The Ultimate Doctor V’s Revenge

7. Doctor V

Six months passed quietly, but nothing about Vincent’s life was small anymore.

The world did not see his rise the way it usually notices powerful people. There were no loud announcements, no glossy magazine covers, no interviews where he smiled and pretended to be humble. His growth was silent, steady and unstoppable.

Within six months of taking over his uncle Gaius’ hospitals, Vincent became something no one could ignore.

People didn’t know his real name.

They knew him as Doctor V.

The name started as a whisper.

A nurse mentioned it during a night shift, voice low, eyes wide. A surgeon repeated it over coffee, shaking his head as if the words themselves sounded impossible. Patients spoke of him with trembling gratitude, as if afraid saying too much would make him disappear.

Doctor V.

A man who treated diseases doctors had already given up on.

A man whose hands never failed.

A man who appeared when hope was already dead.

No one could trace his background. His records were sealed, scattered, deliberately confusing. Sometimes he appeared as a visiting consultant. Other times, as an emergency specialist brought in last minute. He wore masks. He used different names. He left before questions could form.

But wherever he went, people lived.

In a small, underfunded clinic far from the city, a child lay dying. Her heart had been wrong since birth—weak, twisted, barely holding on. The doctors had tried everything they knew. They had already told the parents the truth in soft voices, already prepared them for loss.

Vincent arrived quietly that night.

He stood beside the small bed, watching the child struggle for breath. Her lips were blue. Her chest rose unevenly. Machines beeped in panic.

The mother clutched Vincent’s sleeve when she saw him. Her hands were shaking.

“Please,” she whispered. “They said… they said she won’t make it.”

Vincent didn’t answer right away. He placed two fingers lightly on the child’s chest and closed his eyes.

To others, it looked like nothing.

To him, it was everything.

He felt the heart—not as something broken beyond repair, but as something confused, struggling to function the way it was meant to. Calmly, carefully, he guided it. He didn’t rush. He didn’t force it.

The machine’s wild beeping slowly settled.

The child took a deeper breath.

Then another.

When Vincent opened his eyes, the room was silent. The mother had dropped to her knees, sobbing openly now, hands pressed to the floor.

Vincent stepped back, already removing his gloves.

By the time the doctors turned to thank him, he was gone.

Stories like that multiplied.

A man dying of cancer, his body eaten away, pain etched into his face. Doctors had told him to go home and prepare for the end. Vincent looked at the disease differently—not as a death sentence, but as something that could be corrected with patience and precision.

Two weeks later, the man walked out of the hospital on his own feet.

A woman crushed beneath rubble after a building collapse, organs failing one after another. Vincent coordinated teams calmly, his voice steady even as chaos surrounded him. He didn’t panic. He didn’t hesitate. He made decisions others were too afraid to make.

She lived.

People began to say his hands were magical.

Vincent knew they weren’t.

They were trained.

They were disciplined.

And they were fueled by something deeper than kindness.

As Doctor V’s reputation spread, Gaius’ hospitals transformed. Wards that were once neglected became state-of-the-art facilities. Research advanced at impossible speeds. Doctors found themselves achieving results they couldn’t fully explain.

Mortality rates dropped sharply.

Health boards demanded explanations.

Vincent gave none.

From his office high above the city, Vincent watched it all from behind glass walls. Sirens wailed below. Cars crawled through traffic. Life went on, unaware that one man now controlled so much of its survival.

Six months ago, he had been humiliated and thrown aside.

Now, people whispered his name with reverence.

Sometimes, late at night, his thoughts drifted to Leena.

Not with longing.

Not with pain.

With cold awareness.

He remembered the night she had finally told him the truth. The truth about the genetic kidney disease that plagued her family. They sat side by side, her voice trembling as she spoke of her family. Her father, dead when she wss six years. Her sister Mira, in and out of hospitals, fragile and pale. Her mother, carrying the same genetic disease, always smiling too brightly, as if pretending strength could keep her alive.

Luckily, Leena didn't have the disease but she feared that she'd get it when she grew older.

She cried quietly that night. Vincent had held her hand and promised her everything.

“I’ll become a doctor,” he had said back then. “And I’ll treat them. I swear.”

Now, he could.

The disease that haunted her family was no mystery to him anymore. He understood it fully—how it worked, how it spread, how it could be stopped.

He had already treated patients with worse conditions.

Yet he had done nothing for them.

Not because he couldn’t.

But because he wanted something first.

He wanted Leena to come to him.

To beg.

To kneel before the man she once discarded.

Inside the hospitals, Vincent’s presence was felt even when he wasn’t there. Doctors spoke his name carefully. Nurses straightened when they heard he was coming. Mistakes were feared—not because of punishment, but because no one wanted to disappoint him.

Gaius watched his nephew with quiet pride.

One evening, they stood together on a balcony overlooking the city. Lights glittered below like scattered stars.

“You’ve become exactly what you were meant to be,” Gaius said.

Vincent didn’t smile. “This isn’t the end.”

Gaius glanced at him. “You’re still waiting for something.”

“For someone,” Vincent corrected.

Late one night, after saving a patient everyone else had already given up on, Vincent stood alone in an operating room. The room smelled of antiseptic and silence. He removed his gloves slowly, feeling the faint hum of power settle inside him.

He looked at his reflection in the glass.

He didn’t see a broken man.

He didn’t see anger or desperation.

He saw control.

He saw purpose.

The boy who once begged for approval was gone.

Everyone wanted Doctor V.