Rebirth Into My Second Chance

I snatched the milk, muttered a quick "thanks," and headed back to my room.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

Staring at the milk, a flood of emotions washed over me. My previous life's milk trauma was deep-seated; even now, the thought of drinking it made me uneasy.

I tossed it into the fridge and laid down to sleep. Tomorrow was my first day reporting to the ER.

When morning came, I sprang out of bed, quickly freshened up, grabbed a slice of toast but left the milk untouched. As I opened the door, I bumped into Max on his way out. Our conversation was minimal as always.

We shared an elevator ride in silence. He headed to the basement, and I got off at the ground floor.

I thought that would be the extent of our interaction, but fate had other plans. Arriving at the hospital, I learned that Max, or Dr. Hilton as he was known professionally, was to be my mentor.

The nurse who greeted me patted my shoulder sympathetically. "In the whole of Crestview Metropolis, Dr. Hilton is the top in general and surgical medicine. But you're brave, Claire. You're his first intern ever. Usually, no one dares to intern under him. They call Dr. Hilton the Reaper because wherever he goes, even death seems to think twice. But he's known for being quite distant and expects nothing but the best, both in medicine and in life."

Her words sent a chill down my spine.

"Dr. Hilton never takes interns," she continued. "But this time, an academy member from your university called him up, asking him to take on some interns, and after looking at the list, he chose you."

He personally chose me? So he knew I was coming here today.

My interactions with Max didn't seem too harsh, and he even saved me when I fainted that one time.

The cold, distant image others painted of him didn't match up.

I knocked on his office door, and he simply said, "Come in."

When he saw me, he wasn't surprised. He just pointed to a chair and said, "Have a seat."

Then he went right back to scrutinizing some documents.

I had seen him many times before, but it was my first time watching him work. He wasn't wearing glasses-his vision is sharp.

The documents were all in French

likely academic papers, and he seemed to be crunching some data. He kept at it, focused on his own

stuff, for over an hour.

I wondered if he was this meticulous when he autopsied my body in my previous life, searching for DNA evidence with the same diligence?

His office was precisely organized, everything at a 45-degree angle, even his water glass.

As he took a sip of water, he finally addressed me, "The school sent you to intern? What skills do you have?"

Caught off guard, I managed to say, "I was top of my class in anatomy."

He seemed thoughtful for a moment before saying, "This afternoon, the

forensic team needs an autopsy performed on a female burn victim. You're coming with me."

Just like that, he was all about action.

I hadn't expected to be thrown into forensic work with Max right off the bat.

The idea of examining a burn victim made me tighten my grip, my palms sweating as memories from my past life flooded back. I nodded slowly, agreeing to go with him.

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As I reached for the door, he added, "If you're scared, you don't have to come. The ER will need help this afternoon too."

"It's okay," I somehow found the courage to say, stepping out the door and collapsing into a chair in the hospital corridor, my legs weak beneath me.