CHAPTER 70: HALF-LIDDED

The layout of the hospital room was one of those VIP wards that looked more like a suite than a medical space. Directly ahead stood the hospital bed—sleek, white, and flanked by discreetly humming machines that blinked in soft intervals. To the right, a small seating area occupied one corner, complete with a couch, a couple of pillows, and a low table that looked more suited for tea than medical charts. Mounted above the bed was a ceiling TV, and another screen hung on the opposite wall near the seating area, both turned off.

There were more than five people in the room—three doctors, a female nurse, and a pair of medical technicians hovering quietly near the monitors. Yet, it didn’t feel crowded.

When Erisia stepped in, both Roy and Seliora noticed her immediately. Seliora turned quickly, offering an apologetic smile as she excused herself from the doctors and walked over.

"Erisia," she said softly, her voice warm but taut with nerves. She pulled her into a brief hug before stepping back. "I’m so sorry—I didn’t know they’d be doing any examinations this morning. They suddenly came in and said there was something they needed to confirm." Her words tumbled out in quick succession, genuine regret written all over her expression.

Hearing that, Erisia felt uneasy. What could they possibly need to confirm that not only three doctors arrived, but also that the expressions on their faces were heavy?

Seliora glanced toward the doctors again before lowering her voice. "I’m really sorry, but could you wait a bit? I’m not sure how long it’ll take. Maybe half an hour? Or... you could go to the lounge down the hall—it’s quieter there. When they’re done, I’ll come get you."

Erisia shook her head gently, her voice even. "Don’t worry, I can wait here."

She wanted to know what was going on, especially since she had a bad feeling about it.

Seliora blinked, then smiled—grateful but still tense. "Alright. Thank you. I’ll try not to make you wait too long."

She turned back toward the doctors, and Erisia quietly crossed the room, taking a seat on the far side of the couch. From where she sat, she could see the faint reflection of the bed’s monitors in the dark surface of the TV screen, and just as she turned her head back towards the doctors, she caught an intense gaze on her.

Following it, she met the probing amber gaze and froze. Since Seliora had moved from where she stood, the space she’d been blocking was now open, and the hospital bed came fully into view.

Honestly, with everything she’d seen upon entering — the cluster of doctors, the low murmur of medical jargon — she’d completely forgotten the one person she’d been nervous to meet all the way here. And now, suddenly, she was face to face with that same person’s not-so-discreet stare. To say she was surprised would be an understatement.

Fortunately, Seliora returned to her spot a second later, her figure once again blocking the view. She seemed to be speaking softly to him — her tone hushed, comforting. Just as Erisia tried to make out what she was saying, one of the doctors cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the discussion.

After several tests and cross-checks, the doctors finally concluded that something wasn’t aligning with their expectations. Either the prolonged treatment for his illness had caused deeper, unforeseen neurological damage... or there had been a complication during the last surgery. They weren’t sure which.

Before the head physician could finish explaining, Seliora raised a hand sharply. "Wait—what the hell are you saying?" Her voice, though steady, carried an edge that silenced the room.

The doctor hesitated. Everyone in the room knew who she was and how she became when she was angry. Despite being the hospital’s Director, she was still his boss, and in that moment, he appeared more afraid of her than he would have been if it were her husband. Still, he pressed on, choosing his words carefully.

"Ma’am," he began, "what I’m trying to say is that... while the surgery was technically successful, the post-operative scans show signs of residual spinal inhibition. The neural pathways responsible for lower-limb motor control are still showing irregular signal transmission. We can’t determine if it’s a temporary suppression — a side effect of the neural regeneration therapy — or a permanent impairment caused by accumulated degeneration over time."

He turned slightly toward the second doctor — the one who had overseen the last stage of surgery — as if to confirm his explanation. "Right?"

The second doctor nodded reluctantly. "Yes. Given the unstable nature of HSP-M, especially the mutated subtype, it’s difficult to predict recovery patterns. His vitals are stable, but the motor response... isn’t. There’s still electrical activity along the spinal axis, but it’s weak — inconsistent. We’ll need to monitor him closely before making any definitive conclusions."

Seliora’s lips parted slightly, her expression caught between disbelief and fury. "So what you’re telling me is that after everything — after four stages of experimental therapy, gene treatment, and surgery — you still don’t know if he’ll walk again?"

Silence.

The head doctor lowered his gaze. "We... can’t say for certain yet. There’s a chance of partial recovery. But, ma’am—there’s also a risk that the neural pathways may not restore fully."

Across the room, Erisia sat frozen, her fingers tightening around the edge of her skirt. The words hung heavy in the air, the sterile scent of disinfectant suddenly harsher.

’Echo?’ Without waiting for the system to reply, she continued, ’What the hell did they just say?’

[ Erisia, ] the system’s voice finally answered, calmly. [ They just said, in simple terms, that Kealith might or might not be able to walk. ]

Erisia’s breath caught. What? That didn’t make sense. Kealith was supposed to walk — she clearly remembered Echo telling her he would. This wasn’t supposed to be one of those ambiguous ’maybe-he-will, maybe-he-won’t’ situations. This was not the story anymore.

Before she could press the system for answers, Seliora’s voice cut through the tension like a whip.

"So is there no solution?" she demanded, her tone harsh. "Since you’ve confirmed there’s an issue, what about fixing it?"

The doctors exchanged uncertain glances. The head physician looked briefly at the others, then back at her. His hesitation only made her frown deepen by the second.

Finally, the third doctor — younger, perhaps the least senior of the trio — cleared his throat and stepped forward, trying to sound placating. "We only just received the full diagnostic report this morning, Mrs. Asheborne. We’ll need to review his latest neural scan and compare it with the pre-surgical baseline. Once we identify the cause of the signal disruption, we can—"

Seliora’s expression hardened. "You should have identified it before you even signed off on the surgery."

"Ma’am, with all due respect—"

"Spare me," she snapped. "You’re telling me after years of monitoring, four surgeries, and more than enough funding, you still can’t explain why my son’s condition hasn’t improved?"

The room fell silent again. Even the soft beeping of the monitors felt louder, like each note punctuated her anger.

Erisia could only sit still as she watched the exchange. It was like seeing a scene from the novel that wasn’t written by the author but had happened, crack open and rearrange itself.

What the hell was wrong?

Just as the second doctor tried to offer an explanation—his voice halting, uncertain—he began, "Mrs. Asheborne, this was our oversight. We did prepare for various complications, but not this specific one. The exact cause of the regression hasn’t been confirmed, so we cannot—"

"Get out."

The words cut through the room.

Every head turned.

The cold voice didn’t belong to any of the doctors—or to Roy, who was standing in the corner looking grim—but to the young man on the bed.

Kealith Asheborne was sitting upright, the pale folds of his patient’s top falling loosely over his frame. His dark hair was slightly tousled, the strands at his temple catching the sterile light. He leaned back against the headboard, posture deceptively relaxed, but his expression—like his tone—was ice.

He didn’t look at anyone at first, his gaze fixed forward. Then slowly, he turned his head toward the doctors, and the air in the room shifted.

"Please leave," he said evenly.

The senior physician hesitated. "Mr. Asheborne—"

"I said, leave."

There was no raised voice, no visible anger—just that controlled, frigid authority that made disobedience impossible.

The doctors exchanged glances, uncertain whether to look to Seliora for permission or to obey him directly. Seliora’s expression softened just a fraction, but she didn’t intervene.

"Do as he says," she said quietly.

With reluctant nods, the doctors began gathering their files, moving toward the door. The nurse unplugged one of the monitoring tablets and followed. In less than a minute, the room emptied of white coats and quiet murmurs, leaving only the soft click of the door closing behind them.

A heavy silence settled in their absence.

Erisia sat still on the couch, her heart hammering.

Though she hadn’t seen him when he spoke, she heard the coldness in his words. Now, with the doctors gone, she could see him clearly.

Kealith finally exhaled and tilted his head back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded. "I don’t need to hear another round of meaningless theories," he said flatly. "They’ve been saying the same thing for two years. I can recite their excuses better than they can."

Seliora’s shoulders tensed. "Kealith—"

He didn’t look at her. "It’s fine, Mother. You don’t have to defend them. They did their job. I’m the one who didn’t get better."

Seliora’s breath hitched softly. The coldness in his voice wasn’t directed at her, but it still hurt.

Across the room, Erisia watched him closely. There was something different in the way he spoke—measured, calm, almost detached—but beneath it, she could sense the pressure.

Echo’s voice murmured faintly in her head:

[ Emotional suppression detected. Internal stability at 47%. ]

Erisia frowned inwardly. ’You mean he’s angry but not showing it?’

[ Correct. He’s compensating through cognitive restraint — an advanced defense mechanism. ]

She blinked. ’You mean he’s pissed but pretending he’s zen.’

[ ...In your words, yes. ]