To talk about the day my connection with Raiden began, we have to go back to the day I was born.
Raiden and I were born on the same day, just five minutes apart.
My mother, Duchess Anen Gingerbell, and Raiden’s mother, Countess Amela Rensher, were classmates at the same academy.
They were both stunning competitors who ignited first love in many male students’ hearts and were also best friends.
Their bond was so strong that it persisted long after graduation, eventually extending to Raiden and me.
Since we were the youngest in our respective families and born on the same day, we grew up almost like siblings.
Plus, there’s that five-minute difference.
Although it’s still unclear who was born first, I like to think of myself as the older sister.
Anyway, I was frail and uninterested in physical activities (partly due to my family’s pressure to become a mage), so I mostly stayed at home, while Raiden, a budding sword enthusiast, rarely put his sword down.
One day, he even wanted to bathe with his sword, and I had to stop him. I think that’s when I started being treated like his nanny.
“Come to think of it, isn’t the midterm checkup soon?”
“Yeah. I heard this exam will focus more on practical skills than theory. All the other teachers are on high alert.”
By teachers, I mean the doctors like myself.
At Amort Royal Knights Academy, we have two doctors in the first building, three in the second (two of whom are dragon specialists), and one in the third building.
It’s quite an impressive medical team for a school with only 150 students.
The reason they’re on high alert is obvious: with practical exams, there will naturally be more patients.
The reason I call Raiden a skilled knight is because there are some would-be knights whose skills don’t quite measure up.
Even in this prestigious academy, not everyone aspires to be a skilled knight like Raiden. Some are here due to family pressure, tradition, or to gain titles.
They get very upset over minor injuries, and I’ve heard teachers complain about wanting to sew their mouths shut rather than their wounds at social gatherings. I’ve felt that urge myself several times.
“But how did you know? The school schedule isn’t usually disclosed.”
For security reasons, mainly to protect the valuable dragons. Raiden shrugged and sat under the desk.
“There’s the monster subjugation practice and the Chantal International Academic Conference coming up. I heard the Bellpepper Empire is already gearing up for it. The prize for the martial arts division is a dragon egg. So Heim Wyler is quite focused. Our dragon knight order is smaller than other countries’. The more dragons, the better. And since the prize comes from Chantal…”
“So the kingdom supports the academy with the highest chances of winning?”
I nodded slightly and opened the ward door.
A student with light blue hair, supported by another student, walked in. Judging by the collar color of their uniforms, they were second-years.
“Professor?”
“Leg? Knee?”
“Ankle, Professor.”
Among colleagues, we’re called teachers, but among students, we’re professors, probably because we occasionally lecture on sex education and medical treatment.
The head of our medical team even teaches emergency medicine and basic treatment to the first and second years.
Despite taking a half-year break during my internship, I was a special case who joined right after it ended.
The other teachers are elite enough to be called professors, and they are kind-hearted enough to treat me, a parachuted talent, well.
“It doesn’t look like a bone fracture. When did you get hurt?”
“Yesterday during practice.”
“Even minor injuries should be examined immediately. Did you go to the dorm emergency ward?”
“Uh, it was too late.”
I put on my glasses, examined the swollen ankle, wrapped it in a damp towel, and searched for medicine.
Meanwhile, the injured student wrote his name and class on the patient list. Damien Shore, second-year from Class A, Swordsmanship Department. Being in Class A means he’s quite skilled.
“It seems like a sprain. Keep applying cold compresses, and once the swelling goes down, switch to warm compresses. I’ll give you enough medicine for two days. Take it in the morning and evening. Avoid strenuous activities with your leg. Remember, once a ligament stretches, it tends to stretch again. No practice for two days. I assume you’re not old enough to drink, but don’t drink secretly. You’ll be fully recovered in three days, so don’t worry. Here’s a medical certificate; submit it.”
I rattled off instructions, wrapped the ankle in a bandage, and handed over a cold pack and medication.
I also gave a bag with six candies since the medicine was quite bitter. The student accepted it politely with both hands. I put my glasses back in my pocket and filled out the chart.
Damien Shore, who hadn’t left the ward yet, smiled brightly when our eyes met.
“See you next time, Professor.”
Does he plan on getting hurt again?
He’s quite skilled for Class A.
I waited until the visitor had fully exited before returning to the office.
Raiden emerged from under the desk, rummaging through the unfinished medicine I had made.
“You really looked like a doctor just now.”
“I am a real doctor, you idiot.”
* * *
I had another strange dream, but I couldn’t remember any of the details. I recalled a snowy background, but nothing more.
The uneasy feeling lingered throughout my workday, making it hard to concentrate. Since returning from vacation, Raiden had stopped visiting me at lunchtime as he used to.
It made sense; it was the audit period, the busiest time of the year.
After returning from a medical forum trip last month, my life had been uneventful. I enjoyed a pleasant 9-to-5 job with a nice salary, making it a dream job in every sense. I hope no one else ever finds out about this.
Despite having a cushy job in a dream workplace, I wasn’t feeling good today. My gut felt off, like something was stuck.
After some self-diagnosis, I realized it was just stress, the common root of all ailments. I rubbed my belly and prepared for a rare duty shift in Wing 1.
Usually, a Wing 1 shift occurs when the head doctor is out teaching and an emergency arises.
As I crossed into Wing 1 and entered the training hall, the metallic smell of blood filled the air, and there was blood on the floor, as expected.
“What happened?”
“An accident during live combat training…”
Ah, live combat. The thought of it made me nauseous, which was ironic given my job at the Knights Academy.
Massaging my queasy stomach, I entered the ward.
Two patients lay there, one with a deep cut on his side and another with a gash on his shoulder. Nurses were busy preparing for surgery, and I assessed the injuries.
If I had more powerful magic, these wounds would be nothing, but unfortunately, I couldn’t use magic at all. Reaching this level of proficiency took many struggles.
I examined the more severe wound and brought out my magical potion. Although I can’t do much magic, I excel at making potions similar to magical ones.
Compared to real wizards, my skills are modest, but since they don’t deal with medicinal potions, mine are unrivaled.
This is why I’m not dismissed despite being a parachute appointment.
I lack enough practical experience to perform surgeries alone, so I often rely on my potions.
I poured a hemostatic potion over the wound and applied tetanus medicine. Since no organs were damaged, all that was left was stitching.
My potion could handle it all, so I handed the rest over to another doctor.
While organizing the medicine, Dr. Ren inspected the now-stabilized wound.
I gathered recovery potions and started making some that I hadn’t brought with me.
Outside, the sounds of ongoing training suggested that classes continued despite the emergency.
To focus, I put on my glasses and began making recovery and iron supplements.
“All done?”
“Yes, Dr. Hale. Thanks to you, we finished quickly. Your potion is so effective that we can’t use anything else now.”
“Thank you. I’ve prepared recovery and iron supplements, but I think using the usual painkillers would be better.”
“Agreed. It’ll be hard to find something as good after graduation.”
Nodding, I packed my bag, accustomed to the name Hale.
Hale was my family name before being given the surname Gingerbell.
I had to hide my identity from the kingdom’s most famous family when I ran away.
Choosing that name might have been a thoughtless decision, but it could also indicate that I hadn’t completely severed ties with my lifelong family.
Nevertheless, I consoled myself, knowing it was the appearance of the first Grand Mage that led my family to only teach post-Gingerbell history, so the name Hale was almost forgotten.
I suspected, however, that my family had already discovered my whereabouts.
Despite running away, the Gingerbell family was no ordinary family.
Even though Raiden helped hide me, my family likely knew where I was hiding.
My brothers were probably blocking any attempts by the elders to bring me back.
Dr. Ren went to his lab, exhausted from his intense focus, while I monitored the patient’s condition and chatted with the nurses over snacks.
“Doctor, did you hear the news?”
“What news?”
“The Royal Knights are sending a special instructor!”
It must have been what Raiden mentioned. I grabbed a few almond chocolate cookies, my craving for the day, and pretended not to know.
“It’s the first I’ve heard. Is it ffrom Litton Wyler?”
“Both Litton and Heim Wyler! It’s probably because of Chantal. I didn’t expect even the Dragon Knights to come!”
“Wow, Chantal must be amazing. I heard the president, who’s the king’s cousin, pulled some strings. It’s famous that the president is royal. But who will Litton Wyler send? I hope it’s Sir Rensher!”
“Come on, Sir Rensher is the vice-captain and an exceptional knight. It can’t be him.”
“But they say Sir Rensher is incredibly handsome.”
He looks ordinary to me.
“Sir Rensher?!”
Patient 1, whom I thought was asleep from the painkillers, suddenly shouted. Raiden must be quite something. Ignoring their excited chatter, I packed my bag.
I felt like I had wasted some time, but training was still ongoing.
I saw Damien Shore, who had sprained his ankle last time, sparring with another student. Both were impressive, making it hard to predict who would win.
At that moment, Damien’s green eyes met mine. He twisted his body with surprising agility, neutralized his opponent’s attack, and sent the sword flying. It landed near the ward.
Finally noticing me, Sir Miles, the Wing 1 instructor and knight, asked about the patient’s condition.
I reported that the condition wasn’t severe, Patient 1 was awake, and standard post-op advice included a day of hospitalization and avoiding strenuous activity for a week.
As I shared this typical stress diagnosis, I felt uncomfortable under the students’ curious glances. Being one of the few young professors, I got these looks often.
Or maybe they just found me cute.
I put my glasses back into my coat pocket and walked back to my ward, where milk and honey flowed.
But my ward reeked of blood.
“Ugh.”
I rushed to the bathroom, vomiting. Something was wrong with my normally healthy body. I bandaged my nose and threw away my lunchbox.
The fresh lunch I made that morning smelled of raw meat and vegetables. The toilet smelled of water, which I could tolerate.
Holding my breath, I rinsed my mouth and bit into a chocolate cookie.
