Chapter 97: Midlife Crisis
"You are so beautiful."
"My dear, I want to tell you—"
"I may be foolish… but I adore you."
The final note faded, and the music slowly settled into silence.
For a brief moment, the clinic was completely still.
Then—applause.
Ethan was genuinely impressed. He couldn't help but clap, admiration written all over his face.
William smiled, withdrawing his hands from the keys. He gave Ethan a small nod. "Forgive me for saying this—but if a piano goes too long without being played, it gets lonely too."
"I don't mind at all," Ethan replied immediately. "I just didn't expect… you to play this well. How did you learn?"
"My father taught me," William said simply. "And his father taught him."
Randall's eldest daughter turned instantly, looking at her father with complete seriousness. "Dad, can you teach us how to play the piano?"
Randall froze for a second, visibly caught off guard. "Uh… I'd love to teach you."
He scratched his head awkwardly. "It's just that all the musical talent in the family seems to have gone to your grandmother and Aunt Kate. On my side… I mostly got the muscles."
William chuckled and added, "Your father has his own strengths."
Then, as naturally as breathing, he shifted the topic. "Back in the day, I actually made a living off music for a while—mostly playing the trumpet. Took whatever gigs I could find."
The eldest girl's eyes lit up instantly. "Grandpa, can you come to my school's Career Day?"
Before he could even respond, she had already turned to Randall. "Can Grandpa come? Please?"
Randall shook his head gently. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart. The school only allows one person, and I've already signed up."
"But I want Grandpa to speak," she insisted. "His job is cool!"
"So mine isn't?" Randall spread his hands. "You girls love coming to my office, don't you?"
The younger daughter raised her hand. "I like spinning in your chair."
"...…"
"Your job is kind of boring, Dad," the eldest added mercilessly.
Randall took a deep breath. "Commodity futures trading based on long-term climate patterns is not boring, okay?"
Beside them, Kevin suddenly let out a soft snore, as if he'd just woken up. He blinked, then grinned. "Sorry. The moment I hear the word 'commodity,' I get sleepy."
"Uncle Kevin!" the eldest girl said suddenly, her eyes lighting up again. "Then can you come to my Career Day? A lot of my classmates are your fans!"
"Career Day is Dad's responsibility. Discussion over."
Randall cut in decisively. "Don't worry—I'll make my presentation very… 'lit.'"
He clapped his hands once. "Alright, time to go! Dr. Rayne, thank you. Helen, bye—we'll see you next week."
With that, he took the lead and walked out of the clinic.
Kevin lingered for a second, glancing at the others. Lowering his voice, he asked, "He didn't use 'lit' right, did he?"
Both girls nodded in unison.
Even William couldn't help but laugh.
After the Pearson family left, the clinic fell quiet once again.
Helen said sincerely, "I really like them. That feeling… it's like just watching them from the side is enough to make your heart feel warm."
She was especially fond of Randall's two daughters.
In contrast—
if not for the obvious differences in background, Ethan might've suspected that Helen's attitude toward James Whitmore carried a hint of… personal bias.
Ethan nodded. He liked that family too. Of the three Pearson siblings, only Kate was left for him to meet.
He was about to head back into the consultation room when Helen suddenly let out a soft laugh.
"Randall's midlife crisis," she said, "the early symptoms are pretty obvious."
"Midlife crisis?" Ethan paused mid-step. "Really? I didn't notice anything."
Helen glanced at him. "It's that obvious and you still didn't see it?"
Then she added lightly, "Ah, right—you're only twenty-seven. My mistake."
Ethan opened his mouth to argue… but found nothing to say.
It felt like being politely, yet firmly, placed in the category of "young and clueless."
Like someone patting your shoulder and saying, with meaning, "You're still young."
After a brief hesitation, he asked anyway, "So… what does a midlife crisis actually look like?"
If you don't understand something, you ask. Sooner or later, it would be his turn—might as well prepare in advance.
Helen thought for a moment.
"Most of the time, it's not a breakdown. Not chaos. It's the opposite."
She looked at him. "People become… very serious."
"Serious?"
"Yes." She nodded. "They start fixating on small things."
"For example, they begin replaying past decisions—wondering if life would've turned out differently if they had chosen another path."
"They might not say it out loud, but inside, they walk through every crossroads of their life again."
"Then comes a kind of fatigue toward their current life."
"Not hatred. Not pain."
She paused slightly.
"Just… a feeling that every day is about completing tasks, without knowing what those tasks are really for."
Ethan didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"At that point," Helen continued, "people instinctively try to hold onto something."
"Something they can still control."
"Some start focusing on details—what needs fixing in the house, what's wrong with the car."
"Others suddenly develop all kinds of 'dreams'—learning piano, cooking, writing."
She smiled faintly.
"None of those things are bad. In fact, they look healthy. Disciplined."
Ethan couldn't help but think to himself—
Wasn't that exactly what his life had been like before transmigrating?
He'd thought it meant he was slowing down… losing efficiency… overthinking everything.
Turns out—
here, they called it a crisis.
Helen's voice softened.
"When John was going through it…"
Ethan immediately perked up.
A midlife crisis… for someone like John Wick?
That was way too interesting. He almost felt like grabbing some snacks and sitting down properly to listen.
"He had just retired—not that I knew what he was retiring from at the time," Helen said.
"We thought things would finally calm down. That life would get easier."
"But for him… it wasn't like that at all."
"He didn't say anything, but he kept looking back on his life…"
"Taking out his tools, one by one. Cleaning them. Rearranging them…"
"Fixing the car. Fixing the house. The basement became his world…"
"Especially the car. He kept working on it over and over again."
She paused briefly.
"At the time, he looked calm. Busy. No one thought anything was wrong."
"Until I got sick."
"That's when he finally stopped."
"It was like something suddenly clicked."
"The tools stayed where they were. He never took the car apart again."
"He returned to his rhythm. Became that calm, clear-headed John again—the one who's always paying attention to others."
Her voice softened even further.
"Only later did I realize… that quiet, orderly period…"
"…was when he was most lost, constantly questioning himself."