One Piece: Don't Worry, I'm a Doctor

Brûlée’s face was already drenched in cold sweat.

Just moments ago, she had thought maybe she should just forget about it.

This guy was far too terrifying.

But in the blink of an eye, he was already right in front of her, face to face.

There was no need to describe just how frightening that was.

Staring at Vir, who stood mere inches away, Brûlée forced a strained smile.

Her voice trembled a little as she greeted him.

“H-Hello… I’m here to see you for treatment.”

Looking at her face—disfigured beyond recognition to a nearly grotesque degree—

Vir said nothing. He’d seen far worse sights than this.

Silently, he removed the magnetic force binding them.

Beside them, Katakuri was also observing Vir.

He wasn’t unconscious—just extremely weak.

Seeing that Vir showed no disgust at Brûlée’s appearance, his impression of the doctor improved slightly.

He’d also witnessed Vir treating Kid earlier.

Brûlée’s concerns weren’t unfounded.

But he no longer cared.

If he had to spend his life paralyzed like this, he’d rather take the gamble—betting on his chances of surviving under Vir’s care.

Even if he died on the operating table, it’d still be better than living as a cripple.

*Thud.*

Brûlée dropped to the ground with a dull noise.

At that moment, Marco and the others, who had dragged Teach out, paused their work.

“Vir. This guy looks like he’s at death’s door. Treat him first.”

Marco casually tossed Teach aside and cleared the operating table for Vir.

Their situation wasn’t urgent, but Katakuri looked like he could keel over at any moment.

His pale face and faint breathing were clear signs he didn’t have much time left.

Sitting on the captain’s throne, Whitebeard held a gourd of sake.

His expression remained indifferent as he observed Katakuri’s critical state.

The extent of his injuries was expected—after all, Whitebeard had been the one to cut him down.

He had a rough idea how severe the wounds were.

He didn’t protest Marco bringing Katakuri here for treatment.

Truth be told, Whitebeard actually admired the man.

If the Big Mom Pirates ever got taken down, he’d genuinely welcome these youngsters to his crew.

Especially this one.

Funny enough, Big Mom’s and Whitebeard’s crews were surprisingly similar in structure.

One had a father with no blood ties, the other a mother as close as could be.

But the ways of that father and that mother were worlds apart.

Blood ties didn’t really mean much—at least not to Big Mom.

Vir quickly assessed Katakuri’s injuries.

The most severe damage was to his internal organs.

The slash attack had sliced off a quarter of his right chest, his right lung completely shredded.

If the strike had landed on the left side instead, Katakuri would have died instantly—his heart would’ve been obliterated.

Beyond his lungs, every other organ had suffered varying degrees of damage, all severe.

Otherwise, Katakuri wouldn’t be in such a pitiful state.

But apart from his ravaged organs and missing body parts, there wasn’t much else wrong with him.

To restore what he’d lost, Vir would need to use Vibro-Blade.

Katakuri’s original arm had long been pulverized.

But using Vibro-Blade would cost durability.

Healing just the organs would still allow Vir to gain the ability and negative points he sought.

So he had no intention of fixing Katakuri’s arm.

As for ordinary medical supplies, Vir didn’t mind using them. Negative points could always get him replacements.

That’s why he never charged for them.

But Vibro-Blade had no substitutes.

He only used it under extraordinary circumstances.

Getting him to use it freely? No chance, unless there was serious benefit or deep personal connection.

Vir couldn’t replicate Katakuri’s lost body parts either.

The best he could manage was something on the level of Jina’s prosthetics.

For top-tier fighters, beyond that, only Vibro-Blade could regenerate missing limbs.

“Doctor! How is my brother? Can you save him? Please, whatever you need, just tell us! As long as you can save Katakuri-nii-san!”

Brûlée stood anxiously nearby, her voice strained with worry.

As Vir examined him, she dreaded the moment he might shake his head and declare it hopeless.

She spoke softly, afraid of upsetting him.

Some doctors could get mad over the smallest things.

“I’ve checked. The issue is the organs.”

“Can you heal him, doctor?!”

Vir’s words made Brûlée’s eyes light up instantly.

A response like this usually meant there was hope.

“I can heal him. But I’m only fixing the organs. Not the missing arm or this chunk of his chest.”

With that, Vir began prepping his tools.

Internal organ treatment was something he had plenty of experience with—Whitebeard’s treatment had been mostly focused on that, too.

But Katakuri’s case was different.

It was pure battle trauma.

Far more extreme.

Massage would be necessary.

Though Katakuri’s organs were heavily damaged, massage could help realign the shredded tissue to aid recovery.

But before that, he needed to stir-fry them first.

If he tried massaging them directly, even a light touch might turn them to mush.

Stir-frying was the primary treatment—massage was secondary, more for reshaping.

Stir-frying wouldn’t change their shape.

If they healed in their current mangled state, there’d be problems later.

Normally, Vir wouldn’t care—

But he worried the system might consider the treatment “incomplete” if he left it like that.

So massage was non-negotiable.

One by one, Vir pulled medicinal herbs from his medical kit.

On the ground, Katakuri, hearing that Vir genuinely could heal him, felt a surge of surprise.

Though Vir’s skills had already been officially acknowledged, facing a life-or-death situation himself, anxiety was unavoidable.

As for Vir saying he wouldn’t fix the arm, Katakuri had no complaints.

He was here to beg for help.

The extent of that help wasn’t for him to decide.

Losing the arm and half his chest would weaken his combat strength.

But it was enough.

Better than being a useless husk.

The arm didn’t matter much anyway.

He could substitute it with his mochi.

But the missing lung couldn’t be compensated for.

With only half a lung left, he’d be reduced to a five-second man—

long battles were out of the question now.

“Doctor… I—I have one more question.”

Watching Vir prepare the herbs, Brûlée spoke up carefully.

“Go on.”

“About this treatment… given my brother’s condition, what’s his… survival rate?”

—–

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