Dr. Eric Min, a meticulous young physician, sat in his pristine office, the scent of sterilized air faint but ever-present. His reputation for diagnostic accuracy preceded him, and colleagues often commented on his almost uncanny ability to find solutions for complex cases. At just 29, Eric had already achieved more than most in his field, yet he carried a quiet, almost haunted demeanor beneath his professional exterior.

Today marked the beginning of a week that promised to test his resolve. A high-profile patient, a woman known for her ties to influential families, had arrived at the hospital with symptoms that puzzled the entire medical team. Everyone was looking to Eric for answers.

As he reviewed her charts, the fluorescent lighting above cast a faint glow on his glasses. His sharp eyes scanned the data, but his mind drifted for a moment. A recurring memory—of his younger sister—flickered in his thoughts. She had died when they were children, a rare illness that no doctor could diagnose in time. It was what drove him into medicine, but it was also what kept him awake at night.

His phone buzzed, pulling him back to the present. The patient’s condition had worsened, and they needed him in the ICU immediately. Eric slipped his pen back into his coat pocket, adjusted his glasses, and made his way down the sterile hallways.

No matter the complexity of the case, he would not allow history to repeat itself. For Eric, every diagnosis was personal.