“So it was Banhasasim-tang syndrome after all. That makes sense. The heartburn points to pinellia as well. The ginseng will help with the poor appetite, cool down the stomach heat, and... yeah. I've been too fixated on the insomnia itself.”
Hwang Seoyoung spoke softly.
Since we'd all gone through the same medical education, there was no need to explain every herb one by one.
Instead, I simply wrote down the dosages and added a few comments about modifications to the formula.
“I think you can reduce the amount of huangqin.”
“Because he's not drinking anymore?”
Among the seven herbs, Scutellaria root (Huangqin) and Coptis root (Huanglian) were heat-clearing medicines.
In traditional Korean medicine, heat didn't only refer to fever. More often, it represented inflammation.
Since Banhasasim-tang was commonly prescribed for conditions like acid reflux and gastritis, heat-clearing herbs normally played a crucial role.
“But pinellia is the key here.”
The phlegm-heat blocking Hwang Sanghoon's epigastrium wasn't primarily heat.
The phlegm came first.
The heat came afterward.
Pinellia—the king of phlegm-resolving herbs—would remove the phlegm while calming nervous hypersensitivity. Once that happened, the heat symptoms would naturally settle as well.
“That explains it. My chest has felt tight for months. I thought it was just because work was stressing me out.”
“Stress is where it all starts. Treatment changes depending on how your body reacts to that stress.”
Hwang Sanghoon stared intently at the prescription I'd written.
“So this is what it means to treat the root cause. Just like Seoyoung, I only kept thinking about medicines for insomnia. Guibi-tang, Suanzaoren-tang, things like that.”
“Those aren't bad choices either. Sometimes you need to relieve the immediate discomfort first.”
Stress was certainly one of the major causes of his condition.
Anything that eased nervous tension would help.
The reason I hadn't bothered adding those herbs myself was simple.
“Take the decoction like this. And take these pills as well.”
Because the herbs I had prepared separately already contained them.
“This is... Gongjin-dan?”
“Nope! It's Gyogam-dan! I found some incredibly good poria and made a batch. Honestly, I brought it because I figured Seoyoung was under a lot of stress too, but Oppa needs it more.”
“What exactly is Gyogam-dan?”
“...Cyperus and Poria.”
“Hahaha. Of course. I know that.”
Perhaps because he'd studied diligently, Hwang Sanghoon immediately recognized the ingredients.
When he looked at his cousin with a faintly disappointed expression, Hwang Seoyoung puffed out her cheeks and flicked him on the forehead.
Careful.
At this rate, you're going to collapse again.
“Cyperus relieves emotional stagnation and calms sensory hypersensitivity. Poria helps stabilize the mind as well.”
“Exactly. If it weren't for the Banhasasim-tang syndrome, this alone would've been enough.”
Not only had Hwang Sanghoon identified the ingredients, he'd also understood why I'd given them.
And this wasn't ordinary Gyogam-dan.
No.
It contained a truly extraordinary grade of poria.
“Thank you. Seriously. I'll take it well. I'll have the decoction prepared tomorrow.”
He immediately popped one of the pills into his mouth and bowed.
Unlike my earlier teasing, his gratitude was completely sincere.
“Don't mention it. Watching someone stagger around like that and doing nothing would disqualify me as a doctor.”
There.
One problem solved.
Sanghoon thanked me, but honestly?
I was the one who'd been suffering.
How could anyone just leave that untreated?
Didn't they feel the urge to fix it immediately?
Back when my skills were lacking, I had been even worse.
Whenever I prescribed medicine for patients, I always tried to achieve the best possible results within my limitations.
And when I got sick?
I experimented on myself all the time.
If I wanted to know exactly what side effects a herb caused, who else could I test it on?
There were times my curiosity grew so intense that I'd actually wished to catch a new illness just so I could study it.
I even asked someone to poison me once...
Master had been absolutely furious.
The old Sichuan Tang Clan tradition required physicians to personally sample countless poisons and medicines as part of their training.
Master hated that practice with a passion.
"Why don't you go tell that to the Poison King?"
"The Flashing Poison Hand finally taking a true disciple would make him ecstatic."
"Then you'd never wake up the next morning."
Master was normally gentle toward physicians.
That day was the first—and last—time I'd ever seen him glare at me with the terrifying eyes he reserved for clan enemies.
Well.
Now I appreciated the lesson.
Being disappointed because martial arts training had made me too healthy?
What kind of mad scientist behavior was that?
“...”
“WAH!”
Lost in old memories, I suddenly locked eyes with Hwang Sanghoon.
Apparently, he'd been staring at me while lost in his own thoughts.
“You scared me. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Just... because you're cool.”
He paused.
“No. Because I'm jealous.”
“Huh?”
What nonsense.
Two third-generation chaebol heirs sitting here talking about jealousy?
Jealous of what?
“Me too,” Seoyoung chimed in. “I want to confidently tell patients, This is your disease. Take this and you'll get better. Trust me and follow my instructions.”
“Isn't that exactly how your grandfather practices medicine?”
Their grandfather—Hwang Je, founder of Hwangje Oriental Medicine Hospital—was famous for his overwhelming charisma.
There were probably still videos floating around YouTube of him getting patients who couldn't even stand to suddenly walk again.
“Grandpaaa has decades of experience.”
“You'll gain experience too.”
“I don't know. Even if I trained for a hundred years, I don't think I could become like you.”
“If your grandfather doesn't teach you, come find me. I'll pass everything down apprentice-style.”
“Really?”
“Seriously?”
I'd tossed out the offer casually.
But Seoyoung shot to her feet and leaned toward me.
She'd always loved asking me questions while studying.
What surprised me was Sanghoon.
His eyes were shining too.
“Why are you both so excited? I'm not a professor. I'm not even your senior. We're classmates.”
“No. Ever since you came back from China, your presence felt different. But after training myself, I finally understand. The aura you give off is stronger than the department heads at our hospital.”
“Exactly. My father and older brother are incredible businessmen, but you're... different.”
Why were they hyping me up so much?
What had I even done?
I hadn't cured Sanghoon's illnesses with a single needle.
I'd just written a prescription.
“Anyway, if you're still uncertain after residency, come work as vice directors. I can at least point you toward treatment strategies for difficult cases.”
“Ooooooh!”
“...Seriously? No taking it back?”
The last question came from Sanghoon.
That alone told me how badly his confidence had been shaken by internship life.
At Korea University's affiliated hospital, professors handled diagnosis while residents managed the wards and afternoon treatments.
Interns mostly existed to assist everyone else.
Hwangje Hospital seemed to divide responsibilities a bit differently, but interns were still overworked with very little authority.
After three years of residency, most doctors naturally developed confidence.
They attended conferences every week, published papers, treated severe cases, and worked harder than most private practitioners.
But what if they actually came?
“Hm. Two specialists volunteering as vice directors? I'd be the one benefiting. I'll expand the clinic and make room for you. Just don't back out later.”
Automatic farming.
The dream.
They could handle the routine treatments while I sat back giving advice.
Eighty percent of clinic patients came in with the same handful of conditions anyway.
I'd focus solely on the high-level, difficult cases.
This is perfect.
Retirement had been fun.
For a while.
But spending one hundred percent of every day doing absolutely nothing eventually got boring.
Working when I felt like it.
Training newcomers.
Feeling a sense of accomplishment.
That sounded much healthier.
Honestly, it wouldn't be much different from my days at the Medical Pavilion.
Near the end of my life in the martial world, I'd spent most of my time researching the Soul-Severing Grand Technique rather than treating patients directly.
One of my greatest pleasures had been discussing difficult cases with the disciples I'd trained.
And this time I'd be able to travel and play games instead of spending all my hours on research.
Back in school, I'd thought all I wanted was to enjoy modern civilization.
Opening my clinic had taught me otherwise.
At my core—
I genuinely liked treating patients.
Watching them recover.
Watching them live happier lives.
Hearing their gratitude.
All of that felt wonderful.
But there was another thrill too.
The exhilaration of seeing the perfect prescription hit exactly right.
Like landing a critical strike in a game.
The reward wasn't the loot.
It was the damage number.
“Wow! That's so like you, Yeowon! The second my residency ends, I'm coming!”
I nodded.
They still had a little under three and a half years left.
More than enough time to expand my clinic.
“Anytime. I specifically took over a clinic with extra consultation rooms for future vice directors!”
“Oho! I failed to understand the profound wisdom of our esteemed Director Han!”
Surprisingly, there really was extra space.
At the moment it was being used as storage.
Clean it up and it could easily become another treatment room.
The clinic currently had ten treatment beds, but with some remodeling and better partitioning, I could probably fit five more.
The location was on a hill, which made rent relatively cheap despite the generous floor space.
Perfect.
Once patient volume triples, I'll hire a vice director.
And if things go really well... maybe even a second branch?
Of course, there was still a long road ahead.
I'd only recently stabilized the clinic at one doctor and one employee.
Even reaching that point had taken months.
There was still management to learn.
Marketing to study.
Countless things to try.
But none of it felt impossible.
If I needed those skills, I'd simply learn them.
A new quest had appeared.
And my motivation burst into flames.
Just imagining myself wandering around while twenty branch clinics operated like Sky Clinic or Hwangje Hospital brought a grin to my face.
Money really was important.
Living off savings while doing nothing eventually became boring.
Part of the reason I'd fallen for ridiculous videos and scam manuals recently was because some corner of my mind knew I'd eventually have to work again.
In the martial world, mountains of gold couldn't even produce a telephone.
Here?
The possibilities were endless.
“I was honestly worried about what I'd do after leaving the hospital. Thanks to you, I feel a lot better now.”
Sanghoon said that while watching me smile to myself.
Right.
The third-generation heir of a medical empire was worried about his future.
Sure.
Honestly, Seoyoung might actually consider it.
But Sanghoon?
I couldn't imagine him really coming.
After completing university hospital training, why would he move all the way to Busan, where he had no connections?
Even if he somehow cut ties with his family, someone like him could find a position anywhere.
People kept talking about difficult job markets these days.
But tall, handsome male Korean medicine doctors?
They were basically top-tier recruits.
“You're welcome anytime. Room and board included. We'll make sure you get enough sleep.”
I spread my arms dramatically and welcomed them both.
Well, maybe just knowing they had somewhere to run to would make residency life a little easier.
As we talked, the medicinal effects of the Gyogam-dan began taking hold.
The pent-up frustration lodged in Sanghoon's chest gradually loosened.
When he finally returned to the hospital, he still looked like a man marching back into hell.
But his expression was far brighter than before.
Another successful treatment.
Feeling satisfied, I saw Sanghoon off.
Then Seoyoung and I spent the rest of the evening catching up and enjoying the night streets of Seoul.
