The Goldmaster

005. The real deal

“Is this some kind of joke to you?!” a voice echoed through the hallway.

The words came sharp and cold from a middle-aged man in a dark suit, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on the young man standing in the hallway.

“Look at him, he's just a kid,” the old woman whispered.

“He's younger than my grandson. How can someone like him save your grandfather?”

“We're wasting time,” Pamela interrupted.

“He's not just anyone. He saved me from my heartbreak. No one had done it in twenty years!.” she said, clenching her fists slightly.

The room immediately fell silent at her word.

Everyone's eyes were on the young man in simple clothes with a calm expression on his face. He didn't react or flinch at the scrutiny—he barely looked at them.

Instead, his attention had shifted to the half-conscious figure on the bed—her grandfather, Alberto. His lips were pale, his body trembling slightly, with the smell of cold sweat in the air.

He ignored the argument and stepped forward to check on him before a white-coated individual moved into his path.

“That’s as close as you can get,” a man in his mid-thirties said. “I'll handle this.”

He was tall, stern-faced, with the silver pin of Berkley's Medical Association gleaming on his chest. His reputation as the association's vice president preceded him.

“Handle what exactly?” Lucas asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I've already diagnosed the patient. His organs are failing and he won't survive another night,” Lex explained.

The room stirred with gasps and shocked faces.

“You think I don't see what you are?” Lex continued.

“You're just another quack, some pretty boy pretending to be a professional, huh?”

“Leave, before you make a bigger fool of yourself,” he said, smirking slightly.

Lucas tilted his head to the left, examining him, then chuckled.

“You talk a lot for someone hiding a condition like… premature ejaculation.”

“What?!” Lex exclaimed, his face flushed red.

“You bastard! How dare you slander me!” he retorted.

“It's not slander if it's true, isn't it?” Lucas cut in, yawning slightly.

“It's quite easy to know—shallow breathing, faint pulse at the wrist, tension around the kidney meridian. You've been on medication for quite a while, haven't you?”

Lex was sputtering now, his face a violent shade of purple.

“Y-You…!!”

Pamela pressed a hand to her mouth behind him, holding back a laugh. Even her father's lips twitched despite the tension in the room.

Lucas ignored the chaos. He stepped around Lex, who was still battered by his words, and stood beside the bedside, his fingers hovering just above Alberto’s chest.

“Don't touch him!” Lex barked.

Lucas didn't stop at his words. He gently placed three fingers along the man's wrist, closed his eyes, and murmured something under his breath.

A second passed, but he wasn't done. Then his eyes snapped open.

“It's poison.”

Lex rolled his eyes. “You're just reaching that conclusion? His blood tests showed nothing, so what poison are you talking about?”

“Not all poisons reveal themselves at the beginning,” he replied flatly. “Some creep in slowly and silent, weaken the meridians, clog the Qi flow, and slowly lead to death.”

“If I don't intervene now, he'll be no more in less than seven hours—not a day.”

He pulled a slim wooden box from his pocket and flipped it open. Inside were rows of thin silver needles.

Lex barked a short laugh.

“Acupuncture? Are you insane? That technique died out a century ago. Not even Álvarez Baker, the nation's top doctor, was able to learn it.”

“Because none of you could do it right,” Lucas murmured.

Gasps filled the room again, as Lex stood there, his blood boiling hot from the continuous backlash.

Pamela walked up to him amidst the chaos. “Can you really do this?”

Lucas turned and looked at her. For a moment, his expression dropped.

“I never touch a body unless I know I can save it.”

He turned back to Alberto, Pamela’s grandfather, and began.

In a blur, his fingers moved gracefully. Silver needles gleamed in the overhead light, piercing through skin with surgical precision. One after the other, they found their mark—ankles, wrists, chest, neck.

Lex opened his mouth to protest, but he never got the chance.

“Urghhhhk—!”

Alberto’s body jerked. A black tar-like sludge spewed from his lips. The stench of decay filled the room. He gasped, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Grandpa? Where's Father?” Pamela screamed and ran to the bed.

“He's awake! Dad—he's awake!”

The entire room broke into chaos. Even the skeptical uncles were now crowding around the bed, mouths agape.

Lex stood frozen, his lips trembling, his hands useless at his sides.

Lucas straightened, wiping his fingers on a cloth to clean off the poison spills.

Jerry, Pamela’s father, immediately turned to Lucas with a broad smile on his face.

“I'm so grateful for what you've done for my family by saving my father. I hope the heavens bless you for this.”

Lucas turned toward him with a grateful smile. “You're welcome, sir.”

“Do not, for any reason, remove the needles,” he said, voice sharp with warning. “The poison’s only half gone. The needles are channeling it out slowly—if you pull them out now, it’ll spread again.”

He stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I need to gather the last ingredient for the purge. I’ll be back in three hours. Until then, don’t touch anything.”

“Wait—what's your name?” Mr. Jerry called out as he was on his way out the door.

He paused at the doorway, then glanced back.

“Lucas… just call me Lucas.” He turned and left.

—-----

Not less than ten minutes after Lucas left, the front doors slammed wide open.

“Where is he? Move!”

A man stomped in, flanked by a man in his sixties with snow-white hair and a doctor’s coat. The room went tense.

It was Álvarez Baker, the legendary physician of Berkley, flanked by his known pursuer, Almonde Black.

Gasps broke out as the two stepped into the Bellingham estate’s drawing hall. Their presence commanded silence—until all eyes turned to the man on the bed.

Alberto Bellingham, the family’s patriarch, was breathing steadily now, though his body remained motionless. Thin silver acupuncture needles shimmered faintly across his chest and arms, unnervingly precise.

Álvarez’s gaze narrowed at the sight. He crossed the room in three swift steps, inspecting the pattern of needles with visible tension in his brow.

“Who... did this?” he demanded.

Before anyone could answer, Almonde Black stepped forward, his voice loud and clear.

“To those unaware—this is Álvarez Baker.”

“The same man who stopped a plague in East Berkley with nothing but his hands.”

“The founder of the Brierwood Healing Method. Show some respect.”

The room fell still.

Then Jerry Bellingham, Pamela’s father, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Doctor Baker… thank you for coming. But… my father’s condition had already taken a turn for the better.

Álvarez’s eyes snapped to Lex, who stood quietly admiring his idol and looking for ways to approach him.

“You,” he said sharply. “Did you do this?”

Lex jolted. “No, I—I didn’t! I wouldn’t dare—”

“Don’t deny it,” Álvarez barked, jabbing a finger toward the acupuncture layout.

“This technique—this dangerous arrangement—it’s the old terracotta spiral. We abandoned it for a reason. It’s too volatile, too precise.”

“One needle even slightly out of place, and the patient goes into cardiac arrest. Worse, the method was lost for decades—half the records were destroyed. You had no business attempting it.”

Lex fumbled, trying to speak, but was cut off again.

“Nonono! Not me! I didn’t touch him,” Lex insisted. “It was—”

Before Álvarez could scold him further, Jerry stepped in, lifting a hand.

“It's Lucas. My father was treated—just minutes ago—by a young man. A stranger named Lucas.”

Alvarez’s expression didn’t change. “But that acupuncture is only a temporary inhibitor. It suppresses the poison—it doesn’t purge it.”

Jerry stepped forward, hesitating. “Actually… he didn't—”

He immediately got cut off by a scream from Alberto.

“HRRRGH—!”

Alberto’s body arched violently. A spray of blood shot from his mouth, dark red and foaming. The monitor beside the bed sounded in alarm.

“Oh goodness!”

Doctor Álvarez rushed to the bedside. He grabbed Alberto’s wrist.

“His pulse is crashing—he's going into shock! What the hell happened?”