Chapter 1: The Plot Begins
Sheldon and Leonard trudged up the apartment stairs.
One a theoretical physicist with a PhD, the other an experimental physicist—both had marched confidently to the sperm bank earlier, certain of their genetic superiority, only to chicken out the moment they saw the paperwork.
"Still upset about the sperm bank?" Sheldon broke the silence first.
Leonard remained sullen. "No."
Sheldon pressed on. "Would you like to hear an interesting fact about stairs?"
Leonard sighed. "Not really."
Sheldon continued anyway. "If a single step's height is off by as little as two millimeters, most people will trip."
Leonard snapped, "I don't care!"
A pause.
"...Two millimeters? That can't be right."
Sheldon nodded matter-of-factly. "It is. I conducted a series of experiments when I was twelve. My father broke his clavicle."
Leonard blinked. "Is that why they sent you to boarding school?"
Sheldon shook his head. "No, that was the laser incident."
When they finally reached the fourth-floor landing, Leonard pulled out his key—then noticed the door across the hall standing open. A stunning blonde woman was inside, unpacking boxes.
Leonard's eyes widened. "New neighbor?"
Sheldon barely glanced over. "Evidently."
Leonard swallowed hard. "Significant upgrade from the last tenant."
"You mean the two-hundred-pound transvestite with the dermatological condition?" Sheldon mused. "Yes, she is considerably more aesthetically pleasing."
In Sheldon's hierarchy of interests, women ranked somewhere below vintage comic books and Star Trek reruns.
"Hi!" Leonard stepped forward eagerly. "I'm Leonard, this is Sheldon—we live across the hall."
"Hey! I'm Penny—just moved in today."
Penny flashed a warm smile while quietly assessing them: total nerds, but harmless enough.
Just then, the door to the adjacent apartment opened and a man stepped out.
Tall and lean with an athletic build, he wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit with the top button casually undone. His light brown hair was swept back in an effortlessly stylish way that suggested he didn't own a comb but somehow looked better for it.
"Sheldon, Leonard?" He looked surprised. "Back from the sperm bank already?"
Leonard jumped in quickly. "Ethan! You're still here? Don't you have a patient appointment?"
"In a bit." Ethan smiled, his gaze shifting to the stunned Penny. Understanding dawned on his face. "Ah—our new neighbor. Hi, I'm Ethan Rayne."
It took Penny a few seconds to recover. She beamed, extending her hand enthusiastically. "Hi! I'm Penny. And you're...?"
"Ethan Rayne," he repeated with polite formality, shaking her hand gently.
His grip was strangely soothing—firm but not aggressive, warm but not clammy. Penny felt an odd tingling sensation where their hands met, and the dull ache in her shoulder from yesterday's furniture-moving mysteriously vanished. She dismissed it as her imagination; she had no idea the subtle healing spell had already done its work.
"You're a doctor?"
"Something like that. I run a small private practice for patients who fall through the cracks of conventional medicine."
He answered with an easy smile, then glanced—slightly awkwardly—at their still-joined hands.
"Hmm? Oh—oh!"
Penny realized she'd been holding on too long. She released his hand quickly, cheeks flushing.
Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "By 'fall through the cracks,' do you mean rare diseases, psychosomatic conditions, or unsubstantiated alternative medicine?"
Ethan's smile didn't waver. "None of those. Sometimes people's suffering goes deeper than what shows up on an MRI."
Sheldon frowned. "You're a psychiatrist?"
Leonard cut in hastily. "We should probably go—lots to do! Talk later, Penny!"
"Sure thing." Ethan nodded politely. "I'll head out. See you guys around."
He turned and jogged down the stairs with surprising energy for someone in dress shoes.
Penny watched him disappear, heart still racing. "A doctor who looks like that lives in this building?"
Leonard, noticing her starstruck expression, muttered to Sheldon, "Living next to Ethan, we're never getting girlfriends."
Sheldon shrugged. "From an evolutionary standpoint, he possesses superior mate-selection advantages."
Leonard groaned. "Please don't use the phrase 'mate-selection.'"
Penny didn't move until Ethan's footsteps faded completely.
"Wow," she breathed. "Your roommate is seriously gorgeous."
Leonard clarified reflexively, "Technically he's not our roommate. We just share some expenses."
Sheldon added precisely, "More accurately, he rents the adjacent unit. We removed the connecting wall for convenience."
Penny grinned. "So... basically a roommate."
Sheldon said solemnly, "No. I classify it as a 'cohabitation-adjacent living arrangement.'"
Leonard looked exasperated. "Sheldon, nobody needs your semantic distinctions right now."
Penny leaned against her doorframe, still replaying Ethan's face in her mind.
"He doesn't seem like a regular doctor," she mused. "More like one of those mysterious types who does hypnotherapy and alternative healing but can still write prescriptions."
Sheldon nodded gravely. "I've noticed. He claims to treat patients with 'deeper suffering'—a scientifically meaningless concept unless he's researching psychoneuroimmunology."
"Psycho-what-now?" Penny looked lost.
Leonard intervened. "Ignore him. He just means the guy's a bit unconventional."
Penny laughed. "Then why live here? This building's so old the elevator's been broken for like three years."
Sheldon responded immediately. "Economic factors are rarely the primary motivation."
Leonard looked surprised. "Since when do you understand human motivation?"
Sheldon ignored him. "Ethan stated he 'wants to be close to people,' which suggests an unusual patient-acquisition strategy. Normal physicians locate near hospitals or medical centers, not in an apartment building where the average resident has the social skills of a Dungeons & Dragons dungeon master."
Leonard protested, "Maybe he values peace and quiet."
Sheldon countered, "Then he should relocate to a library."
Penny chuckled at their bickering. "Maybe he's trying to save money? Doctors sound rich, but starting a private practice is expensive."
Leonard nodded. "He did mention the clinic's only been open a few weeks. He takes unusual cases—patients other doctors won't touch."
Penny smiled. "Then he must be really skilled."
Sheldon raised a finger. "Or his patients experienced spontaneous remission. Statistically, among ten thousand cases of spontaneous recovery, at least one will be misattributed to medical intervention."
Ethan stepped onto the street, glanced both ways, and raised his hand for a cab.
A yellow taxi pulled up moments later.
He slid into the back seat. "Hudson and Seventh, please. Rayne Clinic."
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. "There's a clinic down there?"
Ethan smiled. "Small place. Just opened recently."
The driver shrugged and pulled into traffic.
The city streamed past the windows. Ethan leaned back, absently spinning the silver ring on his finger, his thoughts drifting to the attractive new neighbor.
"So the plot's finally starting," he murmured to himself.
Twenty years since he'd been reborn into this world, and he'd picked up on countless oddities.
The family next door during his childhood? The Coopers, with their genius son Sheldon who could barely function socially but understood quantum mechanics at age nine.
His high school chemistry teacher? Walter White, who always looked one bad diagnosis away from a breakdown.
That skinny kid who got bitten by something on the science field trip? Peter Parker.
This wasn't reality—it was a crossover universe of American TV shows and Hollywood movies.
The realization had left Ethan both relieved and anxious.
Relieved because apparently student loans and a soul-crushing commute weren't in his future.
Anxious because he had no system, no cheat codes—just abilities that definitely weren't normal.
Before he'd transmigrated, he'd been raiding in World of Warcraft. In the final seconds before a wipe, his priest character was mid-cast on Prayer of Healing when the screen flashed white—then his monitor literally exploded in sparks.
His consciousness felt yanked through space and time.
When he opened his eyes again, he was Ethan Rayne, newborn in a universe that made no logical sense.
For years he thought he was ordinary—until one day he instinctively reached out to help a car accident victim. White light poured from his hands and stopped the bleeding instantly.
Flash Heal.
That's when he knew for certain:
He'd brought his priest abilities from the game into the real world.
"Flash Heal, Renew, Power Word: Shield, Dispel Magic, Fade..." he recited softly. "Even Mass Resurrection, though I've never been brave enough to try that one."
It was a strange sensation—not faith-based, not drawn from any energy source he understood. More like the magic responded to his will, resonating through the air itself.
"If Sheldon and Leonard knew I was basically a healing class character, would they still expect me to DPS?" He smiled to himself.
"Sir, we're here."
The driver's voice pulled him back to reality.
Ethan blinked, pulled out his wallet, and handed over a fifty-dollar bill.
"Keep the change."
He stepped out onto the corner.
A faded neon sign flickered above a narrow two-story brick building. A brass plaque beside the door read:
Rayne Clinic — Healing Beyond Medicine
Ethan looked up at the weathered entrance and took a deep breath.
"All right. Time to start another day in a healer's life."
He pushed open the door and walked inside.
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