Chapter 71— An Afternoon Tempted by Skipping Work
After James Whitmore left the clinic, the door closed softly behind him.
Ethan rested his chin on his hand, staring at the still-glowing monitor. His thoughts drifted deeper and deeper.
A slightly terrifying realization had just occurred to him—
Immortality… might not be completely impossible.
Every second, billions of cells in the human body die.
Some reach the end of their natural lifespan.
Some are destroyed due to damage or failure.
Others undergo programmed apoptosis to maintain the body's internal balance.
In essence, death is simply the body's automatic background cleanup program.
Old cells are consumed, broken down, and recycled.
But for organs to keep functioning, the body must constantly produce new cells to replace the lost ones.
However, cell division is limited.
Each time a cell divides, its telomeres shorten slightly, and most cells can only divide forty to sixty times.
And so the process unfolds:
Cells can no longer keep up with the rate of loss → the body begins to age.
Cells completely lose the ability to divide → death eventually follows.
Simple.
Brutal.
Unforgiving.
But Ethan had just seen James Whitmore's brain scan.
That patch of neural tissue once considered a "dead zone"—silent and inactive—had begun to emit faint electrical signals again under the influence of the Resurrection Spell.
At that moment, Ethan became certain of one thing:
The Resurrection spell could revive cells that were dying, half-dead, or in the early stages of apoptosis.
Which meant—
As long as Resurrection could keep up, cells would no longer need to be replaced through new cell division.
If cells never needed to divide, their telomeres would never shorten, and they would never enter the aging sequence.
In other words—
If Resurrection were continuously applied, keeping cells permanently in a healthy and active state…
Human lifespan could theoretically become infinite.
An insane conclusion.
Of course, it remained purely theoretical.
After all, no one could realistically maintain Resurrection spells on themselves continuously like refreshing a game buff.
But even the possibility was terrifying.
Ethan decided immediately that this idea must be buried deep in his mind.
If anyone ever discovered it… he didn't even want to imagine what kind of nightmare would follow once powerful people started hunting him down.
Not long after James Whitmore left, footsteps sounded outside the clinic once again.
The door opened again with a soft push.
A woman in a black professional suit stepped inside. Her expression was calm and polite.
She introduced herself briefly.
"Dr. Rayne, I'm Lydia, Mr. Whitmore's personal assistant."
Her words were concise, carrying the efficiency of someone accustomed to corporate precision.
Less than thirty seconds later, the payment notification appeared.
$100,000 — received.
Payment note: "Medical fee for Dr. Rayne."
Then Lydia took out a black card with gold trim.
"This is the highest-level executive membership card of the Whitmore Group."
"The cardholder may stay at any Whitmore Group hotel at any time."
"No restrictions on level or room type—private suites, presidential suites, anything."
Ethan accepted the card and stared at it for several seconds.
He had heard of cards like this before—higher than platinum, higher than diamond.
They weren't publicly issued.
They were only given to individuals the corporation considered extremely important.
In other words, it wasn't just a perk.
It was more like a symbol—a token of recognition, expectation, and respect.
Lydia then handed him a white business card.
"This is Mr. Whitmore's private phone number. If you ever need anything, please contact him directly."
Before leaving, she delivered one final message.
"Mr. Whitmore asked me to tell you this—"
"No matter what request you make in the future, he will do everything in his power to fulfill it."
With that, she closed her briefcase and walked out.
The clinic fell silent once again.
---
Ethan looked down at the two cards in his hand and couldn't help feeling a little reflective.
That rich old man was surprisingly polite.
No arrogance.
No flashy displays.
When wealthy people needed you, they didn't hesitate to show you respect, dignity, and warmth.
The kind of warmth that made people forget how cold reality could be.
The kind that made you think:
"Maybe the world isn't so bad after all."
Ethan suddenly thought about the people he had treated before.
— John Kramer, who invited him into his "games" and even tried to make him a successor.
— Walter White, who said nothing, but Ethan knew that if he ever asked for help, the man wouldn't refuse.
— John Wick, who had recommended him to the High Table and even the offered personal armed protection.
Ethan nodded to himself.
Not bad.
This little priest had somehow become everyone's favorite support class in New York.
Apparently, people were finally realizing how important a healer was.
If I told them to kill someone, they might hesitate…
But if I told them someone wanted to kill me—
He chuckled quietly.
---