Episode 3

But I knew this wasn’t over.

They’d be back.

And I’d be waiting.

Just as one of the men stepped forward to grab my arm, a new voice rang out — sharp, commanding, female.

“That’s enough.”

Both men instantly backed off. I turned.

A woman in her early thirties stepped out from the shadows. She wore a crisp black suit, her long dark hair tied back, and her heels clicked softly as she approached. Her presence was chilling — composed, lethal, and clearly in charge.

The way the men moved around her told me everything — this woman was their boss.

She stopped right in front of me, her eyes scanning me like I was a puzzle she had already solved.

“So,” she said softly. “You’re the doctor who thinks she can outsmart the Oshiro family.”

I didn’t reply. My silence didn’t amuse her.

Without warning, her hand shot forward — and she drove her knee straight into my lower belly.

The pain hit instantly. I gasped, stumbling back against the wall, breath knocked from my lungs. One of the men moved to catch me, but she raised a hand to stop him.

“I want her to remember this moment,” she said coldly. “Not just the pain — the choice.”

I held my stomach, trying to breathe through the shock.

“If Raven is with you,” she continued, crouching slightly to meet my eye level, “then you’ve already made yourself part of this war. And we don’t let traitors go unpunished.”

Her voice was calm, but her eyes burned.

Then, she stood.

“Take her,” she said to the men. “But make sure she stays alive. For now.”

The blow landed hard.

I couldn’t breathe.

A searing pain shot through my lower belly, sharp and immediate, like something inside me had shifted, broken. My knees buckled before I could stop them, and I collapsed onto the cold floor, clutching my stomach with both hands.

The world blurred.

Tears welled up in my eyes — not from fear, not even from humiliation — but from the sheer intensity of the pain. The kind of pain that makes your body forget everything else.

She didn’t hit me lightly.

She meant to send a message.

I couldn’t even cry out. My throat is locked. My vision blurred, but the tears that escaped my eyes said everything — how hard she had struck me, how much it hurt.

My breath came in short, shaking gasps as I lay there, curled slightly, trying not to scream.

Above me, the woman simply turned to her man and said coldly,

“Make sure she doesn’t pass out. I want her to be conscious.”

But my body betrayed me.

No matter how much I tried to stay conscious—eyes open, mind alert—the pain had taken over everything. My breaths were shallow and sharp. My limbs refused to respond. The tiles beneath me felt cold, but my skin burned. My head spun wildly, and darkness crept in from the edges of my vision.

I heard the woman’s voice again, but this time it sounded far away. Distant. Like it was underwater.

“She’s slipping.”

“Keep her awake,” someone barked. Maybe her. Maybe not. I couldn’t tell anymore.

Rough hands grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard.

“Open your eyes,” one of the men growled.

I wanted to.

I really did.

But the pain was too deep, curling inside me like smoke. I gasped as another wave of agony surged through my abdomen. My body curled tighter, instinctively trying to protect itself.

“She’s blacking out!”

“Damn it!”

Another voice cut in—calm, steady, different from the others.

“Let her go.”

A pause.

“What?”

“She’s no use to us dead. Or broken. Let her pass out. We’ll bring her back when we need answers.”

“But the boss said—”

“She’ll understand. We can’t afford to kill her now.”

Footsteps approached. A faint warmth pressed against my neck—someone checking my pulse. Then fingers on my wrist.

“She’ll live.”

The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me was a pair of black boots standing beside me. Immaculately polished. Unmoving. As if they were planted into the earth itself.

And then…

Silence.

Weightlessness.

Three days later

The sterile white walls of the hospital room blurred into one another as I slowly blinked awake. The beeping of a heart monitor tethered me to the present, to life. My body felt heavy, weighed down by more than just painkillers. Every breath reminded me of the knee to my gut, and every second felt like a countdown to what would come next.

I was alive.

But I wasn’t the same.

Someone had bandaged me. Someone had kept me breathing. Maybe out of mercy. Maybe out of necessity.

The door creaked open. A nurse stepped in — one I didn’t recognize. She didn’t speak, just placed a white envelope on the bedside table and left without meeting my eyes.

I turned my head, slowly, painfully, and reached for it.

The hospital’s official letterhead was stamped across the front.

I tore it open with trembling fingers.

Dr. Tria D,

We regret to inform you that, due to recent concerns regarding your safety and the escalating circumstances surrounding your involvement with certain external individuals, the hospital committee has decided to relieve you of your duties effective immediately.

You are advised not to return to the premises. This is for your own protection as well as the security of the staff and patients.

Your belongings have been packed and will be delivered to a location of your choosing.

We wish you the best.

— The Committee

My breath hitched.

Not even a call. Not a meeting. Just… a letter.

They were cutting ties.

I wasn’t just suspended — I was erased. Quietly. Completely.

They were afraid. And maybe they were right to be.

Because this wasn’t just about me anymore.

It was about Raven. About the Oshiro family. About a war I had unknowingly stepped into.

But it was too late to walk away now.

Even if the hospital had closed its doors…

…I knew this was just the beginning.

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