James arrived at Nomura’s office five minutes before 8 AM, flats of slides neatly stacked beside the double-headed microscope. Chopin drifted from a small radio, its delicate notes softening the sterile room.

“All set? This is your second month here, isn’t it?” Nomura’s smile deepened the lines carved around his mouth. “Are you starting to feel comfortable with surgical pathology?”

“Yes, sir.” James slid the paperwork across. “I saved an interesting case for you first.”

Nomura’s hands, elegant despite his age, danced the slide into place. He paused briefly at the dot James had inked.

“What did you think?”

“A punch biopsy of skin,” James began, his voice steady. “I see an atypical vascular proliferation, maybe the promontory sign. Thirty-four-year-old IV drug abuser with a persistent rash. I think it’s early patch-stage Kaposi’s sarcoma.”

Nomura nodded, then dotted another cell. “And here?”

James squinted. A swollen nucleus, blue-red inclusion. “CMV. A co-infection.”

“Exactly. Not common, but reported. Good eye, James.”

For the next three hours, Nomura guided him through cases, teaching less by intimidation and more by affirmation.

When the morning ended, Nomura leaned back. “Good work today. You’re connecting pathology with the clinical story. That’s what makes a promising career.”

James flushed at the praise, then tried to dismiss it. “It feels like every time I think I understand, I realize how much I’ve overlooked.”

Nomura chuckled. “That never changes. Even after forty years.” He reached for a thick textbook, running his finger along the spine. “When I was a resident, I saw a frozen section once called fibromatosis. I thought I’d misheard — assumed the resident meant fibrosis, like a scar. But no, it was fibromatosis. I went back to my old med school text — one paragraph on it, buried in the chapter on soft tissue tumors. Later, my professor handed me an entire book on soft tissue tumors. Thirty pages just on fibromatosis alone.” He tapped the book. “It humbled me. Still does.”

James laughed softly. He had never imagined Nomura struggling with a diagnosis. “Even you?”

“Especially me.” Nomura smiled. “That’s why pathology is difficult and exciting. There’s always something you don’t know. When I took my dermpath fellowship, I was the only pathologist. Everyone else was a dermatologist. They looked down on me, thought I wasn’t a ‘real doctor.’ That stung. So I trained in dermatology too. Patients taught me just as much as slides.”

James respected him all the more. A man who had faced dismissal and proved himself twice over.

Nomura’s gaze softened. “You’ll be fine, James. Your time with Dr. Carter gave you a foundation most residents don’t have. Haas may not see it yet, but you’ve got talent.”

As James left, Wilma intercepted him with a tray of immunostains. Her auburn hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. “Dr. Deetan, you’re always working overtime. Careful, Haas will work you to death. Or maybe she already has.” Her hand brushed his as she passed the slides, eyes teasing.

James smiled awkwardly. The touch lingered too long.

Back at his office, he stared at the photo of his parents. His father’s expectations pressed down like a stone, but Nomura’s words — promising career — lifted something inside him.

He thought of Deanna too, her encouragement after the conference, her voice lilting with laughter. She, like Nomura, believed in his potential. With her, “promise” felt less like a burden and more like a possibility.

And James realized what he longed for was not just a promising career — but a promising life.

Next Chapter: Chapter 9-It Would Have Been So Easy