The water finally stopped, and with it, the storm inside the room settled into a quiet, fragile calm. The steam still clung to the mirrors and tiled walls, wrapping the space in a hazy softness that felt completely detached from the chaos outside.
Akshat stepped away from the shower first, droplets trailing down his shoulders as he reached for a towel. His movements were slower now, not exhausted in the same way as before, but heavy—like his mind was still replaying everything that had just happened.
Aavya followed a moment later, wrapping a towel around herself as she brushed damp strands of hair away from her face. For a second, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward—it was filled with something unspoken, something that had shifted between them during those quiet moments under the water.
Akshat ran the towel through his hair, exhaling softly as he leaned against the wall. "We should get back," he said, though there was no urgency in his voice.
Before Aavya could respond, the door suddenly creaked open.
Alexander stepped in.
And froze.
For a solid three seconds, no one moved.
His eyes flicked from Akshat… to Aavya… to the unmistakable fact that both of them were standing there in towels, damp, close, and very much not expecting company.
"…I can explain—no, actually I don't want to explain," Alexander muttered instantly, turning around so fast it almost looked like a reflex. "I'm sorry. I deeply regret my life choices."
He shut the door behind him just as quickly as he had entered.
The silence that followed was completely different from before.
Aavya blinked once.
Akshat stared at the door.
Then, slowly, realization hit both of them at the same time.
A faint red crept across Akshat's face.
Aavya noticed it instantly.
And instead of teasing him like she normally would, she stepped closer, her expression softening. She gently cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to look at her.
"That's it," she said, a small smile forming on her lips. "You can show your emotions now."
Akshat didn't pull away.
Didn't argue.
For once, he just stood there, letting himself feel it—the embarrassment, the exhaustion, the strange warmth in his chest that he didn't quite understand yet.
But before the moment could stretch any further—
Reality hit.
Hard.
What started as a simple live stream from a group of excited students in the observation deck had already spread beyond the walls of AUMC. Within minutes, clips of the surgery flooded social media platforms. Titles like "Second-Year Student Performs Impossible Heart Surgery" and "Medical Genius or Reckless Criminal?" began trending across the internet.
Phones buzzed non-stop.
Screens lit up everywhere.
And just as quickly as admiration grew—
So did controversy.
News channels picked it up almost instantly.
But not in the way anyone had hoped.
"This is a clear violation of medical ethics," one reporter announced dramatically, standing in front of the hospital gates with a microphone in hand. "A second-year student, with no official license, performing a complex open-heart surgery—this is not bravery, this is recklessness!"
Another channel ran a clip of the patient being rushed in, looping it repeatedly with alarming background music.
"Was this a life-saving decision," the anchor questioned with a serious expression, "or an illegal experiment on a helpless patient?"
The narrative twisted quickly.
Too quickly.
Despite the patient's wife trying her best to explain the truth—that she had begged for the surgery, that there was no doctor available, that Akshat had saved her husband—her words were cut, edited, and reframed.
In one clip, her emotional plea became "The hospital forced a student to operate."
In another, it sounded like "We had no choice but to trust him."
The truth was being buried under layers of manipulation.
All for TRP.
Inside the hospital, chaos brewed.
Students gathered in clusters, whispering, arguing, scrolling through their phones. Some were furious, some were scared, and some were simply shocked by how fast everything had escalated.
In the middle of it all—
Akshat sat quietly.
Leaning back against a chair, one leg crossed over the other, his expression calm… almost indifferent.
Alexander stood in front of him, clearly not sharing that calm.
"Master, this is getting out of hand," he said, holding up his phone. "They're painting you as some kind of criminal."
Akshat glanced at the screen for barely a second before looking away.
"Well," he said casually, "at least they're getting good TRP out of it."
Alexander blinked.
"…That's your concern right now?"
Akshat shrugged slightly. "If they weren't talking about me, they'd be talking about something else. This is just business for them."
His tone was steady.
Too steady.
Aavya, standing nearby, watched him carefully. She could see it—the slight tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped faintly against his arm.
He wasn't unaffected.
He was just… holding it in.
She stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It'll be fine," she said softly. "The truth is on your side."
Akshat looked at her for a moment.
And for a split second, that calm mask cracked just enough to show the doubt underneath.
But before he could say anything—
The situation escalated again.
The broadcast cut to a live press conference.
Standing at the center, surrounded by cameras and reporters, was a man whose presence alone carried authority.
The Board Director of the Aryavarta Union.
His expression was stern, his posture rigid, and his voice carried the weight of someone used to making decisions that affected thousands.
"This incident," he began, adjusting his glasses, "raises serious concerns regarding medical protocol and ethical boundaries."
The reporters leaned in.
Cameras zoomed closer.
"A second-year student performing a high-risk cardiac procedure without supervision is not something that can be ignored," he continued. "Regardless of the outcome, such actions set a dangerous precedent."
Inside the hospital, a wave of anger spread instantly.
"Dangerous precedent?" Thomas muttered, clenching his fists. "He literally saved a life!"
Ryuki shook his head. "These people don't care about that. They care about control."
Even some of the hospital staff who had initially tried to stop Akshat were now watching the broadcast with frustration.
One of them spoke under his breath, "We saw what he did… that wasn't luck. That was skill."
Back on the screen, the director continued, his words carefully chosen.
"While we acknowledge the complexity of the situation, the law cannot be bent based on emotional decisions."
It was clear.
They were preparing to make Akshat the example.
A warning.
A message to everyone else.
But Akshat… remained still.
Quiet.
Observing.
Because somewhere in the back of his mind, a thought had already formed.
A backup.
A name.
And the moment that name crossed his mind—
The unexpected happened.
In the middle of the live broadcast, the director's phone rang.
A sharp, distinct tone that cut through the noise of the press conference.
Everyone paused.
The director frowned slightly, clearly irritated, but when he glanced at the caller ID—
His expression changed.
Subtly.
But noticeably.
Without a word, he stepped aside and answered the call.
The microphones couldn't pick up the conversation.
But the cameras captured everything else.
The way his posture straightened.
The slight nods.
The brief silence where he simply listened.
And then—
A quiet, almost respectful, "Understood."
When he returned to the podium, something had shifted.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
He adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat before speaking.
"After further review," he began, his tone noticeably more measured, "it is important to consider the full context of this incident."
The reporters exchanged confused glances.
"The patient was in a critical condition, with no available certified surgeon on-site due to the ongoing strike," he continued. "In such extraordinary circumstances, immediate intervention was necessary."
Inside the hospital, Alexander smirked slightly.
"…There it is."
The director went on, now carefully reframing the narrative.
"The student in question demonstrated exceptional composure and technical understanding under pressure. While the method may not align with standard protocols, the outcome speaks for itself."
A pause.
Then the final shift.
"In light of these factors, we recognize this act not as negligence, but as an extraordinary effort to preserve human life."
The words hit like a wave.
Reporters who had been criticizing moments ago now scrambled to adjust their tone.
"So you're saying he should be praised?" one of them asked quickly.
The director gave a small nod.
"Heroism is often defined by the willingness to act when others cannot."
And just like that—
The narrative flipped.
Headlines began changing in real time.
"Young Medical Prodigy Saves Life Against All Odds"
"AUMC Student Becomes Symbol of Courage"
"From Controversy to Hero: The Rise of Akshat Aether"
Inside the hospital, cheers erupted.
Students who had been anxious moments ago were now celebrating, their voices filling the corridors.
Thomas let out a loud laugh. "That's how you shut them up!"
Ryuki shook his head, impressed. "One call… just one call."
Aavya looked at Akshat.
He hadn't moved.
Hadn't reacted like everyone else.
But there was something different in his eyes now.
A quiet understanding.
A confirmation.
Without saying it out loud, he already knew who had made that call.
Somewhere far away—
Kurana Alexanderia had just moved a single piece on the board.
And the entire game had changed.
End of ch 56
To be continue...
© 2026 darkstar penguin | Reposting or copying is prohibited.