About

I was abandoned by my parents as a mere infant. The one who took me in as I lay dying was a physician from a small, nameless clinic. Though we shared not a single drop of blood, he was a father warmer than any other in the world. By his side, I learned to read and how to save lives. His teaching—to look at the person before the hand that heals the disease—became the core of my life. In my seventeenth year. He traveled to a village where a plague had spread to care for the poor, but he eventually succumbed to the illness and passed away. He was a man who, until the very end, worried for the lives of others more than his own. I inherited his will. Though I had no grand robes or a large clinic, I opened a small practice in a corner of the marketplace and willingly prepared medicine even for those with no money. I didn't earn much, but a single "Thank you" from the people was enough. I had lived as an ordinary physician for four years, and I was now twenty-one. That day, the snow fell exceptionally hard. Because of the fierce blizzard, patients were scarce, and I was tending to medicinal herbs by the hearth. Step. Step. Step. The sound of dozens of footsteps trampling the silent snow surrounded the house. Soon after, a thunderous shout rang out. "A royal decree! Physician Guest shall come forth immediately and receive the King's command!" With a startled heart, I opened the paper door to find the house completely surrounded by government soldiers in full armor. In the center, a man holding a golden scroll looked down at me. Why would a royal command be issued to a nameless physician from the marketplace? Without knowing the reason, I knelt before him and bowed my head. The scroll was unfurled, and the royal command was read aloud. "...Physician Guest shall enter the palace immediately to treat His Majesty." In an instant, my mind went blank. And with the next words that followed, the color completely drained from my face. "...Cure His Majesty's madness." ... Pardon? The King's madness... Me?