Chapter 1 Chapter 1

To help the pack build and sustain the blood station, I personally led blood donations twice a year without fail. This time, after donating blood, my wolf felt lightheaded and weak, so I allowed myself a short rest at home. But in less than half a day, I was bombarded with accusations from werewolf patients. "You heartless she-wolf! All you know is how to enjoy yourself at home while ignoring patients who desperately need care! You should be held responsible for the lives lost because of your absence!""No wonder you didn't stay in your rich, well-organized home pack! You came here just because no one could control you—so you could lie in bed all day, doing nothing. Don't you feel ashamed taking the salary we give you while patients suffer?" Watching those patients stirring up trouble from the infirmary all the way to my den, I could only let out a cold, bitter smile. I never expected to be shamed like this—especially when my salary here is the lowest among all the packs. Most importantly, I stayed in the infirmary day and night, tirelessly healing patients with barely any rest. Hearing their harsh accusations shattered me. All the sleepless nights, all the care, all the sacrifices—I gave them everything, and this is how it ends? My efforts, my loyalty... meant nothing to them. It felt like they tore my heart out and crushed it underfoot. "Director, I've only had one day off this entire year," I pleaded. "You know I work every single day, treating werewolf patients nonstop. Yesterday, I felt so dizzy I could barely stand... I just can't make it to the infirmary today." My wolf was weak, her breathing shallow and ragged after donating too much blood. I took one day off—just one—to recover. But within hours, nearly every werewolf patient began calling the medical center to accuse me of neglect. They slandered me, saying I did nothing but lie around in the infirmary all day like a lazy parasite. I hadn't taken a single day off the entire previous year, but the director didn't care about my explanation. He coldly told me to deal with it on my own. They would "investigate" and inform me of the outcome later. But what could I possibly do? My wolf was on the verge of collapse. If I kept pushing, she might not survive. Just as I was caught in this helpless dilemma, a mob of patients stormed into my den, shouting and raising hell. At the front of the crowd stood Jessica, an old she-wolf with fire in her eyes and venom on her tongue.. She shouted loudly, tears streaming down her face. "Look at you! You're just enjoying yourself here, aren't you?! My grandson is waiting for you in the infirmary, but you don't even care if his wolf survives! Instead, you're just lying in your den, sleeping!" I was still in a daze, trying to explain calmly, "Madam, I only took one day off. If your grandson is seriously ill, you can bring him here and I'll see him." But she didn't listen. She yanked the blankets off my body and tried to drag me out of bed. "Look at you, giving out orders from bed like you're some kind of queen! You're too good to even show up at the infirmary now?"! Now you're even asking patients to come to your den for treatment? How ridiculous! You'd better come with me right now!" But my wolf was far too weak. My body was drenched in sweat, and I couldn't even sit up, let alone stand. Seeing that I wasn't moving, the other patients couldn't hold back anymore. One of them pointed at my nose and said sarcastically: "Of course she's ignoring us—she always does! She just lies there pretending to be sick so we'll beg her. And maybe if we offer her some extra money, she'll magically get better and treat us right away!" It was obvious what they meant—they were accusing me of faking my illness for personal gain. It felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water straight into my chest. My heart went completely numb. All these years, in order to keep the blood station running for the patients' sake, I donated blood twice a year, even though my wolf had been showing signs of breaking down. I spent nearly every waking hour in the infirmary, healing them. Finally, I went back to see the healer in my own pack. She looked at me, horrified, and said: "You're pushing your body too far. Donating blood this often is collapsing your wolf's core. You need to stop right now and take a long rest—if you don't, you will die." So I took her advice, and for the first time in years—I took one day off. Just one day. And this… is how they treat me. I was too aggrieved to even cry, but I gave up arguing with them—not because I agreed, but because I didn't know what else to say, and my body simply wouldn't allow me to fight back. In a low, trembling voice—almost begging—I tried to explain: "I'm like this because I donated too much blood. There isn't enough supply, and too few people are willing to give. I... I just took one day off… I promise, I'll return to the infirmary. I'll be there, on standby." But Jessica wouldn't let it go. She kept yelling and shoved me rudely. "Tomorrow? Do you think my grandson's wolf will survive until tomorrow with a sickness like this? You're coming to my den now! If you don't cure him properly, I'll report you to the Werewolf Council myself! I'll make sure you get punished!" None of the others tried to stop her. They didn't care about my condition at all. Instead, they nearly dragged me out of bed like I was some criminal. "Fine, I'll go," I said weakly. "But can you at least give me a moment to get dressed?" My heart felt completely numb. Whatever hope I had left of being understood... was shattered. But just as I got out of bed and reached for my clothes, they didn't even let me change. They dragged me out of my den like I was their servant. When I got to the infirmary to grab my medical kit, they pulled me straight to the old she-wolf's den. I examined her grandson carefully. He had a fever—his wolf's internal temperature was already at 110°F, and his body was trembling. I gave my professional advice: "He needs an immediate transfusion. His wolf is starting to lose control due to the fever." But the moment I said that, it was as if I'd thrown a bomb into the room.

Chapter 2 Chapter 2

Jessica slapped me across the face the moment she heard my advice. Her entire body trembled with rage as she screamed at me: "Heartless! How dare you suggest a transfusion? He's just a pup! Do you want to kill his wolf on purpose?!" Who says pups can't receive transfusions? Before I could even explain, someone else chimed in sarcastically: "Wow, how miraculous—you've recovered so quickly! Just a while ago, you said your wolf was too weak to even get out of bed. And now, you're suddenly full of energy, insisting on a transfusion? Let me guess—it's all because of the money!" I had no strength left to argue—just a bitter, helpless smile curved on my lips. The pup began writhing in bed, crying out in pain. Jessica immediately panicked, her arrogance crumbling into helplessness. She finally gave in. Clenching my jaw, I pushed through the pounding pain in my head. I forced myself to focus, cleared my mind as best I could, inserted the needle into the boy's arm, and administered the herbs. I handed over the fever-reducing herbs I had brought from the infirmary, speaking as calmly as I could: "The transfusion and herbs come to 30 USD." To my surprise, this perfectly standard procedure sparked yet another argument. Jessica jumped from her grandson's bedside and stormed over to me, her face red with fury. I could sense the storm boiling inside her wolf. "30 USD? Are you robbing me?! Look at these herbs—they're not even rare or valuable! How dare you charge that much?!" I tried to explain, but I couldn't even get a word in before someone else shouted: "Of course she charges whatever she wants—she's the only healer in this whole pack! Her salary depends on us, the patients! Don't forget that! Everything here is under her control!" Hearing his words, I shook my head helplessly and let out a long sigh. The Moon Goddess knew how little money I had earned since I came here. I only ever charged the most basic fees for these poor patients—more often than not, I paid the extra costs out of my own pocket. And yet, they still believed I was charging whatever I wanted, like some greedy merchant. I tried to explain patiently, "The fees I collect are all set by the Werewolf Medical Centre. If you don't believe me, you're free to investigate.""Investigate where? In the end, aren't you the one calling all the shots?""Exactly!" came a familiar voice from the crowd. I looked up and saw Sara—nearly forty—standing there with a sarcastic smile tugging at her lips. She sneered and continued, "Last time, I probably just had a cold, but she insisted I needed an infusion and herbs. She exaggerated my illness, forced me into the infirmary, and probably made a fortune off me!" My heart dropped. I remembered clearly—just a few weeks ago, she'd stopped me on the street, saying she felt unwell. I checked her symptoms and realized it was a mild heart attack. But she refused to believe it—she was convinced it was just a cold and only needed some basic herbs. I knew if it dragged on, her wolf might not survive. So I persuaded her—again and again—until she finally agreed to come to the infirmary before it got worse. She thanked me at the time, even smiled with gratitude. But now? She thought I had done it just for money? The sting of betrayal was so sharp it almost took my breath away. My heart wasn't racing from fear, but from something far colder—utter disappointment. My lips quivered as I looked at them, the words catching in my throat like thorns. I had given them everything—my time, my strength, my blood. Yet this was all they saw in me. "I've never charged any of you more than the bare minimum," I whispered, barely able to keep my voice steady. "Not for herbs, not for treatment. My salary is only 500 dollars a month…" But even as the words left my lips, I knew they wouldn't matter. Their eyes were full of distrust, not gratitude. And in that moment, something inside me broke—quietly, without sound, like a thread snapping in the dark. But instead of calming them, my words only sparked more venom. Someone stepped forward, eyes narrowed in suspicion, and snapped sharply: "Only you know how much commission you've pocketed! Do you really expect us to believe your salary's that low? You must be hiding the truth!" He grabbed a pouch of herbs from the table and held it up like evidence in a trial. "Look at this! Just an ordinary herb, and you charged me at least 10 bucks for it. We all know it's cheap stuff. You must have made at least five dollars off it—off me!" I felt like something had lodged in my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I knew there was no point explaining anymore. They had already decided I was a liar, a thief. They would never believe the truth—that the prices weren't set by me, but by the Werewolf Medical Centre. But it didn't end there. Another voice rose with biting sarcasm: "What a cushy job you've got! Sleeping all day in your den, getting up in the afternoon like some pampered noble—still collecting your full pay!""Exactly! No wonder you didn't stay in your own pack—it's rich and powerful. But you chose to come here, to this remote dump of a pack, where no one supervises you. You came just to lie in bed and do nothing!" Their words hit harder than claws. My chest felt cold—so cold—and my voice came out hoarse and cracked as I used what little strength I had left: "I... I ended up like this because I donated blood. I wasn't lying in bed for pleasure. I wasn't—" But I didn't get to finish. Someone cut me off, voice dripping with contempt: "You've got all the excuses in the world. You claim you donated blood—but we didn't see it. And even if you did, how do we know this sick act isn't just another lie?"

Chapter 3 Chapter 3

Looking back on these past two years, I worked day and night—on call 24 hours a day, without rest. No matter how tired I was, as long as someone needed help, I dragged myself to their side. I was the only healer in this entire pack. There was no one to cover for me, no one to lean on. Everything—every wound stitched, every life saved—depended on me alone. I never asked for gratitude. I never expected recognition. But I didn't expect this either—that they wouldn't believe a single word I said. That they'd repay me with suspicion, slander, and scorn. I had to admit it: my two years of dedication here… was nothing more than a cruel joke. Then, as if to prove the gods had no mercy left for me, an old wolf, trembling and hunched over a cane, approached me. He banged his stick against the door and barked: "Ignore all that noise. What matters now is me—take my blood pressure, immediately!" Though every fiber in me screamed to walk away, I knew too well—if I didn't obey, they'd just twist it again, accuse me of neglect, disrespect, and pride. Swallowing my bitterness, I pulled out my equipment and began the check. After a while, I calmly told him the truth: "Grandpa, your blood pressure is a bit high. I recommend you take some herbs to stabilize it. At your age, leaving it untreated could be dangerous." But before I could say more, he slammed his cane to the ground with such force that my wolf flinched instinctively, her fur standing on end. "You always say my blood pressure's high! I bet you make it high on purpose. It's just a trick to suck money from me! Why would I need herbs? There's nothing wrong with me!" I stood frozen in place, claws unconsciously digging into my own arms. I leaned against the cold wall behind me, trying to keep my body from collapsing. My heart pounded—not with anger anymore, but a raw, searing ache. Then another voice—a sharp one from behind me—cut in. "She's a liar, I tell you. Every time we go to the infirmary, she tells us we're sick with this or that—always pushing infusions, herbs, and if those don't work, she'll even suggest surgery! It's obvious she's taking commission from every treatment!" I let out a deep breath—only to feel tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. My voice cracked with sobs as I stared at them, eyes filled with pain. "Each of you knows how I've treated you… I never took a single penny more than what was fair… Why are you slandering me like this? It hurts so much..." For a moment, the chaotic noise quieted. They stared at me in silence. But after just a few seconds, someone sneered: "So now you feel wronged? What—are we supposed to pity you now?" None of them reflected on their actions. Instead, they rushed forward like a pack of starved beasts—snatching all the herbs I brought with me. The old wolf even grabbed the equipment I had just used to check his blood pressure. "Don't take those! Please—those aren't mine!""Stop—don't do this!" I wiped my tears and tried to shout, mustering what little strength I had left. But my voice was too hoarse, too weak—drowned beneath their greedy noise. No one heard me. No one cared. They only snatched faster. Then Jessica snapped: "I'm not paying a damn cent for that so-called treatment!" Someone else chimed in viciously: "If her herbs are so expensive, let's just take them as compensation. No way we're letting her scam us so easily!""Let's go to the infirmary and take everything. It's free today—don't miss the chance!""Exactly! There's so many of us—how could we all be fooled by one young she-wolf?" And with that, the entire mob turned and charged toward the infirmary like a horde—ready to tear apart everything I had built with my own hands. I stumbled back to the infirmary, my limbs heavy and weak, and my wolf inside me was trembling from the unbearable fatigue. All the entrances had been forced open, and everything inside was gone— every herb from the cabinets, every piece of medical equipment, even the needles and tubing had been looted. The infirmary had been ransacked down to nothing. The shelves were ripped from the walls, the heavy displays smashed beyond repair. I stood frozen in the middle of the wreckage, my legs giving way beneath the weight of despair. Their cold accusations echoed in my ears, and in that moment, something inside me truly died. I remembered the day I graduated from Werewolf Medical School. Not a single graduate volunteered to come here. No one ever had. Everyone knew—this was the Rogue Pack. Poor. Isolated. Uneducated. The werewolves here were difficult to communicate with, mistrustful and harsh. But I came. I came because when I was a child, I dreamed of healing every wolf, no matter their background. I believed that if I gave them my sincerity, my time, my compassion… I could be the difference. I believed my efforts would be seen—would be enough. So I built the infirmary. I set up the blood station. I gave everything I had—my strength, my blood, my time. But in the end, this is what it came to. They destroyed it all. Not just the infirmary, but everything I believed in. I couldn't do this anymore. With shaking hands, I picked up the phone and called the dean of my home pack—the one who had tried to bring me back many times before. My voice was hollow, but firm. "Dean… I'm ready to return. I'll come back to our pack."