Chapter 58 — The Contract Is Sealed
The morning sky was dull and gray.
Clouds hung low over the street like half-awake dough, heavy and unmotivated.
Ethan unlocked the clinic door and flipped the sign to OPEN.
He had just taken off his coat when—
Footsteps approached, paired with an impatient voice.
"Hey! Doctor! Move!"
Ethan turned around.
Max burst in, one arm hugging a cardboard box, the other locked in mortal combat with a scarf strangling her neck.
"This stupid scarf is more suffocating than Caroline's startup ideas."
"Up this early today?" Ethan greeted her.
"Please. I'm always up this early," she shot back.
"You're the rare sight. Normally you're still dead to the world."
She pushed past him, dumped the cupcakes on the counter, and let out a long breath.
Then she turned and scanned Ethan from head to toe—
the way one checks an expiration date.
"…Did you gain weight?"
Ethan: "...No."
Max snorted.
"Been exercising lately? And no—lifting a fork doesn't count. Neither does moving cupcakes from a box to your mouth."
"Of course I have," Ethan said, clinging to his dignity.
"Oh yeah? What kind of exercise?"
"Running."
Max raised an eyebrow.
"From the kitchen to the couch? Or from the couch to the fridge? Ten-meter marathon champion?"
Ethan searched his memory for something convincing.
"Work… commuting… stairs?"
Max folded her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"Did your heart rate ever go higher than it does during sex?"
Ethan opened his mouth to argue—then wisely closed it.
You never win arguments with Max.
"Eat less," she said flatly.
"Two cupcakes is fine. Twenty is not."
"I usually only eat three…"
Per sitting.
He quickly added, "It's mostly because your cupcakes are too good. I literally can't control myself.
People with my level of self-discipline should never touch gambling or drugs."
Max squinted at him, visibly pleased by the compliment—
Then smirked.
"Oh? So this is my fault now?"
"…That's not what I meant."
She waved a hand, as if accepting a court ruling.
"Fine. I'll take responsibility."
She stepped closer, tone softening—dangerously so.
"If I made you gain weight, then I'll help you lose it."
She pointed toward the exam table behind the door, voice dropping.
"Lucky you—looks like you're alone today.
Want to do some… heart-rate-spiking exercise?"
She checked the time.
"I've got fifteen minutes."
Ethan froze.
His heart absolutely spiked.
He was just about to respond when—
DING!
The clinic door was yanked open.
A man drenched in blood staggered in, clutching his chest.
"Doctor! Help! I'm dying!!!"
The mood instantly froze solid.
Max jumped back three steps, hands in the air.
"You two handle this. I'll… not be part of it."
She vanished in a flash, leaving behind cupcakes and a lingering scent.
Ethan turned to the patient—who was actively leaking blood—and felt his emotional state switch from romantic opportunity to time to sew flesh in under a second.
"…Did you seriously have to come right now?" he muttered.
"Couldn't you wait fifteen minutes?"
The man gasped.
"I'm about to die!"
Ethan replied coldly,
"Dying's fine. I can revive you."
The patient froze.
For a brief moment, he wondered if the doctor was having a very bad day.
Even though his good moment had been thoroughly ruined, Ethan was still a professional. He carefully stitched the wound, every movement precise and practiced.
He even added thoughtfully,
"I'll use a little less anesthetic and suture faster. That way, you'll save some money."
The patient was deeply moved.
At first, he groaned and whimpered.
Later, he went completely numb—emotionally and physically.
When it was over, he realized his body felt… warm. Surprisingly so.
He even felt like he could walk out on his own.
Feeling guilty for having misjudged the doctor's mood, he left the payment, thanked Ethan sincerely, and departed.
The morning's little incident passed.
Ethan cleaned the operating table—
Ding.
The bell rang again.
A man in a dark gray suit entered quietly.
His movements were steady, controlled—less like a human, more like a machine calibrated for perfect precision.
Wearing black leather gloves, he placed a thick envelope on the reception counter.
Stamped in gold lettering across the front:
"The Continental Hotel, New York — Confidential Document
Authorized by the Continental Hotel Manager"
The man spoke only once—polite, detached, utterly emotionless:
"Dr. Rayne. From this moment forward, you are formally bound to the Continental Hotel under a Neutral Medical Contract."
He gave a slight nod, as if completing a ritual, then turned and left.
Ding.
The door closed.
Ethan blinked.
"Well… their execution efficiency is impressive."
He opened the envelope.
The paper carried a faint scent of ink and metal.
Inside were two meticulously printed documents, sealed with wax.
---
Rayne Clinic — Neutral Medical Agreement
(Continental Hotel Special Provisions)
The clinic must provide non-discriminatory, confidential, and impartial medical services to Continental clients.
All fees must be paid in High Table coins. Other forms of payment do not receive High Table protection.
No medical information may be disclosed to any government, organization, or individual.
The clinic must not actively participate in any factional conflict.
Violation of this contract will revoke neutral status and be treated as interference with High Table order.
Effective immediately.
Signed and confirmed by:
Winston Scott, Manager — The Continental Hotel, New York
Stamped at the bottom:
"We Serve. We Do Not Judge."
— The Continental Hotel, New York
Ethan stared at the phrase "We Serve. We Do Not Judge."
It sounded strangely lofty.
Almost… Holy Light–adjacent.
He moved on to the second document.
---
The Continental Hotel — Rules & Articles (High Table Standard)
Beneath the title, a line in gold lettering:
"Established for all who are protected by the Rules.
All who enter are bound by them."
Ethan flipped through.
Article I: No Killing
All killing is forbidden on hotel grounds.
Violators lose protection and are subject to immediate global sanction.
Article II: Sanctuary Rights
Registered individuals receive immediate neutral protection.
Only the High Table may revoke this status.
Article III: Coin Payment
All services accept Continental coins only.
Coins represent contract and identity—not material value.
Article IV: Neutral Service
Services must be provided impartially, confidentially, and without refusal.
Article V: No Betrayal
Staff may not expose, sell out, or interfere with client affairs.
Violators lose all protection.
Article VI: Blood Oath Contracts
Blood oaths cannot be refused or falsified.
Violators forfeit all rights and are subject to unlimited pursuit.
Article VII: Manager Authority
Managers enforce the Rules and maintain neutrality,
but may not alter them.
Article VIII: High Table Sovereignty
The High Table holds absolute legislative authority.
Violence against the High Table constitutes rebellion and will be eradicated.
---
Along with the documents was a small booklet of contacts.
Rayne Clinic was listed as well—
thankfully with only an address, no phone number.
At the very bottom of the envelope sat a small pouch.
Ethan opened it.
Inside were ten gold coins
and a note reading:
"From the day of signing, protection begins."
Ethan put the note down, weighed the coins in his hand, and muttered:
"So… I can now hire someone to clean up ten bodies."
He paused.
"Money's ready. Just missing the bodies."