The smell hit first.
Stale whiskey. Old books. Disinfectant trying—and failing—to cover regret.
Luke paused outside Professor Youens' office, hand hovering near the doorframe. The light inside flickered like a tired pulse, and for a moment the System whispered probabilities he didn't ask for.
Liver failure risk: HIGH
Relapse trajectory: 87%
Intervention window: NARROW
Luke closed his eyes.
Twelve months.
He rolled the smooth plastic sobriety chip between his fingers in his pocket. One year without drinking. One year without letting stress decide his future. One year of choosing clarity over escape.
He knocked.
"Go away," came the slurred reply. "Office hours are… cancelled forever."
Luke pushed the door open anyway.
The Man Behind the Bottle
Professor Clyde Youens sat hunched behind his desk, jacket tossed over a chair, tie loosened, a half-empty bottle hidden poorly behind a stack of papers. His eyes were sharp even now—brilliant, cutting—but dulled by something heavier than exhaustion.
"Ah," Youens said dryly. "If it isn't my favorite prodigy. Come to watch the old man decay?"
Luke stepped inside and quietly closed the door.
"I came to talk," he said.
"Then talk faster. I've got a date with oblivion."
Luke didn't smile.
He walked to the desk, picked up the bottle, turned it over, read the label.
"You're not drinking for fun," Luke said calmly. "You're drinking to slow the tremors. To stop the pain in your side. To quiet the fear."
Youens froze.
"…You a doctor now?"
"No," Luke said. "I'm observant."
The System aligned.
Medical Talent: ACTIVE
Diagnostic Overlay: ENABLED
Luke's gaze flicked over the professor—yellowed sclera, slight abdominal distension, the way his hand unconsciously pressed against his ribs.
"Stage-three liver disease," Luke continued. "Alcoholic hepatitis tipping toward cirrhosis. You keep this up, you won't make it two years."
Silence fell heavy.
Youens laughed once—short, bitter.
"Then you'd better transfer labs," he said. "I'm not a success story."
Luke leaned against the desk.
"I didn't ask you to be."
The Conversation That Mattered
Youens stared at him for a long time.
"You know," he said finally, "every genius student I've taught thinks they're immune. Immune to addiction. Immune to failure. Immune to becoming me."
Luke met his gaze evenly.
"I know I'm not immune."
That gave Youens pause.
Luke reached into his pocket and placed the sobriety chip on the desk.
Twelve months.
No speeches.
Just proof.
The professor's eyes dropped to it.
"…You?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Luke didn't answer immediately.
Because he had seen worlds collapse.
Because he had worn a thousand regrets.
Because discipline was the only power that didn't rot.
"I didn't want my future decided by my worst day," Luke said quietly.
The bottle clinked softly as Youens nudged it away.
"You think you can save me?" he asked, voice low. "Because I've tried."
"I'm not here to save you," Luke replied. "I'm here to walk the first step with you."
Medical Intervention
Luke laid it out clinically, respectfully.
Detox plan.
Gradual tapering.
Medical supervision.
Diet changes.
Support structure.
No shaming. No moral grandstanding.
Just facts.
"You quit cold turkey, you might die," Luke said. "You keep drinking, you will die."
Youens exhaled sharply.
"God, I hate it when students are right."
Luke allowed a small smile.
"You taught me well."
The professor rubbed his face with shaking hands.
"…Stay," he said. "Just—stay until this urge passes."
Luke sat down.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Sobriety Meets Sobriety
Hours passed.
They talked.
Not about science at first—but about failure. About pressure. About being the smartest person in the room and still losing to yourself.
Youens told stories Luke recognized from the show—burned bridges, ruined marriages, nights spent choosing the bottle over help because it felt easier than hope.
Luke didn't interrupt.
When the craving hit, Luke named it.
When the shaking started, Luke grounded him.
When shame crept in, Luke cut it off at the knees.
"You're not weak," Luke said firmly. "You're sick. There's a difference."
The System hummed quietly.
Sobriety Chain: STABILIZING
Dying Mentor Archetype: REWRITTEN
Morning Light
When dawn crept through the blinds, Youens was asleep on the couch, breathing evenly.
Alive.
Luke stood by the window, sipping black coffee, sobriety chip warm in his palm.
Twelve months.
He hadn't broken.
He hadn't escaped.
He had stayed.
The System displayed a final line—not triumphant, just true.
Mission Progress: Professor Youens — Rescue Initiated
Karma Gain: SIGNIFICANT
Note: Some lives are saved not by brilliance, but by presence.
Luke looked back at the sleeping man.
"Get better," he murmured. "You've got work left to do."
Outside, the campus woke up.
And for once, no one was alone.