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No need to dwell on Meredith's dreamy 100-day escapade.
Sadie, the devilish blonde, didn't cluelessly cling to Adam either. They were all professionals here. If your skills don't measure up, sitting among the pros feels like needles under your skin. Even if she wanted to play shameless, a few pointed questions would've straightened her out quick.
Adam was in high spirits. Thank the Jinx King!
Cinderella's condition had stayed pretty stable. Sure, the immune serum nibbled at the tissue around the tumor a bit, but Paige's calculations had dialed that damage way down. Headaches and nausea? Present, but mild. The only thing nagging at Adam was Prince Charming's vibe.
Fairy-tale romance is beautiful—pristine and perfect. But toss in some real-world grit and stretch it over time? Adam was worried about the guy's state of mind. How much of that starry-eyed romance had faded?
Yep, Adam was sure of it—twenty-plus days in the hospital, steeped in reality's dust, had dulled that sparkle. Regular dust? Manageable. But if it's volcanic ash after an eruption? Prince Charming might turn into a gray rhino real fast.
Adam just hoped the guy's fairy-tale glow held out 'til Cinderella's tumor resection. If his wavering threw her off and messed with her recovery, Adam swore he'd never trust fairy tales again! 😤
Thanksgiving arrived.
Cinderella's tumor had shrunk to the target size—surgery time. Adam brought Paige back into the OR.
This time, no jinx chants from him.
"Dr. Adler, see this?" Adam said, cracking open Cinderella's skull and excising the shrunken malignant glioma, gesturing for Paige to check the eroded surrounding tissue.
"Mm," Paige nodded, mimicking Adam's angles of inspection.
"…" The team swapped confused looks.
Peeking at brain innards? Normal. But Adam and Paige's dramatic observation routine? Totally bizarre.
They hadn't seen My Own Swordsman. Otherwise, they'd instantly picture Old Bai and Severed-Finger Xuanyuan gambling with dice—Xuanyuan cheating to flip the numbers, costing Bai two straight losses. Third round, Bai rolls a perfect 666, rips off the lid first, letting everyone witness it, cutting off Xuanyuan's chance to tamper again. Cameras, phones—every angle locked on that 666, snapping proof.
Adam and Paige were doing the same—no gadgets needed; their eyes were the lenses. They memorized the visuals, comparing them to healthy tissue, analyzing erosion data to tweak the virus and boost the serum later.
The surgery was a hit. Applause erupted as it wrapped up.
Up in the observation deck, not just the surgical chief but the dean himself showed up, all smiles, clapping and cheering.
"Dr. Duncan, can't wait to see that paper published," the dean said, waiting outside the OR with a rainbow of enthusiasm, showering genuine congrats.
"Thanks," Adam replied, exchanging pleasantries before heading off with Paige.
It was Thanksgiving. After such a massive win, Adam decided to splurge a little—chill out and enjoy the holiday proper.
Last year, he'd spent it with Monica and the gang. This year, little Adam was born, completing the Bing family. They were set for a cozy, happy trio Thanksgiving.
"Adam!" Ted called out before he could leave.
"Ted?" Adam blinked, surprised. "What brings you here?"
"I heard you're doing that virus-to-zap-cancer surgery…" Ted said, eyes hopeful.
"You're wondering if Anna could get it, right?" Adam caught on, apologetic. "Sorry, Ted. Anna's got primary brain cancer—she's already had surgery. Our clinical research targets inoperable malignant gliomas. The virus serum just shrinks tumors enough for surgery, not wipes them out. Anna's post-op chemo does about the same. And this is just a baby step for gliomas—maturing this targeted therapy's a long haul, let alone expanding it to other cancers."
"Can't you shift the research? For Anna?" Ted's face dimmed.
"Nope," Adam shook his head. "Getting this far with gliomas this fast? That's already insane luck. Switching gears now would just stall everything."
Seeing Ted's gloom, Adam offered, "Don't lose hope, though. I've taken the first step—others will follow, using this method on different fields. I'll keep an eye on primary brain cancer research."
"Guess that's it then," Ted sighed. "Hope Anna lives long enough for a miracle drug."
"…" Adam's mouth twitched. Dude, what a line. If Ted knew what "jinx" meant, Adam might've suspected a new fling.
"I'm off—Anna's waiting at home. Snuck out; don't tell her," Ted said, hurrying away.
"Let's roll too," Adam said, briefing the short guy on Cinderella's care before heading to his apartment with Paige.
Last year, Monica ran the show. This year, Adam took charge… by directing assistant Lisa and Karen to hustle around. He plopped down, chatting with Juno while tossing Paige some data.
"Paige is incredible," Juno said, watching her scribble away on the paper beside Adam.
"Yep," Adam nodded. "She's handling the math models and calculations."
"Submitting to Lancet after the holiday?" Juno asked.
"Yeah," Adam grinned. "Hoping it's out by Christmas."
"That's just a month away," Juno calculated. "But with your rep and this paper's quality, Lancet'll fast-track it. You might snag this year's Wakley Prize."
The Wakley Prize—Lancet's award since '96 for the year's top medical paper.
"Prize or not, it's all for advancing human health," Adam said, playing modest.
"True," Juno laughed. "You and Paige are humanity's light. Add Sheldon, and that's three future science giants. Our hometown might turn into a tourist trap someday."
"Hope not," Adam chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't want my folks' lives disrupted."
(End of Chapter)