Chapter 152: Eleanor's Promise
On Sunday, Ethan and Sheldon stayed home and spent the entire day playing online games.
It was, in a way, a full immersion into the lifestyle known as the joy of being a nerd.
Nerd happiness was a uniquely efficient form of human contentment—low cost, low risk, and remarkably sustainable.
It didn't require sunshine.
It didn't depend on social interaction.
And it certainly didn't need elaborate rituals.
As long as the curtains were drawn, the takeout arrived on time, the computer booted up, and the Wi-Fi stayed stable, the outside world could effectively be put on standby.
Whatever happened beyond the apartment could wait.
The game Ethan and Sheldon were playing was Age of Conan.
Unlike World of Warcraft, which traditionally divided players into two opposing factions—the Alliance and the Horde—Age of Conan operated on a very different philosophy.
There was no absolute good or evil.
Only civilization, barbarism, and naked ambition.
If World of Warcraft still carried a faint sense of family-friendly adventure, then Age of Conan was its adults-only counterpart—bloody, violent, cynical, and unapologetically focused on cathartic mayhem.
When Ethan first learned that Sheldon was playing it, he had honestly been surprised.
The game wasn't exactly known for its restraint.
The mature content alone was enough to raise eyebrows.
Sheldon, however, treated Ethan's surprise with undisguised contempt.
"Your evaluation model contains obvious flaws."
"I played Street Fighter as a child. Was that not violent?"
He paused thoughtfully.
"And what about the carnivorous plants in Super Mario?"
"Those literally attempt to eat people."
He adjusted his posture.
"And that was marketed to children."
Ethan had no response.
As always, appearances could be deceiving.
At first, he only played casually whenever he was bored, figuring it would be a decent way to pass the time with Sheldon.
Then, somehow...
...he got hooked.
Age of Conan featured four major class archetypes, each divided into three specialized professions.
The first category was the Warrior archetype—the masters of direct combat, classic tanks and frontline fighters.
The second was the Rogue archetype—stealth, assassination, and explosive single-target damage.
The third was the Mage archetype—dangerous and terrifying spellcasters capable of unleashing large-scale destruction.
The fourth was the Priest archetype—drawing upon divine blessings, bargains, and curses; the game's standard healers and support specialists.
Sheldon played a Conqueror, a warrior focused on battlefield control and leadership.
Naturally, he strongly recommended that Ethan choose a priest.
His reasoning was simple:
Ethan was a doctor.
Therefore, playing a healer was the only logical choice.
Ethan ignored him completely.
It was just a game.
Why should he be trapped by his profession even in virtual reality?
Besides, if he ever got reincarnated again, he had absolutely no intention of spending another life as the party healer.
No.
This time he was playing a mage.
Whether it was Blizzard or any other game studio, mages were always the favored children.
In the end, he chose a Necromancer.
Summoning the dead.
Spreading plagues.
Controlling enemies through fear.
A thoroughly sinister playstyle.
The two of them became absurdly invested.
Hours disappeared without either of them noticing.
Only two people had truly fallen down the rabbit hole so far:
Ethan and Sheldon.
Everyone else seemed largely indifferent to the game.
Compared to the rise and fall of civilizations in a virtual world, they were far more interested in women, dates, and whether those dates might lead to something more.
Ethan wasn't surprised.
He merely smiled.
Sheldon, meanwhile, offered a concise and brutally accurate assessment.
"Their brains are currently operating in reproductive-priority mode."
"Their rational faculties have been temporarily suppressed by sex hormones."
After a full day of gaming, Sunday quietly gave way to Monday.
Today was Eleanor Harrington's final treatment.
The session was significantly shorter than the previous two.
Once it was finished, Ethan reviewed the monitoring data as usual.
Pulmonary arterial pressure had returned to normal levels.
The strain on the right ventricle had completely disappeared.
Every other indicator sat comfortably within ideal ranges.
"Excellent." Ethan nodded as he looked over the results. "Based on everything I'm seeing, you're completely cured."
Eleanor remained seated in the examination chair.
She didn't stand immediately.
Instead, she took a slow, deliberate breath.
The air flowed effortlessly into her lungs.
No resistance.
No pressure.
No lingering sense of restriction.
The oppressive weight that had followed her for years was simply... gone.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to experience the unfamiliar sensation.
Freedom.
Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
Something that had defined so much of her life had vanished without fanfare.
No dramatic moment.
No grand revelation.
It was simply gone.
"...Am I really cured?" she finally asked.
"Yes," Ethan replied.
"You don't need any more follow-up visits."
He paused before adding,
"Of course, if you'd like additional confirmation, you're welcome to have another full examination done at a hospital."
Eleanor didn't answer immediately.
She sat silently, absorbing the reality of it.
Many people who had lived under the shadow of a serious illness experienced the same thing.
When the threat hanging over them was finally removed, the first reaction often wasn't joy.
It was disbelief.
Ethan didn't interrupt.
He simply waited.
After several moments, Eleanor gathered herself and looked at him seriously.
"I owe you a debt."
Ethan blinked.
"I thought the Harrington family already gave me a promise."
Eleanor shook her head immediately.
"The family is the family."
"I am me."
The firmness in her voice made Ethan realize she was deliberately drawing a distinction.
Apparently, her relationship with the family wasn't nearly as harmonious as it appeared from the outside.
After a moment's thought, he suddenly grinned.
"Let's say, hypothetically, that I fell in love with you."
"And the favor I asked from the Harrington family was for you to marry me."
"Wouldn't that mean I got a terrible deal?"
He laughed.
The moment the words left his mouth, Eleanor froze.
Completely.
The expression on her face became extraordinarily complicated.
Shock.
Disbelief.
And something else Ethan couldn't quite identify.
He stared back, baffled.
Did I really say something that outrageous?
For the first time, he felt a trace of sympathy for Helen.
Some people genuinely had no sense of humor.
"That was a joke," he said quickly.
"Just a joke."
"Although there is actually something I'm considering doing."
"And I may need your help when the time comes."
Eleanor recovered enough to ask,
"What is it?"
"Uh..."
Ethan hesitated.
"I need to think about it a little more first."
"Fair enough."
Eleanor rose from the chair.
Before leaving, she extended her hand.
"Thank you, Dr. Rayne."
Her voice was completely sincere.
"I finally understand the phrase on your sign."
"You freed me from something that had trapped me my entire life."
Ethan shook her hand.
"That's what a doctor is supposed to do."
Eleanor withdrew her hand and walked toward the door.
Just before stepping outside, she paused.
Then she turned back.
"Don't forget the promise I made you."
"Don't worry." Ethan smiled.
"I hope you become the head of the Harrington family as soon as possible."
"Then I'll effectively have two promises from the Harringtons."
Eleanor laughed softly.
It was the first time Ethan had ever seen her smile.
"I'll do my best."
And with that, she left the clinic—no longer a patient, but simply Eleanor Harrington, stepping into a future she had never truly expected to have.