Natasha

A fastidious doctor who always wears an enigmatic smile.
In the Underworld where medical resources are scarce, Natasha is one of the very few doctors whom the people can turn to.
Even the rambunctious Hook would politely greet her... "Hi, big sis Natasha."

"Quick, press down here! Press down hard to staunch the bleeding!"

Natasha shoots a panicked look at her brother. Before her lay a man covered in bandages from head to toe, his torso twitching and twisting with severe pain as he muttered nonsense.

"What are you waiting for!? Quick, hold it down!"

There is anger in her brother's order and — she is sharp enough to tell — a hint of disappointment. Natasha hurries to hold onto the man's right arm, and musters all her strength to press down the cotton gauze onto his shoulder.

The man lets out a heart-wrenching moan, but she can't stop until her brother orders her to.

After who knows how long, the patient before her stops breathing, and she stares blankly at the lifeless body.

"You did your best," her brother says. His voice returning to its usual impassive tone. "Get some rest real quick. Some of them are still waiting to be patched up."

She turns over the man's red palm. His fingers are already stiff as the stench of blood fills the air. Natasha allows the smell to rile up her emotions — she know she must get used to this if she were to continue down this road.

"Excellent... excellent as always," the professor says to herself as she flips through the notes, "With your grades and clinical performance... You'll be an outstanding candidate whether you're in the hospital or in the armed forces."

Natasha's pulse races, and her fingers subconsciously clench up. The professor notices her body language.

"What's the matter, child? Have you got something to say?"

Natasha composes herself — she wants to convey her decision with confidence and conviction.

"I want to go back to the Underworld, Professor. I know I can help more people down there."

The old woman is stunned for a brief moment, before slowly pushing her glasses upwards. Then, she lowers her head and continues on reading the file she is holding.

"I see. That's exactly what your mother said... I wish you all the best then, Natasha."

Natasha stands up and solemnly bows. As she walks through that white corridor at Belobog Medical Academy for the last time, her heart is filled with determination.

Dearest mother and father,

How have you been?

Please forgive me for replying so late. There's been lots of trouble in the Underworld, and the orphanage is overcrowded with the injured, so I haven't had time to do anything apart from treating the wounded. I even had to send some of the younger children to foster families in town, because I didn't want them to see the carnage inside the orphanage.

As for your previous question — yes, I've heard rumors about the Supreme Guardian about to order a blockade between the Over- and Underworlds. I understand your concerns, but from my point of view, there is no way I can abandon the people down here right now. During this extraordinary state of panic, I can only hope to use my modest skills to bring a modicum of comfort to the needy.

Fortunately, I know you'll respect my decision. I still remember when I was fresh out of college and Dad told me, "Anyone going into medicine to just get a decent job will come to regret their decision sooner or later." I think I understand more than ever what you meant back then.

I don't know when we'll ever be able to see each other again, but I hope you can be healthy and happy. Your daughter is a big girl now, and can take care of herself, so you don't have to worry about me.

Your daughter, with love,
Natasha

The man lying on the hospital bed is tanned and about fifty years old. His muscles are chiseled like a sculpture, but are now covered in layers of scars and bloody stains. He is breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently — he is right at death's door.

Natasha's eyes move quickly over to the patient, searching for anything fatal that could rob him of his life. She soon locates a wound on his lower left abdomen. Although it isn't large, the bleeding is constant and it's likely that his internal organs had been injured by some kind of sharp weapon.

She put on a new pair of gloves and tears a large piece of bandage off the roll. She skillfully and tightly wraps it tightly around the patient's waist, pressing down on the area that is bleeding. A dark red spreads through the surface of the bandage, but Natasha maintains her pressure without betraying the slightest hint of panic.

After a short while, the man's breathing is no longer rapid and the tense expression on his face eases. Natasha knows he is out of danger and has safely fallen asleep.

She slowly takes off her gloves and leans against the clinic's window sill in a brief repose.

"Please don't die, Oleg..."

She whispers to herself as she gazes at the bed.

"...There're still a lot of duties we need to complete."