Medical Center.

24 hours into a 48-hour shift.

Hospital Cafeteria.

Everyone sat together, looking exhausted—everyone except Adam.

"They call me 007, huh?"

George, the chubby guy with a slightly whiny voice, muttered bitterly.

"No one calls you 007," one of the female interns responded weakly, eyes closed, barely able to muster any energy.

"Don't lie to me. I heard them whispering in the elevator."

George had an expression that said, I know the truth, so stop trying to comfort me—but actually, I'd love it if you kept comforting me.

"Don't let it get to you," Adam said with a smile. "That guy Alex, the first one to call you 007, is actually a textbook example of a 007 himself."

"What?"

George was stunned.

The other interns, including Cristina, perked up, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they eagerly listened.

Adam recounted the incident where Alex had misdiagnosed a patient.

"That bastard!" George fumed. "He's so careless, and yet he had the nerve to make fun of me first?"

"I didn't expect him to be that kind of person."

Meredith sounded disappointed.

Women have an almost supernatural intuition when it comes to spotting guys who treat them as backup options. Alex had always looked at Meredith with a certain sleazy glint in his eyes. Yet, because of his bad-boy charm, she hadn't found him entirely repulsive—until now. His unprofessional behavior, though, was a deal-breaker.

"Haha."

Seeing Meredith's reaction, George suddenly laughed.

Everyone turned to look at him in surprise.

Cristina was blunt as always. "George, have you lost your mind?"

"Lost my mind?" George shook his head, still smiling. "Sure, I botched my last surgery and got stuck with the 007 nickname. But Alex is also a 007—that's hilarious! Compared to him, what do I have to be upset about? Besides, I just finished comforting one of my patients. Their happiness is my happiness."

"How exactly did you comfort them?"

Adam looked at him suspiciously.

"You know Tony? The one getting a coronary bypass?"

George explained, "He and his wife were worried, so I told them Dr. Burke is incredibly skilled and that the surgery would be totally fine. I even guaranteed—"

"You what?! Seven times over?!"

All seven people at the table shouted in unison.

"What?"

George blinked in confusion.

"Are you related to the hospital director?" Adam asked, intrigued.

"Uh, no?"

George was baffled. "Why would you think that?"

"Because if you're not, then how the hell did you even get into this program?" Adam sighed. "No matter how skilled a doctor is or how confident they are in a surgery, there's always risk involved. That's why, as a doctor, you never guarantee an outcome to a patient or their family. That's basic common sense! You didn't know that?"

"Mrs. Savage was so worried… I just wanted to reassure them," George stammered. "And Dr. Burke said the risk was minimal, so I figured—"

"Don't stress. You probably won't be that unlucky," Liz, the tough one, reassured him.

"Yeah, if Dr. Burke says the risk is low, then it really is low," Meredith added.

"Wouldn't be so sure about that."

Cristina smirked. "007s bring death wherever they go. And have you noticed how unlucky George is? If it were anyone else, nothing would go wrong. But since it's George…"

She trailed off as everyone turned to glare at her. Seeing the clear annoyance in their eyes, even Meredith looked displeased. Cristina had no choice but to sigh and apologize.

"Sorry, George. I get cranky when I'm tired."

George forced a smile but was clearly sinking into an existential crisis, now convinced he might actually be a harbinger of death.

"Dr. Nazi hates me even more now," Liz suddenly spoke up, bringing up her own frustrations. "Mr. Jones has fragile blood vessels and needs an IV for antibiotics. I should have done a central venous catheter. I knew I shouldn't wake her up, but I'd never done one before…"

"So you woke her up anyway," Adam guessed, amused.

"Yeah." Liz sighed. "She did it for me, then told me that next time, unless Mr. Jones is literally dying, unless his toes are curling up for a toe tag, I'd better not wake her up again."

Liz propped her head up with one hand, looking utterly drained. "She already hated me. Now she definitely hates me. I'm probably going to get stuck doing rectal exams every day for the rest of my internship."

"No complaints here."

Cristina raised a hand.

Interns rotated rectal exam duties, so if Liz got stuck with them permanently, that meant less work for the rest of them.

But it also meant Liz would probably get a humiliating nickname.

Poop-Scooper?

Butt-Gremlin?

For a female doctor, such nicknames would be devastating.

"Meredith, how's your epileptic patient doing? I heard she had a seizure in the middle of the night."

Adam asked casually while eating.

Doctors needed to share information. No one could see every case firsthand, so learning from each other's experiences was crucial.

But only through discussion—no unauthorized involvement.

For instance, Liz had mentioned the central venous catheter earlier. Adam could have done it easily. If it had been George or another doctor, they probably would have jumped at the chance to help, especially in front of a female colleague. Showing off was practically a male instinct.

But Adam hadn't even offered to help.

Because it wasn't his place.

Liz's supervisor was Dr. Miranda Bailey, aka the "Nazi." Her superior was Dr. Burke.

If Liz had an issue, she had to report to Bailey. If Bailey couldn't handle it, then she would escalate it to Burke.

Adam, despite his skills, was just another intern in a different group. If he interfered, it would be a serious violation of protocol.

And if something went wrong? He'd be in deep trouble.

Thinking you're too skilled to mess up?

That was the kind of mistake only a suspected nepotism hire like George would make.

Adam wasn't that reckless.

Besides, he didn't need to show off to impress women. More often than not, the opposite was the problem…

"Don't even bring her up!"

Meredith scowled. "It was like the Boy Who Cried Wolf. First, she faked a seizure to get me to fix her hospital room's TV because she couldn't watch some stupid pageant.

Like, seriously?

I'm a doctor, not a repairman!

Then, when she actually had a seizure, I thought she was faking again and showed up late. Almost didn't save her in time."

She clenched her fists. "And then Dr. Shepherd scolded me for not monitoring her more closely.

I hate patients like that!"

There was something else she didn't say out loud.

She hated Dr. Shepherd even more.

Just yesterday, he had been making flirty, borderline inappropriate comments, practically devouring her with his eyes. But the moment things went wrong, he turned on her instead of offering any support.

The high-stakes pressure had nearly broken her. Even though she'd ultimately saved the patient, the sheer terror of what almost happened had been so overwhelming that she'd run outside and thrown up.

Damn men.

Not even a shred of decency.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Suddenly, every pager in the room started going off at once.