The system notification blinked insistently in the corner of my vision as I changed out of my surgical scrubs.
[DAILY QUEST AVAILABLE]
Master of Restraint
Objective: Complete 3 procedures maintaining 95%+ precision while appearing "merely very good"
Bonus Objective: Receive no comments about unusual improvement
Reward: 25 XP, Stealth Skill +1
Penalty for Failure: Dr. Webb's Suspicion increases
I dismissed the notification with a thought, my hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline of the cholecystectomy. The Perfect Memory ability had already catalogued every moment of the surgery in crystal-clear detail – the way the tissue parted like silk under my enhanced touch, the precognitive flashes that showed me exactly where to cut before I even moved. It had been... intoxicating.
"Ethan."
I spun around to find Dr. Webb standing in the doorway of the locker room, his expression unreadable. My Enhanced Focus kicked in automatically, sharpening every detail of his posture, the micro-expressions flickering across his weathered face.
"Dr. Webb." I kept my voice carefully neutral, fighting the urge to activate my new abilities to read him more deeply.
"Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
We moved through the hospital corridors in silence, past the familiar bustle of nurses and residents. My enhanced perception picked up everything – heartbeats, stress indicators, the chemical tang of disinfectant mixed with the metallic scent of blood from the trauma bay. The sensory overload was overwhelming until I consciously dialed it back, another skill I was still learning to control.
Dr. Webb led me to his office and closed the door behind us. Through the window, I could see the city skyline painted in the orange hues of sunset.
"Margaret Walsh's surgery," he said without preamble, settling behind his desk. "Thirty-one minutes."
"Yes, sir. Clean margins, no complications—"
"The average time for a laparoscopic cholecystectomy is fifty-four minutes, Ethan. For a surgeon of your experience level." His fingers drummed against the desk surface. "Three weeks ago, you were struggling with basic procedures. Now you're operating at a level I'd expect from someone with twenty years of experience."
The system helpfully highlighted several response options in my peripheral vision, complete with probability assessments for each approach. I ignored them all.
"Dr. Webb, I've been working harder than ever. Studying, practicing, reviewing cases—"
"I've been doing this for thirty-five years." His voice cut through mine like a scalpel. "I've seen residents improve, I've seen surgeons find their groove, I've even seen late bloomers suddenly click. But what I saw in that OR today..." He leaned forward. "That wasn't improvement, Ethan. That was transformation."
My mouth went dry. The Enhanced Focus ability was practically screaming at me to activate, to read his body language, to find the perfect words to deflect his suspicion. Instead, I forced myself to sit still and look confused.
"I don't understand what you're implying."
"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a medical impossibility." He pulled out a tablet and swiped through what looked like surgical records. "Tremor reduction of ninety-five percent. Reaction time improved by a factor of three. Diagnostic accuracy up four hundred percent in two weeks. Ethan, these aren't the metrics of human improvement. These are the metrics of..."
He trailed off, shaking his head.
"Of what?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to know the answer.
"I don't know. And that's what worries me." He set the tablet aside and studied my face. "Are you using something? Enhancement drugs? Stimulants? Some new neural interface tech I haven't heard about?"
The irony wasn't lost on me. He was closer to the truth than he realized, just looking in the wrong direction.
"No drugs, Dr. Webb. No tech. Just..." I spread my hands, going for helpless honesty. "Maybe I needed that wake-up call. The accident, the leave, losing Sarah Chen – maybe it all forced me to dig deeper."
He was quiet for a long moment, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his head. Finally, he sighed.
"I want to believe that, Ethan. I really do. But I'm going to be watching you very closely. If there's something you're not telling me – something that could compromise patient safety or hospital integrity – I will find out."
"I understand."
"Do you?" He leaned back in his chair. "Because tomorrow, I'm putting you on a case that's going to test every bit of this miraculous improvement of yours. Six-year-old with a complex cardiac tumor. Inoperable, according to three different specialists. The family's here for a fourth opinion."
My blood chilled. A six-year-old. The same age Sarah Chen would have been if—
[URGENT QUEST DETECTED]
The Impossible Surgery
High-Risk Cardiac Tumor Removal
Difficulty: S-Rank
Success Reward: +200 XP, Miracle Worker Skill Fragment
Failure Consequence: Patient Death, Career Termination
Special Condition: Procedure must appear within normal human capability
The system notification blazed across my vision, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was another child, another family holding onto hope that might not exist.
"What's the tumor type?" I asked.
"Rhabdomyosarcoma. Wrapped around the right atrium and superior vena cava. One surgeon said it would take a heart transplant to save him. Another said even that wouldn't work."
I knew that tumor type. Aggressive, fast-growing, and in that location... it was essentially a death sentence. But with my enhanced abilities, with Surgical Precognition and the new skills I could unlock...
"When's the consultation?"
"Tomorrow morning. The family's name is Rodriguez. Carlos Rodriguez, age six." Dr. Webb's eyes never left my face. "I want you to examine him, review the imaging, and give me your honest assessment. No miracles, no impossible solutions. Just tell me if there's anything – anything at all – that three specialists might have missed."
He stood up, signaling the end of our conversation. But as I reached the door, his voice stopped me.
"Ethan? That little boy's parents are looking for hope. Don't give them false hope just to prove a point."
I nodded and left his office, my mind already racing. In the elevator, I finally allowed myself to check the System Store, scrolling through the abilities that could make the difference between life and death for Carlos Rodriguez.
[SURGICAL SKILLS - AVAILABLE]
Master-Level Technique - 75 SP
Miracle Worker (Fragment) - 50 SP
Perfect Surgical Memory - 25 SP
[DIAGNOSTIC POWERS - AVAILABLE]
Disease Pathology Sight - 60 SP
Anatomical X-Ray Vision - 80 SP
[SPECIAL ABILITIES - AVAILABLE]
Time Dilation (Minor) - 100 SP
Surgical Telepathy - 150 SP
I had 110 System Points. Enough for several moderate upgrades, or one major game-changer. But every purchase would make me more obviously superhuman, increasing the risk that Dr. Webb would discover the truth.
The elevator dinged, and I stepped out onto the pediatric floor. Through the window of the family consultation room, I could see them – a young Hispanic couple holding each other, their faces etched with the particular exhaustion that comes from watching your child fight for life.
[QUEST REMINDER]
Master of Restraint - Progress: 1/3 procedures completed
Next Objective: Balance Carlos Rodriguez case with stealth requirements
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Tomorrow, I would have to thread the needle between saving a child's life and maintaining my cover. Use just enough of my abilities to find a solution that three specialists had missed, but not so much that it looked impossible.
The system pulsed gently in my vision, patient and ready. All that power, just waiting to be unlocked. All those abilities that could turn me into the greatest surgeon who ever lived.
But as I watched Carlos Rodriguez's parents through that window, I realized the true challenge wasn't learning to use these abilities.
It was learning when not to.
[XP GAINED: +15 for completing first day as Level 2]
[TOTAL XP: 191/200 until Level 3]
[WARNING: High-stakes case detected. Failure probability increases without additional skills.]
The system's final message lingered as I walked away, the weight of tomorrow's impossible choice already settling on my shoulders. Save the child and risk everything, or play it safe and let another Sarah Chen slip away.
Some days, being superhuman felt more like a curse than a gift.