Chapter 53: The Amulet
Five men and one woman sat around the dining table in the living room, a spread of Chinese takeout, sodas, and red wine before them.
To celebrate Ethan's successful "legal loss," everyone decided to indulge—after all, earning over two hundred grand in the U.S. without paying a cent in taxes was simply mind-blowing.
Penny raised her glass: "To our pauper on paper, tycoon in real life—Doctor Ethan Rayne! Cheers!"
Everyone clinked glasses.
"Thanks, everyone—especially Sheldon." Ethan gave a humble, helpless smile. "Oh, and if any of you need help with your taxes, just see Sheldon. Sign an agreement, same as me."
Good things must be shared.
The air suddenly froze; glasses were quietly set down.
Leonard picked up: "We don't really need it.
We've got fixed salaries and fixed research stipends every month; TurboTax knocks it out in ten minutes."
Ethan turned to Penny: "How about you?"
Penny spread her hands: "Come on, I'm not rolling in dough like you. My money's still in its infancy; it hasn't reached the age where it needs an accountant."
Sheldon set down his chopsticks: "Indeed, they don't need professional assistance at all.
As long as you can perform basic arithmetic and recognize the W-2 and 1040 formats, filing is complete."
"If your income is modest and straightforward, taxes are easier than making a sandwich."
He paused, then solemnly encouraged:
"So please strive to earn more. Only when filing becomes agonizing have you truly entered the realm of capitalism."
Howard muttered: "Thanks for reminding us how poor we are via the simplicity of our tax returns."
Ethan's "generous" proposal was shot down; everyone went back to devouring food.
Biting into a spring roll, Penny suddenly looked up:
"Hey, Ethan, those two patients the hospital misdiagnosed with terminal cancer… they can sue, right?"
"Of course. It's serious medical malpractice; the patients are entitled to compensation."
Penny asked curiously: "How much? A few hundred thousand?"
Ethan thought for a moment: "Hmm, the average settlement in such cases is around six hundred thousand."
Howard's drink nearly shot out his nose: "Wait—misdiagnosing cancer only costs six hundred grand? What does actually treating cancer cost?"
Ethan ate calmly: "If the hospital follows the full treatment protocol… between five hundred thousand and a million."
The table fell silent.
Leonard's eyes bulged: "So a 'successful' misdiagnosis nets the hospital a million; a failed one only costs them six hundred thousand?"
"It sounds less like medicine, more like a casino—wrong bet, lose half; right bet, jackpot."
Howard sighed: "Suddenly the hospital's business model feels scarier than defense contracting."
Raj nodded vigorously.
Penny couldn't help looking at Ethan: "If someone I know gets a cancer diagnosis… can I come to you for a second opinion?"
Ethan nodded: "Sure. But preferably someone close to you."
Howard pressed: "'Close' as in emotionally… or financially well-off?"
"I mean—you have to genuinely trust that person."
After saying that, Ethan froze:
Wait, I've already explained my abilities' origin to S.H.I.E.L.D… doesn't that mean I can be more open in my practice now?
No more worrying about being branded a charlatan or investigated as a freak? And they should provide protection, right?
He stared at the kung pao chicken like it contained a blueprint for his future career.
Sheldon suddenly set down his chopsticks and announced:
"I think you all need to understand something."
Everyone looked at him.
"Ethan and I were neighbors since childhood. Before he could even perform sutures, I made an extremely prescient prediction—
he would develop into a physician smarter and more successful than your average medical practitioner.
Mediocre, or worse, in everything else."
Howard: "Are you complimenting or insulting him?"
Sheldon ignored him: "Thus, Ethan and I established a mutually beneficial arrangement.
He handles all my healthcare matters—physical examinations, diagnoses, hospital visits, emergency treatment;
I handle everything beyond his capabilities."
Penny raised a brow: "Such as?"
Sheldon: "For instance: he once attempted predicting football outcomes, but his statistical model was fundamentally flawed.
So he commissioned me to calculate win probabilities with precision, using historical team data and dynamic performance parameters."
Everyone swiveled to Ethan: "???"
Ethan ate calmly and stated two words: "Sports betting."
Stunned silence.
Penny leaned forward instinctively: "So you made a ton of money?"
Ethan shrugged: "Not a fortune. I started saving to open a clinic early on, poured my student loans in as seed capital.
Of course, Sheldon's accuracy isn't 100%, but overall it's remarkably reliable."
He mused inwardly: Come on, my only advantage from being transmigrated here—no family, just Sheldon Cooper as my childhood neighbor—if I don't exploit that computational genius, who else would I use?
Sheldon corrected: "I only calculate each team's win probability. With probability theory, it's never 100%."
Everyone was stunned, unsure whether at Ethan's "foresight" or Sheldon's ability to compute such predictions.
Penny looked at Sheldon, tempted: "Sheldon, can you still run the numbers now?"
Sheldon refused flatly: "No. I will never again calculate game win probabilities for anyone, including Ethan."
"Why not? You were incredibly accurate."
"Because assisting with those probabilities once cost me dearly—I received a B+ on a mathematics exam."
"A B+ is pretty good!"
Sheldon retorted: "B+ is the beginning of academic degradation! If I hadn't stopped, I'd have descended into darker territory—gambler, substance abuser… or patent attorney."
"Aren't you overreacting?"
Sheldon turned to Ethan: "Ethan?"
Ethan answered helplessly: "I admit you were stressed then, but it wasn't entirely my fault—you were also running calculations for your dad and Meemaw."
Leonard: "Then what happened?"
Sheldon said: "My father relied on me, my Meemaw relied on me, Ethan relied on me; after careful consideration, I chose the most prudent strategy—I reported everyone to my mother."
Ethan added: "Then Mary Cooper gave everyone involved a serious talking-to. I didn't dare ask Sheldon to compute game probabilities again until college."
Sheldon nodded: "Incidentally, Ethan, I only agreed later because I recognized your value."
Everyone: "…?"
"Before leaving Texas, I was almost never ill."
Penny was amazed: "You? Never sick?"
Sheldon nodded: "Of course. Because—Ethan was right there."
He pointed at Ethan: "He was my personal health consultant. Monthly check-ups, vitamin recommendations, correcting my nutritional misconceptions."
Ethan stifled a laugh—he'd just sneak-cast a Healing Spell on him every time they met.
Sheldon took a deep breath: "Later I went to Germany for graduate school; without his check-ups… I became ill."
In post-apocalyptic survivor tone he described:
"Fever, nasal congestion, cough, sore throat—each symptom an independent torture, and—even when Ethan told me over the phone 'it's just a common cold,' it didn't help."
Howard puzzled: "You didn't diagnose yourself?"
"Knowing the diagnosis didn't make me feel better!"
Sheldon concluded: "Therefore, for lifelong immune stability, I must live and work within Ethan's operational radius."
Penny laughed: "You're using Ethan as your lucky charm!"
"It's a survival strategy." He stared solemnly at Ethan:
"Ethan, you can die at most one month before me, so you can still provide my monthly check-up."
Ethan: "???"
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