C9 The Blackhearted Doctor

The other two thugs advanced toward Zachary with mocking sneers.

The woman, sensing trouble, quickly changed her expression and urged, "Run!"

Zachary shook his head. "I can't run."

"They're going to beat you senseless! Get out of here! This isn't your battle!" The woman's kindness shone through; she didn't want to see Zachary get involved and hurt.

"Just watch, I'll make things right for you," Zachary assured her, inhaling deeply. He stood up and faced the oncoming brutes with a cold gaze.

"You're courting death, kid!"

The thugs, with sinister smiles, popped their knuckles in a chilling manner.

They charged at Zachary, their fists targeting his head.

"Back off!" Zachary commanded, as he launched a powerful kick. His foot, driven by a fierce wind, was too fast for the thugs to dodge.

Thud!

The thug on the left received the full force of the kick in his chest and was hurled onto the concrete.

The other, shocked, made another attempt, only to meet Zachary's foot with his chin.

Crack!

A horrific sound of shattering teeth filled the air as the thug's jaw ballooned, blood and teeth erupting from his mouth, his hands clutching his chin as he screamed in pain.

Yellow Haired stood frozen in fear, trembling uncontrollably.

Zachary's aura was formidable.

"You brought this on yourselves!" Zachary grasped Yellow Haired by the neck and flung him to the ground like garbage. He retrieved the stolen three hundred dollars and proceeded to strip the thugs of all their money. "Consider this a warning—no more shakedowns in this neighborhood! Cross me again, and I'll take your lives! Now scram!"

The three thugs scrambled to their feet and scurried away in disarray.

"Auntie, it's all clear. They've been chased off," Zachary said, catching his breath.

The woman, her face devoid of relief, slumped on the ground, her expression troubled. "You've just tangled with the local enforcers. There'll be no peace after this," she sighed heavily.

"They're just a bunch of thugs. Vermin like them should be dealt with one at a time!" Zachary remained nonchalant. He had easily dispatched the thugs, who were all show and no substance, a far cry from the likes of Armstrong and Michael.

He was more than capable of handling such riffraff.

The woman shook her head in dismay. "You don't get it, those men have ties to the underworld. They're heavy hitters in this area, and no one dares to mess with them. You shouldn't stay here any longer; pack your things and get out while you can."

"Run? That's just defeatist. No way I'm doing that," Zachary declared without hesitation, shaking his head.

The woman's anxiety spiked. "Why are you so stubborn, young man? Won't you take a bit of advice?"

"Auntie, relax. They can't hurt me," Zachary said with a reassuring grin, handing over all the money he had snatched from the thugs. "This is for you."

The woman was startled and refused. "I can't take this. It's yours by right."

"Take it, please—it's for your child's medical bills!" Zachary urged, pushing the money into her hands. "You mentioned your child is sick and needs an organ transplant, right?"

With reluctance, she accepted the money, her dire need trumping her reservations. Zachary's comment elicited a heavy sigh from her. "That's right, but a transplant costs a fortune, and I just don't have that kind of money."

The exorbitant cost of the surgery was out of her reach, tantamount to a death sentence for her son.

Zachary's expression grew tense. He had hoped his medical skills might offer some hope, but an organ transplant was out of his hands.

Clutching the money, the woman mentioned, "I've summoned a doctor; he should be here any moment."

"A doctor?" Zachary was momentarily surprised, now understanding her earlier distress over the stolen money—it must have been for the doctor's fee.

In the midst of their conversation, a man in a white coat, trailed by his assistant, stepped into the room. The woman, spotting the doctor, hurriedly got up and greeted him. "Dr. Sabino, you're finally here! My son is having an attack."

"Lucy, you must not have cared for him properly. Why is he sick again?" Dr. Sabino, a middle-aged man, frowned and headed straight for the smallest bedroom.

Zachary paused, then followed them into the room.

Inside, an eleven or twelve-year-old boy lay on the bed, his face ashen, barely conscious, with occasional pained whimpers escaping his lips.

Dr. Sabino put down his bag and began examining the boy.

Lucy, on edge, asked, "Dr. Sabino, how is he?"

"Not too bad, but I'll have to charge double for this visit," Dr. Sabino said seriously.

"Doubling the fee? Hasn't it always been three hundred per visit?" Lucy's expression darkened, surprised by the notion of a surcharge for daytime visits.

"It's not the same this time. You were desperate when you called, and I had to push back several appointments to get here. Doubling the fee is actually quite minimal," Sabino said, noticing Lucy's concern and offering a comforting smile. "I wouldn't have rescheduled others if it weren't for your son's serious condition. Each cancellation means a loss of thousands for me."

With a pallid face, Lucy clenched her teeth and conceded, "Alright, as long as you can get my son's illness under control."

Faced with the severity of her child's condition and the risk of further complications, she reluctantly agreed to Sabino's demands.

Sabino nodded in satisfaction, "Your son's illness is chronic, as you're well aware. I've brought the medication he needs. An IV should help stabilize him, but I must be clear: his illness is manageable, not curable."

"I know," Lucy admitted, painfully aware of her son's chronic illness, which had been consistently diagnosed by various hospitals. His continued survival depended on expensive medications that were draining her finances.

Just then, the assistant chimed in, "Dr. Sabino, the patient's body temperature is low, showing symptoms of hypoglycemia."

"Give him a glucose injection to raise his blood sugar," Sabino directed. "Low blood sugar can cause significant damage to the heart."

Zachary, who had been observing silently, frowned with concern.

He had begun studying the Medical Saint Scripture and reached the first stage of 'Vision'—the ability to diagnose illnesses at a glance.

Guided by the Scripture, Zachary could see that the boy's semi-conscious state was actually a sign of an allergic reaction, not hypoglycemia.

As the assistant prepared to administer the glucose, Zachary stepped in with urgency, "Wait, it's not hypoglycemia!"