375-377

Chapter 375: That Makes Perfect Sense! Observation Operating Room 

After the anesthesiologist, Taylor, got kicked out, the surgery went on. 

Dr. Shepter operated for a bit before he couldn’t help glancing at Adam. “Dr. Duncan, do you actually understand anesthesia?” 

“A little,” Adam said with a grin. “Modern surgery basically grew up alongside advancements in anesthesiology. As a surgeon, I figured it’d be smart to know a thing or two, so I cracked open some anesthesia textbooks.” 

It’s simple logic—how do you do surgery without anesthesia? Not everyone’s a tough guy like Guan Yu from the old Chinese stories. Even Guan Yu only scraped a bone to heal it. Try asking him to drill into a brain and see how that goes! 

“…” Dr. Shepter looked away and got back to work, too lazy to respond. You caught the patient’s anesthesia wearing off early, and you call that ‘a little’? 

Adam didn’t say more either. He quietly played first assistant, his super-genius brain letting him multitask like a champ—being a perfect tool for Dr. Shepter while still keeping an eye on everything else. Saying he knew “a little” was just him being humble, of course. 

If he got too honest right now, he worried his brilliance might freak people out. In the U.S., being good is fine—you can show it off whenever. But being too good? You’ve got to rein it in a bit. After all, anti-intellectualism runs deep here. 

Not that the folks working in a hospital are the main crowd for that, mind you. Still, the gap between a super-genius and a smart person is way bigger than the gap between a smart person and your average American. Better to play it safe. 

Adam’s mind wandered to Juno and Karen. That little spiel earlier? Juno was the one who first said it to him. Thanks to her nudge, he’d started paying attention to anesthesiology early on. Back when they were hunting and dissecting in that woodland cabin, he’d studied and practiced it for real. Juno had been super into it—enough that Adam once thought she might want to be an anesthesiologist herself. Then he brushed the thought aside. Little Red Riding Hood studying anesthesia? Makes sense, I guess. 

Compared to surgery, anesthesia practice doesn’t differ as much between humans and animals. Dosage variations? You can adjust those based on what’s in the books. If it weren’t for not having an anesthesiologist license, Adam could totally pull it off. 

“Dr. Duncan, how’d you figure out Dr. Taylor fell asleep?” Nurse Steve broke the silence after a while, unable to hold back. Everyone turned to look. 

They were all dying to know. During the surgery, Taylor had been facing the monitors, back to the team. No one else noticed a thing, but Adam did. 

“Because Dr. Taylor held that same position for 3 minutes and 27 seconds,” Adam explained. 

“3 minutes and 27 seconds?” The team exchanged looks. 

“You kept track of that?” Dr. Shepter said, incredulous. “While assisting me, no less?” 

He’d felt Adam was totally focused as an assistant—hands-down the best intern he’d ever worked with, whether it was helping with the surgery or answering his questions. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Adam said with a modest smile. “You know I’ve got that high-def photographic memory. I caught Dr. Taylor’s stillness out of the corner of my eye, flipped back to when he started holding that pose, did the math, and there you go.” 

Everyone: “…” ‘Not a big deal,’ he says! 

“Didn’t you notice Dr. Taylor was asleep way earlier?” Dr. Shepter’s eyes glinted. “If the monitor data hadn’t started fluctuating, would you have even said anything?” 

“Of course not,” Adam shot back. “I noticed the monitor data acting up first, then realized Dr. Taylor might’ve dozed off.” 

The room’s vibe shifted—everyone’s looks turned weird. Sure, Adam denied it, but they weren’t dumb. They knew he’d never admit it outright. The bigger likelihood? Exactly what Dr. Shepter suspected. 

That realization made their feelings about Adam more complicated, though mostly positive. There’s an unspoken rule among doctors: don’t call people out. Nobody likes a busybody crossing lines—nobody wants to be the one exposed. 

Adam pointing out Taylor’s screw-up in front of everyone had prevented a surgical disaster. The proof was right there, and they couldn’t argue with it. Still, deep down, some of them grumbled a little. That’s just human nature. 

But if Dr. Shepter’s guess was right? Then Adam’s approach was flawless. He’d given Taylor plenty of face. The team picked up on that kindness and flashed him smiles. Adam smiled back. 

Truth was, he’d been watching Taylor the whole time and clocked him dozing off within ten seconds. But he didn’t say a word. If the anesthesia held steady, what did it matter if Taylor was playing word games or snoozing till the end? No way Adam was going to burn a bridge with a top-tier anesthesiologist over that. 

Second-Floor Observation Room 

George, listening in, felt his whole world crumble. Same deal—pissing someone off—yet Adam got all the praise and support, while he got the side-eye from everyone? He couldn’t forget those looks when he got booted from the OR—shock, confusion, like he was some clueless punk who didn’t know his place. 

Both interns, so why the double standard? 

Anesthesiologist Dr. Pellington swooped in soon after, taking over the rest of the job—monitoring blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation, end-tidal CO2, airway pressure, BIS values, ready to tweak things on the fly. Luckily, once Taylor was out, the drama spotlight faded. Everything went smooth. 

Dr. Shepter, the lead surgeon, declared the surgery a success and stepped out to break the good news to the patient’s parents waiting outside. Big surgeries like this came with a hefty price tag. Shepter made a point to give them the VIP treatment when he could. Most times, it’d be a resident or even an intern delivering the update. 

Over in Japan, even the hospital director might personally meet the family pre- or post-op, delivering the news themselves. There, it’s normal for families to offer a fat “thank you” gift. Here in the U.S., though, Shepter’s a contracted attending—he splits the bill with the hospital. The family’s gratitude? Baked into that sky-high surgery fee already. 

After Shepter left, the anesthesiologist got busy. Their job’s a bit like a pilot’s: pre-op visits are like inspecting the plane for takeoff, making sure everything’s good to go. Post-op recovery’s like watching the runway, ensuring a safe landing. During the surgery? Autopilot—smooth sailing unless something goes wrong, then it’s all hands on deck. 

The patient got wheeled to the recovery room to wake up. Adam, meanwhile, headed to Ward 2 to check on Bill’s condition. 

Chapter 376: The Truth Really Matters! Ward 2. 

As Adam approached the door, he heard muffled sobs coming from inside. 

He peeked through the small glass window above the door. 

Sure enough, there was Bill, his head turned into the pillow, his body trembling as he cried. 

“Man…” Adam sighed to himself. 

He stood outside for a good ten minutes, waiting until Bill’s crying finally stopped. 

Only then did Adam push the door open and step inside. 

“Dr. Duncan,” Bill said, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes and forcing a smile as a greeting. 

“You holding up okay?” Adam asked gently. “You just had surgery, so take it easy. Don’t want to risk reopening that wound.” 

“Thanks, Doc. I know,” Bill replied, managing another shaky smile. 

“Want me to get Dr. Burke over here?” Adam hesitated. “Maybe you’d like to talk things out with him?” 

“Preston’s already been by,” Bill said, squeezing out a grin. “I’m fine. Just need some time to heal—same as this wound.” 

As he spoke, he touched the spot where they’d cut him open and stitched him back up. 

“If you need anything, just have the nurse call me,” Adam said with a nod. He started to leave but paused at the door and turned back. 

“What’s up, Dr. Duncan?” Bill asked, looking at him. 

“There’s something I probably shouldn’t say…” Adam stood by the bed, mulling it over. “But I’m gonna anyway. Try to keep an open mind. Sometimes the truth really does matter.” 

As Bill’s attending doctor, Adam didn’t want him spiraling into grief and risking his recovery. If that wound reopened, no matter the reason, Adam would feel like he’d dropped the ball. Sure, he didn’t love getting tangled up in patients’ personal drama, but for the sake of nailing this case, he figured he’d make an exception and give Bill a little emotional nudge. 

“Thanks, Dr. Duncan,” Bill said, caught off guard for a second before smiling. “I get it. Preston’s my buddy and my doctor. He told me the truth because he’s looking out for me.” 

“Want to hear a real story?” Adam asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down. 

“Sure,” Bill said, happy to go along. 

Even though he was hurting inside, he didn’t take it out on anyone. Guy had some real class—that’s one big reason Adam was willing to go the extra mile here. 

“There was this young couple, barely twenty,” Adam began slowly. “Husband was white, wife was Black. Childhood sweethearts. But the husband’s dad was dead-set against them—so much so that he’d yell and hit him over it. They ran away from home young, stuck together through thick and thin, and got married early.” 

“They must’ve really loved each other,” Bill murmured. 

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “The kind of love where you’d die for each other. One day, they’re eating at a restaurant when some robbers bust in. Not only do these guys want money, but one of them sets his sights on the wife. Even with a gun to his head, watching this creep try to mess with her, the husband steps up—though she stops him.” 

“What happened next?” Bill asked. 

“Well, the guy trying to get at her suddenly starts feeling sick, coughing like crazy,” Adam went on. “The husband sees the other robber get distracted, so he knocks one out cold, tackles the creep going after his wife, and just lays into him. But then his wife collapses, clutching her throat, gasping for air.” 

“The coughing guy had something contagious?” Bill guessed. 

“That’s what everyone thought,” Adam said. “The husband loved her so much that, even though they were dirt poor and usually wouldn’t dream of calling an ambulance, he didn’t stop people from dialing one this time. It wasn’t like a broken leg or something…” 

Bill couldn’t help but chuckle. He caught the sarcasm in Adam’s tone. Growing up Black in the projects, he totally got where the young husband was coming from. 

Back in school, a kid in his class broke his leg once. A rich classmate offered to call an ambulance for him, but the kid freaked out when he heard that. After figuring out what was up, he shouted, “I’m fine! I’m fine! Don’t call an ambulance!” A single ride could cost a grand—gone in a flash. Forget poor families; even middle-class folks would think twice. Same deal with fire trucks—$700 a pop, usually two or more showing up. Sometimes you’d hear about a house on fire, fire trucks rolling in, and the owner just standing there with the firefighters, watching it burn. Why? If the house is gone, it’s gone. But putting out the fire? That bill’s too steep to pay. Might as well let it burn out. 

“When they got to the hospital, they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her at first,” Adam said, getting back to the story. “She was critical for a while. To find out what she had, the husband—who started showing the same symptoms but wasn’t as bad off—gave up his own treatment. He let his condition get worse, enduring insane pain, letting doctors biopsy his brain and test drugs on him, all to give them a shot at saving her.” 

“That’s real love…” Bill said, floored. 

“Yeah,” Adam agreed. “And it paid off. Right before she died, they figured it out: hereditary angioedema, a super rare genetic disorder. Treatable, thankfully.” 

“That’s good—wait, hold up,” Bill said, relieved at first, then frowning. “You said the husband had the same symptoms. Isn’t that a rare genetic thing? Unless…” 

“Remember how I said his dad was dead against them being together, to the point they ran away?” Adam said. “When the hospital reached out to the dad, they found out he’d killed himself.” 

“But he’s white, she’s Black?” Bill muttered. “Mixed, maybe?” 

“She was mixed—light-skinned,” Adam said flatly. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, just like him. Turns out they were half-siblings. His dad had an affair with her mom next door but never told them.” 

Bill froze. He finally got why Adam was telling him this story. 

“What happened after that?” he asked. 

“After that, the love was gone—just endless pain,” Adam sighed. “She couldn’t even look at him anymore; it made her sick. He was terrified their kid—if they had one—might be deformed. Even if they split up, that kind of pain sticks with you forever. That’s why I say the truth matters. You can’t mess around with bloodlines.” 

“I get it,” Bill murmured. “You’re right. The truth really does matter.” 

Adam studied him for a moment. Seeing the shock but no more gloom in Bill’s eyes, he felt relieved. He decided against telling another wild story he had up his sleeve. 

Chapter 377: 100% Drunk and Dropping Pants 

In the blink of an eye, it was already time to clock out. 

Locker room. 

“Hey, Adam, wanna hit the town with us tonight?” 

Bald Chris threw out the invite with a grin. 

“Yeah, man, I promise it’ll be a blast!” 

White Fatty Stu chimed in, his smirk dripping with sleaze. 

“Nah, you guys go have fun,” Adam said, shaking his head with a smile. 

“Come on, don’t be like that! Check this out—what do you think this is?” 

Stu pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket, all $1 bills. 

“You’re heading to the strip club,” Adam said, catching on instantly. 

Those small bills were perfect for tipping—strip club standard. One big note could get you a pile of ones to toss around. 

“Adam, you sound like a pro,” Stu teased, giving him a knowing look, like he’d just cracked some big secret. 

“I’ve been before. It’s not that exciting,” Adam replied casually, not bothering to play coy. 

Back in the day, he’d dragged Chandler along to distract him from Joey’s girlfriend. But for someone like Adam, who’d seen bigger things, those places were kind of a yawn. 

“Alright, fair point. With Adam’s game, does he even need to go there?” 

Bald Chris cut off whatever Stu was about to say next. 

His invite was just a formality anyway—he’d known all along Adam wouldn’t tag along. 

“Fine, whatever,” Stu muttered, shooting Adam a look that screamed you don’t know what you’re missing. He threw on a jacket over his blue scrub shirt—didn’t even bother changing—and bolted out with Chris, who was rocking the same look. 

Adam couldn’t help but wonder if it was on purpose. 

To paraphrase the golden-armored warrior Zhang Yida: If you rip off the price tag, how’s anyone supposed to know if you’re wearing designer threads or thrift store junk? 

For Bald Chris and White Fatty Stu, hitting the strip club with a stack of small bills was one thing—but what screamed “charm” louder than a peek of that blue surgeon’s shirt?  

Don’t underestimate a broke kid’s hustle. 

Who knows? Maybe some sharp-eyed stripper would spot their potential and decide to foot the bill herself. 

Then again, it probably had something to do with the fact that interns like them made peanuts, spent a ton, and were perpetually strapped for cash. 

If they had real money, they’d slap a few hundred bucks on the stage and watch the dancers flock their way. 

Adam changed out of his scrubs and headed to the hospital lobby. There, he saw Meredith—dressed in casual clothes—walking over to Dr. Shepherd, who was lounging on a sofa in his own off-duty gear. 

Shepherd stood up, adjusting Meredith’s coat with zero hesitation. The vibe was so cozy it was practically a neon sign screaming, We’re a couple!  

Okay, fine. 

The whole hospital already knew about them anyway. 

Word had spread like wildfire. Meredith had even caught hell from Dr. Bailey over it—days of grunt work, the dirtiest, most mindless tasks thrown her way as punishment. 

But she’d toughed it out. At one point, she’d even snapped at Bailey: “This is true love. It’s my choice. You don’t get a say. Bring on whatever punishment you’ve got—I can handle it.”  

Dr. Shepherd outranked Bailey, after all. 

Bailey made her point and let it drop. She wasn’t about to go full throttle on the boss’s girlfriend—unless she wanted Shepherd to turn the tables and make her life miserable too. 

So Meredith “won.” Bailey was “touched” by her true-love speech, and that was that. 

Now, this public PDA was Meredith’s silent victory lap. 

Look at us! Out in the open! 

They spotted Adam. 

Meredith flashed him a smile. 

Dr. Shepherd gave him a nod. 

Adam nodded back with a polite grin—then saw Shepherd’s face freeze. Weird.  

Next thing he knew, a tall redhead strutted in, rocking sky-high heels, heading straight for the happy couple. 

“No way,” Adam muttered to himself. “This can’t be that cliché, right?” 

“Meredith, I’m so sorry,” Dr. Shepherd said, his voice stiff as he glanced at his girlfriend with an apologetic look. 

Meredith just stood there, totally lost. 

What the hell was happening?  

“Addison, what are you doing here?” Shepherd asked, turning to the redhead now planted in front of them, one hand on her hip.  

“If you’d bothered to pick up my calls, you’d know why,” she shot back, her presence commanding the room. Then she extended a hand to Meredith—who was still clueless but already sensing something awful—and said, “Hi, I’m Addison Shepherd.”  

“Shepherd?” 

Meredith nearly lost it. 

Same last name as her boyfriend, but this woman sure didn’t look like his sister.  

“So, you’re my husband’s little side piece?” Addison added, her tone smooth and generous, shattering Meredith’s last shred of delusion.  

“I’m the other woman…” 

That thought echoed in Meredith’s head like a broken record. 

She’d risked being ostracized, taken Bailey’s punishment head-on, and boldly declared her true love with the boss’s boss, Dr. Shepherd. 

And now? She was just some naive mistress.  

Addison’s mocking stare was the final straw. Meredith turned and bolted.  

“Meredith!” 

Shepherd reached for her, but she yanked her arm away, her glare full of loathing. It stopped him cold.  

“Adam!” 

Spotting Adam—who’d had his fill of the soap opera and was about to slip away—Shepherd called out, “Keep an eye on Meredith for me.”  

Adam sighed inwardly but nodded. Off he went after her. 

Shepherd dropping the formal “Duncan” for a straight-up “Adam” wasn’t a request—it was an order. 

Adam when there’s a favor, Duncan when there’s not. 

Shepherd was nothing if not practical.  

Sure, Adam could’ve said no to this personal mess. 

But it was just one night of babysitting, making sure Meredith didn’t do anything stupid in her emotional spiral. Whether as her friend or to score points with an attending physician, Adam wasn’t about to turn it down. 

Across from the medical center. 

Joe’s Bar.  

Adam saw Meredith charge inside and exhaled in relief. 

Drowning her sorrows in booze? Classic Meredith. 

He followed her in and watched as she plopped down at the bar, slammed back a whiskey in one gulp, and flipped the glass upside down with a loud thwack. 

Joe, the bartender and owner, refilled it without a word.  

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Thwack! 

Three shots down in a row before she finally slowed down.  

Adam winced. This drinking pace was scary. 

Especially since Meredith had a legendary knack for “100% drunk and dropping pants.” 

Once she got wasted and started acting out, a guy like Adam was in serious danger. 

And even if he held firm and said no, she’d probably just turn her sights on some other dude. 

Watching someone else unwittingly gift Shepherd a green hat? 

As for that favor from Shepherd—uh, yeah, that could get complicated.  

Adam started sifting through his mental database of Dr. Shepherd intel, seriously weighing the odds of how this night might play out.