The Chief's office felt like a bunker on Exam Day, the air thick with the nervous energy of a hundred interns. Richard Webber sat behind his desk, a digital tablet displaying the preliminary scores.
Christopher stood by the window, his surgical scrubs perfectly crisp, his sarcasm humming like a live wire. He knew what the script said: George O'Malley fails by one point. But Christopher had edited the narrative with a four-hour trauma-lab and a surgical spine.
"There's been a calculation error, Richard," Christopher drawled, not looking away from the Seattle rain. "Unless you're prepared to admit that your 007 is actually more competent than your Department Heads."
Richard looked up, his brow furrowed. "I'm looking at George O'Malley's score, Christopher. He didn't just pass. He aced the emergency medicine and trauma surgery modules. He out-performed Cristina Yang in the clinical simulation."
"It's not an error. It's mentorship," Christopher replied, a knowing smirk touching his lips.
The door burst open. Cristina Yang marched in, her face ashen with competitive fury. "I want an audit! I want a proctor report! O'Malley didn't study for this. He was moping in the locker room until midnight."
She turned on Christopher, her eyes narrowing into surgical slits. "You leaked it, didn't you? You gave him the case studies. You used your weird intuition to fix the game."
"I didn't leak anything, Cristina. That would be clumsy," Christopher said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal hum. "I tutored him. I spent four hours berating him until he stopped shaking and started thinking. It's called teaching, Yang. You should try it once you finish your monologue on self-importance."
Cristina froze, her accusation dissolving as George walked into the room, holding his official certificate. He looked at Christopher, and for the first time, there was no fear in his eyes—only gratitude.
"I did what you said, Dr. Wright," George said, his voice steady. "I ignored the distractions. I followed the anatomy. I didn't let the 007 in."
"Good," Christopher drawled, adjusting his lab coat. "Now go find Bailey. I believe she has a year-two rotation in orthopaedics waiting for you. And Cristina?"
He turned back to the stunned resident. "If you want to beat him next time, try learning from your superior instead of interrogating him. It's The Wright Way."
He walked out of the office, his phone vibrating with a text from Jack. "George passed. Joe's Bar is already shouting shots. Come home. I want to celebrate your unauthorized miracles. - J"
Christopher smirked, a genuine, unscripted expression. He had broken the script. George O'Malley was no longer a failure. And for the first time in either of his lives, Christopher felt like the future was unwritten.