I Am a Good Doctor

He heard the idle vibration of a taxi engine on the street outside the clinic.

He heard a stray dog licking a puddle of water two blocks away.

He heard the "creak" of a mattress spring as someone on the third floor turned over.

Every sound was so clear it felt unreal.

Scent.

Disinfectant, blood, the metallic tang of stainless steel on the operating table.

The faint ozone smell flowing from the fluorescent light tubes.

The scent of mold spores radiating from a mildewed tile in the corner.

The traces of battle lingering on Daredevil—gunpowder smoke, concrete dust, the scent of other people's sweat and the hormones released by fear...

Twenty-three types.

No, more.

He could distinguish at least thirty different odor molecules in the air.

Touch.

His fingers rested on the instrument tray—the microscopic scratches on the stainless steel surface, invisible to the naked eye, were each clearly perceptible to his fingertips in both depth and width.

But these were just the appetizers.

The true qualitative change occurred the moment his Super Senses and Super Intelligence came online simultaneously.

Previously, Super Intelligence was a super processor, but its information input was limited to his eyes and basic human senses—the bandwidth was limited.

Now, Super Senses had blown that input bandwidth wide open.

He could hear a person's heartbeat, and Super Intelligence could analyze their heart rate, blood pressure, stress level, and whether they were lying within the same second.

He could smell the residual drug metabolites on a person's skin.

Super Intelligence could immediately deduce what medication they were taking, the dosage, and whether their liver and kidney metabolic functions were normal.

He could feel the vibration waveform of a person's pulse with his fingertips, and Super Intelligence could analyze arterial elasticity, heart valve function, and even approximate blood lipid levels from the waveform frequency.

No instruments were needed.

No equipment was required.

He himself was the most precise diagnostic instrument.

Lynn closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The world hadn't changed.

But the person looking at the world had—once again.

The clinic remained quiet for about twenty minutes in the early morning.

While Lynn was organizing his instruments, he heard the sound of fabric rubbing against the operating table.

Super Senses clearly captured the signal—Daredevil was moving.

Matthew Murdock sat up slowly.

His first instinctual action was to test his senses—he tilted his head as if listening to something. Then, his mouth opened slightly.

"I can hear it." His voice was very soft, trembling with disbelief. "The water pipes in the building next door are leaking... someone is walking on the street below... they're wearing rubber-soled shoes..."

He took another deep breath, sniffing the air.

"Disinfectant. Iodine. You used povidone-iodine, about ten percent concentration. And... the coffee you drank is black coffee, no sugar."

His fingers pressed against the surface of the operating table, rubbing it for a few seconds.

"Stainless steel. 304 medical grade. There are about forty traces of use on the surface, the deepest one is about 0.02 millimeters."

Then he looked in Lynn's direction—he had no eyes.

But all his sensory information constructed an "image" in his brain that was more three-dimensional than vision.

"It's clearer than before." Matt's voice carried an emotion he wasn't quite used to—

It was like someone who thought they would never hear music again.

Suddenly hearing every section of a full symphony orchestra once more.

"How on earth did you do it?" he asked.

"Surgery." Lynn was washing the iodine stains off his hands at the sink.

His tone was flat. "Your sensory nerves were over sixty percent burned out by sonic weapons. I repaired them one by one using micro-electrodes. The core circuits are fixed, and your own body will slowly regrow the remaining non-core circuits."

"Even Claire said it couldn't be repaired."

"Who is Claire?"

"A nurse. She helped me handle my injuries before. She said that once nerve damage exceeds a certain point, it's irreversible... You did it. How?"

"Because she didn't know the specific structure of your sensory system." Lynn dried his hands and turned around.

"She judged it based on a normal person's nervous system, so of course she thought it was irreversible."

"But you aren't a normal person. Your sensory nerve circuits have an independent repair mechanism; it was just blocked by overload damage."

"What I did wasn't a reconstruction; I just cleared the blocked path so your own repair mechanism could restart."

Matt was silent for a few seconds.

He was likely using his senses to analyze Lynn's heartbeat as he spoke—judging whether he was telling the truth.

"You aren't an ordinary doctor," Matt finally said.

"I am a good doctor," Lynn said. "And since my clinic just opened, I need to build a reputation. If you feel okay after you recover, just tell your friends about me as my consultation fee."

"What's your clinic called? Where is it?"

"Miracle Clinic. West side of 49th Street, Hell's Kitchen."

Matt nodded.

He didn't give his real name, but he didn't use a fake one either—

He simply accepted the treatment in silence, then slowly climbed off the operating table to test his legs.

"Your vestibular system was just repaired, so your sense of balance might take a few hours to fully recover," Lynn reminded him from behind. "Don't go climbing rooftops tonight; just take the stairs."

Matt paused—there was a lot of information in that sentence.

The mention of climbing rooftops implied that Lynn knew how he usually traveled.

But he didn't press for details.

"Thank you, Dr. Lynn." Matt's voice was very sincere.

Then he left.

Lynn stood at the clinic entrance, watching the figure in the damaged red suit disappear into the early morning darkness.

He knew what Matt would do when he got back—he would carefully test every one of his senses to confirm they had all recovered.

Then he would remember the name "Miracle Clinic."

Reputation in the superhero circle was like groundwater; you couldn't see where it was flowing, but one day it would inevitably spring up from somewhere you never expected.

A system notification sounded in his mind.

[Prestige value changed: +150 (Healed Daredevil - Superhero level treatment).]

[Current prestige value: 250.]

Lynn closed the clinic door, locked it, and went upstairs.

He lay down on the hard folding bed on the second floor.

Super Senses allowed him to hear the breathing of every household in the building—someone snoring, someone turning over in their sleep, the old lady downstairs getting up to use the bathroom.

It was noisy.

But it was also very reassuring.

Because within this information radius, no abnormal movement could escape his perception.

Lynn closed his eyes.

For the first time since he had transmigrated, he felt he didn't have to worry about whether he would wake up after falling asleep.