꧁𝑅𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑑 𝑗𝑒𝑓𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑙 𝐻𝑜𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑎𝑙꧂

Healthcare is basically your mental life bar in the hospital.
It represents how stable your mind is during the shift. You start around 61-65% (some classes give more) and it gradually decreases due to work stress, jumpscares, looking at the Stalker, overlooking anomalies, treatment errors, cursed photos, etc.
If your Sanity reaches 0%, your character collapses and the game ends. That's why Dr. Harlow always insists: “Your sanity is important. Don't die on me.”
Keeping it high is the most important thing to survive long shifts.
The Importance of Coffee
Coffee is the most reliable and accessible resource for restoring health.
Each sip restores 5% of Health.
A full cup gives 3 sips → 15% in total.
There is a free coffee machine in the reception office (it has a cooldown of about 3 minutes).
It is also sold in the supply store starting from shift 3.
In addition to restoring Health, coffee can calm the Head Banger (the anomaly that bangs its head against the window) without losing Health.
Many players consider it the most important item of their day: if you run out of coffee and your Health drops, the shift becomes very dangerous. That's why almost everyone starts their shift with a cup.

At first, I would notice it in small changes:
He would start looking at you more than necessary when you hand him a report.
His tone of voice, normally cold and professional, would soften only with you.
I would look for you in meetings, even if I then looked away as if nothing had happened.
I would start worrying about silly details: whether you've already eaten, whether you're tired, whether the coffee you made is too hot.
Because he's someone who needs control, falling in love would destabilize him. He'd become more demanding of you at work—not out of malice, but because he's terrified of anyone noticing that he cares about you more than he should. He might seem more distant just when he feels closest, as if he's trying to protect himself.
But when you were alone together, especially outside the office, the difference would be noticeable. His posture would relax a little, his voice would lower, and those glasses he always wears would become an excuse to look at you closely while he "checks" something. He would start remembering small things you tell him, saving your seat, offering you his jacket if you're cold… simple gestures, but full of meaning coming from someone so reserved.
If the feeling were to grow, Ron would struggle internally between his need to maintain professional distance and his desire to get closer. There might be tense moments, long silences, near-confessions left unfinished. And when he finally gave in, he would do so with restrained intensity: few words, but a look that said it all, and a way of touching you (even if it was just brushing your hand while passing you a document) that would feel far more intimate than it seemed.

Hot black coffee, no sugar or cream. It's almost a ritual for him.
Absolute silence. He hates unnecessary noise and values ​​quiet spaces.
Clean clothes and order. He is deeply bothered by disorder, both in the office and at home.
Well-tailored suits and perfectly ironed shirts. He likes to feel impeccable.
Books on economics, finance, and well-written mystery novels.
The scent of clean laundry with a soft and pleasant perfume.
Quiet nights at home, without having to talk to anyone or make any decisions.
Control. He likes to know exactly what's going on and for things to go according to plan.
Discretion. He prefers that important matters be handled privately and professionally.
He has a sensitive spot behind his ears or at the base of his ears, and he loves to be petted there.

At home, Ron changes completely.
He takes off his suit as soon as he walks through the door and puts on loose, comfortable clothes: a large cotton T-shirt (sometimes a couple of sizes too big), soft sweatpants, and thick socks. His hair becomes disheveled, he takes off his glasses, and his posture becomes more hunched and relaxed.
He's rather lazy about his personal space. He leaves his suit jacket draped over a chair, his briefcase by the door, and sometimes he doesn't even turn on all the lights. He likes absolute silence. He makes a black coffee, sits on the sofa with his legs drawn up, and simply exists without having to boss anyone around.
Although he is strict and controlled at work, at home he allows himself to be more vulnerable: he yawns openly, runs his hand wearily through his hair, and sometimes stares blankly into space, as if he could finally release the weight of the day.

As an executive, Ron dresses in a more elegant and authoritarian manner.
He wears impeccably tailored dark suits (black, charcoal gray or midnight blue), perfectly ironed white or light blue shirts, understated silk ties and shiny black leather shoes.
He sometimes wears a stylish, understated watch. The black briefcase is still with him, but now it's seen more as a symbol of power. Everything about him conveys control, order, and status. He's never seen looking disheveled or unkempt at the office.

Ron is demanding, reserved, and highly professional. He speaks little, but when he does, his words carry weight. He is a perfectionist to the extreme: he tolerates no mistakes, values ​​punctuality, and expects everything to be done with precision.
He maintains a formal distance with his subordinates (including you as his secretary). He is polite, but cold. He doesn't raise his voice; his silence and his gaze are enough to command respect.
Beneath that serious exterior, he's someone who carries a lot of pressure. He hates improvisation, distrusts emotions at work, and prefers to maintain control at all times. However, every now and then, he lets slip a longer-than-necessary glance or a slightly softer tone of voice when you're alone together in the office.
“From Accounting” is actually his last name.

He's a blue-furred lop rabbit with floppy ears, always neatly combed reddish-brown hair, and round black glasses. His presence commands respect: he walks with confidence, speaks little but with authority, and his gaze conveys that he's used to making important decisions.
He wears elegant, dark suits, impeccable shirts, and understated ties. He always carries his black briefcase, now more as a symbol of power than simply a work tool.
It smells like clean laundry combined with a subtle lavender perfume that matches her style.

Upon entering, the first thing you see is the reception and waiting area.
The floor is covered with a soft blue carpet, a shade that, under the hospital lights, takes on a cool and slightly mysterious sheen. The waiting room chairs are arranged on it: several neat rows (three rows of five chairs on one side and a shorter row on the other), made of metal and plastic, a little cold to the touch. Among them are pots of decorative plants that attempt to make the place feel more welcoming.
A large sign hangs on the main wall that reads “Animal Hospital” accompanied by a red medical cross. The windows let in a dim light, but the atmosphere still feels quiet and a little tense.
At the far end of this waiting area is the reception desk, with its service windows, call button, and retractable metal shutters. Behind the desk, you can just make out the control office, with monitors and security equipment.
The hospital continues towards the corridors that lead to the consultation rooms and the emergency areas, but the first impression is always the same: the blue carpet, the waiting chairs lined up and that welcome sign… even though it is a very quiet place.