Chapter 3: A step and an encounter
Karsten sat in the quiet solitude of the U.A. clinic, his thoughts drifting to a past life filled with grueling schedules and relentless expectations. He could still recall the suffocating air of the hospital corridors, the crisp scent of antiseptic and the sterile walls, and the weight of responsibility pressing upon his shoulders.
Back then, he was a student nurse in the Philippines, a country known for producing some of the world's most skilled and compassionate nurses. His training had been anything but easy. The Nursing school in which he studies nursing could be said to be one of the finest universities the country could offer, with an incredible passing rate of 100% in the board exams. Indeed it is an excellent school to an aspiring nurse, but one shouldn't underestimate the load of such a high passing rate school.
Duty Days (Monday to Wednesday, 7 AM - 7 PM, twice a month) he had spent long shifts rotating through different hospitals and clinics and their respective departments. Emergency room cases, ward management, and maternal and child care were all part of his daily routine. He had assisted in the Delivery Room (DR), playing all three critical roles:
Circulating Nurse, Ensuring sterile conditions and preparing equipment.
Assisting Nurse, Helping the obstetrician perform deliveries. They monitor the vital signs of the mother and the child to ensure the fetus is not in distress.
Actual Nurse, Taking charge of the newborn's first crucial moments.
Lecture and Return Demonstrations, Thursday to Saturday. He spent hours absorbing medical theories, studying thick textbooks on anatomy, pharmacology, and pathology. Every return demonstration was a high-stakes test, where a single mistake could mean failure.
The competition was fierce. The university prided itself on its high board exam passing rates, pushing students to their limits. A single quiz below 75% was considered a failure. Those who couldn't keep up would be transferred to another department.
As for whatever free time he has left he used to volunteer for the Red Cross. His certification allowed him to be an ambulance respondent, rushing to disasters and assisting paramedics. He had learned to remain calm under pressure, a skill that followed him even into this new world.
…
He still vaguely remember every case he handled, one of it which is the first time he helped to deliver a child.
He stood in the delivery room, the sterile scent of antiseptics wafted in his nose. The lights flickered overhead as he focused on the task at hand. His scrubs were already damp with the mixture of sweat and the excretion of the mother as she is nearing her delivery, but he had no time to care . This was his second year as a student nurse in the Philippines, a country known for its grueling but exceptional nursing programs.
"You're on actual today." the senior nurse informed him. "Think you can handle it?"
He nodded, stepping forward as the laboring mother groaned in pain. In the delivery room, he had three roles to juggle: Circulating Nurse, Assisting Nurse, and the one actually delivering the baby. He had done all three before under supervision, but the weight of responsibility never got lighter.
His mind raced through the procedures he had drilled into his head. Sterilization of the equipment, checking the vital sign of both the mother and the child, positioning the mother, and preparing for possible complications that may arise. He knew the textbooks by heart as he always read the materials to refresh his memories every single time he was on duty to a hospital: Maternal and Child Healthcare, Pharmacology, Pathophysiology. The pressure was immense, but he had long since learned to work under stress.
The baby's cry filled the room moments later, and relief washed over Karsten as he carefully wrapped the newborn in a warm blanket to ensure thermoregulation, ensuring their first moments in the world were safe.
This was why he did this.
…
Back in the present, Karsten stepped into the U.A. medical clinic, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly. He had expected to see other students volunteering, yet he stood alone.
The school nurse, Chiyo Shuzenji, better known as Recovery Girl, raised a brow at his presence.
"You're the only volunteer?" she asked, a touch of disbelief in her voice.
Karsten simply nodded.
The elderly nurse studied him for a moment before humming in thought. "Well, I'm not complaining. It's rare to find a student interested in clinic work. What made you apply?"
Karsten hesitated for a brief moment before replying, "It's my dream to work in the medical field. Becoming a hero isn't my goal, but helping others is. I also believe my skills are aligned with this line of work."
She smiled knowingly. "That's a noble reason. Alright, I'll assign you a schedule. You'll help with minor injuries, monitoring student conditions, and assisting me when the workload gets overwhelming. Also, you'll be on-call if I need an extra hand."
He accepted without hesitation. It was a small step, but it was his step.
As Recovery Girl sorted through some files, a delivery girl entered the clinic, dropping off a box filled with medical supplies. She glanced at Karsten, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"A student volunteer? You don't see that often."
Karsten offered a small nod, not particularly eager for small talk.
The delivery girl leaned against the counter. "So, why the clinic? Most students go for sports clubs or hero training."
"I prefer this," he answered simply. "I have a goal, and this aligns with it."
She hummed in response. "Interesting."
Recovery Girl, observing the exchange, suddenly asked, "Do you drink coffee or tea?"
"Tea," Karsten replied without hesitation.
When offered sugar, he declined. Instead he took a small amount of jam which he saw on the table and served himself with it, scooping a bit with a spoon before placing it in his mouth. Then, he took a sip of the warm tea, the contrast of flavors blending perfectly.
Recovery Girl raised an eyebrow. "You drink tea like a Russian?"
Karsten shrugged. "It enhances the flavor."
She chuckled. "You're full of surprises." The clinic soon descended into a comfortable quiet atmoshpere that both enjoyed.
By the end of the day, Karsten left the clinic, a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.
He wasn't in the spotlight. He wasn't chasing recognition.
But for the first time in this world, he felt like he was on the right path.
And that was enough.
---
The streets were quiet, save for the distant hum of neon signs flickering above. Karsten walked at an unhurried pace, the night air cool against his skin. His thoughts lingered on the clinic, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling in his bones, yet a sense of satisfaction remained. Today had been productive.
Then, he stopped.
His surroundings felt off.
Something's wrong…the streets are too quiet.
He looked at his watch, 6:00pm. It's still early.
And then he felt it.
A sharp presence—suffocating and heavy.
A killing intent.
Karsten's gaze shifted toward a dimly lit alleyway. A shadowed figure loomed over the crumpled form of a hero who is able to mutter a murmur, but to Karsten it's more like a shout.
The metallic gleam of a bloodied blade catching the dim light whose wielder have used it to slain multiple people.
His blood ran cold, whole body shuddered in disbelief, and eyes trembled at the gruesome sight he saw.
Why are you here?
Hero Killer: Stain.
Karsten's breath hitched. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. Not yet.
This wasn't supposed to happen until the second season.
And then it hit him.
Ah, yes. I don't have the luxury of character development.
A ragged breath filled his ears. The fallen hero gasped, struggling against impending death.
Karsten clenched his fists. Ignoring this situation meant blood on his hands. The sheer guilt alone would be enough to bury him alive.
He wasn't righteous, far from it.
He wasn't a hero.
But He isn't a monster.
Steeling himself, Karsten stepped forward, placing himself between the wounded hero and the infamous vigilante.
Stain's red eyes flickered toward him, assessing. "Move."
Karsten met his gaze, unfazed.
A flicker of annoyance crossed Stain's scarred face. "You're interfering."
"I'm a concerned citizen." Karsten said evenly. "Is it a problem for a civilian to step in when someone is in need?"
Karsten's stance remained firm.
Stain exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on the blade tightening as he clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Tch. Another fool who believes in false heroes."
Karsten didn't flinch but merely giving a bitter smile. "I don't care about titles. I care about actions. And what I see is someone trying to kill another person. That's all that matters."
The Hero Killer's gaze darkened, voice tinged with mockery and anger. "That hero behind you, he is unworthy. Corrupt. Fighting only for fame and fortune, not for justice."
Karsten glanced at the fallen hero. Bruised, bloodied, his uniform torn. He didn't recognize him, but that didn't matter. Whether the hero was truly corrupt or not wasn't Karsten's concern at this moment. What mattered was that a life was at stake.
He kneeled in front of the hero as he checked his pulse in the carotid site. Karsten frowned, his pulse getting weaker. He's bleeding, and a possible fractured ribs with how he is in pain every time he breathes. I can't diagnose properly with our current situation. I need to be fast.
"And who decides that?" Karsten countered as he stood up, his eyes that were being covered by the strands of his hair began to flicker with life. "You?"
Stain's eyes narrowed. "Only true heroes should be allowed to stand like all might. Those who act selfishly taint the meaning of heroism."
Karsten scoffed. "Quite a mindset you have. What is the right word? Ah yes, I believe it is pretentious."
Stain's posture tensed. "pretentious?"
"Yes." Karsten said firmly. "You think you have the right to judge others, to play executioner based on your ideals. But let me ask you…who gave you that authority?"
Stain remained silent for a moment before taking a step forward, his blade angled low, predatory. "And what do you stand for, then? What is it that makes you so righteous?"
"I didn't say I am."
Karsten exhaled slowly, shifting his stance. "I don't stand for anything grand. I just want to help people. That's enough reason i believe."
A moment of stillness passed between them.
Then
Stain lunged.
Karsten's eyes glowed an eerie blue, a silent activation of his quirk, preparing for the possible consequence of his stupidity.
The fight was inevitable.