THE REAL PROTEGE

Pharsa's strides were controlled yet brisk as she kept pace with the stretcher, her sharp eyes scanning every detail — Fatty's breathing pattern, his pallor, the subtle signs of trauma beyond the visible injuries. Despite the chaos, her mind remained calculated, filing away what she already knew. Right knee — dislocated. Already fixed. Right leg — broken. Surgery required.

Inside the sterile glow of the operating wing, monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, the hum of machines blending with the clipped voices of the doctors preparing for the tests and scans.

Not long after, Shi Min stormed into the room, his posture rigid with barely concealed urgency. He moved straight to Pharsa, not wasting a second.

"What's the situation?" His voice was sharp and precise — his instincts fully locked into surgeon mode.

Pharsa barely looked away from the monitors as she responded, her tone level but laced with quiet intensity.

"According to the X-ray, his right leg is broken and needs surgery. His left knee was dislocated — I already reset it. We're waiting for the head and neck scan results now."

Shi Min's jaw tightened, but he nodded briskly, mentally preparing for the worst possible scenarios. He crossed his arms, his fingers tapping against his forearm — a subtle sign of tension despite his outward composure.

Then — the results arrived.

The doctors emerged with the scans, handing over the films with practiced efficiency. Shi Min took them immediately, flipping through the images with methodical precision.

A pause. Then — his expression dimmed.

"There are torn ligaments in his neck and a slight concussion on his head." His voice was steady, but the weight of the words settled over the room.

Pharsa's gaze flickered toward him, waiting for the call.

Shi Min exhaled sharply, setting the films down with finality.

"Let's leave this part to Mom. She can fix this without surgery." His decision was immediate. There was no hesitation.

Shi Min's eyes remained locked onto the films, his expert gaze dissecting every detail with ruthless precision. But the further he examined, the deeper his frown etched into his face. His jaw tightened, a cold, sinking weight settling in his chest.

"There are two aneurysms on his brain." His voice was grave and calculated, but the underlying tension in his tone was unmistakable. This was a grim discovery.

The room stilled. The air, once filled with hurried medical instructions, seemed to pause - heavy, suffocating, charged with the weight of an unforeseen complication.

"These aneurysms may have been here for some time," Shi Min continued, his fingers gripping the edges of the films slightly harder. His mind raced through possibilities, dangers, the unknown factors that could determine the next critical moments.

He exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. "This accident — despite its brutality — was a blessing in disguise. If we hadn't found them now, they would have been a ticking time bomb inside his skull." His gaze flickered toward the surgical team. They couldn't afford hesitation and immediate action was required.

Shi Min's voice cut through the tension like steel.

"Prepare the surgery — I'll operate on his leg and brain aneurysm. Get the catheter, stent, and coils ready for recoiling."

No objections. No wasted words. No delays.

The team moved with precision and urgency, with nurses scrambling to prep instruments, doctors confirming procedures, and assistants double-checking medications. Every movement was synchronized, a well-oiled machine built for situations exactly like this — life or death.

Shi Min didn't waste another second. He strode into the scrub area, rolling up his sleeves, methodically cleansing his hands, the sterile scent of disinfectant filling his lungs. His mind was clear. His focus is absolute.

Pharsa followed, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her thoughts. She knew the risk. She knew that brain aneurysms were delicate monsters — waiting, lurking, ready to rupture with the smallest provocation.

"The aneurysms could burst at any time," she murmured, her voice low but firm. "Especially if his pain escalates or his body grows agitated during the operation."

Shi Min nodded briskly. "Then we don't give them a chance." His hands remained steady despite the severity of the situation. "We go in, we fix this, and we bring him back."

The Operation Begins.

Inside the brightly lit surgical room, monitors beeped in a steady rhythm, Fatty's vitals displayed in a delicate balance. The hum of machines filled the space as Shi Min took position, his surgical gear meticulously secured, his mind calculating every step ahead.

Failure was not an option.

Pharsa stood nearby, her eyes locked onto the monitors, ready to react to the slightest shift in Fatty's condition.

The anesthesiologist counted down softly, preparing Fatty for deep sedation.

The moment Shi Min steps into the operating room, a familiar tension settles in his chest. It's not fear — it is focus. Aneurysms are unpredictable and fragile. The risk of rupture is always lurking. But today, in this sterile-lit room, his job is to make sure that doesn't happen.

The patient now lies still, unconscious beneath the hum of machines. On the monitor, the aneurysm glares at everyone — an unspoken challenge, a silent plea for intervention. Shi Min exhales slowly. 'This is what we trained for. Every movement now matters.'

Shi Min took a breath. The moment of truth.

"Catheter," he commanded.

And the first step was made.

Shi Min made the first puncture, threading the catheter into the femoral artery. His hands are steady, though his mind races ahead, mapping the delicate path through twisting vessels. The screen guides Shi Min — each millimeter forward feels like navigating a minefield. One misstep could mean disaster.

There. The aneurysm looms before them, fragile as a whisper. No time for hesitation. Shi Min slides the stent into position, the mesh structure unfurling across the aneurysm's neck like a bridge over turbulent waters. A safeguard, a barrier between danger and life.

Next, the coils. The moment they enter the aneurysm, Shi Min holds his breath. Each coil curls into place, filling the sac-like intricate threads in a tapestry. Blood begins clotting around them — a sign of success. Slowly, it shuts itself off from circulation. It's working.