The Doctor's Contract

On the streets of Entertainment Island, the lights were blazing, yet the streets were empty. It was late at night. Silence was the expected guest at this hour. But...
Kshh... Kshh... Kshh...
A sound broke the silence.
Kshh...
It stopped for a moment.
Kshh...
Then the sound returned to the street.
A boy with black hair and a single red streak was walking. He wore a black school blazer, which was now perforated and burnt at the edges of the sleeves.
But the boy’s thoughts were not on the jacket.
"Okay, first, I live in the dorms, so my parents won't know what happened," the boy thought aloud.
Kshh... Kshh...
"Second, if I go to the hospital now, I’ll have to explain, fight, and deal with so many—"
Kshh.
"Right, I have burns!... I could say I failed at using the microwave!... No, wait, that glitch was already patched... Oven?... No, that would be an exaggeration."
The boy looked up, seeing the stars in the sky. The cold air hit his burnt face.
"I have to admit, it stings. But the fact that it hurts and stings means the injury isn't deep," the boy said, resuming his walk after a brief pause.
"Fine, I'll just be clear: a fight happened, and whatever happens, happens." The boy spoke, no longer caring to search for excuses.
Kshh... Kshh.
The sound continued to fill the street instead of the boy's voice.
Tak.
"Come on, what now?" the boy muttered, trying to move forward.
Tak.
The sound came from the object his left hand was gripping halting in place. His fist was wrapped tightly around the collar of another young man with light orange hair, who was unconscious.
The boy looked at the ground. The shoe got stuck... "stuck" wasn't the right word. The ground had melted. He looked back at the path he came from; it bore trails of scorch marks.
The boy sighed.
"Usually, I would have left him back there, but I won't let my victory be exploited like that." The boy hoisted Miran up and continued dragging him.
"If I didn't know the water would choke you, I would have dumped you in the fountain. It's night, but I feel like I'm standing in front of a fire."
Kshh... Kshh...
The boy continued walking, dragging his heavy load. The maintenance tunnels were behind him now, and he was walking through the open plazas of Entertainment Island. The bright lights of the closed shops made the scene surreal. No one was here. No witnesses.
Every step was a new friction between the orange-haired youth's back and the clean pavement.
"Okay." The boy stopped suddenly and threw Miran onto the ground.
Crack!
"Let's be realistic. Can't I transport you via train? I have another way, but I need to drop from a high place." The boy stretched his back, looking up at the sky. He wasn't interested in the stars, but his gaze shifted to the right. There was a massive mass floating above him. An island.
"The nearest island above is the University Island, while below is one of the Residential Islands. I don't know its routes," the boy thought. "Service Island... I would need to jump to the University Island, then to the Residential Island... That would work if I were alone with minor injuries, but with a semi-corpse... it means more power for me, but the end for him."
The boy continued to circle around Miran.
"Fine, let's solve it the old-fashioned way then." The boy decided, taking out his pen and placing it on the ground.
"Right, I take you. Left, I throw you."
The boy crouched down, placing his finger on the pen, ready to spin it and let chance decide.
"Gh... Hrrrk..."
The boy's finger froze before spinning the pen.
The sound didn't come from the street. It came from beneath him.
The boy's gaze shifted slowly from the pen to the "semi-corpse" he was about to dispose of.
The orange-haired youth's eyes were fluttering. His chest heaved suddenly in a painful gasp.
Miran opened his eyes. They were hazy, drowning in pain and confusion. He tried to lift his hand to touch his shattered face, but could only twitch his fingers.
"W... Where..." Miran whispered, blood coughing from his mouth.
The boy put his pen away.
"Entertainment Island... How many is this?"
The boy clarified the location while holding up two fingers in Miran's face.
Miran stared at the two fingers for a few long seconds, trying to piece together the broken world before him. His face was a throbbing mess of pain.
"Get that... away from me..." Miran finally muttered, his voice hoarse.
"Good. You're alive then." The boy withdrew his hand and sat cross-legged beside him, smiling that fascinated smile that now looked far more terrifying on his half-burnt face. "I was going to take you to the hospital."
"Huh?" Miran tried to get up, but the pain from attempting to move made him spasm and cough blood again.
"Eh? Is your hearing affected? The situation is worse than I expected, but come on, you're alive as of now!" the boy said, smiling. "You can get up yourself."
"Just shut up," Miran retorted sharply, trying to reach for his phone.
"Ah, trying to call someone?... True, I could have requested emergency services." The boy looked around, cracking his back. "Well, now I can take the train to Service Island."
Miran stared at his phone; the screen was a bloody mess.
"Damn it... it'll cost too much," Miran muttered.
"Cost?... What are you talking about?... Did the beating affect your brain? Treatment is free," the boy said.
"Is this a joke?... You know the 'Good' hospital drains your money for the simplest injuries," Miran replied, the ground beneath him melting slightly before he sighed, the heat fading as he stood up unsteadily.
"Do you mean an unofficial doctor?... Why would you go to the 'Canary'? Those doctors don't have advanced services for... experiments. They're like rescue teams for minor injuries, bone fractures at max. Also, their sick leave notes aren't accepted," the boy answered.
A moment... heat began to rise around Miran's hand, but he calmed down.
"You're not from Nyctopolis, are you?" Miran asked.
"Nyctopolis?... I was born here," the boy replied.
"So you're an academy student from Utopia." Miran sighed, checking his phone.
"Utopia?... I told you I—" the boy tried to reply, but before he could finish:
"Yes, born in Neomera, I know. Me too. Many are. You just want me to simplify it for you?... You're ignorant. Now shut up and listen. Are you going to the Central Island?" Miran asked.
"Who doesn't go there?!... It's the best place for me after Entertainment Island," the boy answered.
"There is a big hospital with a Blue Cat logo with black eyes. There, your injuries will be treated for a fee, but you won't even need excuses for the injury," Miran said, starting to walk away.
"Blue Cat Hospital?" the boy wondered.
Miran didn't answer, just kept walking.
"Hey! Are you listening? Is your ear injured?" The boy continued to follow him.
"Damn it." Miran sufficed with that, continuing his way to the Central Island.
The journey to the train station was strangely silent. "The Boy" kept walking behind "Miran," not too close, but not far enough to lose him. Miran was pressing on his phone, perhaps arranging payment or calling his failed organization.
The train arrived, gliding silently into the station. It was empty as well.
Miran entered and sat down. The Boy sat opposite him, took out his phone, and began checking his balance.
The journey launched through the transparent tunnels. The boy looked out the window; the lights of Entertainment Island were receding, while below, the lights of a Residential Island were no longer visible.
The train arrived at the Central Island. The station here was colder initially due to the altitude, and more luxurious, but it wasn't empty; it was bustling with people. The two stepped off.
Miran started walking. The Boy followed, looking at the towering buildings and markets around the place.
They continued walking until they stopped at a massive building featuring a drawing of a blue cat with black eyes. The drawing looked real, like a frozen cat.
The hospital door slid open.
The Boy pushed Miran inside first, then followed.
The place was completely different from the clean, sterile free hospitals on Service Island. The corridor was clean, yes, but it was "alive" in a strange way. Nurses wearing light blue uniforms moved quietly and efficiently, carrying paper reports and medical equipment, ignoring the patients around them.
The waiting room was a surreal mix. On the left, a girl was compressing her arm, which was bleeding a silver liquid. On the right, two scientists in white lab coats sat in boredom; one reading a magazine, the other tapping on his tablet. No one was screaming. There was no panic. It was just... business.
"So this is the place..." The Boy muttered, trying to ignore the quick, curious glances directed at his burnt face.
Miran, barely standing, leaned against a wall and headed straight for the reception desk. The Boy followed.
Behind the desk, there was no smiling nurse.
There was a young man in his late twenties, with a sharp, harsh appearance. His thick black hair was messy. He wore a black shirt under a stark white lab coat. He was writing something coldly on one of those paper reports, ignoring their existence.
Miran slammed his hand on the desk surface. "I need... treatment."
The young man with black hair raised his eyes slowly. They were light blue, cold as ice.
The doctor's gaze passed over Miran's shattered face, then moved to the Boy's half-burnt face.
He didn't look shocked.
"Both of you?" the doctor asked in a raspy voice, as if asking if they wanted coffee.
"Just me," Miran said with difficulty, pressing his broken nose.
The doctor nodded. "Twenty-five thousand." He said, then looked at the Boy. "What Phase are you?"
"Tch, it's obvious that he's—" Miran started, but the Boy beat him to it.
"Proto-Star," the Boy said.
Miran froze for a moment. "Oi, you! Are you lying?"... he said, stopping himself from punching him.
"Why would I lie? I am a Proto-Star in—".. the Boy started, but was grabbed by his jacket by Miran, who yelled, "Are you saying a mere Proto-Star defeated me, a Stable Star?... Don't joke."... Then Miran sighed, letting go of the jacket of the Boy, who was smiling defiantly again. When Miran stepped back, the Boy adjusted his jacket.
"Which stage?" Miran asked.
"Stability," the Boy said.
"So that's it. Stability," Miran said. (If he's in the Stability stage, he's on the threshold of Stable Star. I lost because of my defensive negligence,) Miran thought to himself.
He then looked at the doctor, who was recording. Miran asked, staring at the doctor with boredom, "Let me guess, double the amount, right?"
"Almost triple," the doctor answered without lifting his eyes from the paper, but he pointed his pen at the Boy: "And you... will get free treatment this time."
The Boy's eyebrows rose in surprise: "Oh, thanks. Also—"
The doctor interrupted him coldly: "And a free absence report for three days. We will write that your wounds require a recovery period."
The Boy looked at Miran, who was annoyed as he took out his wallet.
"Didn't you say it drains your money?" the Boy asked, recalling how the hospital was described.
"It does... Haven't you heard of the 'Free Trial'?... Everyone who comes for the first time gets the service for free," Miran answered, handing the money to the doctor.
"And is it double next time?" the Boy asked, watching the doctor pocket the money.
"Cost of the annoyance that happened just now," Miran touched his nose. "Triple... It better be fast to be worth it."
"Fast or slow, your injury is physical, it won't be a problem," the doctor said, putting the money in his pocket and standing up. He pointed to a clinic numbered '5', then pointed at Miran. "Your clinic."
Miran paused for a moment. "There better not be any of 'those'..." Miran stared sharply at the doctor, but before he could finish...
Slap!
The sound of a strong slap came from an adjacent clinic. A nurse walked out holding his swollen cheek.
"It's... I hate this piece of metal!" he shouted in annoyance.
"The patient cries like a baby... Dosage increased 20%. You made a mistake, I didn't." A robotic voice came out.
It was a medium-sized robot.
"Isn't that—" the Boy said, raising his finger and pointing at the robot, while looking at the doctor and Miran, "The Nurse Robot that was banned from working in hospitals?"
Miran sighed. "Yes, it is."
The doctor nodded. "Cheap labor with high efficiency too," he said, smiling as he looked at the robot, which began dragging the Boy who tried to escape the clinic.
"Swallow this or I will break your teeth," the robot said, extending a pill.
"It's entertaining," the doctor said. Miran looked at him while pointing at the robot. "If I enter that room and it contains any of those weird inventions, I will burn it."
"Don't worry, they are limited in number anyway," the doctor said, handing the record to the nurse who was holding his face, the mark of the slap still visible. Then he looked at the Boy. "And you, follow me." The doctor said, starting to walk toward a clinic with no number.
The clinic was different. It was strange. Not because it didn't look modern... but the design was bizarre. When the Boy entered, he looked around curiously. This was the first clinic he had seen like this. The bright red floor. The very dark purple walls. The neon orange chair. The screaming yellow table with medical instruments on it. The dark black desk.
"Sit on the chair."
The voice came from behind him. "The Boy" turned to see the messy black-haired doctor entering the room, carrying "The Boy's" paper report. He didn't even look at the clashing colors, but walked straight to the yellow table.
The Boy sat on the chair, looking at his reflection in the red floor. "Is the design of this place your choice?"
"Yes." The doctor approached him. His cold blue eyes scanned the burn on "The Boy's" face with the same coldness he had used to look at Miran. There was no empathy, only professional assessment.
"Direct thermal burn," the doctor muttered to himself. "Very concentrated energy source."... He touched the edges of the Boy's face with his black glove.
The Boy felt a sting.
"Good news, second-degree burns. Was it him? (Miran)"... The doctor walked to the yellow table and opened a drawer.
"Yes," the Boy answered.
"Strange, your face was supposed to explode," the doctor said, taking out bandages onto the table.
"That's because I absorbed the explosion but not the heat," the Boy replied, leaning back on the chair.
"Is that so," the doctor placed a needle flashing with blue light on the table. "Do you have any passive shield?... If so, I don't want the needle to go to waste."
"No," the Boy touched his skin. "I think you can."
"Good."... The doctor approached and slowly tried to inject the needle into the Boy's arm.
"This will hurt a little... or maybe a lot, I don't care!"
The sharp robotic voice came from the needle itself as its light turned green. Before "The Boy" could comment on another ridiculous "invention" in this place, the doctor pressed the needle into his arm.
It wasn't a sharp pain, but a cold, strange sensation that spread through his body.
"Wait... thinking about it, you have an injury like this but you're tolerating it. So, did you need an anesthetic?" he said, throwing the used needle into a metal container. He returned to his yellow table. "Doesn't matter now, the anesthetic is already in. Now we will start treating your face while you sleep."
"Aren't you supposed to tell me about that first?" the Boy asked, touching the injection site.
"From the moment you came here, you are a patient. From the moment you entered the clinic, you carried the contract. And from the moment you sat on the chair, you signed the contract and handed your soul to me. Now just shut up and let the anesthetic work. You will wake up to find your face at the same level of ugliness as before.”