THE LOSER GOD OF WAR IS MIRACLE DOCTOR

At St. Augustine Memorial Hospital in Chicago, the fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over Room 304. Inside, a man slumped in the hospital bed, pale and barely conscious, an IV line still hanging from his arm. His name was Keith Cross, once a decorated war hero—now nothing more than a walking blood bank.

"You call this a professional job?!" Melaine Richardson snapped, her voice echoing down the hall.

The young nurse flinched. "Ma’am, we’ve already drawn six hundred milliliters. Any more and he could go into shock—"

"Don’t lecture me!" Melaine's manicured finger jabbed at the nurse’s chest. "My son is the one dying in there! Do your damn job and draw more!"

Keith’s breathing grew shallow. His lips were tinged blue.

The nurse hesitated, torn between protocol and pressure. "Mrs. Richardson, if I take any more, his heart rate could—"

"You think I care about that good-for-nothing leech?" Melaine hissed. "He married into this family for a roof over his head. The least he can do is keep my son alive."

Keith heard every word, though his mind swam in a fog. His body was cold. His vision blurred.

How did it come to this? he wondered. How did I mistake poison for kindness?

It had started months ago. After losing his military status and suffering a near-fatal injury, Keith went off the grid, moving to a quieter life in Chicago’s South Side. 

If Edward Richardson, the head of the Richardson family, hadn't saved him, Keith might already be dead. 

They offered him a proposal: marry her daughter, Madison Richardson, and become part of the family. In exchange, they’d give him shelter, a new start. 

That small connection had made him believe the Richardsons were good people.

But that illusion shattered after the head of the Richardson family, Edward Richardson, soon passed away due to illness. After his death, his wife began to treat Keith harshly.

Yet, out of gratitude for the patriarch's kindness, Keith chose to do his best to support the Richardson family—even when they forced him to donate his blood to Logan.

“Don’t go too far,” Madison had said curtly on their honeymoon night, stepping away from him like he was contagious. “If you're drained tomorrow, you’ll ruin the next draw.”

From then on, he wasn’t a husband. He was a resource.

“No red meat. Keep his iron low,” Melaine barked at the cook one morning.

“He’s just a donor, not a damn athlete,” Madison chimed in coldly.

His diet was monitored. His calls were restricted. And if he wasn’t home at a scheduled hour, Melaine would call the clinic in a rage.

Back in the hospital room, the nurse gently removed the IV. “He’s crashing. I need to get the doctor—”

But Melaine was already storming out. “Just let him sleep it off,” she scoffed.

Keith’s world faded into black.

Outside the room, Melaine’s demeanor flipped in an instant as she spotted the tall man standing beside her son’s ICU door.

“Mr. West!” she greeted, voice syrupy sweet. “I can’t thank you enough for coming.”

Harry West, the sharply dressed heir to WestTech Pharmaceuticals, offered a tight smile. “Just wanted to make sure we have the best resources available for Logan.”

Melaine clasped her hands, eyes brimming with fake gratitude. “You’ve done more for my son in a day than that freeloader has in months. Passed out after only—what, eight hundred milliliters? Pathetic.”

Harry didn’t respond.

She’s unbelievable, he thought, keeping his expression neutral. He glanced through the ICU window where Logan lay motionless, his chest rising weakly under tubes and machines.

A middle-aged doctor finally approached.

“Mrs. Richardson,” he said, removing his glasses, “I’ve reviewed Logan’s charts. The transfusions aren’t a long-term solution.”

Melaine’s brows knitted. “What do you mean?”

“His condition is worsening. The infection has spread beyond the marrow. If we don’t operate soon, no amount of blood will help him.”

“Then operate!” she barked. “What are we waiting for?”

The doctor sighed. “It’s a highly complex procedure. We’d need someone with more specialized experience—ideally, someone like Dr. Hollins.”

“Dr. Hollins?” Harry blinked. “The ‘Miracle Doctor’? Isn’t he in Seattle?”

"But if it's successful?" Emilia pressed.

"If successful," the doctor replied, "Lauren would no longer require regular blood transfusions. He could lead a normal life."

Denver, who had been listening silently, stepped forward. "I'll arrange for the best surgeon in the country to perform the operation. I have connections with several medical institutions."

Emilia's eyes widened with delight. She reached out and squeezed Denver's arm. "This is why you're the perfect man for Emilia! Only someone of your caliber is worthy of my daughter."

Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though she made little effort to be discreet. "Once the doctor completes the surgery and Lauren is well, I'll make sure that useless blood bag divorces Emilia right away. She deserves someone like you, not that... that parasite."

Denver's expression remained unreadable as he simply nodded. "I'll make the arrangements immediately."

"You're a godsend, Denver," Emilia said, her smile widening. "Unlike certain people who can't even donate blood properly without passing out like the weaklings they are."