Chapter Text
The salty wind rolled off the sea as it always did on Chicken Island—warm, humid, a little fishy. Yuren sat perched on the crumbling seawall, fingers stained a slight green at the tips from crushing herbs, his nose buried in a tattered medical anatomy book he’d been “borrowing” from the island’s lost-and-found for the last six months.
Sipping on a cool drink, he turned the next page carefully—one torn corner already hanging by a thread. The radius connects to the humerus at the elbow joint. He traced the diagram with a fingertip. If it dislocates, you have to—
A shout cut through the usual midday lull.
Yuren looked up.
At the bottom of the slope, far down the beach, two figures hurried towards the water. Yuren didn’t recognize them — after all; it wasn't often you see chickens roaming the town like normal citizens. They must have been new.
The taller one fell to his knees and hunched over a purple figure bobbing at the shore, and beside him, the round one was chirping incessantly. There's a burst of smoke from the round one and it suddenly grew the body of a heavily muscled man.
Yuren’s eye twitches. What.
Before he could properly process anything, the bird scooped something—someone—into his arms. Yuren can now properly see the thing that got the two worked up — they carried a boy—limp, dark robs soaked red at the chest.
Yuren’s heart kicked. His brain reeled. Blood. A lot of it.
Without thinking, he slid off the wall and ran after them. Leaving his book and drink behind.
By the time he made it to the blood-slicked shore, they were gone—already vanishing into town. Waves licked at the crimson stained sand, erasing evidence with each slow pass. Strangely enough—only one thing remained: a cracked sword.
He lifted it carefully, testing its weight. Was it the boy’s?
Letting instinct take over, Yuren followed them—twisting through the winding maze of streets until he saw them vanish into a familiar building: the island’s clinic. It was where the Miracle Doctor worked—or lived—or maybe both. No one was really sure. The humanoid dog never spoke, but hurt people went in and healed people came out — albeit with a hefty bill. But no one bothered to ask questions.
Yuren hovered further back, breath caught, unsure if he was allowed to follow. He wasn't family. He wasn’t anyone really.
Yuren stared at the heavy sword. Any normal person would probably just leave it at the door and walk away.
Instead, Yuren quietly crept to the window. And watched.
Inside, the taller chicken-man hovered anxiously while the darker blue one spoke rapidly. The bleeding boy lay on the cot—pale, still.
Then from inside the workshop, a figure appeared. A tall dog. Gloved. Cloaked in long, heavy robs.
The Miracle Doctor.
His expression stayed a hollow smile as he looked over the boy bleeding out on the clinic's cot. The doctor then calmly knelt beside the bed as he unraveled the boy’s bloody robe to expose a deep wound on his chest.
Yuren’s breath hitched — and dark eyes quickly darted over to the window.
He quickly ducked out of sight. Shit.
He waited—expecting the doctor to call him out, or somehow sense him crouched between the wall and the window frame. But nothing happened.
After a few seconds, he peeked again.
The dog was busy stitching, fingers quick and sure. Completely focused.
Yuren swallowed. What happened to him to bleed so much?
He didn’t mean to stare. But he couldn’t look away.
Yuren wasn’t completely sure how long he stayed rooted in place. It felt like only a few minutes, but the sky was already its customary cotton candy pink before the sun slowly fell into the seafoam and the moon rose.
The doctor had managed to pull the boy back from the brink of death.
A miracle.
From the amount of blood staining the beach to the sheer size of the stab wound, Yuren had been sure he’d bleed out on that cot. But now—his breathing had steadied, his color was less that of a corpse. Still just as pale, still motionless. But alive.
The chickens left soon after the boy was in a stable condition, muttering something about returning the next day to check on him. Yuren had just barely hid himself behind a few crates before they exited through the front door. Once the duo were gone, he didn’t bother pretending to conceal his presence — the doctor was nowhere to be seen so he simply assumed he retired for the night.
Sighing, he turned back to the window.
The boy inside looked to be the same age as himself. But whatever life he led—it was clearly leagues from his own. What a different life he’s living. The most Yuren ever faced was a bruised lip at the hand of some petty schoolyard bully.
Once again the sword’s weight felt foreign in his grasp. Unbalanced.
Did it feel normal in his?
He needed to return it.
Detaching himself from the window he took a step back —
Only to bump into a hard wall behind him.
A cold sweat ran down his spine. Looking over his shoulder — the looming figure of the doctor stood behind him, his ever persistent smile never faltered from his hollow expression. He was so dead.
Yuren’s throat caught. He forced his voice out fast, almost tripping over his words as he forced out an excuse for his obvious trespassing:
“I—I was just returning this. The boy’s sword.”
He held the weapon out like a peace offering.
The doctor simply continued to study him.
Yuren wilted slightly under the weight of that silent scrutiny, shrinking in on himself. His heart was hammering. Maybe he should run. He could still bolt down the alley. Or toss the sword and disappear. He started calculating his next possible steps.
Then the doctor reached forward—
And grabbed his wrist.
Without thinking, Yuren pulled back, twisting and struggling, panic flooding every nerve. He even swung the sword, clumsily aiming to strike—just enough to get free.
He was quickly pulled into the clinic against his will.
The grip suddenly loosened and Yuren stumbled—only to find himself inside the clinic, standing at the foot of the cot.
The injured boy lay before him. His chest rising and falling in shallow but steady breaths.
Behind him, the doctor stepped further into the clinic. Yuren clutched the sword, stunned, eyes following every move the dog took.
After he rummaged through a few different cabinets, the doctor came back with something in its grasp. A book. Holding it out, Yuren blinked. It was... the same medical anatomy book he’d left behind on the beach wall.
Except—no. Not quite the same.
Examining closer, the cover looked new. He took it carefully as the doctor held it out. Flipping through the pages, his breath hitched—this one was pristine. No torn corners, no stained ink. And there were notes—meticulous, handwritten annotations in every margin. Extra hand-drawn diagrams, labeled parts, alternative treatments, little arrows leading to boxed-off theories. Extra notes adding insights on the contents.
“Did you write these?”
He nodded once.
“They’re so detailed.” Yuren murmured, flipping to a page on dislocated shoulders. A note in the margin read: If a patient is underweight, muscle tension may not resist reduction—test with gentle traction first. He smiled, almost in disbelief. “This is incredible.”
How long has he been wishing to get his hands on a new copy? Sadly, all his current funds were reserved for rent and groceries. But once he finally gets his well deserved promotion, he’ll start saving up.
He paused, gaze drifting from the book to the towering shelves behind the doctor. So many volumes. So much knowledge, just sitting there, waiting.
His eyes moved again—to the unconscious boy, lying still on the cot. The miracle.
And finally, back to the dog’s eternal, hollow smile. The one who performed the miracle.
“…Are you looking for an apprentice?”
Silence.
Panic bubbled at the back of Yuren’s throat. He rushed to explain himself.
“Look—I never had enough money to leave Chicken Island for school,” he began, trying to sound composed. “But I passed at the top of my class. I’ve read every medical book in the public library—twice. Ask me anything.”
The doctor stared.
Yuren felt frozen to the floor under that pining gaze.
Then the dog simply turned and walked toward the back of the clinic.
Yuren blinked. Does that mean no?
Sighing, he carefully leaned the sword onto the wall next to the patient’s bed. Best to finally return this. He gazed at the boy once again.
Now up close, he was able to properly see his features. He had dark eyes with even darker rims around them. His robes which were left discarded on the ground—still baked in layers of blood—matched his dark ornate look. He definitely seemed the type to carry a sword.
Yuren started to turn for the door, only to bump—again—into something behind him.
“Ow—seriously, how are you that tall and make no sound when you walk?” he muttered, rubbing his nose.
The doctor didn’t respond, of course.
Instead, he dropped another book into Yuren’s arms. Almost making him crumble under the sudden extra weight.
Huh? Glancing at the title it was a beginners sign language book. Looking back to the doctor, he noticed the dog was holding up a paper: Know this in a week's time. Hope bloomed in his chest.
“...Does that mean you’ll make me your apprentice?”
The doctor nodded.
Yuren’s face split into the biggest grin he’d worn in years. Giddy, he nearly dropped both books in his scramble to give a deep bow.
“I promise I won’t let you down!”
Without waiting for a response, he bolted for the door—already planning his study schedule, dinner, and how many pages he could cram into a single night.
The doctor stood still in the center of the room, silent as ever.
Watching.