Wheel of Time: The Heir who isn't Useless

Chapter 6: The Medical World Notices

Lyon POV

"He cannot be allowed in the surgical gallery."

Dr. Paul stood at the double doors of the VIP intensive care wing, his face flushed red as he held his clipboard like a shield.

"He has no license on file in this jurisdiction," Dr. Paul insisted, his hand trembling as he glared down at the sleek metal wheelchair. "Director Vance, the patient is Julian Hayes! The Governor's only son! If this crippled vagrant touches him and a spasm occurs, the entire board will be dragged to federal court!"

Director Vance wiped cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Shut up, Paul! The Governor gave us thirty minutes before he authorizes a military medical transfer! Do you have a single idea how to stop the central arterial cascade?"

"The bypass pump is stable!" Dr. Paul yelled.

"The bypass pump is bleeding him out into his pleural cavity at four hundred milliliters a minute!" Dr. Jessica Vance snapped, pushing past two senior nurses to step into the corridor.

She pulled off her surgical mask, her sharp eyes locking onto Lyon. Her white coat was covered in fresh dark blood spots. "You are L. Blackwood's technical representative? The one who submitted the private micro-vascular patent logs to the ministry?"

Lyon adjusted his posture in his wheelchair, his fingers resting flat on his armrests. He did not look at Dr. Paul. He did not look at the frantic medical staff running back and forth with blood bags. His eyes were fixed on the live biometric monitor mounted above the gallery glass.

"Your attending team used a standard nineteen-gauge nitinol stent during the primary repair," Lyon said, his voice completely flat, devoid of any stress or hesitation. "The material elasticity coefficient at body temperature is three point two. The patient has an unrecorded vascular wall calcification in his subclavian trunk."

Dr. Jessica froze, her eyes widening. "We checked his pre-op scans! There was no calcification!"

"It is visible on the secondary Doppler reading at frame ninety-four," Lyon stated, his dark eyes indifferent. "Your team misinterpreted the shadow as equipment interference. The stent is actively tearing the posterior arterial wall every time his heart contracts against the pump pressure."

Dr. Paul scoffed, waving his arms in total dismissal. "Absolute nonsense! A kid sitting in a wheelchair thinks he can read raw Doppler frames better than our central diagnostic AI? Security, escort this retard out of the building immediately!"

"Touch him and you are fired, Paul!" Director Vance roared, slamming his fist against the door frame. He turned to Lyon, his voice shaking with sheer desperation. "Young man... can you stop the internal tear?"

"I am not a licensed surgeon," Lyon answered calmly, looking straight ahead. "I do not scrub in."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?!" Dr. Paul screamed.

"I am here to redesign your failure," Lyon said.

He tapped a key on his armrest control panel. The digital drawing pad mounted to his chair flipped open, projecting a three-dimensional blue schematic onto the white corridor wall.

"Adjust the bypass flow to two point one liters," Lyon commanded, his voice cold and steady. "Reduce the systemic temperature by two degrees. Dr. Vance, you will enter through the third intercostal space using an angled ten-millimeter balloon catheter."

Jessica stared at the projected blue lines on the wall. The angle he drew was completely unorthodox. It bypassed the primary incision entirely, cutting straight through the scar tissue.

"That angle... it avoids the phrenic nerve by less than a millimeter," Jessica whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "If my hand slips by a fraction, his diaphragm paralyzes permanently."

"Your hand will not slip if you align the guide wire with the calcification shadow at sixty degrees," Lyon said, his expression empty. "You have six minutes before his mean arterial pressure drops below forty."

Jessica looked at Dr. Paul, then looked back at Lyon's completely unfazed, razor-sharp eyes. There was no doubt in his face. No anxiety. No human nervousness. It was pure, absolute mathematical certainty.

"I'm going in," Jessica declared, pulling her mask back over her face. "Prep the balloon catheter! Switch the monitor feed to his chair's terminal!"

"Director, this is insane!" Dr. Paul yelled, following her toward the scrub room. "You are trusting a paralytic who doesn't even have a medical badge!"

"Shut your mouth and hand her the clamps!" Director Vance barked, stepping back to let Lyon's wheelchair roll up to the primary observation glass.

Inside the operating theater, the alarm lights were flashing bright red. Julian Hayes lay on the table, his chest open, blood pooling rapidly in the suction tubes.

“Bypass pressure dropping! Forty-five over twenty!” the anesthesiologist shouted through the intercom. “We are losing his pulse!”

"Do not look at the blood," Lyon's calm voice echoed through Jessica's earpiece from the gallery. "Look at the monitor shadow. Insert the catheter three centimeters past the junction. Stop."

Jessica held the metal instrument over the open incision. Her fingers trembled for a fraction of a second. "I am at the junction."

"Advance two millimeters," Lyon directed, his pulse on his armrest monitor remaining at a stone-cold sixty beats per minute. "Inflate the balloon to four atmospheres. Now."

Jessica pressed the pneumatic trigger.

The sharp, screaming alarm on the heart monitor suddenly cut off.

The flatlining red line bounced back into a steady, rhythmic green wave.

“Internal bleeding stopped!” the technician gasped through the speakers. “Systolic pressure returning to ninety! The tear sealed!”

Dr. Paul stood frozen in the corner of the gallery, his jaw hanging wide open, his clipboard slipping out of his numb fingers and crashing onto the floor.

[Camera Cut: Outside the gallery, Director Vance dropped to his knees against the wall, weeping in pure relief as he pulled out his phone to call the Governor.]

Jessica stepped out of the surgical room five minutes later, tearing off her blood-stained gloves. She walked straight over to Lyon's wheelchair and stopped, looking down at his sharp, emotionless face.

"You didn't even look at his face," Jessica said, her voice filled with a mixture of shock and deep respect. "You didn't care that he was the Governor's son."

"Human anatomy does not care about political titles," Lyon replied, locking his wheelchair wheels. "The vascular system is simply fluid dynamics. Your angle was late by zero point three seconds."

Jessica let out a short, genuine laugh, wiping a streak of dried blood from her cheek. "You are the most arrogant, incredible man I have ever met in my life. What is your actual name? Not Blackwood."

"Lyon," he said flatly.

"Well, Lyon," Jessica said, extending her hand toward him with absolute sincerity, treating him not as a cripple, not as a curiosity, but as a superior mind. "You just saved my career and the Governor's son. The Vance Medical Group owes you everything."

Lyon looked at her hand for a second, then gave it a brief, formal shake. "Ensure the secondary post-op medication does not contain organophosphates. Send my consultation f*e to the Blackwood primary holding account."

He turned his wheelchair toward the elevator without waiting for her response.

Meanwhile, in the emergency glass boardroom of the Darlington Group headquarters, total panic had taken over.

"What do you mean the regional transit port is locked?!" Dean Darlington roared, slamming both hands onto the long glass table.

His face was pale, heavy purple bags hanging under his eyes. Across the room, four senior board members were furiously shouting into their phones, while stacks of unpaid debt notices littered the floor.

"The port authority executed a legal lien this morning!" Daniel shouted back, his neck red with stress. "The subsidiary that Lyon acquired yesterday—Darlington Logistics—holds the exclusive land-access lease for the entire northern shipping dock! They just raised the gate f*e by three hundred percent!"

"Raise it?!" Connie shrieked, clutching her designer elbow pads. "They can't do that! We own thirty percent of that company!"

"They own thirty percent!" Daniel corrected her, pointing a shaking finger at her face. "The Blackwood Group owns thirty percent! But because they hold the primary debt mortgage, they have full operational veto power! Our trucks are backed up for five miles on the highway! We are losing two million dollars every single hour!"

"Nathaniel!" Esther cried, turning toward her golden son, who was standing near the window staring blankly at his laptop. "Do something! Use your connections with the overseas investors! Fix this!"

Nathaniel swallowed hard, his hands sweating so heavily that he could barely grip his mouse. "I... I submitted an emergency injunction to the commercial court this morning. I claimed that L. Blackwood obtained the logistics shares through illegal market manipulation."

"And what did the judge say?!" Dean demanded, his voice cracking.

Nathaniel's lips quivered. "The... the judge dismissed the filing in three minutes. He said L. Blackwood's purchase was completely legal. In fact... the court just issued a seizure warrant for our central holding accounts to cover the default interest."

"You idiot!" Lydia screamed at Nathaniel, her voice shrill with pure panic. "You told us you were a genius! You told us you would double our stock value in one week! Ever since we kicked that retard out of the house, everything we own is crumbling!"

"Don't you dare speak about Nathaniel like that!" Esther yelled back, though her own tears were overflowing down her wrinkled cheeks. "He is trying his best! It's that useless cripple's fault! Lyon must have planned this before he left! He cursed us!"

"He didn't curse us," Daniel said, dropping his head into his hands on the table, his voice sounding completely dead inside. "He was the one doing all the operational calculations for the last five years. Nathaniel doesn't even know how to clear a customs blockade."

Connie's phone suddenly chimed with a loud notification. She pulled it out, her eyes scanning the university forum board.

"Look at this..." Connie whispered, her voice dropping to a terrified squeak.

"What is it?!" Dean barked.

"The... the central hospital video just got leaked to the press," Connie stammered, holding up her screen with shaking hands. "A high-profile medical rescue in the VIP wing... the Governor's son was saved..."

Nathaniel leaned over her shoulder to look at the clip. His eyes widened in absolute horror.

In the high-definition video playing across millions of screens nationwide, Lyon was sitting in his black wheelchair, calmly projecting 3D vascular schematics on the wall while the top trauma surgeons in the city followed his every command like obedient students.

"That's... that's Lyon," Esther gasped, her hands flying to her throat. "That's my son!"

"He isn't your son anymore," Daniel said coldly, looking up at her with hollow eyes. "You kicked him out into the rain, remember? You gave his room to Nathaniel."

[Camera Cut: Nathaniel stared at the video on the screen, his chest rising and falling violently as he realized that the man he had called a 'useless retard' was currently being praised by the State Governor on live television.]

On the other side of the city, inside a high-end beauty salon, Kelly sat in a leather chair with her phone held inches from her face.

The video of the hospital operation had reached over two million views on the local app. The comments section was exploding:

“Who is that guy in the wheelchair? He looks like a god!”

“That’s Master L. Blackwood! He just saved the Governor’s son in five minutes!”

“He’s so young and handsome! Who is his girlfriend? She must be the luckiest person in the world!”

Kelly’s breath hitched in her throat. Tears of pure, agonized regret rushed into her eyes, burning her cheeks.

Two years. She had been his girlfriend for two whole years. She could have been sitting beside him in that luxurious private car. She could have been the woman every high-society family envied.

Instead, she had dumped him on a live stream, called him a homeless dog, and cheated on him with Oscar—whose family business was currently going bankrupt.

Her phone suddenly rang. It was an automated text message from her university administration office:

“Student Kelly Vance: Your tuition payment for the upcoming academic year has been canceled due to a payment clawback from Blackwood Medical LLC. Please clear your outstanding balance of forty-two thousand dollars within twenty-four hours or your enrollment will be terminated.”

"Forty-two thousand dollars?!" Kelly shrieked, jumping out of her salon chair, her face contorted in total panic. "No! No, no, no!"

She grabbed her designer purse and ran out into the street, her heels clattering against the pavement as she frantically dialed Lyon's old number again, hoping against hope that he would pick up just once.

“The number you have dialed is blocked.”

"Lyon!" Kelly sobbed into the quiet street, dropping her phone onto the asphalt. "Lyon, please! I was wrong! I'm sorry!"

Inside his private office at the Blackwood corporate tower, Lyon sat by the glass window, watching the rain hit the pane.

Lancelot walked into the room, holding a sleek black velvet case.

"Young Master," Lancelot reported softly. "The Governor's office just delivered a private gift to express his gratitude for saving his son's life."

"Set it down," Lyon said, his eyes never leaving the city skyline below.

Lancelot placed the velvet case on the desk and opened the clasp. Inside rested an ancient, heavy gold signet ring engraved with a blood-red serpent wrapped around a broken sword.

Lyon's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the ring. He reached out and picked it up, feeling the cold, heavy weight of the metal against his palm.

"Where did the Governor get this?" Lyon asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"The Governor's chief secretary said it was recovered from an unregistered chest found in the old mausoleum this morning," Lancelot answered, his expression turning dead serious. "Young Master... there was a note tucked inside the velvet lining."

Lyon unfolded the small piece of black parchment tucked beneath the ring.

Written in fresh, bright red ink were six simple words:

“He knows you are still alive.”