Adnan, Owner Of The Greatest Medical System

It has been two years since Adnan was diagnosed with a brain tumor, which has now reached stage 4. His hair has fallen out, his face has become gaunt, his body has grown emaciated and darkened as if burnt, for he also suffers from severe dry diabetes.

Today is the day of his surgery, and Adnan has readied himself for the procedure.

"Mr. Anton, Adnan must undergo surgery immediately, for his brain cancer has spread to other parts of his body," said Dr. Rani.

Anton’s blood pressure spiked instantly. "What? Surgery?" Arka asked, staring wide-eyed at Adnan standing beside him.

"What is the point of operating on him? Hah! It’s nothing but a waste of money!" Anton snapped, shoving Adnan’s head so hard that the young man stumbled back several steps.

"Do you think surgery is cheap, huh? Wanting to ask for money? You’d be better off just waiting to die, you useless thing!" Anton raged. The words pierced straight through Adnan’s heart, uttered without a moment’s hesitation.

Adnan stood silent, clutching his head which throbbed with a dull ache, his eyes fixed on his father who looked back at him with nothing but irritation.

"Oh, and one more thing—I’ve taken over the restaurant and given it to your elder brother. He’s actually useful, unlike you, you burden! I have no son who is sickly and useless like you! You’re nothing but a disgrace to this family!" he spat, completely disregarding Adnan’s feelings.

Adnan remained still, gazing at his father with a calm, unwavering look. There was no anger in his eyes, only the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing.

"If you want surgery so badly, pay for it yourself! This has nothing to do with me!" Anton turned on his heel and stormed away, leaving Adnan standing there with the two doctors.

Adnan watched his father’s retreating figure, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Adnan… are you alright?" asked Dr. Rani gently.

"I’m quite alright, Doctor. I’m fine," Adnan replied, nodding slowly.

"Doctor, I am ready for the surgery now," he added, his voice firm and steady.

"Very well, Mr. Adnan. If you are ready, let us begin at once," said Dr. Adi, doing his best to sound encouraging, not wanting to see Adnan further saddened.

They made their way into the operating room, and Adnan settled onto the gurney.

"Alright team, let’s begin the procedure," Dr. Adi called out to the surgical team, who stood poised and ready.

Adnan lay back and closed his eyes. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, betraying just how deeply his heart ached.

Three years ago, he had been so successful. He had built the restaurant into one of the most prestigious in the city, rising to become CEO of the number one restaurant chain. He had married a beautiful woman and lived a perfect life—the pride and joy of his father. But all that happiness had crumbled when this illness began to consume him.

The anesthetic was administered. Slowly, Adnan’s consciousness faded, and he slipped into darkness.

At Adnan’s request, the surgeons began the delicate operation on his brain.

Bright surgical lights shone down upon Adnan, who lay motionless on the operating table. Dr. Rani raised her hands; her fingers trembled slightly beneath her sterile gloves.

"Stage 4… the tumor has spread into the spinal cord. We only have one chance," she said, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The team worked with controlled, precise speed. The steady beep… beep… beep… of the heart monitor was the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

One instrument after another was brought into play—scalpel, forceps, and a surgical laser emitting a fine red beam, used to separate healthy tissue from the diseased tumor.

Dr. Rani and Dr. Adi fought tirelessly, pushing through exhaustion, determined to save their patient.

"No matter what—this surgery will succeed!" Dr. Adi declared, rallying his team not to give up.

They pressed on, sweat streaming down their foreheads, clinging to every glimmer of hope that their patient might survive.

But it was not to be. Adnan was pronounced dead on the operating table. The surgery had failed.