CHAPTER 15: NEW QUEST

The corridor was a knot of bodies and noise.

A man’s loud voice reverberated through it in ugly waves. His words were not just raised, they were hurled, each one more insulting than the last.

When Devon turned the corner, the scene unfolded in a flash of motion and sound. The man was in his fifties, broad shouldered, his face a deep, blotched red. He stood nose to nose with a nurse, jabbing a finger toward her.

"You think you can talk to me like this?" he roared. "Do you even know who I am?"

The nurse had held her ground far longer than most would have. Her hands were clenched at her sides, her eyes burning with equal parts fury and disbelief. For minutes she had endured the jabs, the curses, the threats. But when his finger came within inches of her face again, something in her restraint snapped.

"Sir, I don’t care who you think you-" she began, her voice rising like a breaking wave.

She didn’t get to finish before two fellow nurses, alarmed by the sudden heat in her tone, pulled her back, their arms tight around hers. She resisted for a beat, shoulders tense, before allowing herself to be steered a step away.

Around them, the corridor had become a pressure chamber. Several more people hovered nearby, their attempts to placate the man drowned out by his continuing tirade. A junior doctor stepped forward, trying to wedge himself between them, palms raised in a fragile barrier.

The man only leaned past him, his words spilling like gasoline onto open flame.

"You’ll regret this. I promise you’ll regret it. Every last one of you will regret this. My wife has been in pain for hours. I’m asking for a doctor to come check her, and you keep telling me to wait."

The tension was more than it ever was now.

And then Devon walked in.

He didn’t hurry, didn’t call out, didn’t bark orders. His presence simply appeared at the end of the corridor, donned in a crisp white shirt, his expression unreadable but steady. Upon his arrival, the shift in the surrounding was instant.

Nurses stepped aside without being asked. Doctors moved back, likewise the others in the area, their bodies turning slightly toward him as if drawn by some unseen pull. The air seemed to cool, the frantic voices dimming, even the man’s shouts faltering as the crowd parted to let Devon through.

The nurse who had been shouting moments ago felt her pulse slow. She met Devon’s eyes and, without a word, let her shoulders drop. The grip of her colleagues loosened as well.

Devon’s footsteps were measured, the sound of his shoes a quiet counterpoint to the fading chaos. When he stopped, he stood a pace away from the man, close enough to meet his gaze without leaning in, far enough to make the space between them deliberate.

The corridor was silent now except for the faint hiss of an oxygen line somewhere down the hall. Every pair of eyes whether it was the nurses, doctors, even patients were peeking from a doorway.

The man’s chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His stance faltered just for a moment as he noticed the shift around him. The way every nurse, every doctor, every onlooker seemed to turn toward the newcomer told him enough, someone of authority had entered the scene.

Devon did not speak right away. He let the quiet settle, let the man feel it pressing in on all sides. Then, with his gaze locked, his voice cut through the air, low and even but edged with steel.

"What," Devon said, each word deliberate, "is the problem here?"

It was not the volume that carried the weight, but the tone. It was stern, unyielding, and laced with a restrained anger that made the skin prickle. The man’s chest rose and fell faster under that glare, his eyes flicking down. The name tag caught his attention. Devon Aldridge. It sounded familiar enough to stir something at the back of his mind, but the connection refused to surface.

"You’re the doctor?" he said, his voice still rough but quieter now, the edge blunted by uncertainty. "Then why hasn’t anyone done anything? My wife’s been in pain for hours, and all I get is ’wait’ from these....." he gestured at the nurses, his hand slicing through the air, "people who don’t care!"

The nurse tensed behind Devon, her breath catching as if the insult might reignite her. But Devon raised a hand, just a slight lift of his fingers, and she stilled.

"You don’t shout at my staff," Devon said, his voice like a whip crack, sharp and cold. "You don’t curse at them. You don’t threaten them. And you sure as hell don’t stand in my ward waving your finger in their face like some drunk on the street corner."

He stepped forward, close enough that the man had to tilt his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. Devon’s gaze was unblinking, his voice still low but laced with enough venom to make the air feel heavier.

"You think you’re the only one with problems? Half the people in this building are hanging onto their lives by a thread. The difference is, they’re not making a circus out of it in my corridor. You want help? You ask. You do it without barking, without spitting in people’s faces, and without acting like the world revolves around you. If you ever, and I mean ever, walk into my ward and behave like this again, I will personally throw you out before security even gets here. Do you understand?"

The man’s mouth opened, a flash of defiance sparking in his eyes, but it died almost instantly. There was something in Devon’s tone that left no doubt the threat wasn’t an exaggeration.

"Where is your wife?" Devon demanded.

The man hesitated, then jerked his chin toward one of the side rooms. Devon brushed past him without another glance, his stride cutting through the lingering crowd. Nurses and doctors stepped aside instinctively, eyes following him with a mixture of relief and awe.

When Devon stepped into the room, his pace slowed. His eyes settled on the woman in the bed, and for a moment, even his steady composure flickered, not with distraction, but with the clinical precision to notice every detail.

She was not the frail, suffering figure her husband’s shouts had implied. No, she was breathtaking.

The thin white fabric clung to her voluptuous curves, the neckline slipping low to reveal the smooth, creamy swell of her breasts, their full shape hinted at with every shallow breath she took.

She sat propped against the pillows, her posture balanced despite the subtle wince that crossed her features. The gown rode up slightly, exposing long, toned legs that curved with an athlete’s grace, her thighs firm and smooth, parting just enough to draw the eye to the shadowed dip where they met.

One hand rested on her lower abdomen, fingers splayed, glossy nails trailing the fabric to caress the lush curve of her hips, as if daring it to slip lower. Her chest rose and fell, each breath a slow, deliberate motion that made the thin material shift, teasing the outline of her nipples against the fabric.

Devon’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary and then it came.

[System Notification]

New Quest

Target: Mrs Elena Kellan (spouse of Mr Robert Kellan)

Objective: Sleep with the target before hospital discharge

Medical Context: Patient reports acute pelvic pain.

Reward: Advanced Surgical Precision Module (+15% dexterity & error reduction in all invasive procedures)

Penalty for Failure: Loss of current bonus skill "Clinical Insight."

Suddenly, Robert’s voice rang out. "You better fix this." He pointed again, but the gesture was weaker now, less a threat than a plea.

A devilish smile formed across Devon’s face.

"Ohhh, I fully intend to," he said.