In the large operating room, Zachary lay on the hospital bed, his face pale, his breathing shallow, his arms and chest marked by treatment. Yvette calmly withdrew her gaze; her eyes were clear and steady. She retrieved a small packet from her black backpack, spreading its contents on the table. Under the bright lights, rows of slender silver needles of varying sizes glinted coldly. She squinted slightly, her gaze sharp and intense. After a brief disinfection, she inserted twenty-four needles simultaneously, each landing precisely on an acupuncture point.

This process continued for over ten minutes, after which she changed the needles, increasing the pressure by thirty percent. The second needling session lasted a full half-hour, her hand unwavering. Two hours later, with an expressionless face, she carefully replaced the needles in their pouch. She then produced a vial of reagent from her backpack—a potion for repairing bodily functions, developed with Silas three years prior and kept secret to this day. The potion, coveted but never obtained by the Mysonna President, was poured into Zachary's mouth. He remained unchanged.

Outside, Lucas paced restlessly, muttering prayers for Mr. Chambers' well-being. Harold observed Lucas's sincere concern, his anger intensifying at Yvette's apparent indifference to her father's fate. Jeremiah stood by the window, his calm gaze fixed on the distant horizon before glancing at his watch. An hour and a half had passed. The other staff, now seated, included a doctor with "Cardiology & Neurology" inscribed on her white coat. Jeremiah's team, temporarily assembled from various Betrico hospitals, included some who knew Tristan from medical seminars.

Jeremiah received a call and moved away to answer it, his expression cold and piercing. His departure brought a collective sigh of relief from the remaining staff, visibly relieved by his absence. A male neurologist wiped sweat from his brow; he'd been summoned unexpectedly.

"Do you think Ms. Chambers can cure her father with acupuncture?" he asked, his doubt palpable. A colleague, after a moment's thought, responded, "No way. If she weren't related, I'd suspect murder." The female cardiologist scoffed, "Acupuncture to dissolve a blood clot? Only ancient masters could manage that. A girl in her twenties? There's little hope left."

Another middle-aged doctor, already irritated by the late call, voiced her dissatisfaction. She implied Yvette was recklessly risking her father's life for attention. With Jeremiah gone, the staff freely criticized Yvette. Tristan, however, intervened sharply, silencing their gossip. Although a Seacrity hospital director, his accomplishments were considerable; he'd chosen Seacrity over Betrico, prompting rumors of a promise to a former love.

Harold, meanwhile, anxiously watched the operating room, prepared to intervene if necessary. He considered surgery a better option than Yvette's acupuncture. Then, the operating room door opened. Yvette emerged, clad in black, her casual defiance evident.

"Could someone move him to a regular room, please?" she announced calmly.

A stunned silence followed. Harold, his voice rough, asked, "You mean the blood clot is gone?" All eyes turned to Yvette, her expression unchanged. Lucas's excited inquiry followed. Yvette's sharp gaze swept over them before she confirmed, "Yes."

Harold rushed into the operating room. The doctors understood his need to verify. Yvette casually leaned back, texting Jeremiah: "[Where are you?]" His reply: "[Getting a milkshake.]" Yvette: "[Make it two.]"

Five minutes later, a bewildered Harold emerged, bypassing everyone to reach Yvette. He'd confirmed the blood clot's complete absence. The news stunned everyone. Those who'd criticized Yvette hung their heads in shame. Tristan, witnessing this unprecedented feat, was speechless. His thoughts: 'So, the crazy ones aren't Ms. Chambers and Jeremiah, but the rest of us?'