Extraordinary Prodigy

In a small town’s maternity hospital, the harsh lights in the nursery made the infants uncomfortable. The oldest among them was only three days old, for after three days of observation, they would be returned to their mothers. This was a common practice in all such hospitals throughout the city: after a brief introduction to their parents, newborns were kept in the nursery under professional care, ensuring their wellbeing—a routine that, though impersonal, was rarely questioned by parents, who trusted it was for the best.

The nursery’s wall facing the corridor was made of glass, allowing parents and relatives to gaze upon their children from outside. At this late hour, thick curtains were drawn across the glass; it was past two in the morning, and the corridor stood empty and silent.

In crib number seven, a baby yawned. His chubby little face still bore a slight yellowish tinge from lingering jaundice. Sensing a presence, he squinted open his tiny eyes, catching only a blurred impression of two figures in white. His vision was still poor, only able to distinguish vague shapes. One of the figures lifted him, placing him on a cold surface. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced deep into his ear, and he burst out crying.

The doctor administering the injection grew anxious and whispered, “Boss, is it alright for him to cry so loudly? Won’t his parents come?”

The one called “Boss” snorted. “Just do your work! Don’t worry, the soundproofing here is excellent. In a maternity hospital, crying babies are nothing unusual. Why panic?”

Next, the baby from crib