Chapter 112: This Is a Miracle
After leaving the poker club, Ethan and Bobby exchanged a brief goodbye downstairs.
No unnecessary pleasantries. No lingering. Just a clean, decisive end.
Ethan got into his car, closed the door—and realized his mood was actually pretty good today.
Dinner with Bobby was just background noise.
What really lifted his spirits was the long-missed poker game.
Most importantly—he'd won money.
As the car merged into the road home, city lights stretched into blurred streaks across the windshield.
But Ethan wasn't focused on the road.
His mind was still at the table.
It wasn't excitement exactly—more like aftershocks.
That familiar state had returned—the constant calculation of probabilities, weighing risks, reading micro-expressions.
But it wasn't as pure as he remembered.
Back in his old world, poker was simpler.
Winning was the goal. Results were everything. People chatted, sure—but the core was always about the game.
Here, it was different.
Many players weren't here for the money at all.
They enjoyed the process.
Enjoyed navigating incomplete information.
Enjoyed those few minutes of pushing toward the truth—
And especially the moment when they read an opponent correctly… and saw it confirmed.
Some weren't even here to play.
They were here to socialize.
Ethan recalled a player sitting to his side—extremely tight, rarely making mistakes.
And yet, a few times, despite clearly being behind, the man still called.
Not to win.
Just to see the opponent's cards.
In that moment, Ethan was almost certain—
That guy wasn't here to win. He was here to spend.
It felt strange.
In this world, even losing money could be… an investment.
Ethan let out a slow breath.
He suddenly missed his old games—
Clear goals. Clear wins and losses. No one dressing up failure as "learning costs."
Then another thought hit him—
Right now, if he looked around…
There were already five "qualified players."
Leonard. Sheldon. Raj. Howard. And himself.
Plus one "online dealer"—Penny.
…This lineup practically screamed poker night.
Ethan seriously considered it.
Set a fixed day each week—Poker Night.
Low stakes. Just cards, conversation, complaining about life.
Penny dealing. Winner tips the dealer.
A simple, regular game.
The idea warmed him more than he expected.
He started thinking about how to pitch it to Sheldon—there had to be a clause in the roommate agreement about proposing new activities.
Ethan pulled into the apartment building.
As he walked in, he ran into Penny heading downstairs.
"Hey, Penny. Going out?"
Something about her expression was… off.
Instead of answering, she walked straight up to him—and gave him a firm, full hug.
Ethan blinked. "...?"
"What happened?" he asked carefully.
Penny let go and said, "Nothing. Kurt came back—and paid me what he owed."
"Oh."
Ethan immediately felt awkward.
Penny narrowed her eyes at him.
"So—the money you gave me this morning… that was yours, right?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. I just thought you needed help."
She went quiet for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.
"Seriously… thank you. That meant a lot."
Ethan shifted the topic. "Did Kurt say why he suddenly paid you back?"
"He did." Penny shrugged. "Said he felt guilty. Said paying me back was the right thing to do."
"That's it?" Ethan raised an eyebrow. "No other explanation?"
"Nope." She thought for a moment. "I think he's actually changed. We're having dinner tomorrow night—perfect excuse to wear my new beret."
Ethan hesitated… then decided to tell her the truth.
"Actually… Leonard and the others went to see him yesterday. That's probably why he paid you."
Penny froze.
"Wait—seriously?" She blinked. "I had no idea…"
Then she broke into a bright, unmistakably Penny-like smile.
"I really got lucky meeting you guys. Honestly, even if I run out of money again, I'm not moving out."
Ethan hesitated. "And you and Kurt…?"
"I don't know." She shrugged. "We'll see after dinner tomorrow."
Before leaving, she handed him the $1,800—and thanked him again, properly this time.
Ethan went back to the apartment.
The moment he walked in, he saw Leonard—still wearing that hat.
The marker writing was still stubbornly visible.
Ethan paused… then decided not to say anything.
He'd done what he could.
No need to make things worse.
Monday came quickly.
Early in the morning, Bobby arrived at the clinic with Wendy and his employee, Donnie.
Helen let them in, and the three waited quietly in the reception area.
Not long after, Ethan arrived.
A few brief greetings—and they all instinctively stepped back, leaving the doctor and patient alone.
Inside the consultation room.
Ethan reviewed the latest imaging while conducting a preliminary exam.
Donnie's condition was already extremely severe.
He was coughing constantly. His breathing was uneven, shallow. His chest rose and fell irregularly.
There were faint traces of blood in his sputum.
Ethan flipped through the scans.
"Coughing blood isn't typical for pancreatic cancer itself."
He pointed to several areas on the imaging.
"You've developed multiple nodules in your lungs. Some of them are close to airways and blood vessels."
He looked up at Donnie.
"Based on your symptoms, the bleeding is most likely caused by metastatic lesions invading the airways or small vessels."
He paused.
"That means the cancer is no longer localized. It's systemic now."
Donnie's face drained of color.
He sat there like an empty shell, listening mechanically.
"However—"
Ethan's next words landed like a shock.
"—it's not too late."
Donnie's head snapped up.
For a split second, he thought he'd misheard.
He almost spoke—but stopped himself.
Bobby's instructions echoed in his mind:
—Don't ask questions.
—Do exactly what the doctor says.
—Tell no one what happens here.
Confusion. Fear. And a fragile, almost forbidden hope tangled inside him.
Ethan began the treatment.
The same sequence as always—simple, stable, effective.
"Power Word: Fortitude."
"Heal."
"Renew."
"Cure Disease."
The Holy Light was no longer what it used to be.
It didn't surge like a raging tide.
Instead, it spread like a steady, gentle mist—layer by layer, seeping in, quietly taking over the chaotic points within Donnie's body.
His previously ragged, broken breaths began to reconnect.
That suffocating pressure in his chest—the invisible weight crushing him—loosened, just a little.
Donnie's tense shoulders slowly sank.
His fingers stopped trembling. The cold sweat on his forehead gradually faded.
He coughed again, almost instinctively.
This time—
There was no blood.
A few minutes later, Donnie slowly opened his eyes.
They were no longer dull and lifeless from illness.
There was focus in them again.
He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, as if confirming something real.
"…I think…"
he said hesitantly, his voice much clearer than before,
"I'm not as tired anymore."
He slowly sat up. The movement was still careful—but now, his body responded clearly to his mind's commands.
There was still a faint pain in his chest.
But it was… bearable.
Ethan withdrew his hand.
"This is just stabilization," he said lightly, as if he'd only treated a fever.
"Your condition was too severe before, so we didn't eliminate too many lesions this time."
"Your stamina, breathing, and hemoptysis have improved somewhat—but you'll need time to adjust."
His explanation was simple. Direct.
"Once your body adapts, we'll move on to more aggressive treatment."
"So… you can cure it?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Donnie realized he'd crossed a line—and broken Bobby's rule about asking no questions.
"I'm sorry, doctor," he added quickly. "It's not that I don't trust you."
"It's fine." Ethan waved it off, still calm.
"Right now, anything I say doesn't really matter."
"Go back, rest for a week, and come again next week." He paused slightly. "By then, you might have more confidence."
Next week?
Donnie almost couldn't believe it.
He sat at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, not standing up right away.
He needed time to confirm this wasn't an illusion.
For weeks—
Shortness of breath. Tight chest. A body that felt hollowed out, barely functioning.
And now—
Those sensations had nearly vanished all at once.
He stood up, a little dizzy at first, steadying himself on the bed.
He took a few steps.
His body felt… lighter.
Only then did he realize the doctor had already dismissed him.
He turned back, looking at Ethan, who was tidying up his equipment.
"Thank you, doctor," he said sincerely.
When he walked out of the consultation room, both Wendy and Bobby froze.
The Donnie in front of them—
Was nothing like the man who had walked in.
This wasn't just "improvement."
This was—
A miracle.
Ethan finished up, stepped out, gave them a brief nod, then returned to the consultation room.
But their eyes remained fixed on his back.
The look in them was no longer simple admiration.
It was something else—
As if they were looking at something that couldn't be categorized.
Something suspended between miracle… and danger.
After they left, the clinic returned to quiet.
Ethan finally relaxed.
He stepped out, chatted casually with Helen, and picked up a small piece of cake, taking a few bites.
Then he checked his own condition—
No abnormalities.
Good.
Compared to the first time he treated cancer, he had made enormous progress.
Keep going.
Everything comes down to one thing—
Not enough updates.
So…
No nonsense. Just level up.