"I can only say I'll do my best."
Carl nodded. This aligned perfectly with his own intentions—having crossed into this world, if he didn't change anything, then what would have been the point?
"I believe you can do it~~"
The Ancient One had seen the timeline. Though the future was blurred, she knew one thing clearly—it had already changed. And the cause of that change was Carl's existence. That was why she had always kept an eye on him.
With a wave of her hand, she opened a portal and calmly stepped back into Kamar-Taj.
Meanwhile, Carl and Wanda strolled leisurely through the streets, heading back toward their office.
---
At the same time, in a hospital, a flamboyant man was putting on his surgical gown while tapping to a rhythm. His schedule was packed today. This particular operation required a craniotomy to treat a neurological condition—extremely difficult, but to him, it was nothing more than routine.
Doctors from all over the hospital had gathered outside the operating room, eager to observe.
Standing at the operating table, the man handled instruments with practiced ease. Beside him, the anesthesiologist casually pulled out a phone and started playing music.
Moving in sync with the beat, the man performed the surgery with calm precision. Outside, the observing doctors scribbled notes nonstop.
Everything was proceeding smoothly—only the final step of closing the skull remained—when suddenly, a figure appeared at the door, looking extremely anxious.
Everyone in the operating room noticed.
"I'll take over from here. You go—we'll handle the rest."
The assistant spoke up, knowing that someone coming in this urgently must mean something critical had happened.
"Alright, I'll leave it to you."
The man nodded and stepped out, removing his surgical gown before heading over.
"What's going on?"
"Gunshot wound."
The female doctor handed him the medical report.
"The fact that he's still alive is a miracle."
He remarked lightly, then began reviewing the case.
"Respiratory arrest, shock, cerebral hypoxia, weak respiratory response… Ah, here it is!"
Flipping through the data on his tablet, he zoomed in on a brain scan. Sure enough, a bullet was lodged near the brainstem—dangerously close to vital nerves.
"This may have already affected the brainstem. Nick has declared him brain-dead, but something feels off."
The female doctor frowned.
"We need to move fast, Palmer."
Grabbing her, the man rushed toward the emergency ward.
This flashy, somewhat arrogant doctor was none other than Stephen Strange—the future Sorcerer Supreme. For now, he was simply one of the world's top neurosurgeons.
"Nick! What are you doing?!"
At the ICU entrance, Dr. Nick was directing staff to wheel the patient away.
"He signed an organ donation form. I'm taking him for harvesting."
Nick replied calmly.
"But I don't agree with this!"
Palmer blocked his path.
"You don't need to. He's been declared brain-dead."
Nick remained unmoved.
"You're jumping to conclusions, Nick. I've reviewed the case—this man can still be saved. He needs a suboccipital craniotomy immediately."
Strange stepped in, handing over the tablet.
Nick didn't even glance at it. "I'm not letting you operate on a corpse."
Strange raised the tablet right in front of him.
"Take a look."
Nick skimmed it—and froze.
"A bullet?"
"Exactly. And not an ordinary one. His bloodwork shows high levels of lead and antimony. The alloy is toxic—once it enters the cerebrospinal fluid…"
"—it triggers acute symptoms, shutting down brainstem and central nervous system reflexes, causing pseudo brain death."
Nick finished the sentence, realization dawning.
"We don't have time to waste."
"Let's go. I've already reserved an operating room."
Palmer didn't hesitate, pushing the patient at full speed toward surgery, with Strange right behind.
"Need help?"
Nick asked.
"No. Dr. Palmer will assist."
Strange shot back bluntly. That was his personality—arrogant, but undeniably skilled.
Despite that, Nick followed them into the operating room, ready to step in if needed.
Palmer technically wasn't qualified to assist in such a high-level procedure, but since Strange personally requested her, she was allowed in.
Soon, the craniotomy was complete. Strange put on his specialized glasses, and Palmer quickly positioned the camera.
"Neural structures are intact. Beginning bullet extraction."
"I need constant updates on heart rate and blood pressure."
"Understood."
With extreme precision, Strange began the extraction. His movements were painstakingly slow—mere millimeters per minute—until he finally reached the bullet lodged in the brainstem.
Now came the hardest part: removing it without causing damage.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as everyone held their breath.
At last, the bullet was carefully removed.
"Vitals stable—heart rate and blood pressure normal!"
A wave of relief swept through the room. The operation was a success.
---
Outside the operating room, Strange stood beside Palmer.
"There's a neuroscience gala tonight. Want to come with me?"
They were clearly familiar with each other.
Palmer declined.
Strange didn't mind, continuing to chat with her casually.
---
That evening, dressed in a tailored suit, wearing an expensive watch, and driving a flashy Lamborghini, Stephen Strange sped toward the gala.
He kept accelerating the entire way, overtaking every car in sight—clearly enjoying the thrill.
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