THE GRIM DISCOVERY

Pharsa’s strides were controlled yet brisk as she kept pace with the stretcher, her sharp eyes scanning every detail — Fatty’s breathing pattern, his pallor, the subtle signs of trauma beyond the visible injuries. Despite the chaos, her mind remained calculated, filing away what she already knew. Right knee — dislocated. Already fixed. Right leg — broken. Surgery required.

Inside the sterile glow of the operating wing, monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, the hum of machines blending with the clipped voices of the doctors preparing for the tests and scans.

Not long after, Shi Min stormed into the room, his posture rigid with barely concealed urgency. He moved straight to Pharsa, not wasting a second.

"What’s the situation?" His voice was sharp and precise — his instincts fully locked into surgeon mode.

Pharsa barely looked away from the monitors as she responded, her tone level but laced with quiet intensity.