" Gary! Gary, come quickly!"

Eight year old Gary yelped as he jumped off his bed, his book dropping to the ground. " Ash?! W- what's happened?"

" It's Ritchie!" Ash exclaimed.

Gary blinked. " You mean your cousin Ritchie!"

" Yes!" Ash practically yelled. " His stomach's hurting and- and- and-"

Gary grabbed his medical bag and grabbed Ash's shoulder. " Ash. Take me to him."

A Race Against Time

Gary barely had time to shove his arms through his medical bag’s straps before Ash yanked him forward, practically dragging him down the hallway. His best friend was panicking—his breath coming in short, fast bursts, his grip on Gary’s wrist tight with urgency.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“Ash, slow down,” Gary ordered, trying to get his footing. “Where is he?”

“The guest room!” Ash panted. “H-he just got here, and he said his stomach was hurting, and then he started crying, and I didn’t know what to do!”

Gary’s stomach churned. Ritchie wasn’t the type to cry over a little pain. If he was, that meant this was bad.

The moment they reached the guest room, Ash practically threw the door open.

Ritchie was curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around his stomach, his face twisted in pain. His breath hitched as he gritted his teeth, his whole body trembling. His Pikachu, Sparky, sat next to him, nudging his hand with frantic little whimpers.

Gary wasted no time. He dropped his bag onto the floor and rushed to the bedside. “Ritchie, hey, talk to me. Where’s it hurting?”

Ritchie let out a weak groan. “L-lower right… my stomach…”

Gary’s heart pounded. That was too specific. He knew that spot.

Carefully, he pressed his fingers against Ritchie’s lower right abdomen.

Ritchie screamed.

Gary jerked his hand away, his chest tightening.

This was bad bad.

Ash’s eyes widened in horror. “W-what?! What’s wrong?! Is he gonna die?!”

“No,” Gary said quickly, forcing his voice to stay calm. “But this is serious. I think it’s appendicitis.”

Ash paled. “A-appendi-what?!”

Gary barely heard him. His mind was already working at full speed, running through everything he knew.

Appendicitis meant one thing—it had to come out. And fast.

His grandfather would never let him perform surgery himself. He’d insist on calling a real doctor, waiting for an ambulance—but that would take too long.

Gary clenched his fists. No. He had to do this.

He took a deep breath, then turned to Ash. “I need you to do something for me.”

Ash swallowed. “W-what?”

“I need you to lure Gramps out of the house.”

Ash blinked. “H-huh?! Why?!”

“Because I need the operation room,” Gary said firmly. “And Gramps won’t let me do this myself. But I can do it. I know how.”

Ash hesitated, looking between Gary and Ritchie.

Gary softened his tone. “Please, Ashy. I can save him. But I need you to make sure I get the chance to.”

Ash clenched his fists, then gave a determined nod. “Okay.” He turned on his heel and sprinted out of the room.

Gary wasted no time. He grabbed his bag and flipped it open, pulling out gloves, antiseptic, and painkillers. “Ritchie, I promise I’m gonna fix this, okay? Just hold on.”

Ritchie gave a weak nod, still shaking.

Minutes later, Ash’s voice echoed through the house.

“PROFESSOR OAK! THE HOUSE'S ON FIRE!”

Gary winced. A little dramatic, but it’ll do.

Seconds later, Professor Oak’s hurried footsteps thundered down the hall and out the front door.

Gary exhaled. Time to work.

He moved quickly, dragging a metal tray of surgical tools onto the sterilized table. He washed his hands thoroughly, snapped on gloves, and carefully transferred Ritchie onto the operation table.

Sparky whimpered.

Gary gently patted the Pikachu’s head. “He’s gonna be okay, buddy.”

With steady hands, Gary injected the painkillers into Ritchie’s arm.

“You’re gonna feel sleepy in a sec,” Gary murmured.

Ritchie groaned softly, his body relaxing as the medicine took effect.

Gary took a deep breath. Then, with careful precision, he picked up the scalpel.

He could do this.

He would do this.

And he wouldn’t fail.

The surgery took longer than he expected. Gary worked with careful, methodical movements, his hands perfectly steady. He cut precisely where he needed, removed the inflamed appendix, and stitched everything back up with careful precision.

By the time he was done, his back ached, sweat beaded at his forehead, and his fingers were slightly sore from gripping the tools.

But when Ritchie was safely resting in bed, his breathing smooth and even—

Gary knew he’d done it.

Ash burst in a few minutes later, panting. “I-I stalled him for as long as I could! D-did you—”

Gary gave a tired grin. “He’s fine, Ashy-boy. He’s gonna be okay.”

Ash stared at him for a second. Then—

He tackled Gary into a hug.

Gary yelped. “Gah—Ash!”

“You saved him, Gary!” Ash sniffled. “I knew you could do it!”

Gary huffed but let himself relax. “… Yeah. I did.”

And for the first time that day, he let himself breathe.