Chapter 85.5 — The Clinic Is Not Easy
Dr.Suniel
Evening had settled by the time Ivaline returned.
She placed the quest slip on the counter.
Mireya took the slip at the counter.
Then blinked.
Then stared.
Her eyes locked onto the seal.
Not red.
Not gray.
But clean, dark ink.
Success.
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
“…This—” she turned the slip slightly, as if the angle might change reality. “This is Doctor Suniel’s seal.”
Ivaline nodded.
“…A full completion?” Mireya asked.
“Yes.”
Mireya stared at her.
No one ever got that stamp.
Not on their first day.
Not on their fifth.
Not ever.
People passed Suniel by surviving him.
They did not succeed.
Slowly, Mireya leaned back against the counter, one hand covering her mouth.
“…I see.”
She stamped the guild record.
Around them, the hall continued as normal—adventurers talking, papers rustling, coins clinking.
But Mireya knew.
Something had shifted.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
And somewhere in the clinic, an old elf doctor had done something he almost never did—
He acknowledged someone.
“Very well,” she said, professional voice cracking just slightly. “You’re… cleared.”
Ivaline nodded.
“Thank you.”
Chronicle observed.
No defiance.
No resentment.
No rush to prove herself.
She learned where she was allowed to stand—
and still found a way forward.
Tomorrow, she would return.
And watch again.
And learn.
Word spread faster than sense.
By the next morning, the notice was gone.
Someone had torn it down at dawn and slammed it onto Mireya’s counter with a grin too eager to trust.
“Clinic helper,” the man said. “I’ll take it.”
Mireya hesitated.
“…Are you sure?” she asked carefully.
“It’s easy, right? Just stand around, hand tools, easy merits.” He laughed. “That kid did it yesterday.”
Mireya said nothing more.
She stamped the slip.
Less than an hour later, the guild clinic door burst open.
The man stumbled out, eyes red, clutching his head, voice breaking as he fled down the hall.
“I—I didn’t even touch anything—! He just—he just looked at me—!”
The door slammed shut behind him.
By late morning, another tried.
Then another.
One left pale and shaking, convinced he’d been cursed.
Another exited stiffly, shoulders hunched, muttering about “inhuman eyes” and “silent judgment.”
No one screamed.
Doctor Suniel never raised his voice.
He didn’t have to.
By noon, the clinic’s reputation had reclaimed itself.
The notice quietly returned to the board.
Untouched.
Afternoon — Return
Ivaline arrived after her morning work as usual.
She stopped at the board, read the notice, and took it down.
Again.
Mireya watched her from the counter, lips pressed thin.
“…You know people tried this morning,” she said.
“Yes.”
“They didn’t last an hour.”
“I know.”
Mireya studied her for a long moment, then handed over the slip without further warning.
“Good luck,” she said quietly.
Inside the Clinic
The door closed.
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Not hostile.
Just… still.
Doctor Suniel stood alone at the central table, sleeves rolled, hands already stained with old work. He didn’t look up when Ivaline entered.
He didn’t point this time.
He didn’t speak at all.
Ivaline didn’t wait.
She moved to the side, set her bag down neatly, and observed.
Not staring.
Not hovering.
Watching hands. Tools. Flow.
When a patient left, she cleaned the table.
When a bowl was empty, she rinsed it.
When herbs lay scattered, she sorted them by smell, texture, and drying marks she remembered from reading.
Suniel noticed.
He said nothing.
Hours passed like that.
No shouting.
No disdain.
No tests spoken aloud.
Just work done—or undone.
Ivaline read when there was nothing to clean.
Not the flashy tomes.
The margins.
The notes.
The practical entries about infection, rot, and fever.
She learned how to wash blood without wasting water.
How to wipe blades without dulling them.
How to clean wounds without reopening them.
When Suniel reached for something—
It was already there.
Not instantly.
Not eagerly.
Just… correctly.
Once, his hand paused mid-air.
Just once.
Evening came quietly.
When the last light slanted through the clinic windows, Suniel finally turned.
He took the slip from the table.
Stamped it.
Success.
No words.
No acknowledgment.
Ivaline bowed once and left.
Outside
The door opened.
Guild noise rushed back in.
Mireya looked up automatically.
Saw the stamp.
And froze.
“…Again?”
Ivaline nodded.
Mireya laughed—short, disbelieving, then stopped herself and cleared her throat.
“…Understood.”
Behind them, the clinic door closed once more.
Inside, Doctor Suniel returned to his work.
Alone.
Unbothered.
And—for the first time in longer than he cared to remember—
not irritated by the memory of a helper.
