**Author Note here, just wanted to say thanks to anyone who made it this far already :) mad props to you, also yep i mostly wanted to put this here cause i did indeed insert the book name in as a chapter name, and wanted to geek out about it like when a movie title is used as diaglogue in a movie :) hope you all enjoy the writing bye for now!**
Harold swallowed hard, staring at the glowing words as if they might vanish if he blinked too quickly.
"Congratulations, host. You have been granted the Unlearned Medical System."
The letters lingered above the floating desk, casting faint illumination on the stone walls.
His hands twitched at his sides.
A system?
The word stirred echoes from the science fiction novels he used to borrow from the hospital library when no one was looking.
A structured interface, something designed to guide him… but this one was tied to medicine?
His heart pounded.
"Can you hear me?" he asked the air, feeling foolish.
To his surprise, the words shifted.
[Tutorial mode active. The system is responsive to verbal input.]
Harold flinched.
His pulse quickened again, but a strange relief accompanied the shock.
He wasn't alone—not entirely.
"What exactly are you?" he demanded, his voice uneven.
[I am the Unlearned Medical System. My function is to assist the host in pursuing medical growth. I do not provide direct knowledge. I provide feedback, status tracking, and skill progression based on host actions, at least until the tutorial period has ended, at that point you will be on your own host.]
Harold frowned.
"You don't… provide knowledge?"
[Correct. Knowledge must be learned by the host. The system evaluates attempts, grants experience, and tracks growth. Trial and error, practice and correction—this is the method of true mastery.]
Harold leaned back, running a hand over his face.
A bitter laugh escaped his throat.
"So you're telling me you're not a shortcut? Not some miracle program that makes me a doctor overnight?"
[Correct. The system is a tool. Not a replacement for learning.]
The words glowed steady, firm, unyielding.
Harold stared at them, torn between disappointment and an unexpected swell of hope.
For decades, his dream had been locked away by poverty, by circumstance.
Now, the system wasn't handing him that dream—but it was offering a path to earn it.
"Trial and error,"
he murmured.
"Just like the doctors I watched all those years. They practiced. They failed. They learned." He let out a shaky breath. "Alright, system. Show me what I've got to work with."
The words shifted again.
[Displaying Host Status.]
A translucent panel unfolded before him, hanging in the air like a page of light:
Host: Harold Greene
Age: 17 (Life-expectancy of current species 300 years)
System Mode: Tutorial
Core Skills:
Stitching [Level 0] 0/10
Dressing [Level 0] 0/10
Diagnosis [Level 0] 0/10
Debridement (Wound Cleaning) [Level 0] 0/10
Splinting [Level 0] 0/10
Harold's breath caught.
Five words glowed brighter than the rest: Stitching, Dressing, Diagnosis, Debridement, Splinting.
He mouthed them quietly, reverently.
"The very basics," he whispered. "The things every doctor has to know."
The panel dimmed, as though waiting for him to process.
He reached out tentatively, fingers brushing the light.
It rippled under his touch, neither solid nor entirely intangible.
"System," he asked, "what does Level 0 mean?"
[Level 0 indicates no demonstrated proficiency. Successful attempts will generate experience, progressing the skill to higher levels.]
"So," Harold said slowly, "if I try to clean a wound, even if I fail, you'll track it? And if I succeed—"
[You will gain greater experience points. Failure yields minimal growth; success yields significant growth.]
He let out a sharp breath.
His chest ached with something that was not quite fear, not quite joy.
"Then this… this is possible. I can become a doctor. Not by birth, not by money, but by work. By proving myself."
For a long time, Harold sat in silence, staring at the glowing panel.
His mind reeled with the possibilities—and the responsibilities.
If this world was as dangerous as it looked from that alien window, then wounds, injuries, sickness… they would all be here.
And he, Harold Greene, janitor of St. Mary's, might finally matter.
But a thought nagged at him.
"System. Why me? Why choose me as your… host?"
The light pulsed.
[Host suitability determined by regret profile. High desire for medical pursuit. Strong work ethic. High tolerance for hardship. Host deemed appropriate for growth trajectory.]
Harold chuckled bitterly.
"So my life of scrubbing floors and broken dreams finally makes me qualified." He shook his head. "I'll take it. Lord knows I've got nothing else."
He stood, stretching his arms, marvelling again at the smoothness of his skin, the absence of aching joints.
He wasn't the weary, bent man he'd been hours ago.
He was restored, reset, given another chance.
"Alright," he said softly. "Let's test you. How does this… work, exactly?"
[Tutorial mode allows simulated practice. No physical harm will result. Would you like to attempt your first exercise?]
Harold hesitated.
His mouth went dry.
A lifetime of dreaming had never prepared him for this moment—the moment where fantasy cracked open into reality.
"Yes," he whispered. "Show me."
The desk in front of him flickered, and a projection formed: the image of a forearm with a shallow cut, rendered in luminous detail.
The sight made his stomach clench with both unease and fascination.
[Exercise One: Wound Cleaning (Debridement). Use simulated instruments to attempt the procedure.]
The glowing panel expanded, revealing a tray of instruments—forceps, gauze, antiseptic solution.
Harold's hands shook as he reached forward. He felt resistance as his fingers closed around the forceps, though they were only light.
"I've watched this done a hundred times," he muttered. "I can do this."
He leaned in, recalling the steady hands of the doctors he had observed, the way they cleared debris and flushed wounds.
His first attempt was clumsy, his grip awkward.
The system chimed faintly.
[Inefficient. could gain Experience +.1]
Harold grimaced but pressed on.
He dabbed with gauze, too hard, then too soft.
Each correction brought another faint chime.
[Inefficient. could gain Experience +.1]
[Barely passable. could gain Experience +.3]
Minutes stretched as Harold worked, fumbling, adjusting, steadying.
Sweat beaded at his temples despite the cool air.
Finally, when he flushed the wound properly and dressed it cleanly, the chime rang differently—clearer, sharper.
[Success. could gain Experience 1.0]
Harold slumped back on the stool, his chest heaving.
A smile broke across his face—ragged, weary, triumphant.
"I did it," he whispered. "It wasn't perfect, but I did it."
The glowing wound faded, the instruments dissolving into air.
Only the system's panel remained, the words steady and unwavering.
[Tutorial mode complete. The host has demonstrated initial aptitude. Future exercises must be conducted in reality, where actual experience can be obtained.]
Harold's breath caught.
Reality.
That meant when he tried again, it wouldn't be a glowing projection—it would be real blood, real wounds, real consequences.
His smile faltered, but he didn't look away.
For the first time in his life, the path to becoming a doctor wasn't locked away.
It was right here, raw and demanding, waiting for him to take it.
He closed his eyes, whispering into the silence: "I won't waste this chance."
The system pulsed faintly in response, like a heartbeat in the dark.