I Am The Lost Medical God

The wedding hall was silent in a way that felt uncomfortable.

It was not the respectful kind of silence that comes from admiration. It was the kind filled with judgment. Mocking whispers surrounded us, barely concealed.

“That’s him?” a woman near the aisle muttered to the person beside her. “That is the man marrying into the Davenport family?”

“He looks so… plain,” someone replied under their breath.

“Plain?” another scoffed. “You are being too kind. I heard he has no background, no achievements, no family influence. In fact, I heard he was the head Janitor at Mr. Davenport company. He is practically nothing and was only allowed to marry her because she is crippled.”

A faint ripple of laughter followed.

“Mr. Davenport needed his daughter to be married in order to use her to close a very important company deal that required Sonia to be married,” one person said from beside us.

“So he married Sonia to this poor man because no other man of high status would want to marry a cripple.”

I stood at the front of the hall, dressed in a simple black suit. It was clean and pressed, tailored well enough to look decent from afar. But anyone with knowledge of luxury brands could immediately tell it was inexpensive.

It was very cheap.

I kept my expression neutral.

If I reacted, even slightly, it would satisfy them. And I had no intention of giving them that.

Beside me sat my bride, Sonia Davenport.

She looked beautiful in her white wedding gown. The fabric flowed gracefully around her shoulders and down her arms.

But nobody in the hall was admiring the gown.

Their eyes kept drifting downward to the wheelchair.

The lower half of her dress had been arranged carefully to conceal her legs, but it did not change reality.

Sonia Davenport could no longer walk.

“She used to be so lively,” a guest whispered.

“She was the pride of the Davenport family,” another added.

“If not for that accident…” someone murmured.

“Yes,” a man continued coldly, “if not for that accident, she would never have married someone as wretched as him.”

The words were deliberate.

They wanted me to hear them.

My fingers tightened slightly at my sides, but my face remained calm.

The officiator cleared his throat nervously, bringing me back to the present.

“Do the bride and groom consent to this union?” he asked, trying to sound confident.

Before Sonia could answer, her father spoke firmly from the front row.

“They consent.”

His voice carried authority.

Sonia’s fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of her wheelchair. I noticed the small tremor in her hands.

Everyone was watching her.

After a brief pause, she lifted her chin.

“Yes,” she said softly.

Her voice was steady, but there was something distant about it — like someone who had already accepted her circumstances long ago.

When it was my turn, I answered clearly.

“I consent.”

There was no excitement in my voice.

But there was no hesitation either.

Only certainty.

The ceremony ended quickly.

There was no joyful cheering.

Just a few polite claps from relatives who could not even pretend convincingly.

As we moved toward the exit, the wheels of Sonia’s chair rolled across the floor.

Her young cousin stepped forward, smiling in a way that was not kind.

“Sister Sonia,” she said loudly, “I truly hope you won’t regret this decision.”

Sonia lowered her eyes slightly.

“I won’t regret it,” she replied calmly.

Her tone was controlled, but I could sense the effort it took her to maintain it.

I stopped walking.

Slowly, I turned and looked at the cousin.

I did not speak.

But something in my gaze made her uncomfortable. The confidence in her smile faded.

She looked away first.

We continued walking.

That night, we were taken to a private villa arranged by the Davenport family. It was not their main estate, but it was quiet and well-maintained.

A maid stood at the entrance.

“Young Madam,” she said respectfully to Sonia, “this will be your room.”

She avoided looking at me directly.

After placing the luggage inside, she bowed quickly and left.

The door closed behind her.

Silence settled in the room.

Sonia wheeled herself toward the window.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then she spoke quietly, still facing away from me.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she said. “You don’t have to act like this is a real marriage.”

I remained silent, allowing her to continue.

“My father arranged this because the family needed me to sign a contract with another big company, and I was required to get married before I could sign the contract,” she said calmly. “And you… you needed somewhere to stay. I understand that.”

She paused.

“I will not expect anything from you. We can live separately. I won’t interfere with your life.”

She turned slightly to face me.

“For someone who cannot even stand on her own legs, I know I am not in a position to demand anything.”

Her words were calm and sounded sad.

But beneath them, I could hear years of pain.

I stepped closer.

“You are not a burden,” I said firmly.

She looked surprised.

“You don’t need to comfort me,” she replied softly. “I have heard polite lies before.”

“I am not lying,” I answered calmly.

She studied my face carefully, searching for pity.

She found none.

After a long silence, she nodded slowly.

“Then… thank you,” she said. “Good night.”

She carefully transferred herself from the wheelchair onto the bed. Her movements were practiced and independent.

She lay down on the far side, turning her back toward me.

When her breathing became steady, I quietly picked up my coat and stepped outside.

My phone vibrated almost immediately.

A message appeared.

[Medical God, the international medical council is still searching for you.]

I stared at the screen briefly before replying.

[I am dead to that world. Do not contact me again unless it is life or death. I told you I am keeping a low profile. Do not reveal my location.]

I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Then I looked up at the villa window.

Inside, Sonia was sleeping.

A woman who believed her life had already been reduced to limitation.

A woman who believed she had married a useless man.

My gaze softened.

“I promised to take a new identity. I promised not to be Henry Blake, the Medical God, anymore after I was almost killed by the Power Reapers. But for you, Sonia… I will do it again, because I love you,” I muttered to myself.

“I will become the Medical God once again to heal you, then I can go back to being Leonard Storm.”