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.

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