The hallway outside the operating room buzzed—not with the sound of machines, but with voices. Angry ones.
Doctors passed by with lowered heads. Nurses whispered behind clipboards. Phones rang endlessly with press inquiries.
The surgery had failed.
Doctor Jackson Wang stood in front of the large glass window overlooking the emergency ward. Blood still stained the sleeves of his white coat. His expression was calm—but behind those eyes, storms raged.
A mother's scream echoed from the waiting room. "He was breathing when you brought him in! Why couldn't you save him!?"
"He's supposed to be some kind of genius doctor, right? From China, huh? Well, go back there!" someone else shouted.
Another voice joined. "He didn't even look human in the OR. His eyes… something was off!"
"Monster!"
Jackson didn't flinch.
But behind him, Pisal entered quietly, having just finished his rounds. He paused when he saw the crowd gathered, security already standing near the entrance to keep things from spiraling out of control.
One of the younger nurses whispered urgently, "Doctor Pisal… you should talk to him. It's bad. The press is here. People are saying Doctor Jackson shouldn't even be allowed to practice medicine."
Pisal frowned, jaw tightening. He stepped closer, approaching Jackson, who still hadn't moved.
"…Teacher," Pisal said softly, standing beside him.
"I tried to save him," Jackson murmured, not looking away from the window. "His heart stopped twice. His lungs collapsed. Even if we had twenty doctors in that room… he wasn't meant to survive tonight."
"I know you did everything," Pisal said.
"But they don't." Jackson's voice was lower now. Sadder. "And I can't blame them."
A television screen in the waiting area showed breaking news:
"Controversial Foreign Doctor Fails to Save Teen in Surgery – Public Outcry Grows"
Underneath, an old photo of Jackson flashed across the screen.
Pisal turned toward the waiting area and saw a few civilians with phones pointed directly at them.
"This isn't going away soon," Pisal said. "Do you want me to speak to the hospital director?"
"No," Jackson replied, finally turning to him. His eyes were sharp now, colder. "This is the price for staying too long in one place. The Organization must be laughing by now."
Pisal froze. "What do you mean?"
Jackson didn't answer.
He just pulled off his bloodied coat, folded it over his arm, and took one last look toward the press at the glass doors.
Then, almost in a whisper, he said, "Tell Nuong I'll be gone for a few days. And Pisal…"
"Yes?"
"Don't trust any new faces in the hospital. Especially the ones who smile too much."
And with that, Doctor Jackson Wang walked away—his white coat now stained with something far heavier than blood:
Blame. Guilt. And a secret war closing in.
The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting soft light across the modest living room. Nuong sat curled up on the couch, a warm blanket draped over her legs. A cup of untouched tea sat on the table beside her, growing cold.
The TV was on, but she wasn't really watching—until a name caught her attention.
"Breaking news this hour: Doctor Jackson Wang, a foreign surgeon working at Royal Lotus Hospital, is under fire following a failed emergency surgery that cost a teenager's life."
Nuong's heart sank. Her hand froze midair as she reached for the remote. The news anchor continued:
"An online uproar has erupted, with some citizens questioning whether Doctor Wang is even qualified to practice medicine in Cambodia. Footage has gone viral of the patient's family blaming the hospital and accusing Jackson Wang of negligence."
The screen cut to an emotional mother crying outside the hospital gates, screaming Jackson's name through tears. The words "Killer in a White Coat?" were stamped across the bottom of the screen.
Nuong's face turned pale.
"No…" she whispered, clutching the edge of the blanket. "That's not true."
She stood up quickly, grabbing her phone with shaking fingers. She opened her chat history—still nothing new from Jackson. No missed calls. No messages.
She turned to the door just as it creaked open.
Pisal stepped inside, having come to check on her as promised.
"Nuong?" he said gently.
She looked up, eyes glassy. "Did you see the news?"
He nodded, closing the door behind him. "I just came from the hospital."
"I don't understand. He saved my life. He's a good man. Why are they saying this about him?"
Pisal walked over, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. "People need someone to blame when they're hurting. But it doesn't mean they're right."
Nuong looked down. "Is he okay?"
"He's… shaken. He won't say much. He's keeping things to himself." Pisal's voice softened. "But I'm doing what I can to defend him. I gave a statement to the press."
Her eyes lit with a spark of hope. "Thank you."
Pisal sat beside her. "Do you remember anything about that night? The cave? The attack?"
She shook her head slowly. "It's all blank. I just remember cold water and… fear."
Pisal sighed. He didn't want to push her. "Maybe that's for the best."
Nuong glanced back at the screen where Jackson's face lingered in a frozen frame.
"But they don't know him like I do," she whispered. "He's not just a doctor. He's my family."
A pause.
"Then let's protect him like family," Pisal replied.