Kicked Out I Unlocked My Ultimate Boss Mode novel Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Is Your Mentor Rolling in His Grave Yet?**

Dale made his way to Veridia Hospital in a surprisingly swift thirty minutes. The city’s streets blurred past him, each moment steeped in anxious anticipation. Helen had instructed him to rejoin the team, and he was determined to follow through. Following George’s detailed directions, she navigated the hospital’s labyrinthine corridors, her heart racing with urgency.

As she approached, a cluster of doctors clad in crisp white coats came into view, congregated in the hallway like storm clouds ready to unleash their fury. Among them were senior specialists and department heads, their expressions grave and their voices hushed. The tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air like a storm about to break.

A striking female doctor, her golden curls bouncing slightly as she shifted, stood apart from the group, arms crossed defiantly against the wall. Her expression was one of disdain, an icy arrogance radiating from her like a fortress wall. She didn’t engage with anyone, clearly positioning herself above the rest, a queen surveying her court.

As Helen’s footsteps echoed against the sterile tiles, heads turned in unison, curiosity etched on their faces.

George, spotting her instantly, felt as if time had frozen. The girl standing before him was clad in a simple white T-shirt and black pants, a baseball cap pulled low to obscure her features, and a duffle bag slung casually over one shoulder. Yet, there was something about her presence that was unmistakable—sharp, cold, and utterly impossible to ignore.

And that face… it was breathtaking. Delicate features, striking angles, and an aura that made it impossible to forget.

She bore an uncanny resemblance to them—the Walcotts.

It was as if she had been sculpted from the same mold as Mr. Walcott in his youth and Mrs. Walcott in her prime.

But those eyes…

No, they were not the same.

While her mother’s gaze had always been warm and inviting, Helen’s eyes held a quiet, deadly chill. They were like a frozen lake, concealing something dangerous beneath their surface—detached, sharp-edged, and tinged with rebellious defiance.

There was no need for DNA tests or lengthy deliberations.

That face alone was enough proof—Helen had to be their daughter.

With urgency propelling him forward, George rushed toward her, his eyes glistening with a mix of relief and concern. “Ms. Walcott… thank God you’re finally here…”

“How is she now?” Helen inquired, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her demeanor calm yet alert.

George took a moment to steady himself, his voice trembling with a blend of hope and fear. “Thankfully… thankfully, you stepped in just in time, Ms. Walcott. She’s stable for the moment. Dr. Wolfe, the one who specializes in traditional medicine, has been monitoring her without pause. The allergic reaction is slowly subsiding. Her blood pressure and heart rate are returning to normal ranges. She’s even regained a bit of consciousness.”

Helen halted just outside the patient’s room, her gaze drifting to the observation window.

Inside lay a girl who appeared no older than seventeen or eighteen. Her complexion was ghostly pale, a stark contrast to the array of monitors and medical equipment surrounding her.

The screens flickered ominously, revealing just how dangerously weak her vitals still were.

Helen’s voice was cool and clinical as she assessed the situation. “Her internal organs are damaged. The bleeding point wasn’t adequately sealed. Combined with the anaphylactic shock from the previous treatment, her body is on the brink. The time we bought with acupuncture is limited.”

She paused, glancing at her watch with a sense of urgency. “Half an hour. At most. If we can’t identify and treat the source of the bleeding within thirty minutes, her condition will deteriorate. A secondary hemorrhage could be fatal.”

George’s pupils dilated with fear as he instinctively turned to Helen. “Ms. Walcott, what do we do? Dr. Miller just mentioned… the girl has a history of heart conditions. Surgery would be far too risky.”

“No need for a scalpel,” Helen replied, her eyes still locked on the monitors, her mind racing with possibilities.

“Pf.”

A loud, derisive laugh shattered the tension. Amanda, still leaning against the wall, wore a smirk that dripped with sarcasm and contempt. “No surgery? You think you can fix this with a couple of glorified sewing needles?”

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