Chapter 26: Failure? You'll Be Buried With Him
A complex surgery? Short-staffed? Could it be tumor resection?
Countless possibilities immediately flashed through David's mind.
But his mouth moved before his brain caught up:
"I can do it."
Charon stared intently for a moment. Seeing that David showed no fear whatsoever, he handed David a slip of paper with a room number written on it:
"This surgery is extremely critical. Don't screw it up."
David took the note and glanced at it.
Room 8808, top floor—exclusive suite for High Table members.
It seemed the patient requiring surgery this time was a major player.
Seeing the flicker in David's eyes, Charon offered a warning:
"Before you step through that door, anything can change.
But once you enter that room, there's only one acceptable outcome: success. Understand?"
David considered this. Tumor surgery carried inherent risks, and the failure rate was higher than most other surgical procedures.
It would be foolish to gamble with a High Table member's life without any information.
"Can I review the patient's CT imaging before committing?"
Charon nodded and said, "Follow me."
Then he led David into a secured room on the first floor. After biometric verification—fingerprint and retinal scan—he accessed a computer and pulled up the patient's CT images.
The abdominal CT used pseudo-color enhancement to differentiate the tumor.
So on the color monitor, a large crimson mass was clearly visible, positioned adjacent to the abdominal aorta and left kidney.
It appeared to be a soft tissue sarcoma.
As expected—tumor resection surgery.
David fell into deep thought studying the image. That familiar feeling washed over him again.
Seeing David's frown, Charon immediately misread the situation.
He shut down the color monitor and clapped David's shoulder:
"You're still young. Plenty of time to earn coins. No need to take every contract.
You should know that in our business, many things carry lethal risks.
Look, tonight you should hit the lounge, order some top-shelf scotch, maybe call some company upstairs for the evening..."
Charon's words were cut off by David's decisive interruption:
"No. I'll take this contract."
Charon's hand on David's shoulder instantly froze:
"You're certain?"
David, who'd already recalled where he'd seen this case, nodded without hesitation:
"I'm certain."
Seeing David's resolute attitude, Charon said nothing more and told David to proceed upstairs alone.
Operating on a High Table member meant even the smallest mistake could cost you everything.
If David was prepared for that consequence, Charon naturally wouldn't stop him.
Charon watched David's retreating back with a trace of pity.
He wondered if this David was brave or simply foolish, still accepting this lethal surgery after his repeated warnings.
Charon shook his head and exited the room.
As concierge of the Continental, he'd witnessed far too much death. David was just another name on that list.
While waiting for the elevator to ascend, the image he'd just reviewed replayed in David's mind.
He was intimately familiar with this CT presentation.
This case was nearly identical to an episode from The Good Doctor where the left kidney needed to be sacrificed to gain surgical access for retroperitoneal tumor resection.
That was David's confidence in accepting this life-or-death surgery.
With the correct surgical approach from a similar case and the procedural knowledge he'd absorbed, he had high certainty of successfully removing this tumor.
As for post-operative recurrence?
That wasn't his concern.
Based on his experience, if it recurred, the patient wouldn't be long for this world anyway.
Soon, David arrived at room 8808. After the note was verified and confirmed via phone, the security personnel flanking the door admitted him.
Upon entering, David found it had been converted into a sterile operating suite.
The man seated on the hospital bed appeared to be in his mid-forties. He radiated the aura of someone accustomed to absolute authority, and his casual glance carried penetrating scrutiny.
Seeing this demeanor, a phrase immediately flashed through David's mind—apex predator.
David's gaze traveled downward. The patient's posture was slightly hunched, and one hand rested unconsciously on his abdomen.
The tumor was clearly compressing nerves, causing significant pain.
Suddenly, David's gaze sharpened, fixing on the back of the man's hand.
There, unmistakably, was a bloody hand tattoo.
Then this person's identity was essentially confirmed.
Combined with the penthouse accommodations and the specially converted OR, it was virtually certain—this was the Bratva's representative on the High Table: Viggo Tarasov.
If this man died here, it would trigger seismic upheaval throughout the underworld.
Just then, Viggo also noticed the new surgeon.
He gestured to David, signaling him to approach.
After donning a sterile surgical gown, David entered the operating suite.
Inside, besides himself, there were four other physicians.
It seemed they'd be collaborating on this surgery.
Viggo studied the young David and frowned:
"Does the Continental have no one left? Sending some kid to assist with the surgery?"
Before David could respond, an older surgeon stopped David with a look and quickly intervened:
"It's fine, it's fine. We can handle this procedure ourselves.
Calling another physician is just to have someone available for ancillary tasks."
Viggo frowned and nodded:
"Then can we proceed? I don't want to miss my daughter's wedding."
The senior surgeon and his three colleagues exchanged glances, all recognizing the pressure in each other's eyes.
Unlike David, who had a choice, they had none.
They'd been specifically summoned by Viggo to perform this surgery!
The senior surgeon took a deep breath:
"Yes, then we'll need you to go under first."
Viggo first glanced at the security personnel stationed outside. After receiving an affirmative nod, he turned back:
"Then let's begin."
As the anesthetic gas was administered, Viggo gradually lost consciousness.
He was now in a state where David and the others had complete control.
Only then did the senior surgeon dare to release the breath he'd been holding.
He surveyed the room and said:
"I trust everyone comprehends the stakes of this surgery.
If we fail, we'll be buried alongside him!
Everyone, focus up. Bring your A-game, and don't fuck this up for me!
As for the new guy—this is my first time seeing you, and I don't have time to verify your skill level.
You'll be fourth assist, just passing instruments and such.
I'll be primary surgeon, Caesar as first assist, Wendy as second assist..."
Soon, the senior surgeon finished assigning everyone's roles.
David, assigned as fourth assist and only responsible for instruments, felt no objection.
If these four could handle it themselves, it would save him considerable effort.
Seeing that David accepted the assignment without complaint, the senior surgeon nodded with approval.
He didn't expect David to contribute meaningfully—just not get in the way.
The rest would be up to him.
The senior surgeon watched first assist Caesar's hand as he made the initial incision, his expression grave, praying the peritoneal cavity wasn't too complicated.
All their lives were riding on this.
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