Chapter 45 Chapter 45 This really seems like a medical dispute, who understands...
136.
Consciousness slowly rose like a feather from the water. I seemed to have had a very real dream. In it, Gin suddenly returned in the middle of the night and sat silently in the shadows beside my bed.
His fingers gripped my wrist, preventing me from touching the painful wound, and even... I seemed to hear him make some promise in a voice so low that it almost blended into the night.
It must be an illusion caused by the pain of the wound.
I closed my eyes, almost laughing at my own overly realistic imagination, and then slowly opened my eyelids.
Look, I open my eyes. The room is empty, with only the faint sound of my own breathing. The heavy blackout curtains are drawn tightly, completely blocking out the outside light. All I see is pure, comforting darkness.
...Hmm? No.
I vaguely remember that I didn't draw the curtains so tightly last night?
I blinked in confusion, trying to adjust to the darkness. I fumbled for the phone beside my pillow. The cold white light of the screen instantly blinded me. I subconsciously clicked on Vodka's profile picture and sent him a message saying I was awake.
I waited for a long time, a full minute, but Vodka didn't respond.
I carefully maneuvered myself, avoiding the injured left shoulder, and slowly sat up. The process went more smoothly than I'd imagined, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My gaze flicked to the bedside table, but I paused—a glass of water had appeared on it, unbeknownst to me.
Did Vodka pour me some water when he helped me in last night? I was in sore and sleepy at the time, and my memory is a complete blur.
I lifted the glass and took a sip. The cool liquid slid down my throat, slightly easing the dryness. Fine, for the sake of this glass of water, I'll forgive him for now and won't wait for Gin to come back and complain.
I slipped on my slippers and slowly moved towards the kitchen, but I could vaguely hear a very low conversation on the way.
"...I know, I'll take her there...I'll take the punishment myself..."
The voice was low but cold, with an unmistakable sense of familiarity.
My heart skipped a beat and I quickened my pace towards the living room.
Then, I was completely stunned.
My immediate sight was a tall, upright figure standing behind the tightly closed curtains. His back was to me, his long, silver-white hair cascading like an icy waterfall. He wore only a form-fitting black silk shirt, his shoulders flowing smoothly and exuding a sense of power poised for action.
He held up his phone, seemingly hastily ending the call after hearing the subtle sound of my footsteps. The light on the screen went out at his fingertips.
He turned. The light outlined his stern profile, his tall nose casting a small shadow. His dark green eyes were sharp as ever, but when they looked at me, there was no usual cold murderous look in them, only a deep... almost calm gaze.
"Awake?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse than usual, as if he hadn't slept all night.
I stared at him blankly, at him who was actually there in the living room. My brain was unable to process the information before me, and I could only mutter instinctively:
"Isn't this... a dream?"
Gin thought I was still asleep, nodded as if it was normal, and repeated, "Awake? If you are, eat something first. I'll take you to the hospital for a checkup later."
137.
Hospital……
I actually refused subconsciously, but I also knew that I couldn't resist Gin's decision.
Besides, I know Gin is doing this for my own good. After all, I'm injured, so I can go to the hospital for a proper checkup. It's a Black Organization hospital, so I don't have to worry about the doctor finding it's a gunshot wound and calling the police.
As for the fact that not many Black Organization members would go to the hospital for treatment due to bullet grazed wounds...
I'm not like them! I'm just a useless member of the peripheral group! Besides, it's normal for Gin to be afraid of my death!
Do you understand the value of a good Japanese leader? If you don't, you're out of luck.
Hospitals around the world are probably the same. The strong and unique smell of disinfectant in the air always instantly brings back all the unpleasant memories of pain and needles.
Fortunately, it was the Black Organization's own hospital, and Gin took me there. Just like the physical examination before, there was no need to queue up at all. I could avoid the crowd and enjoy one-on-one service.
The first step, of course, was to examine the wound. The doctor carefully removed the gauze and, after a thorough examination, exclaimed with professional admiration, "The wound was handled very professionally. The disinfection and bandaging were perfect, and it's healing very well."
I couldn't help myself and raised my chin proudly, as if I was the one being praised. "Of course! Big Brother took care of it for me personally!"
Gin, who was standing beside me, frowned slightly. His silver-white hair shone coldly under the cold white light. His dark green pupils swept over my shoulder, and his tone was obviously unhappy: "Didn't Vodka change your medicine last night?"
"I was too sleepy, so I didn't let him move." I explained loudly, flattering him even more loudly. "Besides, brother, you tied the knot so perfectly, I couldn't bear to let Vodka take it apart!"
Sure enough, the air pressure around him, which had dropped instantly, visibly rose again. Although he only sneered softly and cursed, "Idiot."
...Why are you scolding me? It's obvious that you enjoy the flattery.
However, from the moment I woke up this morning and saw him, I had a vague feeling that he was in a bad mood, and the pressure around him was a few degrees lower than usual. Now that he scolded me, I felt that the low pressure dissipated a lot.
I don't know why he was unhappy in the first place—well, it probably had something to do with the mission—but as long as he's feeling better now, that's fine. Hehe, it seems I'm still pretty useful.
At least when Gin is in a bad mood, he can scold him to cheer him up.
I pouted in mock dissatisfaction and snorted, then thought of more important things and quickly asked the doctor, "Doctor, will this... leave scars?"
The doctor didn't answer immediately. He subconsciously glanced at the powerful silver-haired man next to him with extreme caution. Then he looked at me and chose his words carefully. "As long as the follow-up care is proper to avoid infection and excessive extension, theoretically there won't be any noticeable scars."
Hearing that, I immediately turned around and expressed my loyalty to Gin with a serious face, while emphasizing responsibility: "Brother! I'm bleeding and getting injured for the organization! You have to be responsible for me!!!"
Gin was silent for a moment, his dark green eyes fixed on my face. He spoke so slowly, almost word by word, his voice low and clear, "Don't worry. I will take responsibility for you."
"You said it!" I immediately followed suit, my eyes lighting up, "Don't lie to me."
Gin didn't respond to my request for him to take responsibility. He just said "hmm" in a very light voice. His voice was low and steady, and no emotion could be heard.
The doctor then started to change my dressing. Well, probably because Gin's reputation and ruthless methods were known to everyone in the Black Organization, under the influence of Gin's powerful aura, his fingers holding the tweezers couldn't help but tremble slightly.
Professionalism is ultimately no match for instinctive fear. I accidentally pressed the wound a little too hard, and the sudden stinging pain made me gasp and let out a low "Ouch!"
Almost as soon as I cried out in pain, the air pressure around Gin plummeted, and an icy chill spread almost visibly. The doctor, startled by this invisible murderous aura, trembled, and the cotton ball soaked in the medicine fell to the ground, rolling several times on the shiny, polished floor, leaving behind a tiny, insignificant mark.
I lowered my head in silence, staring at the innocent white cotton ball, then looked up at Gin, whose face was as gloomy as water, and tried to suggest, "Brother, Ran...why don't you go outside and rest for a while?"
This really seems like a medical dispute, who understands...
+1 for the evidence that Gin looks like my dad.
Oh, come to think of it... Did Gin ask me...
Gin had a blank expression on his face, his dark green eyes like a frozen lake staring back at me, with no intention of moving at all.
Amidst the stalemate, it was the most timid doctor in the clinic who trembled and took the initiative to speak, trying to break the suffocating silence: "Um... Mr. Gin... How about you come in person? Your previous treatment... was perfect."
...Lord Gin.
I didn't know what to say for a moment.
Gin took it all in stride, his expression unfazed. He quickly and decisively walked to the sink and carefully cleaned his hands with disinfectant, the cold water swishing over his bony, long-knuckled palms. Then he grabbed a fresh pair of sterile gloves and donned them, his movements smooth and professional, as if it were just another routine preparation for a mission.
He stood in front of me again, leaned forward slightly, and began to treat my wound himself. His movements were like his person, with a cold efficiency and absolute precision, but his hands were surprisingly controlled, much steadier than the panicked doctor from earlier.
Finally, he tied a knot that was even more perfect than the previous one.
He didn't let go of my hand immediately, but leaned forward slightly, his dark green pupils staring into my eyes as if locking onto prey, with a certain scrutiny.
In fact, there was no need for him to stare at me like that. I had already prepared a lot of praise, and before he could open his mouth, I immediately flattered him, "Brother, are you tying the knot on my shoulder? No! This is clearly the knot in my heart—"
Before I could finish my words, Gin raised his hands, as usual, and pinched my cheeks precisely, cutting off the rest of my words. "Alright," he said calmly, letting go of my hand, "Let's go."
138.
I thought Gin's "Let's go" meant going home, but I never expected that he would continue the examination, and it was very similar to the steps of my previous physical examination, and he would even take me to have blood drawn.
When I saw the nurse coming over with the blood-drawing equipment, I immediately grabbed Gin's arm with my uninjured right hand, almost hanging on him, my voice filled with real fear: "No, brother, I drank water and ate something this morning. I can't have my blood drawn, right?"
Gin lowered his eyes, glanced at my hand that was clinging to him, and spit out two words mercilessly: "I can smoke."
Now that's it, after having my blood drawn, I can't move either of my hands, so I can only shamelessly ask Gin to help me press the wound with a cotton swab.
The subsequent steps are exactly the same as a physical examination, and even a full-body CT scan is required.
This time I was truly bewildered: "Why would I do this when the bullet hasn't even entered my body?"
Gin didn't even bother to lift his eyelids. He just reached out and pushed me into the inspection hatch with unquestionable strength.
After everything was over, the doctor respectfully said to Gin, "The report will be sent to your email later today."
I subconsciously asked, in fact, it was also a question I had always wondered: "Don't they need to send me a copy of my own test results at the same time?"
And why is the word "synchronous"? It's fine if they don't send my medical examination report to me, but do they want to send it to other people besides Gin?
The doctor obviously didn't expect me to ask this question suddenly. He was stunned for a moment and looked at Gin with a bit of bewilderment: "The order we received is..."
"Yes, there's no need to send it to you." Gin interrupted the doctor bluntly, his tone was almost nasty. He lowered his head and glared at me, "You only need to know that the indicators are healthy. There's no need to know anything else."
What does this mean? Does it mean I can't understand the medical data?
I angrily stepped on Gin and said, "I just don't understand what's wrong."
I wanted to run after I stepped on it, but before I turned halfway, a strong arm instantly wrapped around my waist, easily pulling me back, and my back slammed into his hard chest.
"Why are you running?" A low, dangerous voice brushed past my ears. His arms gripped me like an iron clamp, and there was a hint of teasing in his voice. "You dare to do such a bad thing and you still want to run away? In your current state, can you really get away? Huh?"
Ahhhhh help! Gin is going to kill someone in the hospital!!!
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Author's note: After my careful analysis and calculations, the whiskey will be available in a few chapters! [Starry Eyes]
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