The call came at exactly 7:13 a.m. Charlie glanced at the caller ID and sighed. Nancy. He picked up. “Get to Central Hospital. Mom’s condition has worsened. They need blood. Again.” Her voice was flat—no gratitude, no concern. Just an order. “Alright,” he replied quietly, already grabbing his coat. His face was still pale from the last donation, but that didn’t seem to matter to Nancy—or anyone else in her family. He stepped out of the small, crumbling apartment. The morning breeze hit him like cold steel, but it reminded him he was still alive. Not that many people cared whether he was or not.Just as he turned toward the main road, a woman stepped directly into his path. “Charlie!,” she said. Her voice was calm but filled with weight. Urgent, steady. He blinked, confused. “Do I know you?” “Not yet. But you will,” she said. “Listen carefully—you’re not who you think you are. You were once a War God. A protector of this nation. But something happened—an ambush. You lost your pow

Charlie watched the door slowly close behind Linda as Carl followed, her last words echoing in his mind like a long-forgotten melody—You’re someone they all feared once.He stared at the sealed envelope in his hand, his heart thudding—not with fear, but with something else. A strange calmness. The feeling that, for once, he held the pieces of the game.Nancy crossed her arms and let out a scoff. “Well, that was a fun little performance. You sure know how to attract clowns, Charlie. Must be a new talent.”Charlie turned his gaze to her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really think Carl found the miracle doctor?”Nancy’s smile faltered for the briefest second. “What’s that supposed to mean?”Charlie leaned back, ignoring the weakness in his limbs. “I’m saying—what if I told you Carl never found the real doctor? What if he never even got close?”Nancy laughed coldly. “Please. Carl isn’t like you. He actually gets things done.”He tilted his head slightly. “Right. Gets thi

The revolving doors sighed shut behind them and Charlie stepped into a lobby that felt more like a palace than the entrance to a company. Marble floors stretched like a frozen river, the veins in them catching light from chandeliers that hung like constellations above. A waterfall wall tumbled silently to one side; on the other, an art piece—an abstract sweep of steel and glass—refracted the morning sun into shards of gold. Staff in immaculate uniforms moved with quiet efficiency; at a glance they appeared ordinary, but at every turn they cast glances of unmistakable deference. Heads dipped, lips barely whispered, and somewhere close by someone spoke his name and followed it with a title that landed in his chest like a bell: “Chairman.”Charlie’s stomach tightened. The word felt oversized, foreign and intimate at once. He had been dragged from the gutters of a life he barely remembered into the center of a world that recognized him as its axis. People bowed. A receptionist rose from b

The next morning, Linda summoned Charlie into a part of Skydome few outsiders had ever seen—the VIP medical ward. It wasn’t like any hospital wing Charlie remembered. Crystal chandeliers gleamed overhead, and the air smelled faintly of sterilized herbs. Guards in tailored suits lined the corridor, their eyes sharp, their postures rigid.“Why are we here?” Charlie asked, uneasy as the heavy doors opened before them.Linda’s voice was quiet, measured. “Because today, Skydome needs its Miracle Doctor again.”Inside the ward, tension pressed like a storm cloud. A boy no older than ten lay on the pristine white bed, his small chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His face was pale as paper, lips tinged with blue. Around him stood a cluster of foreign specialists—renowned names in medicine, each brought in at unimaginable expense by the boy’s desperate family.But despair had overtaken them all.“We’ve done everything,” one of the specialists muttered, shaking his head. “His organs are

Word traveled faster than fire through dry grass. In dimly lit lounges, smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as rumors of the warlord doctor’s return spread like wildfire. A senator muttered Charlie’s name under his breath to a business partner, the letters tasting dangerous, almost sacred. Across town, in a smoke-filled back room, a crime boss slammed his glass down, the liquid shivering in its crystal prison. “If he lives,” the man snarled, his voice low and ragged, “so does his legend.”Fear and curiosity tangled in equal measure. Once buried, once whispered only in cautionary tales, Charlie’s name had returned to life, reviving the ghosts who had believed him lost forever. Deals faltered in hesitant hands. Contracts paused mid-signature. Old enemies glanced over their shoulders, wondering if the man they had assumed powerless now held the key to their undoing.Meanwhile, in a vast ancestral hall, heavy with the scent of incense and polished wood, Carl Kidman knelt before his fam