The Paralel World Doctor

Unfinished Slander

Peter’s words drained part of the noise from the karaoke room.

Amanda blinked only once, but it was enough. Her fingers tightened around her phone, and the tears on her cheeks suddenly looked like makeup waiting for direction. Richard recovered faster. He gave a short, clean laugh, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who had never imagined truth could become a problem as long as he stood on the more expensive side of the room.

“The part before you woke up?” Richard said. “Peter, you can barely stand. Now you want to make up stories?”

The hostess seized the chance at once. “He’s trying to blame me! Everyone heard him, right? I’m the victim, but he’s still looking for excuses.”

The drunk guest swung his bottle. “Guilty people always have excuses. In a minute he’ll say the glass was cursed.”

The man filming moved closer for a better angle. “Keep recording. This is getting better. If he loses control, the video will explode.”

Amanda sighed beautifully, as if covering for Peter’s ugliness had long become a burden she was too noble to complain about. “Peter, at least stop lying this once. I’ve hidden your flaws too many times already.”

Peter looked at the glass on the table. He did not expect the crowd to suddenly become reasonable. He only needed to confirm what his body already knew. A pale yellow liquid remained at the bottom. Beneath the alcohol was a bitter trace that pressed on the nerves. Different world, different herbs, but the human body always spoke the same language when forced to sleep.

“Who brought this drink?” he asked.

The hostess cried harder before anyone could answer. “Look! Now he’s blaming the drink!”

The crowd heated again. Some sneered, others raised their phones higher, and a man near the door muttered that people like Peter always had a reason after getting caught. Richard stepped closer through those voices, lowering his tone with the confidence of a man teaching the poor how the world worked.

“Even if you’re right, who would believe you?”

Peter looked at him. “Thank you for explaining the rules of this place.”

Richard frowned.

Peter’s right hand slipped slightly beneath his jacket sleeve. Several thin silver needles were hidden there, almost invisible under the neon light. To people who only understood violence through fists and knives, they looked harmless. But the human body had many small doors, and a physician who knew where they were did not need a large weapon to teach fear.

Richard was about to speak again when his breath caught.

His shoulders stiffened. The hand that had rested casually in his pocket rose to his chest, trembling as if something had struck him from inside. He tried to remain upright, but his knees lost confidence, and the clean arrogance on his face began to pale.

“Richard?” Amanda turned.

Peter was already half a step from her. Amanda’s wrist suddenly weakened, and her phone dropped onto the carpet with a dull thud. She opened her mouth, whether to call Richard or curse Peter, but her tongue was too heavy to shape a full word.

The hostess stopped crying, and that was what made several people notice something strange. A truly frightened person did not forget to sob just because the stage had shifted. A performer often did.

“What happened?” the karaoke employee stepped back. “Mr. Richard?”

The man filming quickly turned his camera. “Wait, what’s wrong with the rich guy? Record this too!”

The moral woman looked around uneasily, her voice changing from judgment to caution. “Maybe the drinks here really are problematic. Are they safe?”

Richard’s flatterer in the brown jacket stepped forward with a pale face, still desperate to be seen as loyal. “Mr. Richard may just be tired. Successful people have a lot of pressure.”

“Very loyal,” Peter said without looking at him for long, and the man choked on his own smile before stepping back.

Richard glared at Peter. He knew something had happened, but he had no way to prove it. In places like this, power was usually enough to turn lies into truth. For the first time that night, his own body refused to cooperate with his status.

Peter crouched and picked up Amanda’s phone. She tried to reach for it, but her fingers were still weak.

“Don’t...” Amanda’s voice came out broken.

“You were the one who wanted everyone to see.”

Peter opened the recording, dragged it back to the beginning, and found the frame he needed. On the screen, his body was slumped on the sofa. The hostess stood beside him, glanced toward the door, then pulled Peter’s hand toward her own waist. After that, the door opened, the camera moved, and the performance began.

He did not play the whole video. He only enlarged one frame and turned the screen toward the crowd. “Is this enough?”

This silence was heavier.

The hostess went pale. “That’s just the camera angle.”

“Can a camera angle pull my hand?”

The drunk lowered his bottle. The man in the black shirt quickly lowered his phone, his thumb moving over the screen to delete the video before anyone could ask why he had been so eager to film. The moral woman pretended to fix her hair. Another man remained stubborn and muttered that Peter’s hand had still been there.

The crowd did not fully turn. Some fell silent out of shame, some blamed the hostess, and some looked away so they would not have to admit they had just been used. For Peter, that was enough. He did not need their belief. He only needed the stage to crack.

He lowered his eyes to Amanda’s phone again. Richard’s messages were there: instructions, time, the hostess’s name, and enough short lines to show the trap had not been made in five minutes. Peter copied the important parts to his own phone, then deleted Amanda’s unsent draft to the family group.

But he was too late for one thing.

One short clip had already been sent to the Bernadus family group. It only showed the hostess screaming and Peter’s hand in the wrong place. No beginning. No glass. No message from Richard. The stage had not collapsed. It had only cracked in front of the people present.

Amanda saw the sent notification on the phone in Peter’s hand, and her fear hardened into something sharper. She had not won, but she was not finished.

Richard finally managed a longer breath. His tongue was still stiff, but his lips tried to form one name, reduced to a short hiss.

“Go...”

Peter looked at him.

The name did not come out whole, but it was enough to connect the message, the karaoke room, and the debt he had yet to understand. Richard clenched his jaw and stared at Peter with hatred that no longer bothered to wear a smile.

The karaoke manager arrived with two security guards. His steps slowed when he saw Richard pale, Amanda seated on the floor, the hostess silent, and the cameras now pointing in different directions.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his smile already cracked.

The man filming gave a small laugh. “The problem changed, sir. A minute ago it was harassment. Now it looks like a setup.”

The hostess screamed again. “I’m the victim!”

“A victim who pulled the hand of an unconscious man?” someone muttered behind her.

The karaoke employee was sweating. He did not dare defend Peter, but he also did not dare hold back someone who had nearly brought Richard to his knees without a visible blow. The manager chose the safest route, like a man used to saving his business by burying facts.

“Everyone should calm down. We’ll check the internal footage.”

“Internal footage?” Peter looked at him.

The manager avoided his gaze. “If it’s still there.”

Several people understood at once. Places like this always had cameras when poor guests were at fault, and always lost footage when the rich were involved.

Peter slipped Amanda’s phone into his pocket. “Save your excuses for the police, if you dare call them.”

No one stopped him as he walked out. In the hallway, neon light flickered above his head, while Amanda began to move again inside the room. Her face was no longer wounded. Her fear had already become a neater kind of hatred.

The phone in Peter’s hand vibrated.

A new message appeared from an unknown number.

If the video fails, send Goro’s men tonight. Davis must kneel before dawn.

Below it was another line.

Money debt is paid with money. Face debt is paid with bones.

Peter read it once, then walked toward the exit, carrying evidence that was not enough to clear his name and a new problem waiting before dawn.