NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital.

"Good job, Doctor Strange."

The doctor in surgical clothes breathed a sigh of relief and thanked his colleague, Dr. Stephen Strange, next to him.

According to the usual schedule, this type of surgery would take at least thirty hours. But with Strange as the lead surgeon, the operation was successfully completed in three hours.

Although the other doctors disliked Strange's arrogance, they had to admit that he did possess "miracle hands."

"Sorry, I have other matters to attend to, I need to leave," Strange said, removing his gloves and massaging his sore shoulder.

Pushing open the operating room door, he was greeted by a couple walking toward him with anxious expressions.

"Doctor, how is my daughter?"

"The operation was successful. She'll be able to talk and walk soon," Strange answered before they could even ask.

Relieved by the news, the couple broke into tears of joy.

"Thank you, Doctor, thank you so much!" the husband exclaimed, clasping Strange's hand in gratitude.

Strange calmly pulled his hand away and said, "Due to the anesthesia, she won't wake up for a while. You can go home and rest."

The wife shook her head, still overwhelmed, "No, I want to stay by her side until she wakes up."

Strange nodded without further comment, turned, and walked away.

Just as he exited the corridor, a voice called out, "Wait a moment, Doctor Strange."

He turned to see Christine, a colleague from the emergency room, approaching.

"You're looking sharp today, Christine."

Christine shrugged. "I always look good. I overheard you talking to the patient's family. That was quite different from the Doctor Strange I know."

"Uh-huh," Strange replied. "I suggested they rest because I didn't want them passing out and being unable to afford the surgery."

Christine rolled her eyes. "Now that's the Doctor Strange I know."

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Arrogant, brilliant—but not someone easily liked.

"After all, what they need is a doctor who can heal their daughter, not a counselor to comfort them, right, Christine?" Strange smirked, quickly shifting the topic. "By the way, there's a medical lecture at New York University tonight. Care to join me?"

Christine waved at a passing colleague and replied, "While medical lectures do sound intriguing, I'm on duty tonight. Sorry."

Declining the invitation, Christine had her reservations about dating such an egotistical man, even if she could have swapped shifts.

Strange shrugged off the rejection. For a successful man with a big house and a Lamborghini, female company wasn't something he lacked.

The two walked toward the elevator, still talking.

*Ding!*

The elevator doors opened.

Inside, Peter Parker looked up and saw Strange and Christine at the entrance.

Doctor Strange?

His gaze immediately locked on Strange's distinct face. The name "Stephen Strange" had seemed familiar when he first saw it at NewYork-Presbyterian, but only now did he remember—this was the future Sorcerer Supreme.

Thoughts swirled through Peter's mind, but he kept his expression neutral, quickly averting his gaze and stepping out of the elevator.

At this point, Strange didn't know magic yet. He wasn't the sorcerer wielding the Time Stone. Peter had no interest in this pre-magician version of him.

As they passed each other, Strange frowned, glancing back at Peter.

"What is it?" Christine asked, noticing Strange's attention on the stranger.

"Nothing," Strange shook his head and pressed the button for the basement. "What floor are you going to?"

"Second," Christine answered, pressing the button. "I have a small meeting in Anesthesiology. Hopefully, it won't take too long."

Inside the elevator, the air grew quiet. Strange's brow furrowed further as he replayed the encounter in his mind.

When they passed each other earlier, his heart had raced, his breathing quickened, as if an invisible pressure had fallen over him.

Forcing himself to shake off the strange sensation, he focused instead on the medical lecture that awaited him that evening.

Meanwhile, at the hospital…

"Lane Brown. You can call me Dr. Lane," a doctor introduced himself with a smile in the clinic.

"We spoke on the phone, Dr. Lane," Peter replied, taking in the environment as he sat opposite him.

Dr. Lane, about thirty and sporting glasses, smiled warmly. Despite Peter's somewhat abrasive demeanor, Lane showed no irritation. Instead, he stood, locked the door, and continued.

"Yes, as we agreed, I will keep your condition entirely confidential, and in return, I will receive the agreed-upon compensation."

Peter nodded, satisfied. "Perfect. It's clear you're a smart and adaptable doctor."

Lane was the consulting doctor Peter had arranged to see. Before coming to the hospital, Peter had thoroughly investigated his background.

Dr. Lane had a tarnished reputation within the hospital due to his involvement in accepting gratuities from patients' families and conducting non-standard procedures. Because of this, Peter had specifically chosen him.

After all, a doctor easily swayed by money was ideal for a discreet transaction.

"As you requested, there will be no records of this diagnosis, and I will erase any traces of your medical history. In short, only the two of us will know the results of your treatment."

Pushing his glasses up, Dr. Lane reassured Peter.

Though he didn't understand why Peter was going to such lengths, he suppressed his curiosity, reminding himself that a professional doctor never asked unnecessary questions.

Despite Peter's youth, there was something cold and dangerous about him, a presence that made Lane instinctively cooperative.

"Excellent. I hope this will be a smooth collaboration."

Peter smiled, pleased with the doctor's professionalism.

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