JoJo's Gospel, Part Two

The clinic posted its prices plainly: replacing a finger or toe cost 10 copper coins, and replacing a limb cost 2 silver coins. Replacing an organ generally cost 3 silver coins. Multiple injuries were billed separately. It was affordable to the point of being downright charitable.

Of course, wealthy patients usually got fleeced. Their bills immediately jumped to five or ten times the standard rate, with the rip-off all but written across Jodio's face. As Dean Flender put it, this was robbing the rich to help the poor. Press one, and the gods forgave you. Press two and offer the gods a tribute, and they looked the other way. Come on, even at ten times the price, that was only 100 silver coins, or 10 Gold Soul Coins. What was that to wealthy landowners and feudal lords? Fleece them!

Naturally, those inflated prices mostly applied to house calls. If patients were willing to suffer through a visit to Jodio's clinic, he treated them at the standard rate, then made a little extra by prescribing slightly pricey medicine that offered nothing but peace of mind. House calls cost more, but the service was better too, all right? Whatever hurt, he could replace the hand or foot and cure it for good. Oscar was even there to stuff them with big hot dogs—the meaning was clear—to ease the pain. The service was outstanding.

At first, Oscar was a little intimidated by these important people and hesitated to charge them too much. Then, on a house call with Jodio to his hometown, he watched Jodio use Stone Free to haul up that damn landlord and punch him in the face hard enough to knock out three teeth. That cured Oscar of his nerves. Important people? Nobles, Lords, Knights, landlords, big shots? I'm a distinguished Soul Master! You're lucky I haven't made you hand over your medicinal herbs, and you still dare to haggle?

For Jodio, the clinic gave him a way to master Gold Experience, earn some extra money, and build a name for his Passione organization. It wasn't that he had to borrow Diavolo's branding. DIO's gang of villains just didn't have an official name, did it? He couldn't exactly call them the Bad Guys. Even the Black Hand from Jackie Chan Adventures sounded better than that. Passione it was.

Jodio himself was the foundation of Passione. To be honest, the organization had fewer than ten members, and half of them had been sent to work as shop assistants. But Jodio was in no hurry to expand. He could wait until he reached level 30, couldn't he? Aside from Soul Kings, he would then be able to go wherever he pleased in Suotuo City. He wouldn't even need to fear the Soul Ancestors competing at the Great Soul Arena.

"The flesh is torn open. I can see bone." Jodio examined the man's wound. The man was plainly an old farmer: his gaunt face had sunken cheeks and coarse stubble, and his wife stood beside him looking frantic.

Men like him were usually the pillars of their families and had four or five children. Their only real hope was that one of those children would be born with Soul Power and make something of themselves. Damn it, it was hard to believe this place didn't even have an imperial examination system. Unless a farmer stumbled into a fortune, he had nothing to look forward to his whole life. He couldn't even afford to take a chance on educating a child. That was a bitter pill to swallow.

In Soul Land 1, public academies at least gave poor Soul Masters a chance to rise in the world. That was relatively fair and progressive, if only a little. But what the hell happened by Soul Land 2? As a transmigrant from an old feudal era, shouldn't Tang San have done something for the people suffering across Douluo Continent?

If he couldn't bear social reform or unification, he could at least have set up civil service exams, couldn't he? You didn't have to be a Soul Master to do that. If he had, he might even have left behind a better reputation. Jodio might have held back a little when criticizing him. But what did they get instead? Jodio had only one verdict: You really are a gang boss. Even calling you Tang is giving you too much credit. Though you'd probably wear the name proudly. Oh, right—you belong to the Tang Sect. Never mind.

Yet even someone as awful as Brother Tang had seen his reputation improve. Jodio could only marvel at how the new generation of transmigrants kept sinking to lower and more absurd depths. Compared with some of them, Brother Tang almost looked decent—tolerable, even? This era had gone completely off the rails. Back then, nobody had expected a transmigrant to really seize a dead family's property.

"By the clinic's rules, I can fix this for 2 silver coins. But it'll hurt. Can you bear it?" Jodio asked.

"Doctor, 2 silver coins is..." The old farmer's face tightened. He looked like a student Liu Xiaoyan had coached for the college English exams, caught sneaking a look at the paper before the test began. Or an honest man who wanted to borrow money but was too embarrassed to ask. Or Chief Qi, desperate to get ahead. In short, he clearly couldn't pay.

Two silver coins wasn't an expensive fee. It was about 20 copper coins, roughly three months of living expenses for an ordinary farming household. One treatment from Jodio would leave him with a hand as good as new. It was a bargain, but for people in such straits, it was still too much.

"Then owe me for now. I'll come collect at the end of the year." Jodio waved it off. What he earned at the Great Soul Arena and from occasional house calls was enough to support him and the academy. He wasn't about to tarnish his reputation over a little money.

"I couldn't possibly impose on you like that," the old farmer said awkwardly.

"I, Jodio Joestar, didn't open this clinic to make money. I opened it to treat the sick." Jodio slowly rose, resting one hand on his waist and the other on his slightly bent left leg as he spoke gently.

"I don't like hearing people moan in pain, and I like seeing them suffer from illness even less. I'm an empathetic person. My heart's always too soft. Ah, well. Go into that little room, take off your clothes, and wait on the bed. The operation will begin shortly." Jodio pointed toward the room beside them.

"Thank you so very much, honored Lord Soul Master." The old farmer and his wife spoke with deference, nervousness, and heartfelt gratitude.

"You came to my clinic because you'd heard of me, didn't you? You're not looking down on me because I'm only eight, are you?" Irritation crossed Jodio's face as he sat back down.

"What should you call me? Think again. Am I just a Soul Master to you?" Jodio continued coldly.

"Then... could it be..." The old farmer's eyes burned as he suddenly understood. For an honest man like Maventi, who had a little money, this would be a debt as impossible to repay as one owed to a little sun on the peninsula. One day, he might have no choice but to take the fall for Jodio. But to an old farmer with no one to rely on, this was—

Roar!!!

Whoosh!!!

Thud!

Connections! A powerful backer!

"B-Boss! My dearest boss!" the old farmer sobbed, clutching Jodio's hand in one of his own.

"Please, look after this poor, lowly old farmer!"

"Ho ho. That's more like it." Jodio smiled like DIO and placed his other hand on the old farmer's head.

"The operation will be over in no time. Don't worry. You'll be healthy again soon."

←To Be Continued