?Chapter 81:


    The nurse regarded the mother with a confused frown. “Is there something else you need?”


    “I was hoping to ask about thedy who brought Dr. Emmett in,” the mother said, her tone soft but intent. “Could you possibly check the surveince cameras? I’d like to find her and thank her properly.”


    “I heard she followed Dr. Emmett into the OR,” the nurse replied. “If she’s not around afterward, you can returnter to review the footage.”


    “Alright. Thank you,” the mother said withposed grace, a hint of urgency flickering behind her words.


    The mother then turned and quickly made her way to the operating room. But once there, standing just outside the doors, unease settled heavily in her chest. Calvin was a renowned surgeon—among the best in the world. She trusted his brilliance implicitly, but fear gnawed at her all the same. Her son was everything to her. The thought of losing him was a terror she couldn’t bear to entertain.


    Her mind wandered to the mysterious young woman who had entered the operating room with Calvin. Who was she? His protégé? Unlikely. Calvin had stopped mentoring years ago. And if the nurse was right about the woman’s age, she might be his student. However, Calvin had stepped back from academia long ago. Retirement had beckoned, and he had answered—partially. He’d intended to withdrawpletely, to finally rest and enjoy what remained of his years. But the call of medicine, of patients with rare and formidable conditions, had never truly left him. He chose a quiet middle ground: semi-retirement, still saving lives, one surgery at a time.


    The mother paced the corridor with anxious steps, each minute an eternity stretching into the unknown.


    Meanwhile, inside the operating room, Calvin was deep into a delicate craniotomy, his hands steady as he worked on the boy’s fragile skull.


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    Christina stood silently off to the side, her postureposed, her presence quiet yet unmistakably intentional. She neither assisted nor intervened, simply observed, her face an unreadable mask of calm focus.


    Around Christina, the surgical team exchanged discreet nces. Even Johan found his gaze repeatedly drifting to her. Who was she, and what was her connection to Calvin? And why had she been allowed inside the OR when she wasn’t part of the medical team? She hadn’t spoken or lifted a finger to help. Yet, she stood there as though she belonged.


    With time on his hands and no instruments to monitor, Johan continued to observe Christina and Calvin. And then he saw it—small, fleeting, but impossible to ignore. Every so often, Calvin would nce at Christina. Not in irritation or distraction—but with a strange, quiet intention. As if he were looking to her for guidance.


    The realization hit Johan like a jolt. He blinked, stunned, his thoughts spiraling. Who was this young woman, watching one of the world’s foremost neurosurgeons as if she were the authority in the room? Could it be possible that she was more skilled than Calvin himself? And yet… why had no one heard of her? If someone that gifted had entered the field—especially someone so young—the medical world would be buzzing with her name. But there was nothing. No whispers, no papers, no recognition.


    Johan’s brow tightened as he studied the pair again. Calvin wasn’t just ncing at Christina. He was deferential.


    The more Johan tried to piece it all together, the more his thoughts unraveled. Nothing made sense. Whoever Christina truly was, one thing had be undeniable—she wasn’t just another observer. There was a gravity about her, a presence that demanded caution.


    Johan wasn’t alone in sensing this. Around the operating room, the rest of the surgical team had picked up on it too—the subtle deference in Calvin’s nces, the almost imperceptible shift in atmosphere whenever Christina so much as moved.


    Spection buzzed silently behind surgical masks. Yet, none of them entertained the idea that Christina could be a medical prodigy. It just didn’t fit. If someone so young had risen to a level that rivaled Calvin, whose hands had performed the impossible more times than anyone could count, the entire medicalmunity would be aze with her name. And yet, there had been nothing.


    To them, only one figure in the world could stand shoulder to shoulder with Calvin’s reputation: the elusive genius known only as King.


    King wasn’t just respected—King was mythologized. A legend cloaked in mystery, whispered about in awe-struck tones at conferences and operating theaters alike.


    No one knew King’s gender. No one had seen their face. Not even the most powerful medical directors or global heads of surgery had met this mysterious savant.


    King’s brilliance was the stuff of folklore. To receive direct guidance from King was the stuff of dreams. To merely see King would be the crowning moment of any surgeon’s career. But such dreams always ended in quiet resignation. Most had long epted that they would never meet King—never even know who King was.


    Meanwhile, outside the operating room, the elegant mother continued her anxious pacing, her heels echoing softly in the sterile hallway. Every minute crawled by, weighted with dread and hope. Then, without warning, the doors flew open. She surged forward, heart pounding.


    Calvin stepped out, blinking in surprise at the sight of her.


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