belamy20
patreon
393-395
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 16:22:25 +0000 UTCChapter 393: The Advantage Is His
Ward Room
“Sorry, Adam.”
Joe’s face was full of guilt. “I don’t want it to be like this, but I just can’t afford that kind of surgery bill.”
“I get it.”
Adam nodded, turned, and walked out.
Cristina hurried after him. “You really get it? We’ve been fighting tooth and nail over this, and then that filthy-rich trust fund kid swoops in with his money and beats us. You’re not pissed?”
“Of course I’m pissed,” Adam said, his face cold. “Understanding doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”
If it weren’t for him, Joe would’ve been flattened by that freaked-out pizza delivery guy last night—no chance to even get this fancy donation from mega-rich Murphy that covered all his medical costs.
Joe knew how much this surgery meant to Adam. He’d even gone head-to-head with Cristina over it and called out Acting Chief Burke right to his face.
But Joe didn’t even give Adam a heads-up.
Adam had the upper hand, and then—bam—dragon-in-the-face moment.
A simple “Sorry, I didn’t mean it” wasn’t gonna cut it.
“So, what are you gonna do about it?” Cristina asked, her gossip-loving soul practically on fire.
“Nothing.”
Adam’s face was blank. “Joe’s the patient. He gets to pick his doctor. What can I do?”
“I don’t buy it,” Cristina said, shaking her head. “Murphy’s some spoiled second-gen rich kid, sure, but you’re a first-gen powerhouse yourself. No way you’re just swallowing this.”
“You’re not seriously suggesting I go flex my wallet against Murphy, are you?” Adam shot her a look like she’d lost it.
“No, no,” Cristina faltered. “But I just don’t peg you as the type to let things slide. You’re gonna get even, right?”
“You and Burke sort out your mess yet?” Adam dodged, throwing it back at her.
Even if he was fuming and plotting ways to cool off, he wasn’t about to broadcast it to the whole hospital.
That’s just impotent rage.
Only an idiot would do that.
Smart people keep it under wraps.
Cristina’s face darkened, and she stormed off.
Earlier, when Burke changed his tune, she’d been annoyed but understood. Adam had a point, after all.
Still, she’d marched to Burke’s office demanding an explanation.
Normally, rational Cristina wouldn’t pull that.
But now? After she’d just defused the bomb Burke had planted—one that nearly blew her up—her hormones were all over the place. She needed to let loose a little.
“You telling me how to do my job?”
Burke’s sharp comeback had stopped her dead in her tracks.
Then came the real gut punch.
Burke softened his tone and started talking about their relationship.
At first, she didn’t catch on. It wasn’t until an awkward silence hung in the air that it hit her: Burke, for the sake of his career and the surgical chief gig, was decisively cutting her loose.
AKA, she’d been dumped.
Her calm now? Pure bravado. One poke from Adam, and it cracked.
Afternoon – Observation Gallery
Adam sat in the viewing seats, quietly watching the OR below.
The other interns kept sneaking glances at him, their eyes dripping with schadenfreude.
Word had spread: Adam got dragoned in the face.
All their usual envy and resentment finally had a chance to vent.
“Joe’s got some crazy luck.”
“Once he’s better, he’s gotta treat us all to drinks at his bar—free night, right?”
“Dream on, that’s not happening.”
“Who at the med center doesn’t know Joe?”
“He’s been running that bar across the street for 14 years. Everyone’s got a Joe story.”
Dr. Nazi Bailey walked in and overheard, glancing at the speaker.
George caught the look and couldn’t resist. “Dr. Bailey, you know Joe too?”
“Yeah, I do,” Bailey said, gazing down at Joe, splayed out like a starfish in the OR. “Back when I was an intern, I was the only woman in our group. I didn’t know anyone, and no one knew me—except Joe. He got me.”
“So, you and Joe…?”
All eyes turned to her. George voiced what everyone was thinking.
Bailey clocked the stares, turned around, and scanned the room with a chilly smirk. “That’s all you clowns ever think about, huh? That’s why you’re stuck with STDs! If you put half that energy into your work, you wouldn’t be up here just watching every time.”
“No matter how good you are, you still get shoved aside to spectate,” someone muttered under their breath.
“Hahaha!”
The room erupted, all eyes on Adam, who sat there unfazed, as they let out their gleeful cackles.
“Laugh it up. This is the only time you’ll get to,” Bailey said, glancing at Adam. “The one who laughs loudest and lasts longest—that’s the real winner. I’ve got a partial colectomy coming up, and I need the best intern. Dr. Duncan, you in?”
“Absolutely,” Adam said, caught off guard for a second.
“Good.”
Bailey nodded, eyes back on the OR.
George shot Adam an envious look.
The other interns stopped laughing.
Bailey earned her “Nazi” nickname for a reason—her tough-as-nails style and her skill and clout.
Sure, she’d overlooked Adam before, prioritizing her own interns for chances.
But Adam actually liked her.
Like she’d just roasted George and the others for—“Focus instead of obsessing over dirty nonsense”—she lived that herself.
She looked out for her interns, cared about patients, held her own with the higher-ups without kissing ass, and quietly honed her craft.
No piling on praise when you’re up, no kicking you when you’re down.
Now, she was throwing him a lifeline—though Adam wasn’t exactly drowning.
To borrow a line from Groot Zhou: She’s got a warm heart.
Her rep made total sense.
The resentment Adam had been stewing over Joe and Murphy softened a bit in this little glow of human decency.
Well, just a bit.
A dragon-in-the-face moment like this? Unless Adam could pull a Stephen Chow and smack it back hard, there’s no way he’d just let it slide.
That’d leave a knot in his gut!
Operating Room
“…Cooling the body?”
“Lowering the temp keeps the tissues viable before blood perfusion.”
The OR was freezing. Steven Murphy shivered as he answered Burke’s pre-op question.
“Body temp’s 60°F,” a nurse called out.
“Okay, time of death,” Burke said, stepping up to clamp the external vessels.
“Heartbeat stopped,” the nurse noted.
“We’ve got 45 minutes. Start the clock,” Dr. Shepherd ordered.
The nurse hit the timer.
Steven Murphy glanced up at Adam in the gallery.
Their eyes met.
Adam read him loud and clear.
This was a declaration of war.
Before, Murphy had been all high-and-mighty, wanting a “fair fight.”
So whether it was four years of med school or the past couple months interning, Adam had always come out on top.
Now, Murphy had an epiphany. His real edge wasn’t his brain or his study skills—it was being the pharma tycoon’s only son.
Smarts and learning? He’d never outdo Adam.
But everything else?
Yeah.
The advantage was his.
Chapter 394: I Won’t Hit You
Observation Room, Operating Theater.
The cutting-edge "still surgery" is underway.
“Eight minutes left!”
The nurse pipes up as the timer hits 37 minutes.
“Shephard, we need to start rewarming now,” Dr. Burke says, mid-procedure.
“Please hand me the bipolar forceps, thanks,” Dr. Shephard replies, calm as ever.
“We need to rewarm now, Shephard!” Burke repeats, his tone sharper.
“Hang on,” Shephard says, eyes glued to the endoscope as he works. “I can’t get behind the aneurysm yet. If I can just reach the back…”
“I’m rewarming now!” Burke snaps, his voice rising to show he’s not budging.
If they miss the window, delayed rewarming could mean Joe’s heart won’t restart—no matter how perfectly Shephard clips that aneurysm. This is the thoracic surgery expert, who rules the heart, laying down the law to the neurosurgery guy, who reigns over the brain.
“Done,” Shephard finally says after a tense two-second pause, finishing the aneurysm fix.
“You sure?” Burke shoots him a look.
“I’m always sure,” Shephard says with a smug edge. “My part’s handled. Over to you, Chief!”
“Heh,” Burke chuckles, catching the dig at his interim surgical chief gig.
Interim or not, it’s still the top spot. Scoring a point against a rival in the race for permanent chief? That’s a rush no “indescribable thrill” can touch. He made the right call sticking with this game.
“Alright, folks, let’s grab Joe before he checks in with the Big Guy upstairs. Start rewarming!”
“Release the clamps!”
“Turn on the pump—reinfuse the blood!”
“Monitor cerebral perfusion pressure!”
“Keep arterial BP above 60!”
Burke rattles off orders like a drill sergeant, and the OR crew jumps into action, smooth and steady.
Up in the observation seats, Adam watches with a cool, detached gaze.
Steven Murphy hasn’t slipped up once. Not that Adam’s surprised. In a surgery like this, interns are just glorified assistants. If you’re sharp, you get a little more to do. If you’re green, you hang back and look busy. Unless some soap-opera-level drama hits, there’s no room for screwups.
If every case turned into a theatrical mess, teaching hospitals would’ve shut down ages ago.
There’d been rumors about that once—“Avoid hospitals in summer and fall!” Fresh med school grads flood in, and supposedly, rookie mistakes spike the death rates. Total myth, though. Debunked hard.
Interns who aren’t up to snuff just fetch tools and watch. Only when an attending trusts your skills—and knows you won’t tank their rep—do they let you touch anything. Even then, it’s with a tight leash.
Steven Murphy paid his way into this OR. Shephard and Burke might not say it out loud, but they’re not thrilled. In a life-or-death zone like this, skill’s the only badge that matters. So, they’ve barely tossed him a single task. Learning opportunity? Barely a scratch above zero.
Steven knows it too. A few hundred grand down the drain? He doesn’t care. This is just his way of sending Adam a message.
The surgery wraps up without a hitch.
Steven steps out of the OR, flashing his polished gentleman’s smile—until he rounds a corner, stumbles back a step, and nearly drops the act.
“Adam, you…”
“Steven, congrats,” Adam says, leaning against the wall and holding out a hand.
Steven freezes, torn. He knows about Adam’s freakish strength—the guy once hoisted a massive tumor for fourteen hours straight without breaking a sweat. Word spread like wildfire through the hospital; people still bring it up in awe.
And now, after Steven just stepped on Adam’s toes, here’s Adam, offering a handshake. Steven’s half-convinced Adam’s about to crush his hand into dust.
“Relax,” Adam says, switching from a handshake to a pat on Steven’s stiff shoulder. “We’re classmates and colleagues. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Hurt…” Steven forces a grin. “You wouldn’t dare, right?”
“Heh,” Adam chuckles. “We should catch up properly. Work’s still on now, but how about dinner after? Let’s grab a bite.”
“…”
Steven’s never been the tough-guy type—just a proud, prickly rich kid. Against Adam’s quiet confidence, he’s always felt a little shaky. Now, he’s standing there, blanking on any excuse to wiggle out.
Ring-ring!
Saved by the bell—his phone goes off. Steven pulls it out, lights up with relief, and answers. After a quick chat, he waves the phone at Adam. “Sorry, man, my parents want me home tonight.”
“No worries,” Adam says with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t Mr. and Mrs. Murphy mention? I’m the one who set up this dinner.”
He gives Steven’s shoulder another pat, then strolls off with a grin.
Steven’s jaw drops.
What the hell?
You called my parents?!
Dazed, he stumbles back to their clinic and immediately unloads on Alice, his go-to confidante.
“Alice, what’s his deal?”
“Uh…” Alice stifles a laugh, choosing her words. “Maybe he’s got something to say to your dad.”
“Isn’t that just tattling to my folks?!” Steven fumes. “And what’s he thinking? Why would my parents take his side?”
“Well…” Alice treads lightly. “Maybe he figures he’s on the same level as your dad…”
“What?!” Steven blinks.
“Not in medicine,” she clarifies fast. “In the rich-guy world. I mean, he’s the youngest self-made billionaire out there. He’s got the clout to talk to your dad mano-a-mano.”
“…”
Steven’s stunned again, muttering, “Okay, but why?”
Alice wrinkles her brow. Steven’s her trusty backup—great family, smart, capable. Just… a little soft around the edges. Not surprising, though. As the only heir to Murphy Pharma, his mom coddled him growing up. Even now, he can be clueless about how the world works.
Why’s Adam going straight to Peter Murphy? Simple: he doesn’t see Steven as an equal worth negotiating with. Why waste time bickering with the kid when he can tackle the source of Steven’s swagger—his dad?
Convince Peter, and Steven’s got no leg to stand on in this rivalry. How Adam plans to pull that off, though? Alice can’t quite figure it.
Money-wise, Adam’s billions don’t stack up to the Murphy family’s tens of billions. Status? Adam’s just a flashy arts-world name—too flaky. Meanwhile, Murphy Pharma’s network, built over years, is a juggernaut Adam can’t touch.
Chapter 395: The Murphy Family Dinner
New York – The Murphy Mansion
The dinner Adam had set up completely threw Steven Murphy off his game.
So much so that he clocked out early and headed home.
His father, Peter Murphy, wasn’t back yet.
It was just his mom at the house.
Steven spilled the whole story.
“Oh, I see,” Mrs. Murphy said with a smile. “You did it for the patient’s sake, right? A couple hundred grand’s no big deal. As long as you’re happy and learning something, I don’t see the problem.”
“Mom, then why do you think Adam set up this dinner?” Steven asked, puzzled.
“Maybe he’s trying to play nice with you,” she replied breezily. “Don’t worry about what’s going on in his head.”
“Yeah!”
Steven perked up, soaking in his mom’s confidence.
Exactly!
Who cares what Adam thinks? It’s about what he thinks!
With his doubts melting away, mama’s boy Steven and his mother started chatting about funny hospital stories, laughing and bonding like old times.
“Sir’s back,” the maid announced after a call from the lobby downstairs. She told Mrs. Murphy, then headed to the door and opened it.
The private elevator dinged.
Pharma titan Peter Murphy stepped out, his face a mask of cool indifference.
“Dad!”
Steven jumped up to greet him.
Mrs. Murphy stepped forward, taking her husband’s briefcase and helping him out of his coat.
“Hm.”
Peter sized up his son with a glance and gave a slight nod. “This Adam Duncan—he’s your classmate, right? You two were never tight. Why’s he inviting us to dinner now?”
“Uh…”
Under his father’s piercing stare, all the bold CEO vibes Steven had picked up from his mom vanished.
Because his dad? He was the real deal. Steven? Not even close.
“Here’s the thing…” Mrs. Murphy jumped in, brushing it off with a casual recap.
“That’s reckless!” Peter snapped, his brow furrowing. “You’re a doctor, Steven. Your job is to quietly sharpen your skills, impress your superiors with your talent, earn their respect, and get more surgeries. That’s how you grow—it’s a virtuous cycle. You don’t buy your way into an OR!”
“Honey, what’s the big deal?” Mrs. Murphy tried to smooth it over. “It’s just one surgery. A few hundred thousand. Steven said it’s cutting-edge—great learning experience.”
“What do you know about it?” Peter shot back. “This isn’t about the money! Adam Duncan’s a billionaire too—the youngest one out there. You ever see him throwing cash around like that? No! Even when Steven snatched his surgery right in front of everyone, he didn’t flash his wallet to take it back!”
“That’s because he knows he can’t outspend Steven,” Mrs. Murphy countered.
“Steven’s money?” Peter’s gaze sharpened as his usually gentle wife went full mama bear. “What money does he have? That’s my money! And without my say-so, no one’s touching it.”
Mrs. Murphy clammed up.
Steven dropped his head, quiet as a quail.
Peter’s expression softened a bit as he sighed. “Adam Duncan’s fortune might not match mine, but he built it from scratch in the arts. His liquid cash might even top mine.
A creative kid like that, striking it rich so young—he should be the cockiest guy in the room. If something like this happened, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw down, whether it’s against you or even me.
But has he?
No!
Not only did he not get mad or flex his wealth over the surgery, he reached out to us, trying to smooth over any bad blood.
That’s maturity!
Steven, you and him are classmates and colleagues.
You’re both loaded—you didn’t need to grind through med school or put up with all that crap.
But you both did.
Why? Because you’re cut from the same cloth. You should’ve been best friends—the perfect pair to be best friends.
I told you this back when you started med school.
But you didn’t listen.
Fine! If you can’t be best buds, at least don’t clash—just be regular classmates.
But what are you doing now, Steven?
You’re stealing his surgery, picking a fight. For what?
You short on cutting-edge cases? If you really want them, I can ship you somewhere tomorrow where you’ll get groundbreaking surgeries every day!
You up for that?”
Steven’s head sank lower, regret creeping in.
“Peter,” Mrs. Murphy said softly, unable to watch her son squirm.
“Ugh.”
Peter shook his head at his son’s meekness. “Fine, forget the best friends thing. Let’s talk about buying surgeries. Even if it wasn’t Adam Duncan’s case, you still shouldn’t have done it.”
“Why not?” Mrs. Murphy asked, confused.
Steven peeked up at his dad too.
“Because it’s not just about the money,” Peter said gravely. “If this gets out, Steven’s a target. Every patient he operates on will demand he foot the bill. Then what?
Sure, we can afford it.
But what’s the point of being a doctor who only gets cases by paying for them? And if some fearless crook comes along to scam us, we might not plug that hole. Worst of all, how do we keep Steven safe?
Didn’t the med center just have a shooting a few days ago?
I’ll tell you this: the med center’s tame compared to the rest of the country. Hospital shootings happen way too often across the U.S.
If Steven’s wealth gets exposed and every schemer’s got their eyes on him, how dangerous would that be?”
“Oh!” Mrs. Murphy gasped, startled. “That’s terrifying! Maybe, Steven, you should quit medicine and come home to learn the family business with your dad.”
“Steven, what do you think?” Peter asked, turning to his son.
“I still want to be a doctor,” Steven said, his face pale but resolute.
Like his dad said, he had everything—yet he’d busted his ass through med school because he loved it.
“Fine. But you’ve got to keep a low profile. No more buying surgeries,” Peter warned. “And tonight, you’re apologizing to Adam Duncan—sincerely!
Trust me, he’s already thought all this through. He hasn’t spread some ‘free healthcare courtesy of Murphy’ rumor because he’s in the same boat as you—rich and a doctor by choice.
Unless you push him too far, he’s not about to do something dumb that screws you both.
But if you keep poking him, do you really think a guy who made it big so young is gonna keep taking it?”
“Steven, listen to your dad,” Mrs. Murphy said, her tune completely flipped.
“Yeah,” Steven mumbled. What else could he say?
Nightfall
When Adam arrived, he didn’t even get a chance to drop a subtle threat before Peter laid out his whole thought process. Adam couldn’t help but admire how Peter had built his empire from nothing—success like that wasn’t random.
He accepted Steven’s apology.
Better to bury the hatchet than keep a grudge.
Especially since the other side’s firepower outclassed his.
Still, Adam was curious—what flipped Steven Murphy so fast?
“No big reason,” Steven said, eyes down. “You’re just getting bigger at the hospital, and the gap between us keeps growing. I didn’t want to fall too far behind.”
“Heh.” Adam chuckled.
After Dinner
Back at his apartment, Adam dialed a number.
As Zhou Shuren said: Own your mistakes, and take your lumps standing tall!
Steven had owned up.
But he hadn’t taken his lumps yet.
How could this be over…?
