NPC Fell onto My Bed C39

Chapter 39

The doctor asked about his leg first because he had been Gu Taeheon’s primary physician for years. Considering Taeheon had gone through a rut intense enough to lose consciousness, and had even knotted⁠—which meant an extreme physical encounter⁠—it was only natural to worry whether his leg had been strained.

“My leg… Doctor, actually, my leg feels much better.”

“…Your leg?”

A hint of confusion crossed the doctor’s eyes. Taeheon forced himself to keep a natural expression, recounting the explanation he had prepared.

“There’s no pain at all anymore. Whether I walk, run, or even when I practice judo.”

“You trained? Oh dear.”

Concern immediately colored the doctor’s face. After all, he had been the first to assess Taeheon the day of the accident, and the one who strongly advised him to quit judo.

Taeheon lifted his leg nervously as the doctor began a basic physical examination. He pressed along muscle and bone, lifted and pushed the leg to check stability. When Taeheon showed no reaction, the doctor frowned.

“Last time you were here, you reported significant pain, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I’ve been working hard on rehab. Now it doesn’t hurt.”

The doctor frowned again. Physical therapy alone rarely eradicated trauma pain like that. He jotted notes in the chart, then asked:

“Shall we take an X-ray, Taeheon?”

Taeheon swallowed hard. He had expected this. Speaking about his leg would naturally lead to imaging.

He nodded and stood. Following the nurse, he headed to radiology. He had spent months practically living there after the accident, consulting multiple hospitals.

After the scan, he returned to wait. After some time, he heard his name again—this time in a voice tinged with urgency.

“Taeheon, uh… ha, what on earth… come sit.”

The doctor stared wide-eyed at the monitor. In over thirty years of practice, he had never seen anything like this.

He rotated the monitor toward Taeheon.

“Here. See this?”

In the corner of the screen, his name—Gu Taeheon—was printed. The tibia and fibula, once shattered nearly beyond recognition, showed massive fractures in the first image.

“This was the day you came in last winter. Both tibia and fibula were destroyed.”

Click. The doctor switched images. This time, rods and screws filled the bones⁠—the familiar internal fixation Taeheon remembered well.

“And this is early this year. You remember—intramedullary nails and plates fixed with screws. Only eight months ago.”

The doctor inhaled sharply. His breath trembled.

“And this is the X-ray from just now.”

Click.

The screen changed again. The dark background remained; the change lay in the bones.

No fractures. No metal. Two pristine, clean bones gleamed white—smooth, whole, and unmarked, as though they had never been broken at all.

“…As a doctor, I find this unbelievable.”

He removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes, then put them back on. The image did not change.

Taeheon locked his gaze on the screen. His leg was perfectly healed—utterly.

“A miraculous bone union, fine. But… the metal implants disappearing? Did something happen?”

Taeheon said nothing while choosing his answer. He knew exactly where the screws and rods had gone. Iron had removed them, dismantled them, ground them down, and thrown them out as regular trash.

Breathing slowly, he asked:

“Doctor… my leg is fully healed, then?”

“…A truly miraculous case but… yes. Your leg has completely healed.”

No fracture lines. No implants. Nothing. And there was no way the doctor could interrogate how it happened—Taeheon was just an athlete; he could not have operated on himself.

The physician even phoned radiology several times, suspecting mislabeling or equipment error. The veteran radiologist, offended, snapped that barely any scans had been taken today and there was zero chance of a mix-up.

At that point, the doctor had no choice but to accept the miracle. The implants had vanished like wind, and the bones had mended like magic.

“Then, doctor.”

“Yes?”

“…Can I do judo again?”

His voice reverberated through the exam room. The doctor silently clicked through the images once more. After deep consideration, he exhaled.

“Yes.”

“…”

“You may. You are fully recovered.”

The moment the words left him, Taeheon shot to his feet. The chair scraped loudly across the floor, but the doctor didn’t mind. No one understood better how desperately Taeheon had wanted this.

He bowed briefly and strode out. After paying, he practically ran from the hospital.

In his car, breath unsteady, he forced himself to calm. Then he called An Jeonghyeok’s phone.

—Taeheon-nim?

The voice was Noah’s. Jeonghyeok must have handed him the phone. The moment Noah spoke, Taeheon had to press his chest to hold his heart together.

“…Noah.”

His voice trembled pitifully.

Eyes shut tight, he whispered,

“My leg… they said it’s healed.”

—Truly?

“Yeah, so judo…”

He paused, breathing thick and shaky. He forced his voice steady.

“They said I can do judo again.”

As the words left his mouth, tears rolled down his cheek. Breath uneven, he repeated:

“I can practice again.”

—I see.

Noah’s warm tone carried no surprise—almost as if he’d known all along. Hearing it made Taeheon want to rush to him and bury himself in his arms. Veins stood stark blue across the back of his clenched hands.

—You’ve worked hard, Taeheon-nim.

Only ragged breaths answered; he could not speak. If he opened his mouth, the words would break.

—But… the treatment isn’t finished yet.

Taeheon stilled. Eyes opening slowly, he focused on the call.

—Remember? I promised to make your leg healthier than before you ever touched judo.

Noah sounded hurried, almost breathless, and Taeheon felt his heart thud violently.

—So…

“Noah.”

—Yes?

He cut him off. Without hesitation, he spilled the lie.

“I’m not fully healed yet.”

—…What?

“I’m healed enough to do judo, but my leg isn’t completely better.”

Expression never shifting, he lied easily. The doctor’s declaration of perfect recovery was forgotten the moment Noah spoke.

—…

“So you can’t go back yet.”

—Ah…

Noah exhaled softly. He must have known it was a lie. Still, neither of them said it.

“I’m still hurt.”