Word of Colonel Xander's miraculous recovery had already rippled through the highest levels of Country L’s government, but when Captain Hutchins, a man once declared a lost cause, walked out of the treatment room with clear eyes and steady hands, the story exploded beyond borders.News outlets, international health forums, and military intelligence briefings all shared one headline: “Who Is Arla-Rosa Hernandez? The nineteen year old Healer Turning Science on Its Head.” From Country R to the Empire of Z, envoys were dispatched posthaste to Brilliant City, their diplomatic missions suddenly detoured with a singular plea: “Let us meet her. Let us borrow her, even for a month. Our Prime Minister needs her. Our Field Marshal. Our Emperor.” The government of Country L remained calm, if amused.Inside the secure walls of the fortified Military Barracks of Unit 9, Arla-Rosa continued treating her patients with unwavering focus. Each of the original four vetera
It had only been ten days, not a month, not even three weeks, when the first veteran walked unassisted through the military barracks’ central corridor.Colonel Duane Xander, once known as the “Iron Fist of the Eastern Front,” had been bedridden for over two years. A devastating spinal injury had left him partially paralyzed, in constant pain, and prone to violent spasms. No doctor, eastern or western, had been able to stabilize his nerves without risking further damage.Yet, here he was. Walking. Slow, deliberate steps, yes, but without a cane. Without pain.Gasps had erupted like gunfire across the corridor. Soldiers had paused mid-drill, medics froze in the middle of their charts. Even the stone-faced General Hanson, who had scoffed when Arla-Rosa first arrived, let out a stunned breath. “She… she did it?” the general had muttered. “She did,” whispered Commander Leighton. “In just ten days.”Inside the healing ward, Arla-Rosa washed he
A few days later, Arla-Rosa received news that further shoved her into the limelight. The invitation arrived at dawn, delivered not with ceremony but with urgency, stamped with the golden insignia of the Ministry of National Defense. The university director, Dean Van Tross, stormed into the lecture hall mid-morning, clutching the envelope with trembling hands."This is madness! You’re a student! How dare they summon you to the military hospital like you’re some state physician?!" Arla-Rosa, standing beside a whiteboard annotated with the intricate workings of the endocrine system, simply smiled. Her lab coat was slightly stained with ink and herbs from her early morning preparations."Dean Van Tross," she said gently, her voice akin to calm water in a thunderstorm, "please don’t worry. I’ll return before sunset tomorrow." He gaped at her composure. "Do you even know what you’re walking into? These aren’t textbook patients, they're four of the country’s mo
Arla-Rosa woke before dawn, her slender fingers moving quickly as she braided her hair back with precision. The faint scent of the herbs she had prepared the night before still lingered on her palms. Outside, the first pale hints of morning light seeped through her window, touching the cluster of neatly stacked medical textbooks on her desk. Each book was marked, highlighted, and brimming with her annotations. General surgery, cardiology, oncology, internal medicine, neurology, traditional medicine, and pharmacology. There was not a department in which her name did not echo. She had less than five months to graduate.That alone would have been insane for any student, let alone one who had taken on the challenge of mastering every medical specialty. But Arla-Rosa was not just anyone. She was not merely seeking excellence; she was running against time. One hundred souls. That was the condition. One hundred healed lives, and only then would the mark on her soul be lifted. It was a quiet
As Seth’s polished shoes disappeared down the corridor, Arla-Rosa lowered her cutlery and wiped her mouth delicately. The cafeteria was bustling, but she heard none of it. Her hands rested in her lap as her eyes glazed over, drawn into memory like the tug of a current pulling her back in time. A year. Exactly one year.She remembered the same season, the same lunch hour, except in her previous life, she was holed up in the drafting room, eating cold ramen between files while feverishly working on Seth’s Tokyo proposal. He had not even thanked her, just murmured a clipped, "Good job," while texting Aretha. She did not know then.She did not know he had been sleeping with Aretha. Her sister, no, not even her real sister. A fact she had not known then either. Her identity had been hidden, her inheritance locked behind layers of deceit. It was during the Tokyo signing, when she handed Seth the final pitch deck and the project soared beyond expectations, that he must have discovered the tr
The glass of whiskey in Seth Robinson's hand was sweating as he stared blankly at the skyline from the 35th floor of the Robinson Holdings tower. His jaw ticked as Jim delivered the bad news."We lost the bid. The Tokyo plot. Went to Longridge Group." Jim’s voice was cautious, neutral. "They matched our offer and undercut our logistics timeline." Seth swirled the drink slowly. "We could've killed them in the projection metrics. That proposal...""Didn’t get written by her," Jim finished, quietly. "Arla-Rosa declined. She said she was focused on her studies." Seth’s silence was like a building storm. He put the glass down with a soft but deliberate thud, his knuckles white against the rim of the crystal. "She’s never refused before," he muttered, more to himself than to Jim. "Not when I really needed her."Jim did not reply. What could he say? For a year, Arla-Rosa had been Seth’s secret weapon. The girl with razor intellect, naive eyes, and a loyalty so absolute he’d built projections