared instantly. "Say that again?"

She stepped forward, grabbed my collar, and yanked violently.

"You're wearing a white coat, so healing the sick is your duty, yet you dare to pick and choose?"

With a tearing sound, a button popped off my coat. In the struggle, my phone slipped to the floor.

Before I could react, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face with a loud smack.

My cheek burned, and my ears started ringing. I wobbled, almost unable to stand.

Still furious, Florence dragged me along by my collar.

"You brat! How dare you glare at me? I told you to bandage my son's wound, and you refuse!"

Her shouting immediately drew the attention of patients and family members nearby.

"My son is worth more than gold! Do you think you can compensate me enough if his treatment is delayed? I'm telling you, you have no medical ethics if you don't save my son! You're a heartless doctor. You should have your license revoked and fired from this hospital!"

Covering my face, I fought the sharp sting and humiliation as I struggled to lift my head.

I had been practicing medicine for five years, but this was the first time someone alive had filed a complaint against me.

At her irrational behavior, the anger I had been holding in finally exploded.

"I only manage the dead! How am I supposed to treat your son?"

Florence's face went white with rage the moment she heard me.

"How dare you curse my son!"

She grabbed my arm and tried to drag me toward the ward.

"Come apologize to my son immediately! Or I'll file a complaint and make sure you can't work in this hospital ever again!"

"Stop!"

A sharp voice rang out from behind, and all eyes turned toward the source.

A middle-aged man in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses was striding quickly toward us.

It was Hendrick Wyckoff, the director of the emergency department.

Seeing him, Florence immediately relaxed as if she had found a pillar of support and rushed toward him.

"Dr. Wyckoff! Finally! The doctors in this hospital are terrible! My son is bleeding so much, and that doctor over there refuses to help! She even cursed him to die!"

Hendrick first tried to soothe her, patting her back gently. But the moment his gaze landed on me, the warmth in his eyes vanished completely.

He pulled me aside, reprimanding me in a lowered voice.

"What's wrong with you? How dare you offend Ms. Crater? Apologize to her immediately! No matter what, you must first calm the patient's family!"

I stared at him coldly, feeling the absurdity of it all. My cheek still burned from the slap.

"I'm not in the wrong. Why should I apologize?"

"For the hospital's reputation!"

Hendrick's voice rose sharply before quickly lowering again as if he was aware of being overheard. "Ms. Crater is a major donor to our hospital funds! Offending her does you no good at all!"

"I'm just stating facts. I don't have a clinical license. I'm a forensic—"

Before I could finish, he cut me off sharply. "Enough excuses! Go apologize immediately!"

When he saw that I remained unmoved, his face darkened completely.

He reached out as if to forcibly push my head down, trying to make me bow to Florence in apology.

"Just apologize to Ms. Crater, and this whole thing will be over!"

I yanked free from his grip and took a step back. The anger that had been simmering inside finally broke through all restraint.

I shouted down the corridor, letting everyone hear me. "I'm not a clinical doctor! I have no authority to treat patients!"

Immediately, all the patients in the hallway turned their attention toward us.

Hendrick was livid that I dared to challenge his authority out in the open. He pointed at me and roared, "I don't care if you're a clinical doctor or not! When a patient needs help, you are responsible! What department are you in? What's your ID number? What's your name?"

I laughed coldly. "Wearing a white coat doesn't automatically make me a doctor here."

Florence, seeing this, immediately started fanning the flames. She covered her face and pretended to cry.

"Dr. Wyckoff, look at her! I saw her scrolling on her phone during work hours. When I asked her to treat my son, she refused in every way possible! She's a doctor without ethics. Why does this hospital even keep her around?"

Whispers and murmurs spread around, and the criticism around me grew louder.

"Yes, I saw her with her phone. She was clearly slacking."

"Young doctors these days have no sense of responsibility."

"The child is bleeding! How hard is it to bandage a simple wound? Yet she won't do anything about it?"

The voices threatened to drown me out completely.

Hendrick's expression turned stormy. He had never been challenged like this.

"Well done, you!"

He sneered through his anger, pointing at me with his final ultimatum.

"I'm reporting you to hospital administration right now! You'll be officially punished! Just wait, you're gonna get fired! Mark my words, I'll make sure you can't find a job anywhere in all of Prestona!"

Florence nodded beside him, a smug smile on her face.

I looked at their triumphant, petty faces, and my chest hurt.

Anger and frustration surged within me, but I forced them down.

Then, I smiled.

Apologize? That would be going easy on them.

If I didn't make a scene today and humiliate them in front of everyone for slapping me, it would be an insult to the pain I endured.

Under their stunned gazes, I straightened my disheveled collar and took deliberate steps toward them.

"Alright then."

My voice was low, but every person present heard it clearly.

"I'll treat him."

Hendrick and Florence froze, and the crowd instantly went quiet.

Florence's smug smile vanished in an instant. She hadn't expected me to "give in" so fast.

"Finally, you're acting like a proper doctor."

She snorted, lifted her chin, and turned to lead the way.

Hendrick shot me a sharp look as if to say, "Why didn't you just do this earlier?"

I followed them to the VIP ward.

A small crowd of onlookers had followed, eager to watch things unfold.

Inside, I saw the supposedly "severely injured" child.

He was perched on the bed with legs crossed. Leaning back on the bed, he was totally absorbed in his tablet.

A tiny cartoon bandage covered his knee.

There was not a hint of pain expressed on his face.

Florence, noticing me staring at her son, went full drama mode. She pointed at the bandage and shrieked.

"Look at him! Just look! Do you see how badly he's hurt? There's so much blood! You heartless monster! You almost ruined the critical window for treatment!"

She made a scraped knee sound like a catastrophic injury.

The boy, instead of cowering at his mother's screaming, hopped off the bed and ran straight at me. He stomped his little foot against my shin.

A dull throb shot up my leg. I frowned.

"You monster! How dare you make my mom angry! I'm going to tell my dad to fire you!"

Florence didn't stop him. She patted his head and gushed with approval. "Good boy! You know how to protect me."

I stared at the absurd scene, my expression growing colder.

Then, I crouched and grabbed the boy's ankle, saying icily, "Don't move. I need to check you."

Before I could touch him, he yelped like I had shocked him with electricity and immediately started wailing.

"Ah! She hurt me! Mom! She's hurting me on purpose!"

Florence went ballistic. She charged at me and kicked me to the floor. "You wretch! How dare you hurt my son to get revenge!"

As my head hit the cold floor hard, everything blurred for a second.

Pain stole my breath.

I slowly pushed myself up and brushed the dust off my coat.

Then, I looked at the boy, who was still pretending to cry, and smiled coldly.

"Ms. Crater, if I had come a little later, your son's wound probably would have scabbed over on its own."

Florence exploded. "What do you mean? You just don't want to treat my son!"

Hendrick's face was black with fury. He pointed at me, unable to speak.

Florence, pointing at my nose and crying theatrically, shouted to the crowd, "Look, everyone! How could she be a doctor? She's refusing to save lives while making all those excuses! My son is so precious. I'm sure she's jealous! She's trying to hurt my son!"

The crowd, thoroughly stirred up, turned to glare at me.

"Oh goodness, how could a doctor hurt a child like that?"

"Exactly! She was the one in the wrong, and yet she's taking revenge?"

Florence, triumphant, strode toward me and stared down at me while saying domineeringly, "Whether you want to or not, you're gonna treat him! Treat my son's wound! And make sure he's happy with it!"

I looked at her smug face and the judging eyes around us. Suddenly, it all seemed ridiculous to me.

In the next moment, I reached into my pocket and slowly pulled out my work ID.

The crowd gasped. I opened it and held it up.

It had a black cover with a gold-embossed national emblem on it, as well as the words "Rose Jennings, Forensic Pathologist."

"I'm not refusing to treat your son," I said, calm but loud enough for everyone to hear.

"But I'm a forensic doctor."

I paused, scanning Florence and her son, who was still pretending to cry.

"All my patients are dead. Are you sure you want me to treat your son?"