The doctor’s expression remained unchanged.
"Honestly, during the half month you’ve been sleeping, I’ve been questioning if my treatnt makes any sense; letting you die on the operating table seed not bad at all. It’s a pity you woke up, now you have to face it all."
He poured a glass of wine and turned to hand it to John.
Offering this to a patient just recovering from a serious illness said a lot.
John didn’t refuse, he downed half of it, and his gaze changed.
He couldn’t taste anything.
"Don’t thank , and don’t bla ."
Ryan could guess his symptoms.
John chuckled, raised his glass to clink with his, suppressing the acidic stomach contents and unspoken words.
Only ten days to live.
John, however, was unexpectedly calm.
He had already lost his awe of death, felt no regret, perhaps was completely numb.
"Having a definite end date isn’t too bad."
Ryan continued to express his downfall philosophy of life.
"In my youth, my head was filled with desires, life, dreams; later, I did gain so things, but so what? It’s aningless, it’s the lost parts... that I often reminisce."
Most of his drunken words were ant for himself.
John ignored the doctor, washed up in the tal basin, shaved with the razor on the shelf.
"Do you want to eat sothing?"
John knocked on the door panel.
The frenzied Ryan didn’t respond, clutching a bottle of wine and shouting passionately.
"...Death feels like an overdone anesthetic, pain surfaces, making you want to find sothing else to numb yourself! John? Want sothing strong? My drawer is full, all those thugs stuffed to as debt paynt."
The doctor raised his wine glass and shook it, as if it were a tomb.
"..."
John didn’t respond. After tidying himself up, he went to the dicine storage area, following experience to start self-injecting, feeling the power restoration process.
He began to clean unread ssages.
The inbox was piled with half a month’s worth.
Most were junk advertisents, but there were also commissions from unfamiliar interdiaries.
After receiving the intelligence, Oulos didn’t continue to inquire, seemingly assuming John died in the Bolago Club conflict.
She didn’t owe anything in the first place.
The few who could barely be called friends didn’t have enough reason to ask about John’s condition.
Half a month’s ti.
To soone recovering from surgery, it might seem lengthy.
But in Eden City, trying to erase every tale of a new street figure felt too short; people hadn’t yet realized his disappearance.
Gang wars had already spread throughout the city.
Now it wasn’t just the Owl Town Gang and Black Gold Gang’s conflict; the police system was enduring imnse pressure, incessant cris, making normal life harder for people, leaving no ti for a greeting.
Gerry and Maya had contacted John the most during this ti.
They regularly reported the restaurant’s operation status.
John thought of his business and his gradually reviving appetite, simply called the restaurant to order takeout.
The restaurant originally didn’t have such a service.
But John was the boss.
Upon receiving the news, Gerry imdiately dropped the chore, carrying the steaming high-purity fresh steak and test-use small wine to the East District.
With a cold face, he awkwardly escorted the food.
Seeing him like that made John want to laugh.
"Hey, here’s... with your look, those punks must think you have sothing valuable in the bag, easily blocked by clueless little thugs."
Gerry relaxed instantly upon seeing him.
"Thank God, Boss, it’s good you’re okay, honestly, during your disappearance, I imagined many terrible ends..."
Their business was on the West District border.
The chaos created by gang wars also spread to the restaurant.
Racing and shooting constantly appeared on the roads.
Among the old regulars were many street wanderers, bringing worrying news ti and again.
"They’re bragging with your story..."
"Many died in the Bolago attack, but you survived, and it was SAT who personally took you out of the lockdown."
"Black Gold Gang says you made a deal with the Speaker, and from now on, we’ll fight against the Eastern people."
"So say you’re a traitor, the West District no longer welcos you."
"You disappeared, many claid the story was blown up, you actually died in that conflict."
[Street reputation increased↑]
[West District influence increased↑]
Gerry rambled on.
He took great care of the restaurant, business was booming, and after the materials ran out, he even went with Maya to fetch supplies twice.
The Wanderers at Radiant Dust Farm took good care of them, even asking about John’s condition.
Gerry and Maya knew nothing.
The restaurant also had so minor troubles during this ti.
Always so irrational thugs wanted to cause trouble, and so newcors wanted to make John their street story starter.
"Did you get hurt?"
John focused on the staff’s safety.
Gerry laughed, waving his hand, revealing the gun butt at his waist.
"Maya and I can manage for now; besides, the restaurant indeed needs long-term help. Do you rember Gaf? The one doing odd jobs at the restaurant, we’re now hiring her long term, paying a full-ti salary but without a contract, since you’re the real boss..."
Whenever he talked about the restaurant tidbits, he was all smiles.
"Just focus on recovering. So rcenaries at the restaurant have decent personalities. Recently, more and more Wanderers have co to dine, and they’ve helped deal with troublemakers."
John chewed on his food and smiled as well.
He felt that he wasn’t too lonely after all.
He hadn’t been on the streets for long but had already gotten familiar with so faces.
These were evidence of being alive.
Ryan Randall walked over casually, forked a piece of steaming beef, and praised the taste.
"Maybe you should give an address."
"Then you’d better go early, or... there won’t be any seats left."
"Oh, since you’re earning money now, you should settle the bill."
Ryan sent the dical bill to John’s email.
The amount was absurdly high.
Saving John’s life wasn’t easy; his severed arm needed a limited edition Glider that’s hard to find on the market, and the surgery itself required a lot of dicine and equipnt.
The most expensive thing was what kept John alive.
It had no specific na, only a code. It was one of Ryan’s treasured possessions for years.
Being in a coma for half a month, in a small underground clinic, usually had two outcos—either a death sentence or a dical miracle.
In the Cyber Era, miracles had price tags.
John had to reorganize his bank account transactions.
During this ti, he received an anonymous deposit, surely Mr. Vito’s paynt.
The amount was very high but not enough to buy his life.
Gerry noticed the boss’s trouble and promptly sent over the restaurant’s account.
Since its opening, the restaurant had been booming for three consecutive weeks.
Now Eden City is in chaos, ordinary citizens are struggling to survive, while street thugs have beco fanatical and wealthy, spending money with a live-for-today ntality.
High-end dishes quickly opened up sales.
Those corporate dogs on the rise were lured by their appetites and found it hard to go back to their old ways.
The restaurant’s audience increased, and money started flowing in.
Gerry talked more and more as they chatted.
The restaurant was supposed to pay a cut to the local thugs, theoretically to the West District, but now the restaurant’s custors were mostly rcenaries, so if there was going to be any tribute, it should really be given to Raphael...
Also, the delivery service, the kitchen needs more staff, there’s room to expand the front hall, should there be new dishes and drinks, and has there been any thought about the bar and nightlife...
These decisions were left to the boss.
John didn’t agree right away.
He didn’t know what life would be like in ten days, and he didn’t want to dampen his employees’ enthusiasm for life.
The clinic bill was barely covered.
John transferred all the remaining money back.
Excluding the costs needed for the restaurant’s operation, everything was counted as a bonus.
"I can’t lose money in a steady business, but I need to keep you all to let continue working as a rcenary and make this worry-free money."
"Don’t worry, BOSS!"
Gerry, after confirming John wasn’t in big trouble, was busy heading back to the restaurant to help out.
"No need to see off. If those punks dare to make a move, I’ll ask the regulars at the restaurant for help!"
He flashed a reliable smile and turned to leave.
Ryan watched Gerry disappear down the hallway, as if sobering up suddenly, turned to John and whispered.
"You need to think about those still living. Tsk tsk, you’re not cut out to be a Lone Wolf at all, not ruthless, stuck in between..."
John didn’t answer.
He continued to enjoy his steak and little drink.
With the stimulation of drugs and food, his tongue seed to detect a slight taste, but he couldn’t tell if it was spicy or bitter.
[Eden City - Dan Street]
John drove the old Calorn Truck back to the West District.
Along the way, there were Black Gold Gang mbers conducting checks.
They used violent ans to control the intersections, directly extorting those who appeared to be from other gangs or had Asian features.
John’s car window was knocked on.
Those muscular n surrounded the truck, forcing him to take out the passenger seat and his weapons.
John looked calmly at the gun muzzle, then shifted his gaze to that person’s face.
"You’re fresh faces, new here? Go ask soone with experience, then move this damn roadblock, and let’s pretend we never t."
The gang thugs exchanged glances.
John sat in the driver’s seat, his gaze calm, and soon enough, the armored vehicle and gun muzzles blocking his way disappeared.
He had no interest in how things were resolved, nor did he bother looking at the newcor again.
The streets of the West District had changed greatly, with smoke from fires visible everywhere, and the stark sunlight illuminating scenes of accidents.
John turned near the Bolago Club.
This integrated mall was still in business but exuded a sense of decay everywhere.
The tallest building in the complex hadn’t recovered from the explosion yet; it was covered in electric barrier tape and construction tarps like bandages on a patient’s body, signaling a critical injury at a glance.
Thud.
Suddenly, a woman crashed into his truck.
Holding her injured nose, she scrambled up without looking back, darted across the street, and into an alleyway, leaving several bloodstains along the way.
Clack, clack, clack.
The sound of running leather shoes followed closely.
Several Black Gold Gang n in suits charged through the normal traffic, even rudely stepping on the Calorn Truck’s hood, flipping over it to continue chasing the fleeing woman.
John felt like he had seen her before.
He pondered for a mont, then pulled a gun from the bag on the passenger seat, and silently left the driver’s seat.
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