Our Russian Roulette system runs on strict division of labor.
I handle “treatnt developnt” and “fundraising.”
David and Jesse take care of “patient recruitnt” and “hospital network infrastructure.”
And Rachel manages “patient care.”
In this structure, I’m the one who stays behind the scenes.
eting patients face-to-face has always been David, Jesse, or Rachel’s role.
So then—why , of all people?
“She want to talk to … alone? Why exactly…”
“I’m not sure of the details either…”
David shrugged as he trailed off, and beside him, Jesse spoke up cautiously.
“Well… she says she’s a fan of Sean, at least…”
“!?”
I couldn’t hide my confusion.
At a mont hanging between life and death, that was the last thing I expected to hear.
Then, the middle-aged woman standing next to Jesse joined in.
“It’s not just a fan… she’s an avid fan.”
It was the patient’s mother.
With a sigh, she continued.
“She prints posters of Sean and hangs them in her room. She even watches economic news religiously now—really, the kind she never cared about before…”
Well, I guess it wasn’t impossible.
I’m not a celebrity, but I am well-known.
And there are plenty of s about too—apparently I have a decent level of na recognition among teens and people in their early twenties, especially for soone in finance.
But still.
“At a ti like this…?”
At a crossroads between life and death, she wouldn’t ask for a private eting just because she’s a fan… right?
Her mother gave a bittersweet smile and answered the question I didn’t fully voice.
“My daughter… lacks a bit of a sense of reality. You’ll understand once you et her.”
David and Jesse nodded in agreent.
But—
“No.”
Rachel cut them off firmly.
She t my eyes, serious.
“She has sothing important to say. Sothing she can only say to Sean.”
It sounded like Rachel knew the intent behind the request, but didn’t want to reveal it in front of the others.
Either way.
We couldn’t stay standing in the hallway forever.
I stepped forward and entered the room.
Even as I closed the door, sothing felt strange.
‘Now that I think about it… this is the first ti I’m eting a patient alone.’
I’d t patients before, but always with David or Rachel present.
Without them, it felt like a buffer had suddenly disappeared.
A faint sense of unease settled in—
“Huh—Sean?!”
A young voice gasped.
The girl on the hospital bed shot upright, eyes sparkling as she stared at .
This must be Talia.
I expected her to look much younger since she’s a minor, but at first glance, she could pass for a college student.
“Oh my gosh, it’s really you! I’m, like, a huge fan!”
She was genuinely thrilled that I had co.
I smiled lightly and walked closer.
“Nice to et you. I’m Sean.”
“Talia! This is real, right? Not a dream?”
As we exchanged greetings, I discreetly assessed her condition.
I already knew she’d had a seizure and had progressed to kidney failure complications.
And the edema… it was severe.
She was under the blanket so I couldn’t see much, but even her exposed arms showed significant swelling.
She caught looking and imdiately waved her hands defensively.
“Oh—oh! This isn’t because I’m fat! I swear! It’s just swelling from the illness!”
“…?”
“I don’t want you to misunderstand—normally I’m super skinny! I’m serious!”
With that, she grabbed her phone and started furiously scrolling through her gallery, as if presenting evidence.
She clearly wanted to show how she usually looked.
If I were honest… it took off guard.
I an—seventeen is an age where appearance matters…
But in a mont like this, that’s what she’s worried about?
‘Does she not fully grasp that she’s critically ill?’
Well… I did hear her first seizure was only two months ago.
She spent most of her life healthy, so maybe this reaction makes sense.
“See?! I really looked like this until a little while ago!”
She shoved her phone toward .
In the photo, a pretty girl without edema smiled brightly with her friends.
It looked like a school setting—judging by the people around her, she was probably popular.
Her fashion, accessories, the overall aesthetic—she had style.
“You look like a model.”
“Really?!”
Her face lit up, and words poured out of her like an overflowing fountain.
“I am a model hopeful! My original plan was to go to New York right after graduation! Like a movie, you know? Just one suitcase and boom! I was gonna leave right after the graduation party and—”
Her expression darkened abruptly.
“Then I ended up here instead. Forget New York… I didn’t even get to go to my graduation party. I already had the dress fitted and ready…”
Her disappointnt was understandable.
In the U.S., a graduation party isn’t just a party.
It’s a rite of passage.
A symbolic threshold between adolescence and adulthood.
And Talia was robbed of even that—confined here instead of crossing it.
“Right. I heard you wanted to talk to alone.”
I steered the conversation forward, shifting away from the heavy mood.
It worked.
Talia’s gloom evaporated, eyes sparkling again as she clapped her hands.
“Oh! Right! Actually… I have a favor to ask!”
“A favor?”
“You know… epigenetics? The treatnt? I—really want to try it. But my mom is totally against it. And legally, she’s my guardian, so if she says no, I can’t do anything…”
That part I already knew.
But as for how I could possibly help?
I had absolutely no idea.
“Do you want to convince your mother?”
If that’s the case, David or Rachel would be far better suited than I am.
It would be much more effective for soone who already has a connection with her to do the persuading, rather than —soone with no relation to the mother—stepping in.
Could Talia really have thought that my fa might make it easier to persuade her mother, and that naive idea led her to ask for a private eting?
Just as that thought crossed my mind—
“No, it’s not persuasion. I want to beco independent.”
An unexpected word escaped her lips.
“Independent?”
“Yeah, legally independent. Then I could make my own decisions, right?”
Legal emancipation.
It’s a system in which a minor, with court approval, is freed from parental custody.
If approved, the minor gains legal authority equal to an adult.
They can sign contracts, manage property.
And they gain the right to make dical decisions.
“But to do that you need a lawyer, and it costs a ton of money, so I was hoping you could help.”
When I had only dealt with this issue by phone and paperwork, the biggest obstacle I’d imagined was parental opposition.
As long as the parent who holds dical decision-making authority refuses, no asure could be taken.
I had vaguely thought we’d have to sohow persuade them... but I hadn’t considered pursuing legal emancipation.
Still, it was the most certain way.
And it was plausible.
There have already been multiple precedents recognizing adolescents’ rights to make dical decisions.
If my mory served, a case even reached the Supre Court.
It recognized a minor’s right to obtain contraceptives without parental consent.
The important principle was that if a minor possessed sufficient decision-making capacity, they could decide for their own body.
With precedent on our side and a competent lawyer, there was a chance of success.
Yet, when I considered moving forward, I hesitated oddly.
Cold calculation favored Talia trying the treatnt.
She wanted it, and it could benefit too.
But still… sothing felt off.
Was this truly a decision made with full understanding of the situation?
Talia seed so inexperienced with the world.
Though she looked mature, her ntal age might be far younger than her peers.
Frankly put, she didn’t strike as particularly sharp.
I wasn’t confident her decision was based on sufficient information.
Above all, I needed to confirm whether she truly understood the treatnt’s risks.
“Your mother opposes it for a reason. You know the treatnt is risky, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Can you explain why it’s risky?”
“Um… what did she say…? She said it’s like we have tangled wires inside our bodies, and the treatnt loosens those wires… and that might fix things, but if you untangle them and then look inside, it could be worse, and maybe they can’t do anything at all…”
Rachel’s ability to explain things was remarkable.
Talia clearly understood the core of this complicated process.
“Right. The bottom line is that effectiveness can’t be guaranteed.”
“But there’s no other treatnt to try if we don’t do this, right? So shouldn’t we at least try it?”
“If there were no side effects, sure. But the problem is that attempting this could cause seizures to happen sooner. If a seizure planned for three months from now happens this month—”
It was a cruel statent, but it had to be said.
“You could live three more months, or you could die tomorrow.”
Her answer was simple.
“I know.”
Her willingness to answer so readily felt unsettling.
At that rate, how could I be sure she truly grasped the gravity of the situation?
“Shouldn’t you think this through more carefully? The remaining ti you’re given is precious. It could disappear.”
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
Her reply surprised .
“If I could spend the next three months the way I used to—going out, seeing friends, doing what I want—I wouldn’t choose this either. But I can’t. If I’m just going to be trapped in this room, getting injections and tests every day in pain… would adding three more months really an that much?”
At first glance it sounded immature.
But in fact, it wasn’t.
When judging a patient’s life, survival ti alone can’t be the only criterion.
Quality of life also matters.
It’s not about how much longer you live, but how aningfully you can spend the remaining ti.
From that perspective, Talia’s remaining ti could hardly be called high quality.
“And besides, you said this could help other patients, right? Wouldn’t that make it better to try? If I’m going to die anyway, wouldn’t it be more aningful to die doing sothing that helps others?”
Her words hit a nerve.
Because I had thought the sa.
If you coldly weigh the world’s gains and losses, this seed preferable to simply dying.
Yet why did I feel so uneasy?
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but sothing felt wrong.
‘Is it because she’s too naive about the world?’
No—that wasn’t it.
She understood the situation.
And this was her decision.
Still…
‘It’s different from Milo.’
Milo had seed like a child caught up in war—pitiful.
Talia, though, felt more like a brainwashed child soldier heading to the front.
“If you’re dying anyway, doing good things for the world makes it better, right?”
When she repeated what she’d said earlier, I couldn’t help but ask back.
“You’re doing it for other patients? Is soone else more important to you than yourself?”
“Not really, but… it can’t be helped, right?”
Sorry, but I couldn’t help soone for that reason.
I drew a firm line.
“I don’t believe in people helping others by sacrificing themselves. If you’re getting treatnt for that reason, I think the motive is wrong.”
That felt right.
As I thought this, Talia muttered sothing.
“It’s not just for others.”
“What?”
“Actually… it’s for .”
She bit her lip and continued.
“To be honest, it’s unfair. There are people who live as if they could die any day and don’t care, and so even end their own lives—so why does it have to be ? I still have so many things I want to do… I haven’t even started anything yet…”
Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.
But she held them back and kept talking.
“I know the world won’t care if I say this. I used to be like that too—when I saw sick kids I’d feel sorry and then forget about them. But I don’t want to be rembered that way.”
Talia gripped the blanket with force.
“If I beco a hero who stands up for others… more people might cheer for . They might truly feel sorry, and sympathize with my unfairness…”
She turned to , eyes full of desperate pleading.
“If I say I’m doing this for such selfish reasons… would that be okay?”
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