"Patient 001

Full name: Portgas D. Ace

Male, DOB 09/15/1986, 25yo, group type O-, Caucasian with brown eyes and a black curly hair. Patient's occupation is journalist, marital status single, born in London which is the same city of its last address. Mother and father not alive, just one minor brother named M. D. Luffy as family member. Height 5'3", Weight 113 lbs (last exam).

Diagnosis: Lymphocyte-depleted Hodgkin lymphoma Stage IV; Recall period: 1 month, last exam 06/13/2011. DOD 07/13/2011 hour 1:48 P.M.. Mortis causa: patient did not resist the disease and died on home.

ANAMNESIS:

The patient met me at the Middletown Hospital two years ago, as my first patient after I finished my surgery residency program. He became my regular client once I opened my own clinic, being firmly convinced that I could help him, since I was the only medic who did not give up on her case.

The lymphoma was detected when he was 16 years old. He had been dealing with the disease for nine years and went through a series of chemotherapy and radiation therapies, including surgery for stem cell transplant. His last chance was a still unapproved alternative treatment and I was the only doctor who agreed to try it.

Three weeks after he started the treatment, the lymphoma grew and finally spread to the liver. The patient did not survive. Typical for all unapproved treatments, this new treatment was illegal, but my reliable coroner shut off all real evidence. His true mortis causa was an expensive treatment, which had 98,79% failure rate. After he died, he left a testament to your fake cousin Thomas T. Hearst giving him 90% of his money."

※

London, 2017

Again, for the seventh time, the official England General Medical Council newspaper had published a special column about one of the most famous oncologist surgeon in the century. Trafalgar D. Law was an extraordinary doctor well-known to have finished medical school with only 19-years-old. Now, with 31, he has his own clinic in London's Downtown and he is considered to be a prodigy of the medical field, worldwide.

It was a regular, lonely evening in the largest city of the United Kingdom. The cold autumn had brought a light breeze; so gentle that it made people lose the will to leave their homes and decide to spend instead the night sprawled on their beds, doing nothing but enjoying the peaceful, but quite boring night.

Trafalgar was one of those people. After a long day at work, he had only one more assignment. In his apartment, the young, brilliant doctor had gone downstairs and grabbed his notepad to add one new page to it. Yet, when he was almost finished, a feeling of emptiness suddenly overwhelmed his fingers.

"… his... money."

He sighed deeply the moment his work was done. The last dot was written fast, but somewhat slowly at the same time. He wrote each final word sluggishly, almost hesitantly, and at the end just marked the final of the sentence with a such strong period that the sharp point almost pierced the paper. He was so tired of all the crap that each letter made him ask himself if it was no longer time to stop.

The cause wasn't the work, but the fact that he was just... plainly bored.

In that singular apartment has no windows, not a single one to reflect the boredom in his dark brown eyes, or the color of his skin: a not-too-fair, but also not-too-dark one. His hair was black and straight. Trafalgar did not seem to care too much about the other people's opinion of his appearance.

He didn't have the classic appearance of a doctor, but he wasn't sloppy nor messy. Yet, the thing that drew the most attention was his skin. So smooth and wrinkle-free that nobody could say he was over 25.

After Law finished with writing, he could finally leave his fake-apartment. An interesting fact about this extremely rich doctor is that he actually lived on the 4th floor, apartment 403, but, thanks to his secret, he bought another one: the apt. 303, which was the one right below his home, and was built to be a hidden spot.

This 303 apartment didn't have a door, window or any kind of furniture. It was a blank room, and the only access was from Law's room. The only object in the entire fake apartment was the notepad, hidden in a wall. Yes, he bought an apartment just to make a secret spot to hide his notepad, and he hid it inside the wall. Law was a meticulous and cautious doctor with a big secret.

– What?

"Jeez... does being nice when answering the phone hurt?"

– It's almost midnight, Kid. What do you want?

Trafalgar D. Law wasn't only a doctor hiding a huge secret, he was also a very impatient and unfriendly guy who you will rarely see smiling. Indeed, he stopped smiling exactly 15 years ago, but that is another story.

In the present night, he wasn't angry with his childhood friend for calling him in the middle of the night. He was just being himself and Eustass Kid knew that his best friend was always in a bad mood. He was totally used to it, and, in a way, he liked it.

"I called you 'cuz we need to talk. Tomorrow McLaren's at lunchtime, ok?"

– Wait, talk about what?

"We've a situation."

11:59 exactly. Trafalgar was in the window, back in his real apartment, letting the cold wind blow through his hair while smoking a cigarette. In contrast to most people, he wasn't worried about the "situation" his friend mentioned, even though the fairly serious tone of his friend's voice would have worried many people. Not Trafalgar. In fact, deep down, he was looking for something new. Good or not, just something.

So, even if the "situation" was something to worry about, at least he would have something to concern himself with; something that he could bring to home and fill his mind with. Good or bad, on his inside, he was seeking for something new.

He had his own clinic and schedule. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, he worked in the clinic attending new or existing patients; and Wednesdays and Fridays only did surgeries. Tomorrow, being a Tuesday, he worked in the clinic all day, and at lunchtime, he'll suppose to meet Eustass.

With patients Trafalgar tried not to look so brooding, but he wasn't the kindest doctor. He didn't smile without looking it was forced, but at least he was polite and his voice sounded patient. A good precise job really mattered to him. Not for fame of material things, but more to know that he was really good at at least this one thing.

He really liked being a doctor. Not because his dad and uncle had the same profession, either because he studied for it since he was eight, or even else because he used to kill his patients. He liked being a doctor because every time he grabbed a scalpel he felt something. Some feeling like power or something similar. He is the kind of person who holds a grudge, and yet when he held a blade he knows he was born to do it.

Trafalgar wasn't the kind of guy who had many friends. Indeed, he hated the word so badly that he only considered Eustass a friend and, even in Eustass case, he refrained from using it. He didn't use this word when having fun, even when he was playing scrabble. This is not because he got bullied during High School, because he never went to a school anyway.

Of course, there's a reason, but it is another story.

Despite his insomnia, he finally went to sleep after a couple of glasses of wine and some good cigarettes. He lay down on his bed, put a pillow between his legs, snorted, and then finally slept, wondering when his life would have some meaning.

Little did he know, but this boring night would be his last night of peaceful sleep.

People usually know that doctors earn a lot of money, but one thing most of them doesn't know is that big part of their profits are pretty much thanks to the life secure the patients spend on expensive, and in some cases, useless, exams. That is the reason "dead" or "sickness" worth more than "being cured". Both the pharmacy and medical industry are the two of the most evil and profitable industries, and they make a lot of victims every year.

The truth is: Trafalgar D. Law used to murder his patients instead of healing them. Either by using these useless and expensive exams, very risky and unnecessary surgeries or else fake testaments. Whenever he saw a deadly case, he took advantage of it. And he writes about every single each of them on his notepad, the one inside a fake wall, hidden in his secret fake-apartment.

He was a very meticulous, cold, calculating and logical, dirty doctor, but what he didn't know was that this boring night would be his last one.