From Street Trash To Dragon Lord

_6_

Marcus forced a harsh laugh, but his hands trembled. The sound came out hollow, desperate.

"You're guessing! Making wild accusations to seem credible!" His voice rose with each word.

Richard stepped beside his nephew, arms crossed. "Classic con artist tactics. Throw out dramatic claims and watch people panic."

But Sophia watched her brother carefully. The way sweat beaded on his upper lip despite the climate-controlled room. How his hand kept moving to his lower back, massaging the area unconsciously. The slight wince when he shifted his weight.

She had seen these signs for months. Dismissed them as stress from work.

"I've never had kidney problems in my life," Marcus said, but he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

A nurse whispered to her colleague. "He has been looking unwell lately. Lost weight too."

One of the specialists frowned, studying Marcus with new attention. Professional concern replaced his earlier smugness.

Sophia's sharp gaze shifted from her brother to Ethan. The young man stood perfectly still, face blank as stone, waiting.

"This ends now!"

Doctor Chen's voice exploded through the tension. His face flushed deep red, veins visible at his temples.

"I will not stand here and watch this vagrant manipulate a grieving family with circus tricks!" He turned to the specialists flanking him. "We are medical professionals, not fortune tellers at a carnival!"

The other doctors nodded vigorously, their earlier uncertainty replaced by righteous anger.

"He's using cold reading techniques," another specialist added. "Observing body language and making educated guesses. It's textbook psychological manipulation."

Doctor Chen jabbed his finger toward Ethan. "I've seen your type before. Street magicians who play doctor until someone dies and they move to the next city."

He snapped his fingers sharply. "Security! Remove this man immediately!"

Four guards entered the VIP suite, their expressions stern. They had dealt with plenty of problem visitors before. This would be routine.

"If he resists, call the police," Doctor Chen ordered. "I want him charged with trespassing and attempted fraud."

The guards advanced, boots heavy on the polished floor. Their hands moved toward Ethan's arms, ready to drag him out.

Staff members whispered approval. "Finally someone with backbone." "That boy had us all fooled for a moment."

Richard nodded frantically. "Yes! Get him away from my brother before he causes more harm!"

Marcus leaned against the wall, relief visible on his pale face. "Thank you, Doctor Chen. I knew we could count on your judgment."

The lead guard's fingers were inches from Ethan's shoulder.

"Stop."

The single word cut through the chaos like a blade through silk. Not loud, but absolute.

Every person in the room froze. The guards. The doctors. Even the nurses mid-whisper.

Sophia Ashford had spoken.

Marcus spun toward his sister, disbelief written across his face. "Sister, you cannot be serious about this."

"Father is dying." Sophia's voice remained level, controlled. She didn't look at Marcus. Her eyes stayed locked on Ethan. "Modern medicine has declared him incurable. Every specialist in this city has examined him. All of them said the same thing. Three days maximum."

"But this street trash knows nothing about medicine!" Richard's voice climbed toward hysteria. "He'll kill Thomas!"

"Father is already dying. What exactly do we have to lose?" Sophia took a step forward, her heels clicking once on the floor. "Can you cure Crimson Rot Syndrome?"

Ethan's face remained unreadable. His voice came out flat, emotionless. "Yes."

No hesitation. No doubt. Just certainty.

Sophia held his gaze for three long seconds, searching for any crack in that stone facade. She found nothing. Just cold confidence that bordered on unnatural.

She turned to Doctor Chen. "If you interfere again, you're fired. Effective immediately."

The doctor's mouth fell open. "Mrs. Ashford, I must protest in the strongest possible terms. This is medical malpractice. If something happens to your father, the hospital's liability..."

"Is my concern, not yours. Step back."

Doctor Chen's face cycled through shock, rage, and finally bitter acceptance. He moved to the far wall, arms crossed tightly.

Sophia gestured toward the bed. "You have fifteen minutes."

Ethan moved to Thomas Ashford's bedside with unhurried precision. His movements were fluid, practiced, as if he had done this a thousand times before.

He pulled a small black cloth case from his jacket pocket and unfolded it on the medical tray. Inside lay a row of thin silver needles, each one gleaming under the harsh hospital lights.

A nurse scoffed audibly. "Acupuncture? He's going to treat stage four cancer with acupuncture?"

"This is medieval superstition," another whispered. "Not medicine."

Doctor Chen's bitter laugh echoed from his corner. "Five thousand years of medical advancement, and we're back to poking people with needles. This is embarrassing to witness."

Marcus pushed off the wall, some of his confidence returning. "He's stalling. Making it look complicated and mystical so when Father dies, he can claim he did everything possible."

Ethan ignored every word. His fingers selected the first needle with careful deliberation.

He placed it at the base of Thomas's neck, right where the spine met the skull. The insertion was so smooth, so precise, that even the hostile nurses couldn't help but notice the skill involved.

Another needle. Left wrist. The major meridian point where pulse was normally checked.

Then the abdomen. The chest. The right wrist. Each placement exact and purposeful.

"What is he even doing?" Richard muttered. "There's no medical basis for any of this."

A specialist shook his head. "He's hitting random pressure points. Probably read about it on the internet."

Sophia watched in silence. Her analytical mind cataloged every movement, every needle placement. There was a pattern here. A logic she couldn't quite grasp, but definitely present.

Ethan placed the final needle at Thomas's chest, directly over his failing liver.

Then his hands began to glow.

Faint at first. Just a slight crimson shimmer around his palms, barely visible in the bright room.

Then brighter.

Red light pulsed from his hands, flowing down through the needles into Thomas Ashford's body.

Several staff members gasped. Two nurses actually stepped backward, fear crossing their faces.

"What the hell is that?" someone whispered.

The crimson glow intensified, casting ruby shadows across the white walls. It looked like liquid fire, flowing through invisible channels beneath the old man's skin.

Doctor Chen's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he found words. "It's some kind of LED setup. Hidden lights in his sleeves. Parlor magic to impress the ignorant."

But his voice wavered. Uncertainty crept into his tone for the first time.

Marcus stared at the glowing hands, his earlier confidence cracking. "What kind of trick is this?"

"No trick can make light flow through a human body," Sophia said quietly.

Ethan's face remained blank, expressionless. Sweat began to bead on his forehead from the effort of channeling so much energy. His breathing stayed controlled, measured. But the strain showed in the tension of his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

The room fell into hostile silence. Staff members shifted uncomfortably. The guards exchanged glances, unsure whether they should still be prepared to remove him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the crimson glow began to fade.

Ethan removed the needles one by one with the same careful precision he had used to place them. Each needle withdrew cleanly, leaving no mark on the skin.

He returned them to the black cloth case, folded it, and slipped it back into his pocket.

Then he stepped back from the bed.

His face remained completely neutral. Poker face intact despite the sweat dampening his collar.

"It's done."

The words hung in the air.

Everyone stared at Thomas Ashford lying motionless in the bed.

No movement. No change. His chest rose and fell with the same shallow breaths as before. His face remained the same deathly pale color. The monitors showed identical readings to fifteen minutes ago.

Nothing had happened.

Heavy, suffocating silence filled the VIP suite.

Then Doctor Chen exploded into harsh, barking laughter.

"Done? DONE?" He could barely speak through his mirth. "He looks exactly the same! Nothing has changed!"

The dam broke. Mockery flooded the room.

Marcus pushed forward, his face twisted with rage. "This was all theater! I knew it! Lights and needles and mystical nonsense!"

"Arrest this fraud immediately," Richard demanded, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling the police right now. This is criminal fraud!"

The nurses no longer bothered to hide their snickers. "What a waste of time." "The great Ashford family fell for a street magician."

One specialist shook his head in disgust. "I've seen faith healers with more credibility. This was pathetic."

Sophia's jaw tightened. Her hands clenched at her sides. She had gambled her judgment, her authority, on this mysterious stranger. And he had delivered nothing.

"You have ten seconds to explain yourself," she said, her voice dangerously quiet. "Before I let them throw you out."

Ethan stood perfectly still. His expression never changed. Not embarrassed. Not defensive. Not apologetic.

Just calm.

Unreadably, impossibly calm.

The machines started screaming.

High pitched alarms shattered the mockery. Multiple monitors shrieked warnings simultaneously, creating a wall of sound that made everyone flinch.

Thomas Ashford's heart rate spiked on the screen.

160 beats per minute.

180.

200.

220.

The numbers climbed impossibly fast, the graph line jerking upward in jagged spikes.

Blood pressure plummeted in the opposite direction.

90 over 50. Then 70 over 30. Then 60 over 20.

Oxygen saturation crashed. 85 percent. 75 percent. 65 percent.

Red warning lights flashed across every monitor, bathing the room in crimson strobes.

Doctor Chen's laughter died in his throat. He lunged toward the machines, his professional instincts overriding everything else.

His eyes scanned the numbers rapidly, his face draining of all color.

"He's dying." The words came out strangled, horrified. "His vitals are crashing. Complete system failure."

He spun toward the door, voice rising to a desperate shout.

"He killed your father!”