At Prince Philip's Manor in the Imperial Palace Compound;
Prince Philip finally regained consciousness. The unbearable pain that had tormented him for days had vanished entirely. His whole body felt light, as though he had been reborn.
The moment he woke, a faint memory flickered in his mind—a blurred, ethereal figure draped in white, leaning over him, feeding him medicine. She had seemed like a deity descending through mist.
"Quick," Prince Philip said urgently, grabbing a servant's sleeve. "When I was unconscious, did a white-clothed girl come to give me medicine?"
The attendant bowed respectfully. "Indeed, Your Highness. The girl you recalled is the one who cured you."
Prince Philip froze. "What's her name?"
"The physician from the Origin Medical Hall, Your Highness."
Prince Philip stared blankly for a moment. Then, slowly, the hazy figure in his memory sharpened, and the face of Zora finally emerged clearly in his mind.
His eyes widened.
"So it was her… the girl I met on the street!" His voice filled with sudden excitement.
A smug smile crept across his face. "Of course. With my charisma, how could she not admire me? She came running to save me—of course she did."
He gave a satisfied nod to himself, utterly convinced of his own conclusion.
As if Zora—who had nearly taken his life with poison—would admire him.
But in Prince Philip's mind, this was simply the natural order of the world.
"Prepare my carriage! I'm going out!" Prince Philip then straightened his collar as soon as he felt better, confidence radiating from every pore. "Zora, wait for me—your prince is coming to find you!"
With his recovery, word of the young girl known as the Divine Doctor spread through the Imperial City like wildfire.
Through the hands of Zora, patients who had been bedridden for years walked again, chronic illnesses that had clung to people for decades disappeared without a trace, and hidden ailments that no physician had ever solved were swept away as though they were mere dust.
The name—Divine Doctor—echoed from tea house to tavern, from roadside vendors to the grand halls of nobles.
The Origin Medical Hall, once avoided due to its youthful owner, now had lines stretching down the street at dawn.
People who had been helped sang her praises freely.
People who hadn't managed to get an appointment begged for one.
Word spread from district to district, then beyond the city walls, spilling into the surrounding regions. Before long, waves of patients flooded into the Imperial City from other towns, all seeking the red-clad girl whose hands performed miracles.
*
Meanwhile, at the medical hall, the two apprentices recommended by Eric Welsh—Silver and Storm—arrived during this surge.
After their old master retired, both were left adrift. Their skills were decent but insufficient to open a clinic alone. Finding another mentor had proven difficult, and they were already preparing to take menial jobs just to survive.
When Eric told them the Origin Medical Hall was hiring, they nearly fainted on the spot. A post in the most sought-after clinic in the Imperial City? It felt like fortune itself had fallen into their laps.
Only when they stepped into the bustling medical hall, smelled the faint medicinal scent, and donned their aprons did they finally accept reality:
They were truly part of the Origin Medical Hall.
Gratitude fueled their diligence. They cleaned from dawn till dusk, memorized procedures, fetched herbs, recorded patient information—anything that would lighten Zora's workload.
Their earnest attitude pleased her greatly; they were steady, respectful, and hardworking.
At the same time, at the General's Manor;
While the reputation of Origin Medical Hall soared, Luna remained secluded within the manor, avoiding sunlight and mirrors alike. Her once-beautiful face—now a patchwork of scars—haunted her every waking moment.
She had cried until her voice broke, until her mother's heart ached unbearably.
Now, hearing that the Divine Doctor could correct even long-standing afflictions, Luna clung to hope like a drowning woman grasping driftwood.
"Luna," Jasmine said gently, holding her daughter's cold hand, "the Origin Medical Hall only accepts ten patients a day. I bought a place at a high price—we finally secured one. You can go today."
Luna's breath hitched, eyes widening with desperate joy.
"Mother… you truly got one?"
For days, she had longed to seek treatment, but the competition for slots was intense, and she could not appear publicly in her current state. Every attempt had failed—until now.
Jasmine stroked her daughter's cheek with pity. "Silly child, you are your mother's treasure. How could I not think of you first?"
"Thank you, Mother!" Luna choked, gripping her sleeve.
A woman's appearance was her life. Each scar felt like a dagger. If Zora's medical skill was as legendary as they said, then she could reclaim her beauty… reclaim her dignity… and reclaim the attention of His Highness the Prince.
Her heart fluttered with revived dreams.
At the Origin Medical Hall;
Zora had just finished treating the ninth patient of the day when an instantly recognizable—and thoroughly unwelcome—voice echoed at the entrance.
"Divine Doctor Zora!"
Before she even turned, annoyance flashed in her eyes.
Outside, voices rose in excitement: "Look! His Highness, Prince Philip, has arrived!"
"He recovered completely, thanks to the Divine Doctor—otherwise he would have died three days ago!"
"I'm certain he came specifically to offer thanks!"
A commotion rippled through the street as Prince Philip's entourage approached, clearing a path. The tall, elaborately dressed figure of the Prince stepped down from his carriage with practiced grace, chin lifted proudly, as though he were arriving to receive praise rather than give it.
Patients craned their necks.
Onlookers whispered excitedly.
Even Silver and Storm stiffened nervously.
But Zora's brows simply drew together, a faint sigh slipping from her lips.
Of all the times… he had to come today.
Even though Zora only received ten patients a day, Origin Medical Hall remained as lively as a festival market. The line started forming before dawn and curled through the street by mid-morning. Even those who had no hope of receiving treatment still came just to look—to see the girl who revived ancient techniques, who cured the Prince, who turned hopeless cases into miracles.
So the moment Prince Philip appeared, dressed magnificently and surrounded by guards, everyone recognized him at once.
A wave of surprised whispers rolled through the crowd. Heads bowed instinctively, though most lifted their eyes again, curious to watch the interaction between the Prince and the famed young doctor.
Zora stepped out from the clinic just in time to face him. Her expression was polite, but her eyes held a cool distance—far different from the gentle courtesy she offered patients.
"Prince," she greeted, tone even, neither humble nor warm.
Prince Philip's heart thudded painfully. The moment he saw her standing there in her white dress, graceful like a lotus drifting on clear water, he felt that same stirring he had sensed right before losing consciousness. She was the vision he had clung to in the haze of his pain—the fairy who rescued him.
Trying to control the excitement bubbling within him, he straightened and approached her with a self-assured smile.
"Miss, you are my savior. Calling me 'Prince' is far too distant."
"Oh?" Zora raised a brow, a faintly puzzled look playing across her beautiful face. "What should I call you then?"