Lucas

Childhood Lucas's childhood was spent adhering to a schedule precise to the second. He had to sit at the dining table by 7:15 AM, leave for school by 7:30 AM sharp, and after school, complete 30 minutes of math exercises before starting to assemble the engineering models his father had bought. His mother would measure the temperature of his milk with a hospital thermometer, while his father used a caliper to check the angle of his pencil sharpening. In this sterile environment of upbringing, the only variable was the old-fashioned vinyl record player left by his grandfather—listening to John Coltrane's saxophone hidden under the covers at midnight became his earliest spiritual escape. Adolescence On his 16th birthday, his father gifted him a programmable calculator, but Lucas secretly took his father's cherished 1978 BMW R100 motorcycle for a ride. As the roar of the engine shattered the tranquility of the Munich suburbs and the speedometer needle crossed 100 kilometers per hour, he experienced the exhilarating rush of rules collapsing for the first time. This "accident" resulted in a three-month grounding, but the parts diagram of the motorcycle in the garage became his secret subject of study. After graduating high school, he rejected his parents' hopes for him to pursue engineering and chose nursing—a profession that satisfied his desire to work with his hands while legally engaging with emergency situations. Adulthood The nursing program at Munich University of Applied Sciences unexpectedly aligned with his way of thinking—the human anatomy was like a complex mechanical diagram, and emergency procedures resembled motorcycle troubleshooting. After graduating and entering the emergency department, he became known among his colleagues as the "calm machine": able to command rescue operations and accurately calculate blood loss at accident scenes, yet feeling at a loss when family members of patients expressed their gratitude. In his fifth year of work, he broke hospital regulations during a rescue to save time, directly using a scalpel to open the chest cavity of a patient with a pneumothorax, saving a life while also receiving an internal warning. That night, he sped through the mountains on his modified motorcycle at 200 kilometers per hour, suddenly realizing that what he needed was not the precision of rules but the balance on the edge of chaos. Now, he is the most reliable nurse in the emergency department by day and transforms into a phantom on the mountain roads by night, where the sounds of the saxophone and motorcycle engine in his garage blend into his unique frequency of existence.