The luxurious ICU room on the 42nd floor of the city’s most exclusive private hospital, where one night’s stay costs more than many people’s annual rent. Alexander Harrington, 52-year-old tech billionaire, lay motionless on the specialized bed. His right leg was suspended high by a system of pulleys and medical cables, the femur shattered into pieces after a helicopter crash three weeks earlier.
The world’s top doctors had shaken their heads: “The bone is too severely fractured, the nerves badly damaged. He may never walk properly again.”
The monitors beeped steadily. Alexander lay there, eyes sunken, stubble patchy, but his gaze still razor-sharp.
He had refused all strong painkillers because he “wanted to stay awake to curse the world.” And today, he was in one of his foulest moods.
The door opened quietly. A skinny Black boy, about ten years old, slipped inside wearing an old, frayed hoodie. No one knew how he got past security downstairs.
His name was Jamal. In his hand he carried a small, worn cloth bag.
Alexander glanced at him and gave a mocking laugh, voice hoarse from days of silence:
“Kid, you lost? Or are you the new ‘patient entertainment service’ the hospital hired?
Get out. I’m not in the mood.”
Jamal didn’t reply. He walked straight to the bedside, pulled over a small stool, and calmly sat down.
His eyes fixed on the suspended leg.
Alexander smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm:
“What are you staring at? Want money? Fine.
I’ll bet you one million dollars. If you can make even one toe on this leg move in the next five minutes, I’ll transfer it to you right now. Otherwise, get lost and stop wasting my time.”
The boy stayed silent.
From the cloth bag, Jamal took out a small black stone—smooth, glossy, with strange vein-like patterns that looked almost like dried blood vessels. He placed the stone in his palm, then gently laid his entire hand just below the knee of the suspended leg.
The air in the room suddenly felt heavy. The heart monitor began to speed up slightly.
Alexander frowned:
“What the hell are you doing? Get your hand off me, I don’t like—”
His words cut off.
A strange, warm sensation spread from his knee downward to his foot. Not phantom feeling—this was real.
Very real. Like warm water flowing upward from the sole of his foot. The toes that had been paralyzed for three weeks began to… tremble.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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