Chapter 224: The Black Clinic

Just as he reached for the money, Henri's outstretched hand was slammed down by Lina with lightning speed.

While his palm strained with bulging veins, Lina maintained her usual smile—cold, elegant, politely distant—and said, "Call me." Her voice carried a hint of gritted teeth.

Henri remained expressionless, flipped his hand, and took Lina's in his. He lifted it to his lips and gently kissed the skull tattoo on the knuckle of her middle finger. "There'll be chances, sweetheart."

Immediately, his left hand snatched the bills off the tray, gave them a shake, and turned to leave.

But as Henri turned, another woman blocked his path. He bowed respectfully. "Ms. Fisher."

She favored retro styles, especially body-hugging gowns. This hotel manager looked like a Hollywood starlet who walked the red carpet every day.

Today she wore a deep emerald green, high-slit gown that would make any person, man or woman, blush and quicken their heartbeat. Her cascading crimson waves covered half her face, spilling over one bare shoulder.

Her sultry gaze swept over Henri, tinged with playful irritation. "Hmm. Lina, Luna, Anya, Dalia, Laura… and then it's Ms. Fisher?"

Jealousy? Don't flatter yourself. From Henri's observation, she treated everyone this way—perfectly wielding feminine weapons to their fullest.

Yet among the predominantly male contract gunner community, this tactic worked flawlessly. The few female gunners, meanwhile, submitted to her authority, never daring to challenge a continent-wide hotel manager.

Henri, however, was not among them. He chuckled. "We're different classes. Besides, I'm allergic to power—I hold nothing but respect for you, madam, and dare not offend. Still busy. Adios."

With that, Henri sidestepped skillfully, slipping past the human wall formed by Ms. Fisher's attendants before they could react.

"I heard!" Ms. Fisher's voice halted Henri's steps again. The noble hotel manager continued, "You performed a very difficult surgery in your little shithole."

Henri turned his back and replied honestly, "No surgery is difficult. There's only whether you want to find the easiest, least damaging method to ensure the patient recovers smoothly afterward."

"Those who say a certain surgery is difficult are just trying to inflate the price. Otherwise, if a hospital told you, 'This surgery is simple,' but charged you a million Tais, who'd pay? Right?"

The speaker downplayed the surgery's difficulty to avoid standing out.

Besides, Henri didn't know whether Ms. Fisher meant the recent skull-base tumor removal on a child, or the hand reattachment on some contract gunner—which one was "difficult."

To Henri, a Kryptonian, any disease with a clearly identifiable lesion that could be surgically addressed was usually no big deal. The only variable was post-op medication—tailored to the individual, but always following a pattern.

The more difficult cases involved children. Their bodies are smaller, organs miniature—surgical space is naturally limited compared to adults.

Second, suturing must account for the fact that children's organs are still developing, unlike adults' fixed-size organs. Improper suturing might cause underdevelopment, organ dysfunction, or even death.

Fortunately, successful cases exist. Henri just needed to research the literature, study prior methods—he didn't even have to invent anything.

In medicine, no one hoards successful surgical techniques; full details are always published in medical journals.

But surgery demands clinical experience, which is why veteran doctors or those with proven track records are so revered and trusted by patients.

Henri lacked clinical experience in diagnosis—how to correctly identify the lesion. Once in surgery, as long as the chosen technique was sound, a Kryptonian could never fail.

Henri even cleared the room during both procedures and used super-speed to complete them. Bleeding was minimized to near zero; no transfusions needed.

Exaggerated? The skin hadn't even registered the incision before pain reached the brain—he was already preparing to suture.

At that speed, even if he accidentally nicked an artery, he could still light a cigarette before calmly suturing or ligating the vessel.

No professional anesthesiologist needed—no general or spinal anesthesia. Just block the pain, avoid overstimulating the patient, and Henri didn't care if they moved. In his hyper-speed perception, patients were perfectly still.

So he had to find another place to kill time before announcing the surgery was over—usually returning to his rented room to type out a few lines of code.

But he never waited hours. Usually just an hour or thirty minutes, then he'd call home to say he was safe. No one knew how long such surgeries normally took—he was the only one who decided.

Ms. Fisher didn't fully believe Henri's words, but she wasn't sure whether to trust other doctors either.

Just as this man said, merchants often exaggerate to maintain prices—even destroy surplus goods to avoid selling cheaply.

So could it be true that doctors inflate surgical difficulty just to charge more? She asked again: "Was that surgery really that simple?"

Henri replied, "First, I don't know which surgery you mean. Second, do you really think I could perform a difficult surgery in that shabby place you call a dump? Are you accusing me of harming people—or saving them?"

Two counter-questions added weight to a certain answer already forming in Ms. Fisher's mind. It wasn't that Henri didn't want to tell the truth—he just knew no one would believe him. So why bother? People only hear what they want to hear.

But of course, the woman wouldn't let him off so easily. These topics were merely excuses. Ms. Fisher said, "Then why don't you stay and tell me just how simple your surgeries really are?"

"Hah, they're simple, all right—three steps: Cut, remove, stitch. That's it. I'm done. I've got work to do, madam."

With that, Henri ignored the hotel manager's tantrum and moved to slip away.

Unfortunately, he had only taken a few steps when a piece of news that piqued his interest made Henry stop once again.

(End of Chapter)