Chapter 85 — The Meaning of Working Overtime
"What would you be willing to give… in exchange for healing the one you love?"
Some people would answer without hesitation—everything.
Money. Time. Dignity. Future. Even their life.
As long as the person they love can recover, nothing else matters.
But reality is cruel in a different way.
It's never about whether you're willing to pay.
It's that—when someone you love is truly standing on the edge of life and death—
You don't even get the option to bargain.
Outside the door, Randall stared at it as if he could burn a hole through it.
At last—the treatment room door opened.
Ethan stood there, a trace of fatigue on his face.
For him, being dragged into weekend overtime always stirred up some very unpleasant memories from before his transmigration—
Whether it was the grind of "996" or makeup shifts, it was all equally miserable.
For a fleeting, wildly inappropriate moment, a thought crossed his mind:
Should I double the fee later? Call it emotional damages?
The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
Ethan looked at the family waiting outside and said simply:
"He's stable now."
Randall opened his mouth—
But no sound came out.
He pushed past Ethan's figure with his eyes and looked toward the treatment bed—
William was still lying there.
But his chest rose and fell steadily.
His face was pale, yes—but no longer that suffocating gray of impending death.
Most importantly—
That tightly furrowed brow had finally relaxed.
Randall—the man who always had plans A through Z prepared, who insisted on controlling everything with logic—
His legs gave out.
He slid down against the doorframe and collapsed to the floor.
He didn't cry out loud.
His shoulders just shook violently as he covered his face with both hands.
Beth rushed over immediately, dropping to her knees beside him and pulling him into a tight embrace.
The two girls followed, placing their small hands gently on their father's trembling back.
Ethan watched quietly.
Then stepped back half a step—
Giving the family space.
After a long while, Randall finally lifted his head.
His eyes were red.
He tried to stand, but his legs were still weak.
"Doctor…" His voice was hoarse. "How long… does he have?"
Ethan paused.
How long?
I literally used Resurrection.
If he dies again in a few days, I might as well switch careers and become a pet healer… probably more profitable.
The thought flickered through his mind—
But his expression remained calm, returning to the steady demeanor of a doctor.
"If he continues treatment," Ethan said,
"and you take good care of him at home—"
He paused, meeting Randall's eyes.
"He should have no problem living to eighty."
The hallway seemed to fall into silence.
Randall froze.
"…Eighty?"
His voice sounded distant, like he hadn't heard correctly.
Ethan nodded.
"In theory."
The two adults were completely stunned.
The older daughter blinked.
"Eighty years old…"
She asked softly,
"How old is Grandpa now?"
Beth looked at Randall.
He answered almost mechanically:
"Sixty-six."
"Then does that mean…"
The girl's eyes lit up instantly.
"Grandpa can live for many more years? He can still play chess with me?"
Tears slid down Beth's face.
She nodded firmly.
"Yes, sweetheart."
The younger daughter didn't care about numbers.
She kept staring into the treatment room and asked softly:
"Then tonight… can Grandpa still tell me a story?"
Beth bent down, pulling both children into her arms.
Before she could answer—
"No problem, Miss Annie."
William's weak but clear voice came from inside the room.
The next second—
Everyone rushed in.
Ethan was left standing alone in the hallway.
He exhaled softly and murmured to himself:
"…Yeah. This feeling… isn't bad."
"Maybe overtime isn't so unacceptable after all."
———
William was awake.
Still weak—
But now able to sit up slowly against the headboard.
His two granddaughters leaned against the bedside.
He raised a trembling hand and gently patted their heads.
"Grandpa… does it still hurt?"
the younger one asked nervously.
William smiled faintly.
"A little. But I can bear it."
"Then can you still tell us a story tonight?"
"Of course."
He blinked.
"Though today's story… might be a little slower."
The children laughed.
For the first time in days—
A truly relaxed, genuine laughter filled the room.
———
Ethan led Randall and Beth into his small office.
The moment the door closed—
The sounds of the hallway were completely cut off.
Reality returned.
"I've repaired the most critical organ damage," Ethan said honestly.
"But his body has been severely depleted. He needs time to recover."
"The next few weeks are crucial."
"He must come in for treatment once a week."
Randall nodded immediately—
Slipping into "planning mode" almost by instinct:
"What do we need to do now?"
"Transfer him? Specialized care?"
"I can set up a medical room at home—oxygen equipment, monitoring systems, nutritional support—"
His speech sped up.
His voice tightened.
"Randall."
Beth interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm.
"Slow down. Breathe."
He paused.
Then took a deep breath.
Ethan glanced at them—
Then suddenly changed the subject.
"Sorry, I'm a bit curious… you and your father have different last names?"
Randall lowered his voice.
"William is my biological father… I was adopted."
Randall Pearson.
William.
Adoption.
In that instant—
A memory surfaced in Ethan's mind.
The TV show This Is Us.
No wonder the name Pearson sounded familiar.
And just then—
Randall's breathing suddenly grew rapid.
One unnatural inhale.
Then another.
Then a third.
Faster. Shallower.
"Randall?"
Beth noticed immediately.
His fingers began to tingle.
Clenching. Releasing.
His vision blurred.
Veins stood out at his temples.
"I…"
He tried to speak—
But couldn't finish.
"I can't control it… my heart's racing…"
He clutched his chest—
As if it might explode at any moment.
A textbook—
Acute anxiety attack triggered by extreme stress.
Beth's face turned pale instantly.
She held onto him, her voice trembling:
"Doctor… doctor?"
Ethan was already standing in front of Randall.
He simply raised his hand and placed it firmly on his shoulder.
Randall instinctively looked up.
The next second—
Calm Mind.
The overwhelming panic—something that had been on the verge of swallowing him whole—
Was pressed down by a gentle yet irresistible force.
Randall felt as if someone had softly turned the volume down inside his mind.
His breathing slowed almost immediately.
His heart, which had been racing out of control, was gradually pulled back into a steady rhythm.
The numbness in his fingers faded.
It felt like being dragged out of deep water and set back onto shallow ground—
Finally, he could stand.
He looked at Ethan, slightly dazed.
"…What was that?"
"A neurological-level calming adjustment," Ethan replied evenly.
"It's not treatment. It just suppresses what you're feeling right now—temporarily."
Randall swallowed.
"…Thank you."
Beth finally let out the breath she'd been holding, her eyes reddening.
"He has anxiety disorder."
"He was hospitalized just a week ago because of a breakdown."
Her words began to quicken, almost without her noticing:
"His blood pressure skyrocketed, he had intermittent vision loss, weakness in his limbs, trembling—it was terrifying."
"And he was discharged just five days ago! Then he ignored me and dragged his terminally ill father halfway across the country!"
"Two patients! I mean, how could he—"
She caught herself, stopping to steady her emotions.
"…Sorry. I got a little carried away."
Randall, who had been quietly watching her the whole time, still slightly adrift from the calming effect, added:
"You're pretty attractive when you're worked up."
Beth froze for a second—
Then couldn't help but laugh.
Ethan, feeling like he'd just been force-fed a dose of couple affection, commented dryly:
"You two seem very much in love."
Beth continued, returning to the topic:
"When he's under pressure, his anxiety gets really bad. Usually he needs medication and at least a week of hospitalization to recover."
She looked at Ethan.
"Doctor… what you just did—?"
Ethan explained:
"What I used just now is more like a kind of energy-based resonance that temporarily stabilizes the nervous system."
"It doesn't remove emotions—it reduces their intensity, allowing the brain to exit an overloaded state."
---
He paused, choosing a more relatable analogy:
"Right now, what you're feeling is a bit like being at high altitude."
"Your brain's 'energy supply' is reduced, so it doesn't have the capacity to process heavy emotions like grief, fear, or stress."
---
"So you'll feel relaxed. Your mind might feel a bit empty."
"You might even think… things aren't that bad. Life feels okay."
---
He looked directly at Randall.
"That feeling is normal. There are no side effects."
---
"But this only stops the emotions from chasing you for now."
He added after a pause:
"The things you need to face, the things you need to process—you'll still have to deal with them yourself."
---
Ethan realized he'd drifted off-topic.
He redirected:
"For now, you can take him home to recover."
"Come back next week—if his condition is stable, we'll begin targeted treatment for the tumor."
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