North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 184 184: 137 Aerial Crisis (Extra for Captain Yu Jin

The flight from Los Angeles to New York takes over six hours. Dean certainly wouldn't skimp on his own comfort, so he had booked a first-class seat.

Sitting in the comfortable chair, Dean declined the enthusiastic flight attendant's offer, picked up a book, and began to read intently. It was a book about animal behavior.

Dog Trainer Bokke wasn't highly educated, and his half-finished book, *From Physical to ntal Taming of Intelligent Species*, was written sporadically; he simply jotted down thoughts as they occurred to him, without any organization. As Dean read, he realized many concepts were entirely foreign to him, leaving him utterly confused. However, so of the incredible ideas within the book were truly mind-opening.

Bokke, that deviant, was undoubtedly a genius in Beast Taming. He categorized all beasts by their intelligence and animal instincts, using a carrot-and-stick thod to train them according to their species. Like the obedience and loyalty of canines. Although their maximum intelligence isn't high, their capacity for obedience is considerable. These animals can be trained through food rewards, conditioning their reflexes, and teaching command recognition.

Then there are humans...

Humans, while having a high baseline for intelligence, possess overly complex emotions. Consequently, one must systematically dismantle their original cognition, self-esteem, and confidence, causing them to lose their sense of self. Then, through various thods, they are brainwashed to reconstruct a new cognitive frawork and behavioral patterns centered around the trainer... PUA, as practiced between n and won, is, in fact, a gentler version of this thod.

Dean felt these concepts would greatly aid his psychology studies, so he was quite enthusiastic about learning them. He swore it wasn't because he harbored any strange ideas.

Ti passed. The airplane shook gently, and a change in pressure filled the cabin. Dean, with his robust constitution, continued reading his book unfazed. However, a pale-faced little girl sitting not far away covered her ears, her pitiable expression showing intense discomfort. This occurs because pressure changes in the ear canals during takeoff and landing cause the eardrums to vibrate, leading to discomfort. Normally, this discomfort is short-lived, but for so people with pre-existing health issues, it can beco a serious problem.

The girl sitting before Dean was such a case. She initially felt an itchy throat and ear discomfort. As she tried opening her mouth to alleviate it, a dull sensation surged through her head.

The next mont, the little girl's vision went dark, and her head drooped.

Dean, seated beside her, heard the commotion. He turned, his expression changing instantly. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, strode to the girl's seat, and placed his fingers on her carotid artery.

"Sir, the plane is climbing. Please return to your seat!" The glamorous first-class flight attendant saw Dean's actions and quickly moved to stop him, fearing an accident.

Her cry of alarm also caused three or four nearby passengers to look over.

One of them, a middle-aged man with a full beard, saw Dean pressing his fingers on the little girl's neck—as if choking her—and his face contorted with fury. "You bastard, what have you done to my daughter!"

"Shut up!" Dean's stern gaze swept over the man, montarily cowing him. Dean then unbuckled the girl's seatbelt, lifted her into his arms, and while keeping her head elevated, retrieved a morphine syrette from his waist and administered the injection.

In this parallel United States, major man-made transportation disasters hadn't yet occurred, so dostic flight security was still very lax. Although he hadn't brought a gun on board, these morphine syrettes had been brought on openly.

By the ti the middle-aged man regained his senses, Dean had already injected half the dose. For a little girl who looked to be only eight or nine years old, this was not an insignificant amount.

If it didn't work, then it was just her bad luck, Dean thought.

All this, though seemingly complex, happened within seconds.

The man finally snapped out of the shock from Dean's intimidating gaze. He furiously unbuckled his seatbelt and, ignoring the still-turbulent plane, lunged at Dean, angrily grabbing his clothes. "FK..."

Dean wasn't about to tolerate that. Before the man could fully unleash his anger, Dean flicked his hand, sending him stumbling back to his seat.

The flight attendant finally realized sothing was amiss. After discreetly pressing a button beneath her seat, she unbuckled her own seatbelt and rushed to the little girl's side. She saw the child, eyes closed and unmoving, and Dean holding the mini-injector.

The flight attendant's face paled. "What did you do to her?"

"This bastard injected my daughter with an unknown substance! Call the air marshal!" the middle-aged man, who had been thrown back into his seat, roared, struggling to lunge at Dean again.

Hearing this, the expressions of two other male passengers also changed. They unbuckled their seatbelts, preparing to intervene heroically.

Dean remained unfazed. The girl's symptoms clearly indicated abnormally high blood pressure, and I was providing ergency treatnt, he reasoned. Even if the man sued later, the most I'd have to do is pay compensation. I'm not short on money right now.

If the girl died and this man caused trouble afterward... Such an act of kindness—knowingly attempting to save soone despite the risks, only to be slandered and face demands for compensation—would, if publicized, resonate strongly with the Arican narrative of individual tragic heroism. It could cultivate a large fan base. With a little maneuvering, I could use this to gain imnse renown, beco a true five-star detective in Los Angeles, and lay a solid foundation for future promotions. On the other hand, if I successfully treated the girl, the outco would be even better. Since either outco offered good returns, it was only natural for Dean to act.

Just as the man and the two would-be heroes aggressively surrounded Dean, the previously unmoving little girl let out a soft moan and opened her sowhat dazed eyes.

"Aqiusha, are you all right?" Seeing this, the man forgot about confronting Dean. He snatched the girl into his arms, anxiously questioning her.

Because of the morphine's mild sedative effect, the little girl was still sowhat stunned, but the flush on her neck and cheeks had faded to a normal color.

Only then did Dean speak. "It seems she has so heart issues. The plane's ascent caused a sudden spike in her blood pressure, forcing blood to her head and causing her to faint. It was a critical situation; I had no ti to explain and could only use the morphine I had on hand for ergency treatnt."

As he spoke, he handed the pocket syringe, still half-full, to the glamorous flight attendant nearby. "Please give this to the air marshal for an analysis of its contents."

The flight attendant, still skeptical, accepted the syringe from the composed Dean.

The two male passengers who had stepped forward to help now realized they might have misunderstood Dean. They looked sowhat embarrassed and were about to speak.

Dean extended his hand first. "You were both very brave. It's good to et you. I'm Detective Dean from the Los Angeles Police Departnt. I'm glad to have t two such courageous individuals on this flight."

These words not only eased their embarrassnt but also flattered them. The two n enthusiastically shook Dean's hand, exchanged business cards, and then returned to their seats.

Dean glanced at the business cards. One was a sales manager for a dical equipnt company—clearly upper-middle class—while the other was the CEO of an erging internet company, definitely a wealthy man. As expected, Dean thought. People in first class are either wealthy or their company is footing the bill.

Elsewhere, the man finally learned the truth from his daughter, who was gradually recovering. He turned to Dean, his face etched with sha. "Thank you for saving my daughter. Just now..."

The man before him was his daughter's savior, and he had actually wanted to hit him just monts ago, the man thought, feeling intensely guilty.

Dean offered a faint smile and, reaching out, gently pinched the cheek of the little girl nestled against her father, interrupting the man's grateful words. "Buddy, relax. You rely reacted as any father would when his daughter is in danger. There's no need for guilt. My sister is about your daughter's age. I'm very glad she's safe now."

These words not only deepened the man's guilt but also elicited expressions of admiration from the other first-class passengers and the flight attendant. This handso young detective truly possesses grace and kindness! they thought.

"Regardless, you saved my daughter. My na is Charles. If you don't mind, I'd like your contact information. Once my daughter is settled, I insist on repaying you," the man said earnestly, hoping it would alleviate so of his guilt.

Dean chuckled softly. "Buddy, there's really no need. As a detective with the Los Angeles Homicide Division, saving people in peril is a principle instilled in by my father, who died in the line of duty. If you truly wish to repay , then in the future, if you see soone in danger, please offer what help you can, provided it doesn't endanger yourself."

That short speech was packed with compelling elents, the 'buffs' stacked to the maximum, Dean thought. As for the effect? One only needed to look at the flight attendant, who was practically fawning over him, and the other passengers, their eyes filled with admiration and respect. It just goes to show, people who play mind gas often have devious hearts. Unfortunately, these elites were all quite restrained. No one started clapping, which made him feel the atmosphere was sowhat lacking.

After calming the father and daughter, Dean returned to his seat, intending to continue reading.

He now needed to maintain this persona and wait for the airline and these passengers to spread the story. Of course, if they didn't act, Dean would arrange for a passenger to 'accidentally' leak the incident, ensuring it 'coincidentally' caught so dia attention and eventually stirred public discourse...

As he flipped through his book, a delicate fragrance wafted to him. It was the flight attendant from earlier. She was half-kneeling before Dean, her ample cleavage on display due to her posture, and said admiringly, "Heroes shouldn't remain unsung, sir. I will report this to the company to thank you for helping us avert a serious incident."

Generally, first-class passengers are people of status. If the little girl had died on the plane, regardless of the cause, it would have damaged the airline's reputation.

Dean glanced at her generous cleavage, about to say sothing, when his eyes caught the depressed call button on an empty crew seat and the syringe still in her hand. His expression shifted slightly. "Did you secretly call the air marshal just now?"

The flight attendant, thinking Dean was accusing her of misunderstanding him again, said awkwardly, "I'm sorry. I mistakenly thought you were harming the little girl, so for safety, I pressed the call button."

"Three minutes and thirty-five seconds!" Dean exhaled, unbuckling his seatbelt again.

"What?"

The flight attendant was montarily confused. Then, looking at the syringe in her hand, she realized Dean was talking about ti! It had been over three minutes since the incident began! Where were the air marshals? Wait! Why was there no response or any sound from the cockpit?!

Fear flashed across the flight attendant's pretty face. She started to speak, but Dean cut her off, his voice low, "Don't shout. Take to the galley. I need so utensils—knives, forks—anything that can be used as a weapon."

The flight attendant nodded repeatedly. The two of them moved stealthily towards the galley.

Charles, still comforting his daughter, noticed their departure and smiled knowingly. It seed that handso detective was about to have a morable 'mile-high experience' with the gorgeous first-class flight attendant. Ah, youth!