Clark was horrified. He hurriedly used his super strength to catch the bass that had already flopped onto the ground.
Bruce sucked in a sharp breath and touched the side of his cheek. His face did not hurt, but the wound on his neck had started bleeding again.
Clark had no choice but to run back to the market service station for a First Aid Kit and bandages, then rewrapped Bruce's wound.
"Sorry, our medical facilities here are pretty limited. You should have that magical spray in your suitcase, the kind that heals you with one spray, right?" Clark said as he wrapped the bandage.
"Doesn't the town have a hospital?" Bruce asked.
"It does, but there are too many people." Clark shook his head. "If we went now, conservatively speaking, we'd probably get an appointment before September next year."
Bruce was just about to speak when Clark guessed what he wanted to say. "Private health insurance won't help either. The whole town only has one general practitioner, one intern, and one head nurse. Even the boss of an insurance company would have to wait in line."
Bruce said nothing and merely shook his head slightly. He was not so Prideful as to criticize the lack of medical resources from the perspective of a Gothamite or a billionaire.
Kansas had always been an agricultural state. Most of its cities were not particularly developed. Forget comparing them to Gotham, one of the leading cities on the East Coast—even compared to cities in other central states, they lagged behind to some extent.
Now, Bruce understood that everything had its pros and cons. Gotham was developed, certainly, but development also brought an extremely fast-paced life. In a place where even gangs had to compete fiercely, how could anyone leisurely drive a tractor to