Chapter 52

Thomas was technically a patient now, so Crane didn’t keep him long.

After they finished their cigarettes, Thomas returned to his hospital room to rest. Crane still had to check on the other injured team members. Besides, there was no way he was squeezing onto a hospital bed with Thomas for the night.

Once Crane left, the room fell silent. Thomas was alone.

He reached into his pocket and once again pulled out the small glass bottle Crane had found earlier—the "medicine" Suzy had given him.

He had never opened it, yet he had carried it with him ever since she handed it over.

It had been years since anyone had given him a gift. His thumb brushed slowly over the smooth surface of the bottle.

He remembered her words.

If you get hurt, you can use this.

With a soft flick, he opened the cap. A faint herbal fragrance rose immediately—clean, fresh, with a subtle grassy sweetness that cut through the sterile hospital air.

For a brief moment, his mind cleared.

Suzy had diluted the spiritual spring water before giving it to him, even soaking it lightly with medicinal herbs so it would seem more believable. Pure spiritual spring water was colorless, odorless, and far too effective—something like that would draw suspicion.

Thomas studied the clear liquid in the bottle. How exactly was he supposed to use it?

Drink it?

Apply it to the wound?

After a moment’s hesitation, he tipped the bottle and took a small sip.

The liquid was lightly sweet, with a gentle herbal aftertaste that lingered pleasantly on his tongue.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "...Not bad."

He didn’t drink much—just enough to test it—then capped the bottle and put it away.

A few minutes later, he took it out again unconsciously, turning it in his fingers.

Before he realized it, Suzy’s bright, dazzling smile surfaced in his thoughts once more.

Sometime after that, he drifted into sleep.

When Thomas opened his eyes again, daylight was streaming into the room.

A doctor stood by the bed, smiling politely.

"You’re awake. I’ll examine the wound and change the dressing."

Thomas nodded and sat up.

Not long after, Crane entered the room as well, offering a casual greeting before standing off to the side to observe.

The doctor skillfully began removing the gauze wrapped around Thomas’s shoulder.

"Hmm?"

The sound was subtle—but unmistakably surprised. The doctor leaned in closer, eyes narrowing.

He stepped back, then leaned in again, his brow furrowing deeper by the second. His expression shifted from routine calm to visible astonishment.

Thomas noticed the change.

"What is it?"

"This... this isn’t possible," the doctor muttered, adjusting his glasses.

He looked up sharply. "Has your recovery always been this fast?"

Thomas didn’t answer immediately.

The doctor gestured toward the wound.

"The bullet grazed close to the nerve. We estimated a minimum healing period of six to eight weeks, with a high probability of lasting functional impairment."

Then his voice rose slightly, unable to conceal his disbelief. "It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours—and the wound has already begun closing!"

Not only that, there was no inflammation.

No swelling.

The redness had already started to recede.

The doctor stared at Thomas as though examining a medical anomaly. "Mr. Kim... do you feel anything unusual? Burning? Severe pain? Have you used any special medication? Any unique constitution? Family genetic factors?"

Thomas’s face remained blank. He slowly moved his injured left arm.

There was still stiffness and residual discomfort, but the sharp, throbbing pain from the night before was gone.

"It feels much better," Thomas replied simply.

The doctor suppressed the surge of emotion on his face and began disinfecting the wound.

A cotton swab touched lightly along the edge of the injury.

"How does that feel? Can you move your fingers?"

Thomas complied. He flexed his fingers slowly. The movement was noticeably smoother than the day before—far smoother.

Though his grip strength was still weak, the fingers now responded to conscious control. They bent and straightened without resistance.

Yesterday, they had been completely unresponsive.

Like they didn’t belong to him.

Thomas himself had not yet fully grasped how extraordinary this rate of recovery was.

But the doctor had. He sucked in a quiet breath and began scribbling rapid notes.

As he wrote, the astonishment on his face gradually gave way to deep confusion.

Finally, he lowered his pen.

"Mr. Kim, I have good news. Based on the current healing rate, if this trend continues, we may need to reassess the prognosis regarding long-term complications."

He looked at Thomas with undisguised curiosity.

"This is the fastest gunshot recovery I’ve seen in my career—especially involving possible nerve trauma."

It was simply incredible.

Crane stepped forward immediately. "You mean there won’t be lasting damage?"

The doctor nodded cautiously. "There’s a high probability there won’t be. Of course, we’ll continue observing."

Crane’s face was just as stunned. He had studied medicine once. He knew how serious the injury had been. To receive an answer like that was almost miraculous.

"You lucky bastard," Crane muttered, half in disbelief, half in relief.

After finishing the examination, the doctor left the room. The door clicked shut.

Only Thomas and Crane remained.

Crane crossed his arms, still frowning thoughtfully.

"Since when does your body recover like this? You inject something? Experimental drug?"

Thomas shook his head.

Outwardly, he appeared calm, but inside, his mind was in turmoil. No one understood his body better than he did. Gunshot wounds were routine in his line of work. He knew his healing limits intimately.

It had never been this fast.

Never.

There was only one variable.

The "medicine." The small bottle Suzy had given him.

What stunned him most was that he had only taken a tiny sip.

Just a sip, and yet the effect had been this dramatic. What kind of drug was that?

Thomas had seen many things in this world—black-market medicine, experimental stimulants, battlefield serums.

Nothing compared to this.

And what unsettled him even more was that Suzy had handed it to him without hesitation.

Such a valuable thing.

Why?

He had done nothing extraordinary. He had simply carried out his duty as a bodyguard.

Leonard Kale had already paid a generous fee. He couldn’t understand why she would give him something like that.

The more he tried to rationalize it, the more her bright, radiant smile intruded into his thoughts.

That dazzling smile at the airport.

The way her eyes had curved when she told him—

If you get hurt, use it.

Something tightened sharply in his chest.

Crane clapped him on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Thomas. Didn’t you say you wanted to keep working? This is good news."

Crane had sensed yesterday that Thomas wasn’t ready to quit. For reasons he didn’t fully understand, Thomas had been reluctant to walk away.

Now, fate seemed to be giving him the chance to continue.

Thomas suddenly looked up. His gaze was steady. Serious.

"I’m not going to continue."

Crane blinked. "What?"

Thomas’s voice was low, but firm as he answered, "I’m going back to my home country."