“That’s right, miss. We should probably call 911 first. The kid looks like he’s lost. I’ve been calling out, but no one’s come for him,” an old man chimed in, worried she would get into trouble if something went wrong.
Rosalind quickly unbuttoned the little boy's suit jacket and moved him to a shady spot. “Don’t worry, I have a medical license.”-
With that, she unzipped her backpack, revealing a compact, foldable medical kit. When opened, it displayed rows of silver needles and scalpels of varying lengths, all neatly arranged.
Rosalind checked the boy’s pulse again.
“Stop!” The doctor from earlier could no longer hold back. He shouted, “You can’t just stick needles in a patient like that!”
Rosalind ignored him, her focus entirely on counting the boy’s pulse and heart rate.
The doctor sneered, “I’m Logan Zade, a student at Prax Medical University under Mr. Gonzalez Sr. I’m not some ignorant bystander. You say you have a medical license? How old are you?”
Rosalind remained cold and detached, concentrating on the child as she selected a needle and sterilized it.
“I’m talking to you!” Logan had never been so blatantly ignored. “Even that old man knows to wait for the paramedics. What’s wrong with you?”
Rosalind, kneeling on one knee, exuded a sharp, cold authority. “Just wait for the paramedics? Waste critical time? Is that what your teacher taught you?”
“Who said anything about just waiting?” Logan retorted, incensed and scornful. “You’re the one wasting time right now, showing off with your needles. You’d better put away that medical quackery and let me perform CPR.”
At his words, Rosalind shot him a look so cold it could freeze water.
Who would have thought such a beautiful young woman could have such a fierce glare?
“He has heatstroke. Why would you perform CPR?” Rosalind said, her voice laced with ice as she held the boy’s hand. “You incompetent fool.”

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