Medical Center. Ward.

Christina vented for a bit and then left.

"Joe, when you've made up your mind, just have the nurse page me," Adam said with a smile before heading out too.

It's a tough call to make. Heaven knows when Joe will finally figure it out. Adam can't just stick around waiting forever.

As for footing Joe's surgery bill himself? Yeah, that's not happening. Their relationship isn't that close. Joe's not some innocent bystander who got hit by a car, leaving behind a grieving widow and kid. Even in that case, Adam had helped out afterward in a quieter, more tactful way—no grand gestures.

As the saying goes: "A handful of rice earns gratitude; a bucket breeds resentment." That's how it works back in Dongguo, and it's even truer here where money rules everything.

As for Joe, Adam's thinking maybe he'll invest in the bar later. That way, Joe could cover his bills and keep running his business. Of course, he'd have to hand over a chunk of the profits from then on—going from full-on boss to half a worker.

Back in the day, he'd bust his hump and barely scrape by. Now, he could slack off a little and still make decent cash. Who knows? Joe might even warm up to the working-stiff life. Beats selling the bar and drifting aimlessly, right?

Adam, the "compassionate capitalist," already has Joe's future mapped out in his head.

Emergency Room.

Adam swings by again, figuring he'll see a few patients during a lull. Sure, they're not life-or-death cases worth "+0.01 goodwill points," but every little bit helps. Plus, it's a chance to sharpen his skills—two birds, one stone.

"Adam, over here!" Susan spots him, her big eyes lighting up as she waves him over.

"Dr. Lewis," Adam says, hustling toward her.

"There's a guy in Exam Room 6 who won't stop hiccupping. He's asking for a male doctor. You're up," Susan says with a quirky little grin.

"Got it," Adam replies, catching the vibe behind her smile.

Patients with "special requests" like that usually aren't dealing with something straightforward. It's often the kind of issue they're too shy to spill to just anyone—especially not a female doctor. This hiccup guy probably has something he doesn't want a woman checking out. Maybe his "little brother" is acting up.

Truth is, Adam's got zero interest in those kinds of cases. But that's the gig—doctors don't get to pick and choose.

Exam Room 6.

"Mr. Brad, when did the hiccups start?" Adam asks, giving him a quick once-over.

"Hic! All day yesterday. Nonstop. Hic!" Brad answers between jolts.

"Anything else going on besides the hiccups?" Adam prods. "Like, any discomfort anywhere?"

"Nope," Brad says, shaking his head. "Just the hiccups. Hic!"

"Alright," Adam nods. "You're good to go, then. They'll fade on their own."

"Wait, Doc, you're not gonna do anything?" Brad stares at him. "There's gotta be some trick to zap these hiccups fast, right?"

Adam's eyes narrow, his face blank. "What are you getting at?"

"I read about this one treatment…" Brad hesitates. "Some doctor even won a prize for it…"

Adam's lip twitches.

Oh, he gets it now. This guy's "condition" just clicked.

The "prize-winning treatment" Brad's hinting at? Rectal massage to stop hiccups. The doc who came up with it snagged a Nobel Prize—except it wasn't the real deal. It was the Ig Nobel, the spoof award for weird science.

Adam turns and heads for the door.

"Doc!" Brad calls out, panicking as Adam twists the knob. "You haven't treated me yet!"

"You're fine already," Adam deadpans. "You just talked a whole bunch—did you hiccup once?"

"Hic!" Brad's face freezes as he forces one out.

It's so fake even he knows it, and he sheepishly drops his head.

Outside the Exam Room.

Adam shakes his head, exasperated. Every time he thinks he's seen it all, patients roll in with a fresh lesson: You ain't seen nothing yet—brace yourself! If you can imagine it, it's probably happened.

"Adam, what's up with Hiccup Guy?" Susan asks with a grin as he steps out.

"A faker," Adam says with a wry smile.

"Drug seeker?" Susan nods knowingly.

The pill-popping scene in the States is wild—addicts will pull out all the stops to score. If it's got a buzz, they're snorting it, swallowing it, whatever. It's like those stories of the "fighting nation" chugging mouthwash, perfume, or windshield fluid just to catch a high when the vodka runs dry.

No cash? They scam for it. No drugs? They scam for those too. Hospitals are their go-to hunting grounds. They bounce from ER to ER, spinning their sob stories—some even hurt themselves on purpose—just to trick a prescription out of a doctor.

One quick hit, and they're golden! Sometimes you know they're gaming you, but as a doctor, you're stuck playing dumb. Their pain's real enough, and if you don't treat it, you're the one breaking the law.

Doctors aren't about to play hero—just follow the protocol and move on.

"Nah," Adam shakes his head. "Not drugs this time."

Susan, a seasoned resident, stares at him, jaw practically on the floor.

It's the golden rule of hospitals: there's nothing you can dream up that a patient won't top.

Adam's mouth quirks. He's right there with her on that one.

Emmm…

Beep. Beep.

His pager goes off, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Something's up in the ward," he says to Susan, then bolts toward the patient rooms.

When he gets there, Dr. Shephard and Dr. Burke are already on the scene. Christina's off to the side, smirking like she's enjoying the show.

What makes Adam's stomach drop is the vaguely familiar face by the bed: Steven Murphy.

Joe, lying there, catches Adam's eye and gives him an apologetic look.

Adam can already piece it together.

"Joe's decided to go ahead with the surgery and wants Dr. Murphy on the team," Dr. Shephard announces once everyone's gathered.

"Dr. Murphy, you can start the pre-op checks," Dr. Burke says, lips tight, voice flat.

"Alright," Steven Murphy replies, shooting Adam a quick smile before heading off.