George was pleased.
The French girls were laughing, his joke had landed perfectly, and even Vlad looked impressed. It was a great moment.
Then, the girl in the middle winced.
Her smile vanished.
Her hands shot to her stomach.
And then—water splashed onto the floor.
Everyone froze.
Vlad blinked. "Wait… did she just—?"
One of her friends screamed. The other clamped her hands over her mouth.
The pregnant girl gasped, clutching the table. Her face contorted in pain. "Merde—!"
George's brain short-circuited for a full second.
Then, everything snapped into focus.
"Vlad, get the car ready. Now."
Vlad was panicking.
The two French girls were panicking.
The entire café was staring at them as George and Vlad helped the pregnant woman into the car.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Vlad muttered, gripping his hair. "I—bro, I can't do this, I'm gonna—"
"You're not doing anything," George interrupted, shoving him into the passenger seat. "I'm driving."
The French girls scrambled into the back with their friend, who was breathing hard, gripping the seatbelt with white-knuckled hands.
George slid into the driver's seat. His mind switched gears.
He had done this before.
Not in this life. But in another.
The tires screeched as he pulled onto the road.
His hands were steady. His focus razor-sharp.
Every turn was calculated, every gear shift smooth and effortless. The city blurred around him, but he saw everything—the roads, the pedestrians, the traffic flow.
He drove like a man who had done it for twelve years.
And technically, he had.
"Bro, slow down—" Vlad started.
A police siren wailed behind them.
George didn't stop.
The pregnant woman let out a sharp cry, speaking rapidly in a thick French dialect. Her friends didn't understand—they looked just as confused as Vlad.
But George understood perfectly.
She was allergic to standard anesthetics. If the doctors gave her the wrong one, she and her baby could die.
George gritted his teeth. He couldn't stop now.
The second they pulled into the emergency bay, George threw the car into park.
"Vlad, let's help them inside!"
Vlad and the other girls stumbled out, half-hyperventilating, half-crying as they helped their friend.
George turned just as the police car skidded to a stop behind them.
The officers stepped out. They were pissed.
But George had no time for them.
He sprinted after the others, rushing into the hospital.
Inside, the pregnant woman was still screaming in her dialect. The nurses were panicked, trying to get her onto a gurney. The doctor was asking questions in standard French, but she couldn't respond—she was in too much pain.
Nobody understood her.
Except George.
"She's allergic to standard anaesthetics!" he shouted.
The doctor whipped around to stare at him. "You're sure?"
"Yes!"
The urgency in his voice was enough. The staff immediately changed preparations.
The hospital's waiting room was tense.
George stood with his arms crossed as the two police officers stared him down. Vlad was shifting nervously beside him, and the two French girls were frantically trying to explain in broken Romanian.
"Non, non, he was just trying to help!" one of them said.
"He—uh—not danger! Woman—baby! Emergency!" the other added, struggling with the words.
The officers exchanged glances, unimpressed.
"Listen," one of them said, looking back at George, "I understand you were trying to do the right thing. But that doesn't change the facts."
The cop sighed, rubbing his forehead.
"You drove a car without a valid license, ran a red light, and ignored police signals to stop. That's reckless driving and, more importantly, illegal. We're going to have to take you to the station."
Vlad paled. "Wait—seriously? After all that? Come on, man, he just saved someone's life!"
"It doesn't matter," the officer said firmly. "Laws exist for a reason."
The discussion heated up, voices rising. George clenched his fists. After everything, he was really about to get arrested?
Then, a new voice cut through the tension.
"Qu'est-ce qui se passe ici?"
Everyone turned.
A sharply dressed man in his fifties approached, flanked by several people. One of the French girls gasped, "Papa!" and rushed toward him. Her voice trembled with relief.
George's eyes narrowed. Papa?
The man nodded toward another figure—older, even more commanding.
The second man stepped forward, speaking perfect Romanian. "Gentlemen, I would advise you to reconsider your approach to this situation."
The cops hesitated. "And you are…?"
The man gave a polite but firm smile. "I am the Attorney General of France. And this—" He gestured toward the sharply dressed man. "—is Pierre Moreau, a senior French diplomat here on NOTO business. The young woman this boy just saved? His daughter."
Silence.
The officers visibly tensed.
The Attorney General continued.
"This boy demonstrated remarkable quick thinking and a selfless act of courage. If not for him, Ambassador Moreau's daughter and grandchild might not be alive right now."
The officers shifted uncomfortably. "We… we understand that, sir, but laws are laws—"
"Yes, indeed, laws are laws," the Attorney General said smoothly. "However, as I understand it, in emergency situations, Romanian law allows for mitigating circumstances regarding traffic violations when saving a life. Given that the police themselves failed to assist while this young man did, I imagine a report on the matter would raise… unfortunate questions about procedural response times?"
The color drained from the officers' faces.
Vlad barely suppressed a laugh.
The Attorney General smiled. "Unless, of course, you'd still like to bring the young man in? I can call my embassy and have this case handled at the highest level. Would you prefer that?"
One of the officers gulped. The other quickly shook his head. "No, no, sir. I, uh, I think we can let this one go…"
"Excellent choice."
The Attorney General nodded, then turned to George.
"Young man, on behalf of the French government, thank you. Your actions today saved two lives. You have our gratitude."
Ambassador Moreau, the father, stepped forward next. His sharp gaze studied George for a long moment before he gave a small nod of approval.
"Merci, jeune homme," he said simply. "Je vous dois une dette."
("Thank you, young man. I owe you a debt.")
George, still processing everything, simply nodded back. "De rien."
("You're welcome.")
The man smiled faintly.
With that, the French diplomats turned and left, leaving the officers flustered and Vlad looking like he had just witnessed the greatest plot twist of his life.
Vlad turned to George, gaping.
"Dude. What. The. Hell."
George just sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Let's go home."
George leaned against the car door, his head still spinning. Too much had happened in too little time.
The baby was safe. The mother was safe. And somehow, he had just been thanked by NATO dignitaries.
Now, the two French girls stood in front of him, holding out their phones.
"Numéro," one of them said with a playful smirk.
George blinked. "Huh?"
She rolled her eyes. "Your number. You saved our friend's life. We'll call you later."
The other girl nodded. "Oui. You are a… how you say… good person?"
George chuckled and took out his phone, exchanging numbers with both of them.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Vlad gaping at him.
When the girls finally walked off, Vlad grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Dude. What the hell just happened?"
George sighed. "Let's get in the car first."
The second they were back inside, Vlad exploded.
"Okay, no, I need answers. What kind of alternate timeline did I wake up in?!"
George rubbed his temples. "What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?!" Vlad gestured wildly. "First, you flirt like a pro. Then boom—water breaks. Then you turn into Jason Bourne in a taxi. Then you speak ancient dialect French like it's your first language. THEN—French government shows up? What even is my life?"
Silence filled the car.
Vlad turned to look at him, eyes wide. "Dude. Who even are you?"
George shrugged. "I'm a quick learner."
Vlad stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Oh, man. Ohhh man. A quick learner, huh?"
He shook his head, still grinning. "Damn. Here I thought I knew everything about you."
Something about the way he said that made George pause.
Vlad sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. "You know, I was a little upset at first. Not, like, in a bad way, but just… I dunno. I felt kinda dumb for not knowing all this about you."
George didn't know how to respond to that.
Then Vlad turned to him, suddenly serious. For once, his usual goofy energy was gone.
"But you know what?" Vlad said, his voice calm. "I don't care where you got those skills from. I don't care how or why. What I do care about—" he smirked, lightly punching George's shoulder, "—is that you're my best friend, and I'm damn proud of you."
George's breath caught in his throat.
He had no idea what to say.
So, he just looked out the window, swallowing hard. "…Thanks, man."
Vlad grinned. "Damn right, thanks. Now, where are we going next? Because there's no way in hell I'm going to school after all that."
George chuckled, shaking his head. Yeah. No way.
And just like that, the moment passed.
But deep inside, George knew one thing.
Vlad didn't care where his skills came from.
But one day, someone else might.
And when that day came… he needed to be ready.