Rehabilitation Therapist for the Broken Warrior – Chapter 1

I preferred to look at the broken things.

Among them, I especially liked those that once had a brilliant and beautiful prime.

When I saw the remnants of used coal, I couldn’t help but imagine its hot and shining state.

Gazing down at the countless fallen petals on the ground, I was reminded of the time when I had to look up to see them.

When I spotted old furniture or appliances discarded as oversized trash, I felt a sense of joy, picturing newlywed couples looking at them with happy eyes as they brought them home.

Whenever the disparity between how veterans are treated on TV and the harsh reality hits, I become solemn, envisioning them as young and radiant figures braving the storm of battle with weapons in hand.

After fully imagining their glorious past, I faced the reality before me once again, feeling an unbearable sadness and nostalgia.

I found solace in that sadness and nostalgia.

The larger the gap between the shining past and the broken present, the more I felt a strange joy creeping in.

Was this yearning for a fleeting sparkle? Or perhaps a reverence for time that turns even the brightest glow into mere memories?

Given this, it was only natural that I decided to work on fixing what was broken.

I wanted to see more broken things and especially hoped to witness what had once shone bright now dulled and broken.

Eventually, I became a rehabilitation specialist.

Indeed, focusing on people rather than objects allowed me to experience a wider range of emotions. Especially in places like the rehabilitation center, where many individuals came who were so broken they could hardly move.

These were people who had been vibrant before. Even athletes often came to the rehabilitation center with serious injuries.

Moreover, those coming here put in tireless effort, following my prescriptions and instructions in hopes of moving again, just as they used to.

Despite their dedication to rehabilitation, achieving movement akin to their prime was nearly impossible!

Watching their struggles awakened new feelings in me.

This was the critical difference between broken people and broken objects.

Broken objects do not reminisce over the past.

However, broken people remember their once-bright past.

There were those all over the world who could be heard lamenting, “In my day…” recounting their greatest life achievements.

And the shining past… it never returns.

For someone who enjoyed that bittersweetness, watching those who strive for rehabilitation to return to those times filled me with immense excitement, almost making my heart flutter.

I surely made the right decision in this career.

I was born to be a rehabilitation specialist.

Yet, the reality that some things are utterly irreversible was also true for me.

One day after work, upon returning home, I unexpectedly discovered a book on the shelf emanating a brilliant light.

I picked it up, curious about what was happening, and opened it…

**

When I regained consciousness, I found myself reborn as a baby in a rural village.

I never imagined such a thing could actually happen.

Grabbing a sparkling novel, I lost consciousness and was reborn as a baby – it was a classic reincarnation trope.

It was undeniably a past life.

Fortunately, I had plenty of time to think about what to do moving forward.

The book I picked up was Volume 1 of [The Second Great War of Siloyah].

Ending with “Chronicles,” the story was a record of war.

It was a tale of a protracted war against demons triggered by the opening of a gate in a typical fantasy world.

With a classic title and fitting themes of human praise, despite its perpetually dark atmosphere filled with hardship and adversity, it had garnered considerable popularity as a published work.

Even amidst despair, its bright protagonist would provide hope merely by existing, culminating in overwhelming catharsis at the finale, along with a unique setting combining fantasy and superpowers that received high praise.

Yet, the reason I loved this story was simply that I enjoyed witnessing the gradual breakdown of various characters.

The protagonist grows through the sacrifices and dedication of those around them. I relished the side characters’ narratives as they appeared, broke, and faded away, serving as catalysts for the protagonist’s awakening.

Anyhow… what mattered now was what I had to do in this world.

The core event and background element of this story was the six-year-long all-out war against demons.

Upon checking the year, I found that the gate would open when I turned 14.

An extensive all-out war would embroil every young person and adventurer in the fight, leading to suffering and destruction.

Predicting the need for rehabilitation as a rehabilitation specialist was quite simple.

While the largest demographic requiring rehabilitation in society consisted of the elderly and patients, the individuals in dire need of rehabilitation were the soldiers who had endured war.

So what was my task…?

“War…”

This was a fantasy world rife with powerful adventurers wielding skills, magic, and abilities.

And they would all participate in the anticipated six-year war. Six years on the battlefield—hardly an easy environment for anyone to remain intact.

Moreover, I already knew how grueling this war would be for people, witnessing the anguish and struggles that adventurers would face as they broke down.

Those who fought gloriously on the battlefield would inevitably arrive at the rehabilitation center in completely ruined states.

Come to think of it, did this world even have a concept of rehabilitation? I recalled the story, but of course, such matters were not covered.

If it doesn’t exist, well, then I might as well create it. Rehabilitation… it seems I just can’t escape my inherent temperament.

I felt my heart race at the thought of the adventurers I would be treating after the war.

Would I get to hear tales of their exploits during wartime even in this fantasy world?

How hilarious would it be to actually hear them explaining the skills they used back in the day?

Perhaps the protagonists I read about in the book might also be present!

In a place consumed by memories of past glories, filled with broken individuals seeking hope, the rehabilitation center in this world awaited.

My task was to create that space, to provide them with hope that they could return to.

**

Born in a small rural village, I immersed myself in healing skills while the youth embarked on their adventures, spending time honing my abilities at the church.

Through my residency training, I had virtually mastered the general and modern rehabilitation medicine intended to restore bodily functions.

I ventured to learn healing skills, hoping they might be of some help, but healing skills mainly healed visible wounds or provided temporary boosts, standing far from the rehabilitation that restored bodily functions.

However, I judged that buff skills, which could temporarily enhance muscle strength and such, could be useful for rehabilitation, so I sought out and learned the necessary skills.

There were indeed skills that could slightly restore permanent status damage.

Though they had lengthy cooldowns, minimal recovery amounts, and since it was quite rare for adventurers to sustain permanent damage, they were considered niche skills.

Nonetheless, rehabilitation naturally involved diligently investing time to gradually recover functions. Thus, I endeavored to learn and internalize these skills as much as possible.

Even in this world, methods of status enhancement through training existed, and the physical structure wasn’t significantly different from my original world, so I believed rehabilitation through physical therapy and rehabilitation methods would work.

I spent my childhood assisting elderly individuals who had mobility issues in the village while conducting clinical trials to see whether the rehabilitation treatment methods I suggested would yield any results.

Though the data was meager, I crafted various theories and routines on how to implement modern rehabilitation medicine in this world through the elderly’s rehabilitation outcomes, linking them to skills for enhanced efficiency.

As the story unfolded, when I turned 14, war broke out.

At 17, during the third year of the most intense battles, I volunteered for the kingdom’s medical services.

Of course, the Kingdom Medical Center catered only to soldiers and adventurers likely to return to the frontlines, while those who were utterly broken and unable to lead normal lives were sent back to their hometowns.

Utilizing the guilt of the medical officer, who was a dedicated healer, for neglecting patients deemed beyond help, I persuaded him to secure a space for treating such patients.

Through continued care for the broken soldiers and adventurers, fortunately, we began witnessing rehabilitation success stories with very little trial and error.

By the time I turned 20, the Demon King was defeated by the protagonist, and the gate was sealed, marking the end of the war.

The individuals needing treatment were no longer soldiers but civilians, and as I had predicted, the demand for rehabilitation by retired soldiers returning to daily life began to surge.

And with the medical officer who had observed my treatment progress, the need for a rehabilitation medicine center was proposed to the kingdom, and I became its director.

I was now Hop Harvey, Director of the Kingdom Rehabilitation Medicine Center.

This was the new name I acquired in this world, marking the beginning of my story.