Chapter 0003 The Hospital

Alex’s vision was hazy as he slowly regained consciousness. The world around him was a blur of shapes and colors, but gradually, everything came into focus. He was lying in bed with an IV drip attached to his arm. The sterile smell and white sheets told him all he needed to know—he was in a hospital. Confusion washed over him, and he voiced the question burning in his mind.

“How did I get here?” His voice was hoarse and strained from the effort of speaking.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his body, forcing him back down. Just then, a soft, calm voice broke the silence.

“Trust me, Mr. Carter, you need to rest for a few more hours before we can be sure there won’t be any complications.”

Alex turned his head slightly, wincing as he did. His eyes settled on the figure of a woman in a white lab coat. She walked toward him, revealing herself fully—a doctor with striking blue eyes and red hair, holding a syringe filled with some liquid.

“How do you feel now, Mr. Carter?” She asked, her tone professional yet gentle.

Alex blinked, trying to process everything. “Are you the doctor?” he asked, though it was more of a reflex than a genuine question.

“Yes, I am Dr. Baker,” she replied with a small smile. “One of the doctors here at the hospital.”

“How did I get here?” Alex’s voice was more urgent this time.

Dr. Baker hesitated for a moment before answering. “A Mr. Harrison brought you in two nights ago. You lost a significant amount of blood. We weren’t sure you were going to make it.” Her eyes searched his face, concern etched in her features. “What happened to you, Mr. Carter? We figured you were beaten aggressively and stabbed in the abdomen.”

As the memories came flooding back, Alex’s heart sank. He remembered Noah’s twisted smile, the knife, the pain, and then—nothing. He had lain there, unconscious and bleeding out, until Mr. Harrison found him and brought him to the hospital. If not for Mr. Harrison, he would have died on that cold, hard pavement.

“When can I go home?” he asked, ignoring her question about the incident.

“Well, you can leave as soon as we’re sure you’re healed enough. That should be in a couple more hours,” Dr. Baker said as she prepared the syringe. “I’m just going to inject you now and check your wound. After that, you can rest for a while.”

Alex winced slightly as the needle pierced his skin. As she administered the injection, he remembered something else he needed to ask. “What about the bill? I don’t have…”

Before he could finish, Dr. Baker interrupted him. “Don’t worry about the bill. Mr. Harrison has already taken care of it. He just wanted you to get better.”

Relief washed over Alex, but it was short-lived. The doctor suddenly exclaimed, “Oh!” as if remembering something. “He left you a note. Please check it out later.” She handed him a sealed white envelope and exited the room, leaving Alex alone with his thoughts.

***

A few hours later, still feeling the dull throb of pain from the bandage that covered his shoulder down to his abdomen, Alex managed to hail a taxi and return to his small, tattered apartment. The room was as depressing as ever—walls made of weak planks, a bed that had seen better days, and a lingering sense of hopelessness that clung to every corner.

He sat on his bed, feeling the weight of everything that had happened, and pulled the envelope from his back pocket. With a deep breath, he opened it and began to read:

“Dear Alex,

I am aware of how students at this institution bully you from time to time. I am also aware that on this day, July 22, 2024, Noah St. Patrick beat and stabbed you. This is a gruesome act that would be penalized when reported. But you know how well-connected Noah’s family is. Even when you report him, his father can buy his way out and make the case disappear. At least, this is how he has done it with the school. I advise you to try to let this go. Just get better and return to class like nothing happened. Someday, all of this will be over.

Yours sincerely,

Mr. David Harrison.”

As Alex read the letter, his hands trembled with anger. The injustice of it all—the fact that he had been brutally attacked and yet could do nothing about it because of his poverty—was too much to bear. The system was rigged, and he was at the bottom, powerless to fight back.

The letter slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor. A scream of pure rage tore from his throat as he sprang to his feet, fists clenched. This was an unfair world—a world where the rich could do as they pleased, while the poor suffered in silence.

Ignoring the pain that shot through his body, Alex punched the wall with all his might. The weak plank splintered under the force, creating a gaping hole. But Alex didn’t stop. He punched again and again, his anger fueling each blow. Another hole appeared, then another.

But then something unexpected happened. As his fist crashed through the wall one more time, he heard a small, metallic sound—something falling to the floor. Breathing heavily, Alex looked down and saw something glinting in the dim light. He knelt, squinting at the object.

It was a ring—golden, shining with an ethereal glow that seemed almost unnatural. His curiosity piqued, and Alex reached out, his fingers trembling.

As if drawn by some invisible force, the ring flew onto his finger before he could even touch it. The moment it made contact with his skin, a sharp pain shot through him as the ring embedded itself into his flesh, drawing blood.

The pain was excruciating, unlike anything Alex had ever felt. He screamed louder and more desperately than before as the ring tightened around his finger, its glow intensifying. Something was happening—something beyond his comprehension.