Chapter 216: Exchange Conditions

If he truly wanted to chat, Henry could turn on his acting skills and take the initiative; it wouldn't be trouble. But today's experience gave him some thoughts, so he wasn't in a rush to build a friendship with John Wick, a protagonist-level figure.

Henry turned to look at the Continental Hotel's Los Angeles manager, Ms. Muri Fisher. He took out a gold coin, placed it before her, and said, "One gold coin, one promise, is that right?"

"Just now Mr. Wick also said, I too have the right to refuse," Muri Fisher said loudly.

"In fact, I was just asking, because I'm not sure if you can even do it."

Such a small provocation wasn't enough to make Muri Fisher unhappy. She asked, "What is it?"

"I was taken to that Black congressman's place by two FBI agents. Now he's been killed by your people, and I'm still alive. Can you solve the trouble on my back?"

When everyone in a place is dead except one survivor, it's hard not to be seen as a suspect or an accomplice, right?

If the FBI people are eager to close the case, Henry would be the perfect scapegoat. This is a huge pot falling from the sky; there's no way to dodge it.

So asking the person who stirred up this mess to solve the problem themselves isn't excessive, is it?

Muri Fisher looked at Henry's smiling face, combined with his disheveled attire. This let Muri know that this request was both a test and a probe.

If the Continental Hotel side lacked the energy to solve this trouble, then Henry certainly wouldn't need to cooperate with such an entity. Without a foundation for cooperation, there was certainly no question of how to subdue this mutant.

But Muri Fisher wouldn't easily take the bait. She shook her head directly and said, "That's not enough." She took a pendant the size of a pocket watch from a subordinate, placed it beside the gold coin Henry had given, and said, "Press a blood handprint, and I will help you."

"What is this?" The Kryptonian played dumb. He simply picked up this watch-like trinket to examine it, even opening it to look at the inside.

"A blood contract mark, representing a promise that cannot be refused."

Having received the answer, Henry seemed to realize the function of the sharp, thin needle above the blood contract mark in his hand. But he just shook his head and said, "This won't work."

"Oh, you wouldn't think what I'm asking you to do is simple, would you?"

"No, I mean this won't work." Saying this, Henry pretended to press his thumb hard on the needle of the blood contract several times. He even bent the needle slightly before showing his thumb, which was completely unharmed.

Now it was Muri Fisher's turn to be speechless. She hadn't expected this result. She asked, "You can't do it yourself? If you get sick, how would you handle the injection?"

"I can only pray to heaven that I don't get sick." Henry pretended to make the sign of the cross on his chest. He put down the blood contract mark and casually reached to take back the gold coin he had placed on the table.

His hand had barely extended when it was pressed down by Muri's well-maintained, tender, and soft hand. But she didn't take the gold coin Henry had given; she just held it to play with and asked, "If I can help you, what else can you help me with?"

"Hmm, give you another gold coin?"

"Quantity has no meaning." Muri refused.

These were the rules set by the High Table; a gold coin was merely a 'ticket,' a promise. Yet there were still places where even a gold coin couldn't get you in. Would bringing out more tickets now be useful?

Just like if you wanted to ask a High Table member to do something, even presenting a blood contract, they might not nod in agreement. Would they even look at a pile of gold coins placed before them then?

Which High Table lacks gold coins? This isn't a circle where the poor are welcome.

"Then..." Glancing around, seeing many injured people resting in the hall, Henry stated his condition again: "In the future, if there are situations like this, can I also help out?"

Actually, this was Henry's true purpose.

Learning medicine through normal channels, especially accumulating clinical experience, was simply too troublesome.

Not to mention the infighting within hospitals, how to get a lead surgeon to choose you as an assistant, until you can operate on the table independently.

This isn't something where mere 'excellence' can get you the opportunity. Without a backer, or extra effort, would so many people fighting for the opportunity easily fall into your lap?

And to avoid medical disputes, you must comply with regulations everywhere. To maintain a doctor's prestige and high medical fees, you are forced to do things against your conscience to fit the American medical environment and atmosphere.

This hasn't even touched on how many unspeakable things lie beneath the big black curtain of pharmaceuticals and medical equipment.

Rather than that, it's better to be a secret doctor. Those who seek out a part-time doctor like him are either the poor or those who aren't exactly respectable.

What happens if such people survive is another matter. If they die, would they dare to sue in court?

At most, a group of underworld brothers would gather privately to demand an explanation from this secret doctor who killed a patient. Would a Kryptonian fear such things?

And for Henry to pursue this path, it certainly wasn't driven by a sentiment of pity for the world. It was just that he recalled not long ago, watching that lady suffer from illness, feeling regret as a Kryptonian who was powerless.

Although he had read enough medical knowledge from books and journals, the lack of clinical experience still made Henry dare not pat his chest and guarantee he could cure all diseases. This caused that lady's condition to be delayed again and again, ultimately becoming a regret.

If someone wasn't afraid of death, came to him voluntarily, and was willing to become Henry's clinical experience points, wouldn't that be a win-win good thing?

At least his purpose was to cure people, not to make healthy people sick just to observe their reaction under certain bacteria or viruses, that kind of inhumane behavior.

One could also say that such vicious human experiments were a forbidden red zone for Henry.

However, considering reality, most people who seek out secret doctors are those who cannot go to regular hospitals, treating injuries that cannot be explained, such as knife wounds or gunshot wounds.

If one were even more unscrupulous, perhaps those seeking abortions would come knocking.

The chance to see difficult and miscellaneous diseases and even get the opportunity to treat them, just like at a medical center, would probably be rare.

Or it would be those poor people who couldn't afford medical fees, dragging themselves until they were on their deathbeds, only then coming to find a secret doctor to try their luck.

... Usually at this stage, to say there's no challenge would be unreasonable. This is genuinely snatching people away from the Grim Reaper.

The more he considered it, the more Henry felt this idea was good. If the Continental Hotel didn't want to cooperate, he could do it himself.

Medical equipment was certainly no problem for a Kryptonian's manual skills.

As for those drugs, it was just right to exercise his chemical synthesis abilities. This wasn't making fake medicine; it was just not coming from a legitimate pharmaceutical factory.

So Henry's eyes lit up as he asked the Continental Hotel's manager, "How about it, Ms. Fisher? Can this method of cooperation exchange for your services?"

(End of Chapter)