Chapter 53: The Lucky Charm
Five men and one woman sat around the dining table in the living room, surrounded by Chinese takeout, soft drinks, and a bottle of red wine.
To celebrate Ethan's successful achievement of being "legally unprofitable," everyone agreed to indulge a little. After all, earning over two hundred thousand dollars in the U.S. and paying zero taxes was borderline supernatural.
Penny raised her glass.
"To our tax-poor hero and real-life rich man—Dr. Ethan Rayne! Cheers!"
Everyone lifted their glasses.
"Thanks, everyone—especially Sheldon," Ethan said, both grateful and resigned. "Oh, by the way, if any of you ever need help filing taxes, you can just ask Sheldon. All it takes is signing a small agreement. Like I did."
Good things should be shared.
The room went dead silent.
Everyone quietly put their glasses down.
Leonard cleared his throat.
"We… don't really need that.
Our income is fixed—salary and research stipends. Tax software handles it in ten minutes."
Ethan turned to Penny. "What about you?"
Penny spread her hands.
"Please. I'm not rich like you. My money is still growing. It hasn't reached the 'hire-a-tax-guy' stage yet."
Sheldon set down his chopsticks.
"Correct. None of you require professional assistance.
As long as you can add, subtract, multiply, and recognize the basic structure of a W-2 and a 1040, you can file on your own.
When income is low and simple, filing taxes is easier than making a sandwich."
He paused, then added solemnly, as if delivering life advice:
"So I encourage all of you to work hard and make more money. Only when filing taxes becomes painful have you truly touched the threshold of capitalism."
Howard sighed.
"Thank you for reminding us we're poor—using taxes."
Ethan's well-meaning proposal was unanimously rejected, and everyone went back to eating.
Midway through a spring roll, Penny suddenly remembered something.
"Hey, Ethan—those two patients you mentioned earlier, the ones who were misdiagnosed with terminal cancer… they can sue the hospital, right?"
"Of course," Ethan replied. "That's serious medical malpractice. They're fully entitled to compensation."
Penny's eyes lit up. "How much are we talking? A few hundred thousand?"
Ethan thought for a moment.
"On average? Around six hundred thousand dollars."
Howard nearly shot his drink out of his nose.
"Wait—what? Terminal cancer misdiagnosis only gets six hundred thousand? Then how much does treating actual cancer cost?"
Ethan kept eating calmly.
"If you go through the full hospital treatment process—about five hundred thousand to a million."
The table fell silent.
Leonard stared.
"So if the hospital misdiagnoses and 'succeeds,' they make a million. If they screw up, they only pay six hundred thousand?"
Howard muttered, "That's not healthcare—that's a gacha system. Pull wrong, lose half. Pull right, profit big."
He shook his head.
"I suddenly feel like hospital business models are scarier than missile systems."
Raj nodded furiously in agreement.
Penny couldn't help glancing at Ethan.
"So… if someone close to me gets diagnosed with cancer in the future—can I ask you to take a second look?"
Ethan nodded.
"Of course. Ideally, it should be someone you're fairly close to."
Howard immediately latched onto that.
"By 'close,' do you mean emotionally… or financially?"
"I mean you need to trust that person."
After saying that, Ethan suddenly froze.
Wait a second… I already explained my abilities to S.H.I.E.L.D.
Doesn't that mean I can be a bit bolder with diagnoses now?
No more worrying about being labeled a fraud or a freak?
And they'll probably protect me if things get messy, right?
He stared at the mapo tofu on the table like it was a blueprint of his future career.
Sheldon suddenly set his chopsticks down.
"I believe there is something all of you should be aware of."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"I have known Ethan since childhood. Before he even learned how to suture, I had already made an exceptionally sound prediction—
That he would grow up to be a doctor more intelligent and more successful than the average medical professional.
Though in all other aspects, he would remain mediocre—or worse."
Howard frowned.
"Is that a compliment or an insult?"
Sheldon ignored him.
"Therefore, Ethan and I entered into a mutually beneficial agreement."
He continued calmly:
"He is responsible for all of my healthcare needs—including but not limited to routine checkups, diagnosis, treatment, and emergency response.
And I, in return, handle matters beyond the scope of his expertise."
Penny raised an eyebrow.
"Like what?"
"For example," Sheldon said, "Ethan once attempted to predict football game outcomes. His computational model was riddled with flaws.
So he delegated the task to me—using historical team performance data and dynamic variables to calculate precise win probabilities."
Everyone slowly turned to Ethan.
"???"
Ethan kept eating, utterly unfazed.
"Sports betting."
The room exploded in shock.
Penny leaned forward instinctively.
"So you made a lot of money doing that?"
Ethan shrugged.
"Not that much. I started saving early to open my clinic—dumped my college loan money straight into it as seed capital.
And Sheldon's predictions weren't perfect, but statistically reliable overall."
Come on, he thought. I got reincarnated with nothing. One Sheldon Cooper at my side. If I don't squeeze him for value, who will I squeeze?
Sheldon corrected him immediately.
"I merely calculated win probabilities. Probability, by definition, is never one hundred percent."
Everyone stared—unsure whether to be more impressed by Ethan's foresight or Sheldon's ability to calculate that.
Penny looked tempted.
"So, Sheldon… can you still do that now?"
"No," Sheldon replied firmly.
"I will never calculate sports probabilities for anyone again. Including Ethan."
"Why? You were good at it."
"Because helping calculate match outcomes once cost me dearly," Sheldon said gravely.
"I received a B+ on a mathematics exam."
"B+ is still good!"
"A B+ is the beginning of decay-End of the world!" Sheldon shot back.
"If left unchecked, I could have slid into deeper moral collapse—gambling addiction, substance abuse, or worse… becoming a lawyer."
Howard blinked.
"Isn't that a little dramatic?"
Sheldon turned to Ethan.
"Ethan?"
Ethan sighed.
"I admit you were under a lot of stress, but it wasn't entirely my fault. You were also calculating odds for your dad and your grandma at the time."
Leonard asked, "So what happened next?"
Sheldon said solemnly,
"My father depended on me. My grandmother depended on me. Ethan depended on me.
After careful consideration, I chose the most reliable strategy—I reported everything to my mother."
Ethan added,
"And then Mary scolded everyone involved into submission. I didn't dare ask Sheldon to calculate odds again until I went to college."
Sheldon nodded.
"Incidentally, Ethan, I later agreed again because I discovered your true value."
Everyone: "…?"
"Before leaving Texas," Sheldon said, "I was almost never ill."
Penny gaped.
"You? Never sick?"
"Correct. Because—Ethan was there."
He pointed at Ethan.
"He was my personal health consultant. Monthly checkups. Vitamin intake supervision. Correcting my misconceptions about vegetables."
Ethan suppressed a smile.
Translation: I secretly cast a heal on you every time I saw you.
Sheldon inhaled deeply.
"Then I went to Germany. Without his examinations, I became ill."
He described it like a war survivor.
"Fever. Congestion. Coughing. Sore throat. Each symptom an independent suffering.
And even when Ethan told me over the phone, 'It's just a virus,' it provided absolutely no relief."
Howard frowned.
"But… you knew what it was, didn't you?"
"Knowing does not make it comfortable!"
Sheldon concluded:
"Therefore, for the long-term stability of my immune system, I must live and work within Ethan's operational radius."
Penny laughed.
"So you're basically treating Ethan like a lucky charm."
"This is a survival strategy," Sheldon said seriously, staring straight at Ethan.
"Ethan, you are permitted to die at most one month before me—so you can continue performing my monthly health checks."
Ethan:
"???"