Chapter 57 – The Continental Hotel
"Fifty coins…" Ethan couldn't help asking, "if you converted that into cash, how much would it be?"
"It can't be converted," John Wick replied calmly.
"Coins purchase services money can't buy.
In the hands of certain people, their value is immense.
In the hands of ordinary people, they're worthless."
They're still gold, Ethan thought silently. At the very least, they've got melt value.
He didn't say it out loud. Instead, he nodded and said politely,
"Thank you for the warning, Mr. Wick. But I won't be raising my prices."
"Why?"
Ethan shrugged.
"It conflicts with my beliefs."
"My belief is this: there are things one should do—and things one should not."
Seeing John's expression remain blank, Ethan waved it off.
"Never mind. That part isn't important.
What is important is that you take good care of your wife. I can take care of myself.
If wealthy people insist on paying millions, I won't refuse—but that will never be my criterion for choosing who deserves treatment."
John studied him for a long moment, then nodded slightly.
He could tell Ethan meant every word.
"Very well, Doctor. Then I wish you good luck."
He stepped out the door—then paused and turned back.
"I'll recommend your clinic to the Continental. And for the next two weeks, I'll keep an eye on things for you."
"...No need."
Ethan declined politely, though he knew this wasn't a man whose decisions could easily be reversed.
"As you wish," John said, already turning away.
Ethan watched as John Wick helped his wife into the car and disappeared down the street.
For just a moment—only a moment—Ethan had been tempted.
But the thought was quickly crushed by two forces within him.
Neither the Holy Light nor the Shadow ever distinguished between ordinary people and extraordinary ones.
What they recognized were belief, understanding, and the capacity to endure.
The Holy Light required only sincerity of faith.
Not because you are powerful does the Light answer you—
but because you believe, and thus the Light responds.
Among its followers were noble knights, farmers, beggars—and even sinners.
As for the Shadow, it never rejected anyone at all.
It simply devoured the weak.
So the idea of dividing patients by wealth or status had never made sense to Ethan in the first place.
As for the dangers John Wick had warned him about—
whether from other doctors or powerful elites—
Ethan wasn't especially concerned.
A reasonable person wouldn't offend the one doctor who could save their life when it truly mattered.
Still, Ethan admitted to himself that John Wick's warning had been timely.
He really did need to put more effort into practicing Shadow.
Lately, his build had become dangerously lopsided—
Holy Light was practically maxed out, while Shadow hadn't even scraped a passing grade.
---
John, as it turned out, kept his word.
The very next day, the clinic received an uninvited guest.
A dark gray sedan stopped silently at the curb.
A middle-aged man stepped out, dressed in a dark bespoke suit.
His hair was immaculate, his collar precise, his manner that of a gentleman who looked as though he'd just strolled out of an upscale cemetery.
He paused at the door, tilted his head slightly, and knocked three times.
Polite. Perfectly measured.
Ethan opened the door.
The man smiled, his voice flawless.
"Doctor Rayne?"
"…Yes," Ethan replied, instinctively defensive.
"If you're selling insurance, I should warn you—I already turned one down yesterday."
The man merely nodded.
"My name is Winston," he said.
"Manager of the New York Continental Hotel."
Ethan's mouth twitched.
Alright. The boss has arrived.
"I believe there are some matters," Winston continued,
"that require a conversation between us."
His gaze swept lightly across the clinic.
Clean. Orderly. Soft light reflecting off polished cabinets.
The faint scent of disinfectant mixed—oddly—with cake.
Utterly ordinary… and yet unmistakably not.
Ethan stepped aside. Winston entered.
"Doctor Rayne," Winston said as he took a seat,
"allow me to say—your clinic is quite… distinctive."
He folded his hands.
"We've noticed," he continued gently,
"that certain friends of ours have recently received treatment here."
Ethan pressed his lips together.
"To be honest, I didn't know they were your friends at the time."
"Doctor Rayne," Winston said calmly,
"there are two places in this world that inevitably draw people from our side of society."
"One is a cemetery."
"And the other… is where miracles occur."
Ethan: "..."
"Your clinic," Winston concluded,
"is clearly not a cemetery."
Ethan hesitated.
"…Thank you?"
Winston's gaze sharpened—calm, precise.
"Some have said that you are… more than just a doctor."
"That your methods fall outside the boundaries of conventional medicine."
"So," Winston said, fingers interlaced,
"we hope to establish a relationship with you."
"Hold on," Ethan interrupted.
"I have zero interest in joining your organization."
Winston met his eyes.
"No. We are not here to recruit you."
"Good," Ethan replied.
"I don't shoot people, don't collect bounties, and I definitely don't clean crime scenes.
The most I clean is wounds."
"And precisely because of that," Winston smiled,
"we need you to remain neutral."
"The Continental wishes for Rayne Clinic to become New York's neutral medical point."
Ethan froze.
Winston continued smoothly:
"Much like our tailors, gunsmiths, vault keepers, and archivists…
You would become another professional protected by the rules.
Your sole responsibility would be to save lives."
Ethan frowned.
"So assassins will come here for stitches?"
"If they can afford it," Winston replied mildly.
"And rest assured—they rarely leave debts unpaid."
"And pricing?"
"Entirely at your discretion."
Ethan blinked.
"That free?"
"Doctor Rayne," Winston leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle,
"we require a medical node. And you… are the ideal candidate."
Ethan was silent for three seconds.
"And if I refuse?"
Winston lifted his chin just a fraction.
"Then our people will still come."
"Because someone has already acknowledged you."
"And in our world," Winston said softly,
"his word carries more weight than gold."
Ethan: "..."
Winston rose, straightened his cuffs, preparing to leave.
"In the coming days, a document will be delivered outlining the 'rules.'
They are simple. They will not interfere with your life."
He paused, then looked at Ethan again—this time with genuine courtesy.
"Thank you for existing."
"The assassin's world has never dared to expect miracles."
"But you," Winston said, smiling faintly,
"have provided one."
"I'm just a doctor," Ethan replied.
Winston's smile warmed.
"Ordinary doctors don't cure the incurable."
Ethan fell silent.
Why does it feel like the entire world knows now?
Winston inclined his head politely.
"Have a safe evening, Doctor Rayne."
He left the clinic, the car departing as silently as it had arrived.
Ethan stood alone under the lights, his shadow stretching long across the floor.
"…Am I becoming the assassin world's healer now?"