The villas in this district were all very large, with open, spacious layouts, yet compared to Captain's residence, they were still a step below. About five minutes later, the car stopped in front of another villa. An elderly woman leaning on a cane was already waiting at the gate. The moment she saw the car, her eyes lit up like someone who had just grabbed a lifeline while drowning. She immediately hurried over, supporting herself with her cane.
"Mrs. Moana Moore, you're here!"
Mrs. Moana Moore quickly got out of the car and held the elderly woman by the arm, her tone half reproachful, half worried. "Didn't I tell you to wait inside? Why are you standing out here? The wind is so strong today."
The elderly woman, Jessica William, waved her hand, her voice full of anxiety."I was too restless. I just wanted to see Doctor Bailey as soon as possible. You said Doctor Bailey's medical skills are excellent, she'll definitely be able to cure my granddaughter, right?"
"Look how worried you are." Mrs. Moore patted the back of her hand gently to reassure her. "If Rosy can treat her, she definitely will. Don't worry so much. Let's go inside first and show me how your granddaughter is doing."
"Alright, alright." The elderly woman nodded repeatedly. But when she turned around, her gaze suddenly stopped on Captain standing beside me. The pairing made her pause a tall man with a cold, commanding presence, and a young woman with fair skin almost glowing, eyes clear as water.
She tugged on Mrs. Moore's hand and lowered her voice. "Mrs. Moana Moore, is this young lady Doctor Bailey?"
Mrs. Moore nodded, her expression turning serious. "That's right. Don't doubt her just because she's young."
The elderly woman snorted softly and waved her hand. "I'm not some old-fashioned person. Just looking at her bearing, I can tell this girl is extraordinary. And the man beside her… isn't that Captain?"
"You even know that?" Mrs. Moore was genuinely surprised.
The elderly woman looked smug. "Don't think I'm old, I've used Facebook too."
Mrs. Moore froze for a moment, then could only concede inwardly indeed, she shouldn't be underestimated.
As they talked, everyone entered the living room. The Franco family worked in the food industry and had no direct ties with Captain, but everyone had heard of his reputation. Just his presence today was enough to make the entire Franco family so tense they barely dared breathe.
Captain sat down on the sofa, crossed his legs, and silently rotated the glass cup in his hand. He said nothing, yet that very silence caused the atmosphere in the living room to cool rapidly.
Seeing this, I spoke up to break the heavy air. "Um… where is the patient?"
The Franco couple immediately looked at me as if I were their savior.
"Emma is upstairs. I'll go call her down."
Mrs. William quickly turned and went upstairs, her steps hurried, as if fleeing the suffocating atmosphere in the living room. Time passed little by little. About twenty minutes later, the water in Captain's glass had completely cooled. He still hadn't moved an inch, but the aura around him grew colder, pressing down on the room like a thin layer of ice.
Finally, footsteps sounded from the staircase.
Emma was helped down by Mrs. William. The girl was thinner than I'd imagined, her shoulders slightly hunched, her back bent in an instinctive defensive posture. She wore an oversized long-sleeved shirt, the collar pulled up almost to her chin, as if she wanted to hide herself as much as possible. Her long hair hung loose but messy, covering nearly half her face.
When the living room light fell more clearly on her, I finally saw her face. Her skin had once been fair, she could even be called pretty but it was now densely covered with inflamed red acne. The acne clustered on both cheeks and her chin; some lesions had ruptured, leaving swollen, shiny, moist areas that looked painful and frightening. Her face seemed coated in a layer of rough damage, in stark contrast to her large eyes, long lashes, and soft features that should have been beautiful.
Emma kept her head lowered, hands clenched tightly around the hem of her clothes, not daring to look at anyone. When she accidentally met Captain's gaze, she visibly startled, her whole body trembling slightly, like a small animal caught in a beam of light in the dead of night.
In that instant, I understood, what was injured wasn't only Emma's skin. What truly hurt more was how badly her confidence and youth had been worn down.
The moment she entered the living room, the girl felt the heavy pressure of the place. Just brushing against Captain's gloomy gaze nearly made her legs go weak. Seeing his wife bring their daughter down, Mr. William let out a sigh of relief and asked reflexively, "Why did it take so long?"
Mrs. William sighed and pulled Emma closer. "She's seen who knows how many doctors over the past few years, but nothing's helped. The acne on her face just keeps getting worse. She's ashamed and doesn't dare meet anyone."
Captain let out a faint, cold laugh, low like the growl of a beast. Emma was so frightened that she clutched her grandmother's clothes and lowered her head even further. Her face was full of inflamed red acne, some lesions still oozing, making her entire face look heavy and painful. She was only twenty-two at the most beautiful age, yet because of this face, she avoided people's gazes, avoided the world itself.
"Emma?" I called softly.
She froze, as if my voice had pulled her back. "Lift your head a little. I'm a doctor. Let me take a look."
I tried to keep my tone as gentle as possible. Emma raised her head to look at me for a second, then immediately lowered it again. In that moment, I realized, it wasn't the illness that was frightening, but the inferiority that had imprisoned her for far too long.
I didn't rush to say anything else. For patients like Emma, who had been disappointed too many times, empty reassurance only bred more doubt. I pulled a chair closer, washed and disinfected my hands, put on medical gloves, then took out a small silver handheld device from my kit a multispectral dermatological analyzer.
This device combined multi-wavelength biological light, micro-thermal sensors, and subdermal reflectance analysis. It didn't just "see" the surface like the naked eye; it revealed the level of active inflammation in the dermis, the state of the sebaceous glands, skin bacterial density, and endocrine imbalance signals reflected through heat distribution and pigmentation.
Emma trembled slightly when the probe touched her cheek. That reaction wasn't from pain, but from fear, fear of once again hearing familiar phrases like "it's severe," "hard to treat," "you'll need to persist for years." She didn't dare move away, because Captain's gaze was quietly fixed on her, enough to hold the entire room in absolute silence.
I moved the probe slowly along her jawline, cheekbones, and forehead. Data gradually appeared on the small screen: deep clusters of inflammation, abnormally high localized temperature but what caught my attention most was something else. Her sebaceous gland activity wasn't excessive at all, unlike typical hormonal acne. On the contrary, Emma's skin barrier was in a state of severe damage.
I understood immediately.
Emma hadn't failed to receive proper treatment. She had been treated too much and that was precisely what had made things worse.
In my mind, everything quickly connected: prolonged antibiotic use, harsh keratolytic topical medications, repeated chemical peels, possibly even high-dose retinoids without close monitoring. Used correctly and at the right time, these methods could be effective. But for Emma, they had completely destroyed the skin's natural lipid barrier, making her skin hypersensitive, chronically inflamed, and throwing the normal skin microbiome out of balance. Each time she was "treated," her skin was attacked again before it could recover so the acne didn't improve, only became more inflamed, more widespread, and more painful.
I let out a quiet breath, not because the condition was mild, but because I had finally found the real reason.
"It's okay," I said, keeping my voice slow and gentle. "Your main problem isn't simple acne. It's mild endocrine imbalance combined with chronic dermatitis caused by long-term overtreatment."
Emma snapped her head up, eyes reddened with tension. "R-really? Then… can it still be treated?"
"Yes," I answered immediately, without hesitation. "And it's not as difficult as you think. We just need to do what your skin actually needs."
I explained it to her without complicated terminology, but clearly enough. Skin is like a small ecosystem. When the protective barrier is destroyed, the skin fights back with inflammation, acne, and pain. The harder you force it to become "clean" quickly, the more violently it resists.
"I won't attack your skin anymore," I smiled. "I'll help it recover first."
My treatment plan was very clear: mild endocrine regulation, restoration of the skin barrier, control of inflammation using cold biological light therapy and targeted, non-irritating topical medications. No systemic antibiotics. No peels. No forcing the skin to "look good immediately."
"As long as you cooperate well," I said, "you'll see a clear improvement in about two weeks."
Emma stared at me in shock. I recognized that look, the look of someone hearing a firm, reassuring statement for the first time, without evasion, without intimidation.
I began a trial treatment. Soft blue light spread gently across her face, acting directly on inflamed lesions and acne-causing bacteria while stimulating the calming of inflamed tissue. There was no pain, no burning, only a gradually spreading warmth, completely different from the treatments that had frightened her before.
I worked with full concentration, every movement precise. In that moment, I forgot about the gazes around me. But I could still feel Captain sitting there in silence, his eyes dark and deep, reflecting only my image. His focus was like a beast restraining its instincts dangerous, and making the air so tense it was hard to breathe.
About twenty minutes later, I turned off the device and removed my gloves.
"How do you feel now?"
Emma gently touched her cheek, her voice trembling with amazement."I… I feel warmer. And… the pimples don't itch or sting like before."
I nodded, completely certain. "That's not just psychological. The inflammatory response has already been brought under initial control."
In that moment, I saw something medicine couldn't measure with machines—in Emma's eyes, a tiny spark had just lit up.
Hope.