The Unlicensed Doctor

Section 1: The Big Bang

Ever since that night at the massage parlor, Marvel had been completely obsessed with one thing—the moment of ejaculation.

He thought about it every single day. He wanted to relive it. To feel that surge again.

It wasn’t just a memory anymore. It had become almost a ritual. Every morning, he would close his eyes and recall that exact moment: the buildup, the explosion, the trembling that followed.

He never wanted to forget it. To Marvel, it was the purest moment of bliss.

Even in his dreams, that moment kept coming back—only there, his mind transformed it into increasingly ridiculous metaphors.

Sometimes, he dreamed of a gigantic cannon firing a massive shockwave that swept across the land and flattened an entire city.

Sometimes, it was a blazing meteor tearing through the atmosphere before crashing into Earth with such force that the entire planet shattered into dust.

And other times, it was the birth of the universe itself: a tiny glowing speck suspended in absolute darkness, suddenly erupting in a massive Big Bang as countless stars and galaxies burst into existence.

But one morning, reality interrupted the fantasy.

He woke up and noticed something strange on his knees—clusters of red rashes, painfully itchy and oozing a little clear fluid.

Marvel stared at them for a few seconds. His heart skipped a beat.

Was this an STD?

He didn’t even bother eating breakfast. He jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes, and rushed out the door, desperate to find a clinic as quickly as possible.

Section 2: Dr. Mildy

Marvel hurried through the same filthy alleyway he passed almost every day.

Nothing had changed.

Canelo was peeing on an electric pole. Tom was rummaging through the trash for recyclables. Lawson squatted by the roadside, holding his chipped ceramic bowl while casually shaking one leg. And Benson was curled up in the shadows, getting mugged by a gang of punks. One of them had shoved dog feces into his mouth, and Benson was on his knees, chewing through it and begging for mercy with tears in his eyes.

Marvel didn’t stop. He rushed straight past them, too worried about his mysterious rash to care about anything else.

Marvel kept running until he reached a shady little clinic tucked away at the back of the alley.

Inside, behind the counter, sat a short man known as the unlicensed doctor Mildy. Pale-skinned and dressed in an oversized white coat, Mildy looked up as Marvel rushed in and gave him a faint, unreadable smile.

Marvel didn’t even bother saying hello.

“I… I don’t know what’s wrong. My k-knees have these red spots. They itch, and… and they’re leaking some kind of clear fluid. I’m worried I… I caught an STD.”

Mildy glanced at him flatly. “You? Caught an STD? Come on, kid. You still smell like a virgin.”

Marvel looked nervous. “Actually… I went to a m-massage parlor about a week ago, and I…”

Mildy waved him off before he could finish. “Say no more. I get it. Men have needs.”

He stood up calmly and opened the door to a private examination room. “Come on. I’ll take a look.”

Marvel followed him inside. Mildy shut the door behind them and began examining the rash with total, almost unnerving composure.

Mildy leaned in for a closer look, gently poking at the red, irritated patches on Marvel’s knees with a gloved finger.

“Hmm,” he muttered. “Yeah… this could very well be an STD. But let’s run a blood test to make sure.”

He reached for a syringe. Marvel immediately noticed a faint smear of reddish residue on the needle.

“Uh… doctor? Are you s-sure that needle’s clean?”

Mildy gave him a casual, confident smile. “Of course. I rinse it thoroughly under tap water for a full minute after every patient. Completely safe.”

Marvel still looked unconvinced, but before he could say anything else, Mildy had already slipped the needle into his arm and drawn a full tube of blood.

“All done,” Mildy said, pulling the needle out. “You’ll get your results in about thirty minutes. Please wait out front.”

Marvel returned to the waiting area and sat down near a buzzing floor fan. The plastic chair creaked beneath him as the minutes slowly dragged by.

Section 3: A Routine Checkup

Then the clinic door opened.

A young woman walked in. She was stylish and well-groomed, with her hair tied in a neat ponytail and a white tank top fitted closely around her upper body.

“Hi, I think I caught a cold,” the young woman said as she approached the counter. “I’ve just been feeling a little off.”

Mildy nodded with brisk professionalism. “Got it. Let’s begin with a basic checkup.”

He stepped out from behind the counter and approached her. “I’ll start with a routine breast examination.”

The young woman blinked. “Wait… a breast exam? I just have a cold.”

“It’s part of a full-body screening,” Mildy replied, as though this were standard medical practice. “Sometimes symptoms show up in less obvious places.”

The young woman opened her mouth to object, but before she could say anything, Mildy casually pulled down one strap of her tank top and shifted her bra cup aside, exposing one breast right there in the waiting area.

Her breast was full and naturally rounded, with a firm, perky shape that made Marvel’s eyes lock onto it almost immediately.

Marvel froze.

The woman gasped and instinctively covered herself with one arm. “Here? In front of someone?”

Mildy remained perfectly calm. “Don’t worry. I’ve seen thousands. Totally normal.”

With the same perfectly professional expression, Mildy cupped the underside of her breast with one hand and lifted it slightly. His fingers moved slowly around the tissue, pressing here and there with the focused concentration of a doctor following a careful examination.

Marvel’s eyes widened. His mouth hung slightly open.

This is insane, he thought. This is what being a doctor is like? I should’ve gone into medicine.

Mildy continued with the same serious expression. After a few moments, he brought up his other hand and applied gentle pressure from above, carefully examining the breast from different angles.

Then, as though he needed an even closer look, Mildy slowly leaned forward, bringing his face closer and closer.

Marvel leaned forward in his chair as well, completely hypnotized.

Mildy leaned in even closer, his face drifting toward her breast. Then the tip of his tongue slowly appeared, moving toward her exposed skin.

The young woman immediately stepped back and pulled her tank top into place. “No. Nope. I don’t think this is appropriate at all. I’m leaving.”

She turned and stormed toward the door.

“Wait!” Mildy called after her. “If you leave your condition untreated, it could lead to serious complications!”

She didn’t even look back.

“You haven’t paid!” he added, louder.

The door slammed shut behind her.

For a moment, the clinic fell completely silent.

Mildy simply shrugged and strolled back behind the counter as though nothing unusual had happened.

Marvel remained frozen in his chair for another few seconds before slowly turning toward him.

“She… she just left?”

Mildy sighed. “Some patients just don’t understand what proper care looks like.”

Marvel nodded slowly, still staring at him in awe.

I really, really should’ve gone to med school.

Section 4: Three Months to Live

Not long after, Mildy emerged from the lab holding a test report in his hand. He walked over to Marvel with an unusually solemn expression.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Marvel. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your test came back positive.”

Marvel’s face immediately went pale.

“Positive? P-positive for what?”

Mildy glanced down at the report. “You’ve contracted an STD. To be precise, it’s HIV.”

Marvel began trembling. His legs suddenly felt weak beneath him.

“Doctor… do you think th-there’s any hope for me?”

Mildy answered flatly, “According to the report, you probably have less than three months to live.”

Marvel stared at him in horror.

“My advice is to enjoy whatever time you have left,” Mildy continued. “Eat whatever you want. Play, drink, sleep with whoever you want. And start saying goodbye to your friends and family.”

Marvel completely broke down. Tears immediately filled his eyes.

“B-but I only did it once! How… how could I get HIV that fast?”

Mildy slowly shook his head. “I once had a patient who got HIV from shaking hands. Sometimes it’s just that easy. Like winning the lottery—but the bad kind.”

Marvel completely collapsed. He buried his face in his hands as tears dripped onto the cold floor one by one.

“I’m… I’m such a loser,” he sobbed. “How am I s-supposed to tell my mom? How… how do I explain something this shameful?”

Mildy stared at the broken man in front of him for a moment before speaking with the same cold calm.

“Sir, I understand your pain. But I have more important matters to attend to. Take some time to process your emotions. Life… is fragile like that.”

Then he turned around and walked back toward his room—most likely to take a nap.

Marvel was left alone in the dim, chilly waiting room, crying his heart out in an old plastic chair.

Section 5: A Little Mix-Up

As Mildy walked down the hallway toward his room, one of his assistants stepped out of the lab and handed him a freshly printed report.

“Doctor,” she said. “This is Mr. Marvel’s actual test result.”

Mildy took the paper and glanced down.

He blinked.

The name on the report he had just used to diagnose Marvel was Jackie Chan.

The one he was holding now was Marvel.

For a moment, the hallway went completely silent. The cheap fluorescent light above Mildy’s head buzzed faintly.

“…Ah,” Mildy muttered. “Well. That explains it.”

His expression barely changed.

“Jackie… Marvel…” he said lightly. “The names really do look alike. Very easy to mix up.”

Back in the waiting area, Marvel shot to his feet. His tears stopped almost instantly.

“W-wait… what? So I don’t have HIV? I’m… I’m okay?”

Mildy raised a hand. “Hold on. You’re clear on that… but that doesn’t mean everything’s fine.”

Marvel’s eyes immediately began to well up again.

Mildy glanced down at the correct report. “You’ve got a heat rash.”

Marvel gasped with relief, as though he had just escaped death itself. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the waiting room and clutched his forehead.

“Mom… I’m safe… I really thought it was o-over. I didn’t even know how… how I was gonna tell you what I did…”

After taking a few heavy breaths, Marvel scrambled back to his feet and hurried over to Mildy.

“Doctor… so what do I n-need? Pills? Ointment? Some… some kind of cream?”

Mildy remained perfectly calm. “No need. I’ve developed a new treatment method. It’s fast, effective, and a little unconventional.”

He gave Marvel a faint, unreadable smile. “Just wait here. I’ll get it ready.”

Marvel nodded eagerly, still overwhelmed with relief.

Section 6: An Experimental Treatment

A few minutes later, Mildy returned to the clinic dragging a black German shepherd behind him. The dog looked excited and friendly, its tongue hanging out as though it were smiling at everyone.

Marvel stared at the dog.

“Doctor… is that your d-dog? He’s pretty cute, but… but why are you bringing him in here?”

Mildy replied matter-of-factly, “This dog is here to treat your heat rash.”

Marvel blinked.

“He’s… he’s what?”

Mildy unhooked the leash and pointed toward Marvel’s knees. “Go on. Lick his knees.”

Before Marvel could object, the German shepherd trotted over and began enthusiastically licking the irritated patches on his knees. Strangely enough, after a while, it actually began to feel soothing. The burning sensation faded, and the unbearable itch gradually disappeared.

Marvel gave a small, awkward laugh.

“Doctor… your m-method is actually kind of interesting.”

Mildy rested his fingers beneath his chin with a self-satisfied look. “This is a treatment I developed myself. It’s very effective. As long as the dog doesn’t have rabies, I’d say the risk is basically zero.”

Marvel chuckled nervously.

“Well… I assume you t-tested the dog for rabies, right?”

Mildy casually replied, “Nope.”

That night, Marvel went home feeling surprisingly good. His knees had stopped itching almost completely, and he was convinced Mildy’s bizarre treatment had actually worked.

He spent the evening happily watching porn and humming to himself, enjoying the simple pleasure of finally being free from the unbearable itch.

But the next day, Marvel ended up in the emergency room.

The doctor at the hospital examined his knees and frowned.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but your skin has developed a severe infection, and now you’ve got a high fever. Good thing you came in when you did. This could’ve been fatal. Where did you even pick up such a strange bacteria?”

Marvel sat silently on the hospital bed, staring blankly ahead.

He didn’t answer.

Section 7: Within the Expected Margin

The next evening, Marvel sat slumped on his couch. His fever still hadn’t completely gone away. Weak and drowsy, he leaned back and stared blankly at the television as the evening news played in front of him.

The first segment showed the country’s top leaders visiting poor communities and offering aid. The anchor went on about a powerful speech delivered at a large public square.

Marvel watched for a few seconds.

“Boring…”

He grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

This time, a press conference appeared on the screen—and standing behind the microphones was none other than Mildy.

A reporter raised his hand. “Regarding today’s deceased patient—sources say he died during a tooth extraction because you forgot to administer anesthesia. He went into cardiac arrest from the pain. Do you accept responsibility for this medical incident?”

Mildy remained calm and professional.

“In this city, people die from medical accidents every year,” he replied. “But those numbers still fall within the expected margin. Take last year, for example. There were over a million surgeries, and only nine patients died. Statistically speaking, that’s an extremely low probability.”

He paused for a moment, as though the numbers had completely settled the matter.

Another reporter immediately spoke up. “But according to the records, eight of those nine patients were yours.”

For a moment, the room went silent.

Mildy completely ignored the question.

Instead, he looked out across the crowd of reporters and continued calmly.

“As society continues to progress, medical technology will continue to improve. Perhaps one day, the chance of a medical accident will fall to one in a million. Perhaps, eventually, it will reach zero.”

His expression remained solemn.

“Until that day comes, we can only continue moving forward—and offer our deepest respect to those unfortunate patients who gave their lives along the way.”

When he finished speaking, Mildy gave the reporters a ceremonial bow, then calmly turned and walked toward the backstage exit.

A few men in black suits immediately stepped forward and blocked the reporters.

“Thank you all for attending today’s press conference.”

The room erupted with questions.

“Doctor Mildy! What about the eight patients?”

“Do you accept any responsibility?”

But Mildy never looked back.

By the time several reporters tried to push past the security line, he had already disappeared backstage.