Terminal Paradise Seamstress

Time seemed to freeze solid.

My livestream exploded into chaos because of that single, blurted-out sentence.

[WTF!!!! What is she doing?? She's talking to the S-rank Boss???]

[I can't believe my eyes and ears—this woman has a death wish!]

[My brain just short-circuited. What kind of god-tier suicide move is this?]

[It's over. She's dead. She actively drew the Boss's attention. Not even the Gods could save her now.]

As expected, the Head Nurse's steps halted. Her bloodless face turned toward me inch by inch.

Beneath the shadow of her nurse's cap, two eerie green flames ignited in her eye sockets. A wave of frigid malice wrapped around me as she raised the massive, blood-stained syringe, pointing the needle directly at my eyeball.

The other players panicked, scrambling away from me, terrified of being caught in the fallout of the lunatic who'd dared to provoke the Boss.

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered, shaken so hard by terror I could barely stand. Tears streamed down my face, my voice cracking into a frightened whimper. "Your uniform… it's torn. I—I can fix it… It'll only take a moment."

I fumbled open my sewing kit, my trembling, chemotherapy-ravaged hands barely able to hold the tiny embroidery needle.

The Head Nurse didn't move, but the needle in her hand inched closer to my eye.

I took that as permission.

Lowering my head, I began to stitch.

"My mom used to tell me that when clothes get torn, you have to mend them right away… otherwise the tear just gets bigger," I murmured, my voice soft and rambling—half an explanation, half talking to myself. "She said it's like the wounds in a person's heart. If you ignore them, they'll fester and rot… until they destroy you completely. You must… hurt a lot too, don't you?"

My stitches were small and even. Soon, the tear was neatly closed. I chose a strand of pale yellow silk thread and embroidered a tiny daisy over the mended spot.

"All done," I said, looking up.

The Head Nurse slowly raised a hand. With stiff movements, she touched the little daisy on her elbow. Her unnaturally long fingers lingered there, stroking it again and again. The black mist around her seemed to thin.

"My daughter… liked… daisies," she said, her voice a dry, metallic rasp, like rusted gears grinding together. "You… are sick. You need… medicine."

She reached into her pocket, produced a small ceramic pill bottle, and held it out to me.

[Item acquired: Bottomless Medicine Bottle. Rarity: Rare. Generates three random basic meds daily (painkillers, antibiotics, bandages, etc.).]

I accepted it in a daze and whispered a faint, "Thank you."

The comment feed exploded again.

[Holy shit! HOLY SHIT! This actually works?? She did some needlework and triggered a hidden event? AND got a rare item??]

[This girl's kind of impressive… She really isn't scared of them, is she?]

[It's not that she's not scared. Check her profile—terminal. She's basically half-ghost already…]

The bald man from earlier saw the item in my hand and stalked over, his eyes burning with greed. "Lucky little brat. Hand it over and—" he threatened in a low voice.

He never finished. The Head Nurse was suddenly standing behind him, her hollow gaze locked onto his back. His legs buckled; he almost collapsed before scrambling away like a kicked dog, not daring to look back.

Only then did the Head Nurse withdraw her gaze. She pushed her cart forward and resumed her rounds. Even the squeaking wheels sounded gentler than before.

[I'm dying—first time I've ever seen a monster protecting a human! This girl is a legend!]

[Eight players left. Can that bald idiot get eliminated already? He's disgusting.]

[Nurse lady is kinda cute actually…]

[??? Checking previous commenter's mental status.]

I stared at the small ceramic bottle in my hand, a strange feeling stirring inside me for the first time. My stomach growled, a sharp reminder of a need I had been ignoring.

I navigated the system's marketplace, bought a compressed biscuit, and took a bite. The dry crumbs caught in my throat, and I choked, coughing violently. I needed warm water.

According to the sign on the wall, the next area was the Surgical Operating Room. I hesitated, then shouldered my backpack and approached the heavy iron door left slightly ajar.

The moment I pushed it open, the stench of blood—ten times thicker than in the lobby—assaulted me.

Under the harsh, ghostly white glow of the surgical lights, a towering figure stood with his back to me. He wore a lab coat soaked in dark red, his posture straight and almost elegant as he carefully worked a scalpel over something on the operating table.

I couldn't see what it was, but the scattered pieces of human tissue on the floor told me all I needed to know. On the walls hung several perfectly dissected remains, each limb, torso, and head carefully categorized and displayed on hooks.

[It's the Surgeon! The second S-rank Boss!]

[He was a prodigy, but a hand injury ruined his career. Now he's obsessed with dissecting anything 'imperfect'!]

[Run! He'll turn you into wall art!]

I wanted to run. My knees turned to water. But what terrified me more than the Surgeon was the suffocating smell of blood, so thick it felt like it was scorching my fragile lungs.

"Cough… cough… cough—!"

A wracking cough bent me double, my thin body convulsing as I fought for air.

The Surgeon's scalpel froze. With stiff, jerking movements, he turned toward me. Most of his face was hidden behind a surgical mask, leaving only a pair of bloodshot eyes visible.

[He heard her! He's coming!]

[Why isn't she running?!]

[She can't! Her legs gave out! It's over!]

The Surgeon took a step, his right hand trembling slightly around the scalpel as he moved slowly, deliberately, toward me.