Chapter 129: The Joy of Going to Work
Ethan had never really understood—
why Leonard was so obsessively, irrationally fixated on Penny.
From a purely logical standpoint, the whole thing had terrible cost-performance value.
It wasn't economical, the efficiency was abysmal, and the risk level was outrageously high.
The emotional investment was enormous, while the returns were completely uncertain.
The probability of failure remained stubbornly high year after year.
Meanwhile, both the emotional cost and financial cost grew exponentially over time.
From a rational perspective, this was exactly the kind of high-risk project a science-and-engineering student should avoid at all costs.
But today, Ethan suddenly understood.
It wasn't "romance."
It wasn't "true love."
It wasn't even entirely about Penny's incredible body, or the way her personality could instantly light up an entire room.
It was something else.
Freedom.
Not an obsession with a woman—
but a yearning for possibility.
Years of repression.
Years of self-doubt.
Years of wondering, "Is there something wrong with me?"
Then someone like Penny appeared, and suddenly a crack formed in all of that.
What Leonard longed for wasn't Penny herself.
It was what she represented.
A possibility.
The possibility of finally letting go.
Of breaking free from himself.
Of no longer being repeatedly rejected and denied in the area he cared about most—and felt most vulnerable about.
His sex life.
And the price he had to pay for that possibility?
A little emotional compromise.
A little accommodation.
A manageable amount of financial spending.
Inside Leonard's endlessly rehearsed fantasies—
that was an incredibly worthwhile deal.
Even if it was only a chance.
Humans were like that.
The moment they saw even the slightest possibility—
they lost control.
"Alright then."
"Humans really are complicated."
—Though men, honestly, were usually pretty simple.
—
Early the next morning, Ethan headed out before sunrise.
After all, he'd taken two full days off from the clinic.
There was probably a mountain of work waiting for him.
When he pushed open the clinic door, a familiar voice greeted him from reception.
"Good morning, Doctor."
Helen was already seated behind the front desk, looking up at him with her usual warm smile.
Ethan hung up his coat and replied casually:
"Morning.
You look pretty energetic today."
"Thank you." Helen smiled. "So, how was Rome? Meet any romantic Italian girls?"
Ethan's footsteps paused.
"..."
I went there to help your husband deal with a blood oath, not to enjoy a honeymoon.
Your husband also saw another woman naked before shooting her in the head.
Now the question is—should I tell you that?
He immediately decided that sounded dangerously close to stirring up marital problems.
Helen didn't seem like the overly dramatic type…
but who knew?
One pillow-side conversation later, Baba Yaga's affection level toward him might instantly drop by one point.
Ethan wisely chose silence.
Instead, he pulled out a prepared gift from his bag and handed it to her.
"I brought you something.
Since you joined the clinic, I realized I've never actually given you a proper gift.
Thanks for everything you've done lately. You've genuinely saved me from drowning in paperwork and random nonsense."
Inside the bag was a small designer shoulder purse and a bottle of handmade perfume.
Helen raised an eyebrow.
"Wow.
Ethan, you've reached the stage where you buy women these kinds of gifts now?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"If I were ten years younger, maybe I would've picked you instead of John."
PLEASE don't casually say things like that.
You're not worried about your husband hearing this, but I am.
Ethan decisively refused to respond.
Helen glanced at him and laughed softly.
"Still as boring as ever."
She put away the gift, then added:
"Oh, right. That diabetic girl is coming in for a follow-up today."
"Got it." Ethan nodded.
—
The clinic was relatively quiet that morning.
Among the patients was the diabetic girl.
Compared to the first time Ethan had seen her, she looked dramatically better.
Today she wore a carefully coordinated skirt outfit, looking clean, elegant, and vibrant.
Even Ethan found himself glancing at her twice.
He had to admit—
she was genuinely beautiful.
The examination ended quickly.
The results exceeded expectations.
Her blood sugar was stable, and her overall condition had improved significantly.
Even after reducing the dosage, she could now live normally without constantly fearing complications.
That meant Ethan's earlier judgment had been correct.
Her beta cells were recovering.
Slowly, but undeniably moving in the right direction.
"You're doing a lot better," Ethan said while reviewing the test results.
The girl nodded, but she didn't look relieved.
She sat there twisting her fingers together nervously.
"Doctor…"
She hesitated.
"There's actually something I've been thinking about."
Ethan looked up.
"Hmm?"
"Why are you helping me so much?"
Her voice dropped lower.
"My mom always told me there's no such thing as a free lunch."
Ethan paused and looked at her.
The girl spoke faster, almost like she was forcing herself to continue.
"At the places I went before…"
"Some people would hint that I should be grateful… and explain how I should show that gratitude."
"Others wanted me to 'remember' their kindness forever."
"And some people…"
She looked directly at Ethan, anxious but serious.
"…made me feel like eventually, I'd have to pay something back."
Her voice trembled.
"So if there's something you want me to do…"
"I'll do it.
Anything."
The room fell silent for several seconds.
Ethan understood immediately.
That look in her eyes—
it was the look of someone saying:
I know what I have.
I know you might want it.
Let's make a deal.
Ethan leaned back in his chair and stayed quiet for a moment.
Then he said:
"You know something?"
"Your current mental state is actually very common in people who've spent a long time being taken advantage of… and then suddenly meet a normal person."
He continued calmly:
"You're trying to confirm whether the world is about to demand payment from you again."
The girl looked like he'd struck directly at the center of her thoughts.
Her lips parted slightly.
"I just…"
Her voice shook.
"It feels abnormal… and honestly, scary."
Ethan interrupted gently but firmly.
"I don't need that kind of repayment from you. In any form."
"I'm helping you because you need help, and because I'm capable of helping you. That's all."
"And what I told you before was true. I really do need someone to help verify whether this treatment works against diabetes."
His tone softened.
"So right now, there's only one thing you need to do."
"Get healthy."
"Live your life properly."
"And stop treating kindness like debt."
She stayed quiet for a long time.
Then finally, she asked softly:
"Then… is there anything I can do to help you?"
Ethan thought for a moment, then nodded.
"If one day I genuinely need your help, I promise I'll contact you."
"So for now, just remember this—"
"You owe me a favor."
At last, she smiled.
A small, relieved smile that only appeared after someone finally lowered their guard.
She stood up seriously.
"Thank you, Doctor."
Ethan watched her leave, but the feeling in his chest didn't become any lighter.
He leaned back in his chair and muttered quietly to himself:
"This world…"
"It's really taught too many people the wrong lessons."
—
After Emily left, Ethan closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
"Nicely handled."
Helen's voice suddenly came from the doorway.
Ethan opened his eyes to see her standing there holding two cups of coffee.
"You were eavesdropping?" he asked, slightly surprised.
In theory, no one outside the office should have been able to hear anything from inside the consultation room.
Especially after the soundproofing had been reinforced twice—once arranged by Whitmore's assistant, and once personally redone by John himself.
Still… Ethan suddenly felt a little uneasy.
What if John had secretly left Helen some kind of backdoor access?
"No need to listen." Helen smiled and handed him the coffee. "That look on her face, the way she was dressed—she obviously didn't come here just for a follow-up appointment."
Ethan accepted the coffee and took a sip.
"I honestly don't really understand it."
"She's nineteen," Helen said calmly. "Someone helps her without asking for anything in return. What do you think she's supposed to believe?"
"Couldn't she simply think she met a good person?"
"A good person?" Helen let out a soft scoff.
"If you'd accepted her offer just now, and kept exchanging treatment and insulin for favors from then on…"
She paused.
"To her, you'd still count as a good person."
She looked at him.
"What you're doing now is closer to being a saint."
Ethan immediately protested:
"I admit the world can be terrible, but there have to be places where genuine kindness still exists."
"Maybe." Helen shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know whether meeting you is good for her or bad for her."
"Society taught her how to survive."
"And you…"
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
"You made her believe in fairy tales again."
Ethan stared at her in disbelief.
"So somehow I'm the one who did something wrong?"
"You didn't." Helen replied quietly. "The world did."
Then she added:
"Still, I have to say this—Doctor, your self-control is impressive. That skirt really was short."
"Helen…"
"I'm only stating objective facts!" She raised both hands innocently. "If I were a man, I probably would've already—"
"Helen!"
"Alright, alright." She laughed in surrender. "But seriously, what you did today? Most people couldn't do it. I really respect that."
Ethan paused for a second.
"…Thanks."
"You're welcome."
She turned to leave, then suddenly stopped.
"Oh, one more thing."
"What?"
"You buttoned your shirt wrong."
Her eyes narrowed mischievously.
"Looks like your brain was busy thinking about… other desperate things this morning."
She winked and walked away.
Ethan lowered his head and looked at his shirt.
The buttons really were mismatched.
—
By evening, the last patient had finally left, and the clinic became quiet again.
Ethan closed the final medical file, leaned back in his chair, and shut his eyes.
Today hadn't been dramatic.
It hadn't been exciting.
Just an endless cycle of consultations, explanations, reassurance, documentation, more explanations, and occasional treatment—
just like most of his days at the clinic.
After spending the entire day exhausted by the feeling of being needed as a doctor—
he finally felt it.
He was truly back.
Back to this rhythm:
Someone knocks.
Someone sits down.
Someone places their health in your hands.
And he realized something.
He didn't hate danger.
But he could never get used to it.
Violence and killing didn't suit him.
Not because he was afraid—
but because it lacked meaning.
He preferred this life.
Treating patients.
Saving people.
Making choices somewhere between medicine, Holy Light, and whatever limited kindness he could offer.
This was a world he could endure every day.
Even exhausted, he had never once doubted his desire to continue.
Ethan stood up, tidied the desk, and turned off the lights.
A small lamp was still glowing at the reception desk.
"Heading out?" Helen looked up at him.
"Yeah." Ethan nodded. "Busy day."
"I could tell." She smiled. "Your face has that 'normal human exhaustion' look."
"A productive day." Ethan laughed softly, then asked, "Are you living alone these days?"
"No." Helen packed her things into her bag. "I've been staying at the Continental recently."
"Oh."
So even Baba Yaga's wife wasn't exactly living a normal, free life either.
"When's John coming back?"
"Not sure. He said he's still wrapping things up."
Her tone remained casual.
"Stuff like that can't really be rushed."
Ethan nodded and didn't press further.
The two of them walked to the entrance together.
"Stay safe on your way home, Doctor," Helen said.
"You too."
Ethan paused.
"See you tomorrow."
Helen blinked and casually added:
"If you're feeling too stressed, maybe go see your little cake-shop girlfriend."
"Let her comfort you properly."
Ethan: "..."
—This woman absolutely knew what she was doing.
—
Night had fully settled over the city.
Standing by the roadside, Ethan couldn't help muttering to himself:
"Does Helen know mind-reading or something? Why does she always hit exactly where it hurts?"
He pulled out his phone and checked the time.
It had been a long while since he'd seen Max.
The moment the car engine started, he turned the wheel slightly—
and a wave of excitement climbed uncontrollably through his nerves.
He had to admit it.
He really was looking forward to seeing her.
—
Williamsburg Diner.
Caroline rushed into the kitchen, lowering her voice anxiously.
"Max, do you have any gum?"
"My breath smells like… somebody else's breath right now."
"You're seriously asking me if I have gum?"
Max looked up.
"At a critical moment, I might fail to find a condom."
"But I will never fail to carry gum."
"Life already smells bad enough."
"Not letting myself smell like poverty is the bare minimum moral obligation I owe the world."
"Thanks, now hurry and help me look," Caroline said. "The meat I bought from a street cart had onions in it."
"You hear yourself?"
Max rummaged through her bag while talking.
'The meat I bought from a street cart had onions in it.'
"Just hearing that sentence makes me want to cry."
"Last year I was a rich Wall Street girl attending business meetings."
"This year I'm eating discount street meat like a broke raccoon."
"What's wrong with broke people?" Max said casually. "Poor people can attend meetings too."
She kept digging through the bag.
"Let's see… phone, lip balm…"
"Huh. There's a pill in here."
Caroline immediately looked alarmed.
"What kind of pill?"
"Not birth control," Max replied. "Just ecstasy."
Caroline stared at her.
"You can tell the difference?!"
Max thought about it for a second.
"I guess we'll find out next time I have a day off."
"Actually, screw waiting."
The next second, she swallowed the pill.
"If an hour from now I start touching your hair—"
She looked up at Caroline with deadly seriousness.
"—you have to stop me from touching other people's private parts."