Chapter 4: Makeover, Gossip, and The First Test
The organizers meant business, sending a car to pick me up early, along with a professional hair and makeup team.
The black SUV was cleaner than my apartment, and the stylists brought a suitcase of products I’d only seen in magazines. The city looked different through tinted windows—like I was in some Netflix docuseries about genius doctors.
The makeup artist kept praising my skin as she worked. Flattery, everywhere.
Finally, she hesitated, then asked:
"Dr. Turner, would you mind checking my pulse?" Her voice was hopeful.
Her eyes were hopeful, and her hands trembled just a bit. It’s wild—no matter how famous you get, everyone wants reassurance from someone who can see past the surface.
Thanks to the Miracle Doctor App, at twenty-four, my medical skills were already at their peak. No kidding.
Not only was I skilled. I was well-known, too.
At the annual medical conference, I stood out among all the gray-haired old-timers as the bright young woman. The odd one out.
Doubters kept coming. Every time, they got called out.
After 9,999 callouts, the first stage mission was complete, and my app retired. Just like that.
I sighed. Who knew what was next?
A familiar chime. Here we go.
I perked up. Ready or not.
[Hello, host. I’m the new Miracle Doctor App, Gigi.]
[Just downloaded, please take care of me.]
[Second stage mission released: "Watch the drama unfold in person 9,999 times." Current progress: 0%.]
Me: "Huh? Seriously?"
The makeup artist, looking worried: "Dr. Turner? Are you alright?"
Some people are alive, but dead inside. It happens.
Her worry? Her middle school daughter.
I placed my hand on her wrist, and as soon as I diagnosed the problem, a gossip bubble popped up in my mind. That’s when I got what Gigi could do.
It hit just right.
"Hormonal imbalance, stress, irregular periods, poor sleep, irritable, breakouts everywhere."
"She’s heartbroken."
I looked at the awkwardly innocent girl and smiled.
"The guy was trash, and he just got written off."
The makeup artist was furious:
"No way! Absolutely impossible! My daughter would never date! She’s so well-behaved!"
The girl blushed and denied it: "I’ve never been in a relationship!"
I blinked and hinted:
"Your favorite character—the one you just bought that new Funko Pop for—suddenly turned out to be trash."
The girl froze, face turning pale.
A few seconds later, she burst into tears:
"My favorite! My favorite is dead!"
"I just went to take a test, and when I came back, he was dead. Just like that."
"Fine, let him die, but why did the damn author have to make him a scumbag too…"
I watched as a gossip bubble appeared above her head. Bold and clear:
[Favorite character ruined] (Ouch.)
Besides the text, there were three pictures: one of the character’s downfall, one of an unopened enamel pin, and one of an undelivered merch order from Amazon. The trifecta.
Gigi chimed in. Progress: 0.01%. Long way to go.













