Chapter 29 Hospital

Chapter 29 Hospital
The sound of my own footsteps echoed softly against the polished marble floor as I walked down the long hallway. My palms were slightly damp despite the cold blast from the building’s central air-conditioning.

The huge glass walls reflected my nervous face—a stark reminder that this wasn’t some casual errand. This was my brother Dave’s company, and right now, I was standing in for him at his first quarterly meeting of the month.

I already regretted agreeing to Kuya’s request. I knew next to nothing about the family business, but when he said he was swamped and needed someone to cover for him, I didn’t hesitate.

Julian, Kuya’s ever-calm secretary, walked beside me carrying a thick folder. He glanced at me, clearly noticing how I kept adjusting my sleeves every few seconds.

“You’re doing fine, sir,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. “There’s nothing to worry about. I already informed the board members and the rest of the team that you’re representing Sir Dave today.”

“You won’t have to handle everything. Just listen—I’ll take care of the details.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“And maybe smile a little,” he added with a slight grin.

I exhaled, trying to loosen the knot in my chest. “Sure.”

The moment we reached the meeting room, Julian pushed open the heavy glass door. The soft hum of conversation inside instantly died. A dozen pairs of eyes turned toward me. The long conference table was covered with blueprints, documents, and open laptops.

At the front of the room, a large digital screen displayed a 3D model of a building framework—skeletal steel beams rising like a sleek, futuristic tower.

“Good morning,” I greeted, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m Lucas Buenavista. I’m here on behalf of Dave Buenavista.”

Several people nodded. Others offered quiet greetings before turning their attention back to the man at the front.

“Mr. Lucas,” he said with a professional smile. “Glad you could join us. I’m Engr. Shoji. We were just about to discuss the progress on the Midtown Residential Project.”

I slid into the seat Julian subtly guided me toward—near the head of the table, where my brother usually sat. My throat felt dry.

I motioned for Julian to sit beside me instead of taking the distant chair he was heading for.

On the screen, the building model rotated slowly. “As of today,” Engr. Shoji continued, “we’ve completed eighty percent of the foundation work. The current issue is the delay in steel beam delivery. Our partner supplier in Kitakyushu reported transportation problems due to weather conditions.”

One of the women at the end of the table immediately raised her hand. “We could consider pulling a temporary supply from the Osaka branch. According to the file, they have extra inventory.”

The man seated across from her shook his head. “Mrs. Watanabe, that would increase logistics costs by nearly thirty percent. We’d also have to readjust the entire budget proposal.”

I listened carefully, jotting down a few notes even though I wasn’t sure I’d need them. Foundation delays, logistics, cost variance—these terms were familiar from the occasional dinner conversations with Kuya and Dad, but hearing them in a real meeting felt entirely different.

“That’s true,” Mrs. Watanabe replied, “but if the delay continues, we risk missing the client’s turnover target by two months. That could jeopardize our next contract with them.”

I sighed quietly as the discussion continued. At times, I struggled to understand some of the speakers because of their accents.

Another man spoke up, his voice calm but firm. “We can’t afford to compromise the project timeline. Perhaps we could hire a local trucking company to handle delivery once the roads are clear?”

“Possible, Mr. Smith,” Engr. Shoji said, “but only if Kitakyushu can resume operations within the next five days.”

I cleared my throat. “Engr. Shoji, you mentioned the delivery delay from Kitakyushu is due to weather conditions, correct?”

Almost everyone at the table turned to look at me, including Julian, who had been focused on his tablet but suddenly straightened up.

“That’s right, Mr. Lucas,” Engr. Shoji replied.

I glanced down at the notes in my notebook, then turned to Julian. “What’s the name of the man who spoke about the budget earlier?” I whispered, nodding toward the speaker.

“Mr. Sato,” he mouthed silently.

“Since there’s already a delay with the supplier in Kitakyushu, we shouldn’t risk depending on them further—especially since the project is nearing turnover,” I said. “Mrs. Watanabe suggested sourcing from the Osaka branch, but Mr. Sato pointed out that it would raise logistics costs by thirty percent. Hiring local trucking also isn’t ideal if we have to wait for Kitakyushu to resume operations in five days.”

I paused to steady myself. “Five days is too long to wait. Why don’t we email the person in charge at Kitakyushu and ask them to prioritize our schedule once the weather clears? We could even add a small bonus or incentive clause for early delivery on the next order. I believe a modest incentive would be a better option than increasing logistics costs by thirty percent.”

A brief, tense silence fell over the room—the kind that could mean I had said something foolish or actually made a solid point.

A few seconds later, Engr. Shoji nodded. “That’s actually a good suggestion. A small incentive clause could encourage them to prioritize delivery once conditions improve.”

Only then did I breathe easily again.

“Noted,” one of the staff members said, typing quickly on his laptop.

The discussion continued, moving from one project to another—site inspections, new commercial proposals, and safety audits. I chimed in a couple more times, mostly to clarify details.

After nearly an hour, the meeting wrapped up with reports on next month’s goals. Everyone began closing their laptops and stretching as the tension eased.

Engr. Shoji smiled in my direction. “You handled yourself well, Mr. Lucas. Your brother would be pleased with how you represented him.”

I chuckled softly, rubbing the back of my neck. “Thank you.”

A few minutes later, the conference room emptied out.

“You didn’t look like a first-timer at all, Sir Lucas,” Julian teased as he gathered his things.

“Drop the formality. Just call me Lucas,” I replied.

He laughed quietly. “Welcome to corporate life, Lucas.”

For the first time that morning, I genuinely smiled. Maybe this world—this side of my brother’s life—wasn’t as terrifying as I had thought.

By the time I stepped out of the elevator, the entire building felt quieter, as if the day itself was finally exhaling. My shoulders ached from sitting so long, and my head still buzzed with numbers and construction terms I never imagined I’d understand.

I decided not to go anywhere else. Kuya Dave’s house was nearby, and since he wasn’t home, I figured I could stay there for the night. He had told me I could use the place anytime.

The moment I stepped inside, silence greeted me.

I sighed and dropped my bag on the sofa.

Feeling thirsty, I headed to the kitchen. The house was so quiet that the only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator. I opened it and stared in surprise—nothing but milk inside. In the end, I just grabbed a bottle of cold water and closed the door.

For a few minutes, I simply stood there in the quiet—no meetings, no people, no pressure. Just me and the unnecessary hum of the fridge.

Then I decided to take a shower.

Steam filled the bathroom as hot water cascaded over my skin. I closed my eyes and let the warmth ease the tension in my muscles. My mind drifted back to the meeting—the faces, the way everyone had paused when I spoke, and how Engr. Shoji had nodded at my suggestion.

After showering, I slipped on only a pair of boxers and headed straight to the bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up my phone. After staring at the notifications for a few seconds, I decided to message Ethan.

Lucas Buenavista
Hey, are you home yet?
Just finished my first meeting today. I think I did okay.
I kind of miss you, though.

I smiled faintly as I hit send, then set the phone down. The quiet of the room made me realize how exhausted I really was. My eyelids began to droop—

Then my phone rang.

I sat up quickly when I saw it was Kuya calling. “Hey, Kuya.”

“Lucas,” his voice came through, calm but slightly tired. “How was the meeting?”

“It went well,” I said, leaning back against the headboard. “I was nervous at first, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. They were discussing the Midtown project.”

“What about it?”

“There was a delay with some supplies. I suggested adding an incentive for early delivery. Engr. Shoji said it was a reasonable idea.”

There was a short pause, then I heard him chuckle. “That’s exactly how I would’ve handled it. Not bad, Lucas. Looks like you were paying more attention than I thought.”

I laughed. “I know I’ve said I’m not interested in the family business, but I can keep up if I want to.”

“Well, I’m proud of you,” he said. “Thanks for stepping in today. Get some rest—you sound tired.”

“Yeah. By the way, I’ll stay at your house tonight.”

“That’s fine. There should be food in the fridge.”

I glanced toward the almost-empty refrigerator and smirked. “If milk counts as food, then yeah, there is.”

We both laughed. Who in their right mind buys a fridge and only fills it with milk?

When the call ended, I placed my phone on the nightstand, still smiling faintly. Within minutes, sleep pulled me under.

When I woke up, sunlight was already filtering through the curtains. The house was still eerily silent. I immediately reached for my phone and checked my messages.

Still no reply from Ethan.

Unease settled in my stomach. It wasn’t like Ethan to ignore my messages—not anymore. In the past, maybe, but now?

I typed quickly.

Lucas Buenavista
Hey, are you still asleep?

I stared at the screen for several minutes, but there was still no response.

A strange worry began to creep in, so I decided to call him.

The line rang once… twice… then a mechanical voice answered: “The number you dialed is either unattended or out of the coverage area.”

My stomach twisted. Out of coverage? Ethan never turned off his phone.

I quickly switched to Elijah’s chat.

Lucas Buenavista
Is your Kuya with you? He’s not replying to me.

After sending it, I went downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. I paced around, staring at my phone. To distract myself, I opened the fridge again. The milk was still there, cold and half-empty. I decided to cook something simple—scrambled eggs.

Cooking had become my way to relax these past few weeks.

The pan sizzled as I cracked an egg. The smell of butter filled the air when my phone vibrated on the counter.

I wiped my hands and grabbed it.

Elijah Hale
Kuya Lucas, Kuya Ethan is in the hospital.

I stared at the message for several seconds, trying to process what I had just read.

“What…?” I whispered, reading it again to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood.

My chest tightened. The egg on the pan started to burn, but I barely noticed. My hands trembled slightly as I typed back.

Lucas Buenavista
What happened? Which hospital?

Before Elijah could reply, my mind was already made up. I didn’t need to think twice.

I had to go back.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone, wallet, and the nearest bag I could find. My heart pounded as I headed for the door.

There was no way I could stay here—not when Ethan was hurt, possibly alone, and unreachable.

“I’m coming back,” I muttered under my breath, my voice shaking as I locked the door behind me.

One thought echoed in my head like a heartbeat the entire way: Please, let him be okay.

The flight felt endless. Every second in that plane made my chest feel tighter. My mind kept spinning—what happened to him? Was he okay? Why didn’t anyone tell me sooner?

The moment the plane landed, I didn’t waste a single second. I rushed out of the airport as fast as I could.

I barely registered how fast I was moving until I was already inside a taxi, urging the driver to go as quickly as possible. My hands shook the entire ride. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

When I finally reached the hospital, I ran straight to the nurse’s station, barely catching my breath.

“Ethan Hale,” I said, my voice louder than intended. “What room is he in?”

The nurse looked startled but quickly checked her list. “Room 312, sir.”

I didn’t wait for anything else. I sprinted toward the elevator, only to see it was stuck on the 5th floor.

“Fuck,” I cursed, slamming my fist against the elevator door.

A nearby guard shot me a disapproving look. “I’ll pay for the damage!” I called out.

I couldn’t wait. I bolted for the stairs instead.

My chest burned, but I didn’t stop until I reached the third floor. My steps slowed when I saw the door marked 312. My hand hovered over the knob, heart hammering wildly.

I opened it quietly… and froze.

Ethan was there, sleeping peacefully. But his head was resting on Blake’s lap.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The room was quiet except for the faint, steady beep of the heart monitor. Blake sat there, gently brushing strands of hair away from Ethan’s face.

A heavy weight settled in my chest—a painful mix of relief that Ethan was okay… and something sharper. Something aching.

I wanted to be the one sitting there. The one waiting beside him, making sure he was safe.

But I wasn’t.

And that realization hurt far more than I had expected.