"Please, young master," Dr. Shaw said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I must know where you learned these techniques."
I watched as the elderly doctor's composure cracked completely. His hands shook as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a worn medical journal.
"This belonged to my grandfather," he continued, flipping through yellowed pages. "He wrote about the lost movements, but could never find anyone who knew them."
The office remained silent. Every employee watched as one of the city's most respected doctors struggled with what he'd just witnessed.
"Dr. Shaw," I said gently, "your grandfather wasn't wrong. These techniques do exist."
"But how?" His voice cracked. "I've searched for thirty years. Traveled to remote villages, studied ancient texts, consulted with masters across the country."
I could see the pain in his eyes. A lifetime of dedication, only to discover that his knowledge was incomplete.
