The Rules of the Surgeon of Shadows
The Underworks grew louder every week.
Whispers spread. Voices carried.
Crooks, smugglers, fugitives, and desperate souls all spoke the same name—the mysterious surgeon who could cut death away with his bare hands.
But Jack knew something dangerous:
Attention was a double-edged blade.
So before things grew out of control, he created five rules—immutable, unbreakable, absolute.
He didn't announce them gently.
He carved them into the wooden wall of the clinic, burned deep so no one could argue or forget.
The Five Rules of the Surgeon of Shadows
Rule One:
"You will not know who I am."
Jack wore a black bandana across his face and dyed his hair with a modern color-changing serum from the system.
His original brown hair turned into pitch-black strands.
To the underworld, he became simply:
"The Doctor."
No one connected him to Jack Dawkins.
Not even close.
Rule Two:
"You will not fight in my hospital or clinic."
Anyone who drew a weapon inside the Underworks was immediately banned.
Three tried.
Three left unconscious with dislocated jaws and memories they would never forget.
Word spread fast:
Fight inside, and the Doctor would break you.
Rule Three:
"I don't care who you are or what you've done. Only how you pay—money or favor."
Jack didn't judge.
He didn't ask questions.
He only asked:
"What will you give me in return?"
It made him valuable.
It made him feared.
Rule Four:
"The clinic only opens Monday to Thursday. If you miss it, too bad. In emergencies, fire a green rocket near the center marker and wait one hour."
The criminals respected this.
The green rockets, bought from a military surplus shop with system modifications, became a signal of desperation.
Jack never ignored them.
But he made the rule clear:
One rocket per night. Abuse it, and you're banned forever.
Rule Five:
"Tell the police or army about me, and I vanish. I will move the clinic to another city. You will never see me again."
Fear made this rule iron-hard.
No one dared break it.
Jack didn't bluff.
If betrayed, he would disappear without regret.
A Growing Reputation
The underworld now whispered the rules like scripture.
"Black hair, covered face—that's the Doctor."
"He fixed my brother's bullet wound in ten minutes!"
"He sees inside you… like he knows what's wrong before you speak."
"Don't fight in his clinic unless you want to lose a limb."
The criminals trusted him more than real physicians.
Not because he was kind—he wasn't.
But because he was good, frighteningly good, and because he treated everyone equally.
And because no matter how dangerous they were, the Doctor was worse.
Meeting the Old Ghost — Fagin
Late one night, the green rocket flared.
Jack found an old man waiting—white-bearded, sly-eyed, his back hunched but his smile dangerous.
Fagin.
The man who once shaped Jack Dawkins' childhood.
Now he stood before Jack Turner inhabiting that body, unaware he was dealing with a different soul.
"Well then," Fagin croaked, "are you the miracle worker they whisper about?"
Jack folded his arms.
"Depends who's asking."
Fagin's grin widened. "An old friend of the Dodger."
The clinic temperature seemed to drop.
Jack responded coldly:
"Rule Three. I don't care who you are. What's the injury?"
Fagin liked him instantly.
Lady Fox and Belle Return
Lady Fox visited next—graceful, cunning, worried about a noble ally with a fever no 1850s doctor could fix. Belle accompanied her, suspicion heavy in her eyes.
"You look familiar," Belle said.
Jack adjusted his mask. "I'm no one."
Belle frowned. "You sound—"
"Rule One," Jack interrupted.
Lady Fox shot Belle a warning glance. "We respect his privacy."
Belle turned away but didn't stop watching him.
Jack didn't mind.
Suspicious people lived longer.
A Near-Impossible Surgery
The patient came in half-dead:
A smuggler crushed under fallen cargo, ribs shattered inward, lung punctured, bleeding uncontrollably.
Other doctors wouldn't touch him.
Jack didn't hesitate.
He activated the Transparent World.
He saw:
• bone fragments slicing the lung
• collapsing airways
• torn vessels
• a slow, fatal leak
• time slipping away
He exhaled.
Not fear—focus.
He cut.
Sutures flew like lightning.
Bone fragments came out piece by piece.
He rebuilt the chest with makeshift splints.
He stitched the lung as carefully as a cracked porcelain bowl.
Three hours later, the smuggler breathed on his own.
Belle stared in awe.
Lady Fox whispered, "Impossible…"
Jack simply said,
"Next time don't drop crates on your chest."
More Sun Breathing Forms Unlocked
That night, the system rang.
[TEMPLATE PROGRESSION: 18%]
New Forms Unlocked:
• Sun Breathing — Fourth Form: Fake Rainbow
• Sun Breathing — Fifth Form: Fire Wheel
These weren't attacks—not fully.
They were movement techniques, evasive arts, body-control skills that let him disappear between blinks or strike with surgical precision.
In a world of knives, fists, and gunpowder, they made him untouchable.
Jack felt stronger.
More dangerous.
More prepared.
He would need it.
The Criminal Underworld Notices
One morning, Jack opened a letter slipped under the clinic door.
A mark—drawn in ink.
A serpent coiled around a dagger.
The symbol of the Black Serpent Syndicate, the most ruthless criminal force in Australia.
The message was short.
"Doctor.
You heal enemies.
You cost us money.
You belong to us now."
Jack stared at the paper, unreadable.
Then he burned it.
He tied his black bandana over his face, checked his tools, and inhaled slowly.
Sun Breathing filled his chest.
He did not belong to anyone.
Not in this world.
Not in any world.
The Surgeon of Shadows was ready.
And if the underworld wanted war…
He would give them surgery.