dical Center.
Cafeteria.
Adam's bluntness made the two "plastic sisters" suddenly aware of each other's fakeness.
For a mont, the atmosphere beca awkwardly silent.
Everyone lowered their heads and focused on their als.
Adam twitched the corner of his mouth, sighing inwardly—perhaps he shouldn't have been so straightforward.
So truths are better left unsaid among friends.
Pfft!
Just then, George, the flamboyant chubby guy, plopped onto a chair, the loud sound he made cutting through the awkward silence.
"George, what's wrong?"
Liz, known for her ruthless nature, was the first to express concern.
"Tony is dead."
George's eyes were red as he spoke, his voice hollow with despair. "Dr. Burke asked
to inform Gloria of the news, but she wouldn't even listen to my comfort. She just told
to leave. That look in her eyes..."
As he spoke, the sensitive and emotional George choked up.
"Let this be a lesson."
Adam sighed. "This is what happens when you form emotional attachnts to patients and give them unrealistic hope."
In less than two days, George had already started referring to the patient and his wife by their first nas, treating them like close friends. He had even reassured them personally, making promises he shouldn't have made. That was a clear boundary he had crossed.
If every doctor treated patients like personal friends, the profession of dicine would cease to exist.
After all, human beings cannot endure an endless cycle of death and grief.
And yet, in a hospital, birth, illness, and death unfold every single day.
Those who are too emotional simply won't last.
With that in mind, Adam cast a sympathetic glance at George.
Less than two days into the hospital, he had already offended an attending physician and now faced this emotional turmoil. Unless he had extraordinary luck, Adam seriously doubted George would make it in the long run.
"The patient's family just told you to leave—they didn't say they'd sue you, right?"
Christina asked.
Everyone turned to look at her, and George's expression was particularly aggrieved.
"What?"
Christina tilted her head. "In situations like this, if the patient's family is unreasonable, don't you think they might sue you? After all, it was your promise that convinced them to go through with the surgery."
"George is already in this state. You're too cold-hearted."
Liz, radiating her saintly aura, scolded Christina.
"Christina's point isn't wrong," Adam countered. "Instead of dwelling on sorrow, George should be focusing on the reality of the situation. Otherwise, he'll only be dealing with more sorrow later."
"George?"
redith also looked at him with concern.
"They probably wouldn't... right?"
George, now properly spooked by the idea, found his anxiety over potential legal trouble overtaking his grief.
After all, Tony's unexpected death had only been a two-day event, while his dical career had taken him eight long years to build.
"Pray."
Adam shook his head. "It all depends on fate."
For now, the patient's family had rely asked George to leave, showing no intention of pursuing legal action. But that could change.
People's thoughts shift all the ti. Once they go ho and discuss it with others, who knows if they'll decide to take legal action?
Good intentions can still lead to disaster. Among rookie doctors who haven't yet beco hardened veterans, this is a common pitfall.
That's precisely why, on their first day, the hospital had a bald-headed legal advisor repeatedly emphasize common legal precautions.
Unfortunately, young doctors tend to be headstrong. They hear the warnings but let them go in one ear and out the other—until they hit a wall.
And sotis, hitting that wall can end a career.
The mood among the group soured. George's predicant resonated with them all.
Doctors are ant to save lives, yet along the way, they must navigate countless traps—not just fighting death itself, but also the demons lurking within human nature.
While they might not make the sa rookie mistake as George, none of them could guarantee they wouldn't encounter their own struggles down the line.
Adam felt the sa way.
The only silver lining was that he was a billionaire, and his wealth was growing rapidly. In a country where money rules, his ability to protect himself far surpassed that of his colleagues.
After finishing their tasteless late-night al, the group left the cafeteria and braced themselves for the final stretch of their first 48-hour shift.
Nurses' Station.
"He's still breathing rapidly. Have you checked the arterial blood gas analysis or chest X-ray?"
Surgical Chief Richard, during his rounds, noticed that a patient under Alex's care hadn't shown any improvent. He called for Alex.
"Yes, I have."
Even though Alex was panicking inside, he forced a smug, confident smirk.
"And what's your conclusion?"
The Chief pressed on.
"I was in charge of so many patients last night..."
Alex's smile faltered.
Truthfully, he had no conclusion.
"List the common causes of postoperative fever."
The Chief's face darkened. "No looking at your notes—use your brain. This is sothing you should have morized."
Having spent his entire career in the hospital, the Chief imdiately saw through Alex's flashy exterior, recognizing the emptiness underneath. Seeing Alex attempt to make excuses, he decided to show no rcy.
"Can anyone else answer?"
The interns instinctively reached for their notebooks.
"Pneumonia, urinary tract infection..."
Adam and Christina spoke in unison.
They exchanged glances, and Adam smiled, gesturing for Christina to continue.
He had already outshone everyone enough during the first shift—it was only fair to give his colleagues a chance to shine.
Besides, Christina was, at the very least, a sort of friend.
And more importantly, this wasn't surgery.
"Pneumonia, urinary tract infection, wound infection, thrombosis, dication effects—the five Ws!"
Christina had barely finished speaking when redith's distinctive voice rang out:
"The most likely cause is pulmonary embolism or inflammation. In cases where tests aren't available, it's usually considered inflammation by default."
Alex's face turned grim.
He hadn't known the answer.
And yet, everyone else did.
Under countless watching eyes, his usual cocky grin finally collapsed.
Adam exchanged a knowing glance with an older nurse whom Alex had previously scolded, and they both smiled.
In a hospital, competence is everything.
Either you know your stuff, or you don't.
One test could expose the truth—there was nowhere to hide.
Whether Alex could use connections to keep his job despite his incompetence was another matter altogether…
"What do you think is the cause in Bed 4-B?"
The Chief, wanting to showcase his friend's daughter, pressed redith for an answer.
"The fourth W—thrombosis!"
redith didn't disappoint, proving her solid foundation. "It's most likely a pulmonary embolism."
"And how do you confirm it?"
The Chief's eyes glimred with approval.
redith hesitated, organizing her thoughts—but before she could speak, Christina's voice cut in:
"Spiral CT, lung ventilation scan, oxygen consumption, liver phospholipid levels, and inferior vena cava filter results."
"Tsk, tsk."
Adam clicked his tongue in amusent, glancing between the two won.
The plastic-fake competitiveness between them was overwhelming.
The Chief twitched at the corners of his mouth, briefly looking at Christina's impassive face before turning back to Alex, who was looking increasingly miserable.
"Run the tests she ntioned," the Chief ordered. "And inform your supervising resident that you're off this case. That's my decision!"
With that, he walked up to redith, patted her on the shoulder, and said, "I see your mother in you. Welco to the competition arena."
As the Chief walked away—
"Welco to the competition arena," Christina said coolly before leaving.
Adam grinned at redith's conflicted expression.
"Welco to the competition arena."
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