After a dull metallic clang, the door behind Schiller closed. Before him was complete darkness. There were no lights in this room, so he could see nothing.
The doll's ethereal, eerie female voice rang out again.
"Life in this world is not equal. Doctors always understand this more deeply than most. Some choose to strive for equality, while others choose to make them even more unequal."
"You did as much work as you were paid for—that was your principle. People paid high consultation fees and placed immense expectations on your superb skills, but did you truly meet those expectations?"
"Hadn't you already tested my professional abilities?"
"Was it like that every time?"
With a ding, the room's light came on. But it was a spotlight, casting a distinct circular pool of light on the floor.
Within that lit area stood an operating table. A pale little boy lay on it, looking only five or six years old.
Judging by his complexion, he was still alive, yet there was no audible pulse or heartbeat. His chest did not rise or fall either, as if his time had been frozen.
"He is five years old and has congenital heart disease. Three minutes ago, he suffered an attack, and his condition has reached the point where surgery is necessary."
An X-ray Film fell from the ceiling. Schiller picked it up and held it to the overhead light. One glance was all it took for him to realize that he knew this heart very well.
Typical symptoms of Tricuspid Atresia, combined with Pulmonary Atresia—the condition involved in the last surgery Schiller had performed as a surgeon.
Except the child on the operating table then had only just turned one month old, while this boy was already five.
Honestly, this could be called a miracle