"If you want more people to come to you for treatment, shouldn't you put some effort into your appearance?"
In the treatment room, Ash looked at the Healer wearing a Raven Mask and felt a little puzzled. "Dressed like that, people would be doing well not to suspect you of robbery or cult preaching, let alone come to you for treatment. Or is this some meaningless tradition?"
"It's a tradition, and it has meaning," the Healer said. "Think about it—if... just in case... if something goes wrong during your treatment, and when you wake up, you find some parts missing, would you dare attack me after seeing me like this?"
"Probably not."
"Exactly."
The two stared at each other, and Ash suddenly understood. "So the terrifying clothes and creepy treatment room environment are all tools for improving doctor-patient relations... Wait, does that mean there's a high chance something will go wrong with your treatment?"
"Not a very high chance, just a tiny possibility..." The Healer spoke vaguely and did not even dare look at Ash. That tiny possibility was probably about as big as the galaxy.
"That kind of service attitude won't do," Ash said. "You probably didn't have many patients outside either, did you? They may have even complained that your treatment wasn't good enough, so you had no choice but to hide in Prison and farm experience off us prisoners who can't file complaints, right?"
The Healer lowered her head in shame. Ash had clearly hit the mark. She softly defended herself, "I obviously cured them, but they still complained and made trouble everywhere. Some problems weren't even related to me—they caused them themselves... I only provided the most basic guaranteed treatment, yet they had so many demands..."
It was as though Ash had broken through her defenses. The Healer practically treated him like a trash can, pouring out all her negative emotions. To Ash, her story was entirely her own fault: in an era when most Healers charged at least a small consultation fee, she had asked for no money at all and had even been willing to make house calls. In the end, patients complained that her treatment was not good enough, leaving her unable to survive in the city and forcing her to come to Prison to grind experience.
After listening, Ash thought for a moment and asked, "Do you know what your flaw is?"
"I know. My skills aren't good enough..."
"It's that you don't speak forcefully enough!"
"Huh?" The Healer raised her head, her eyes behind the Raven Mask full of confusion.
"You speak so timidly and without confidence. Once a medical accident happens, patients will definitely give you trouble. Even if you don't charge money, they'll still walk all over you." Ash instructed her, "Let me teach you. When you say you might not be able to cure someone, your voice needs to be loud, your back needs to be straight, and you need to say it with confidence and pride."
"And that's only the first step. The second is to find fault with the patient. If the patient is good-looking, say their lifestyle is too promiscuous. If they're ugly, say they have no sex life. If they're skinny, say they're malnourished. If they're fat, say they have excessive nutrition. There's always a criticism that suits someone. Nobody is perfect, so you'll definitely find something to put the patient down over."
"As long as you do those two things, you can establish your authority, suppress the patient's status, and create an atmosphere of 'You should be deeply grateful that I'm willing to treat you.' Even if something goes wrong during treatment, the patient won't blame you. They might even explain things for you instead."
"Does that really work?" the Healer asked.
"It does!" Ash nodded heavily. "I've experienced it myself for years!"
Ash knew this kind of workplace PUA all too well. First, pick at the other person's flaws to put them down, then show them kindness, and they would become grateful as if they had Stockholm syndrome. Freshly graduated University Students were practically defenseless against this trick.
Using this forbidden art in the workplace naturally deserved a trip to the firing squad, but as the saying went, weapons themselves were neither righteous nor evil—it all depended on the wielder. For a volunteer like the Healer, who was willing to provide free medical treatment, even if there were a few minor side effects, Ash felt her career path should be made a little easier.
"So, do you know what to do now?"
"What should I do?"
"From now on, no matter what surgery you finish, you have to tell the patient: I did my best!"
"I did my best."
"Louder! I can't hear you!"
"I DID MY BEST!" the Healer said, clenching her fists.
Ash nodded in satisfaction. "You can slowly figure out the rest. I should go eat now..."
The Healer had been deep in thought. Just as Ash put on his shoes and prepared to leave, she suddenly stopped him and asked, "Are you really not planning on getting cosmetic surgery? Look at yourself in the mirror. Don't you feel that walking into public looking like that is actually disrespectful to others?"
Ash's body trembled, his eyes filled with the pleased approval of a teacher seeing a promising student—good grief, she had just learned the skill and immediately used it on her teacher!?
If she joined our company, she'd at least be a team leader-level powerhouse!
"Well, without comparison, there's no harm. Compared to your ugly Raven face, I suddenly feel pretty handsome. Maybe next time. Next time I think I've gotten uglier, I'll come to you for cosmetic surgery," Ash said dismissively.
"I'm not ugly! You're ugly!" The Healer was so angry she wanted to take off her Mask, but just as her hand touched the Raven Mask, she heard footsteps from upstairs.
She suddenly remembered something. "Oh, right, Ash, take this."
She stuffed a Nameplate into Ash's hand. Written on it was [222].
"What's this?"
"It's my identification plate," the Healer said. "Remember to carry it every minute, even when you're sleeping. That way, everyone will know you belong to me."
Ash blinked. "So what race are you, exactly? Are you a guy or a girl? I'm a pretty easygoing person, but if your conditions exceed my bottom line, I'll have to charge extra..."
"If you don't get cosmetic surgery, you'll definitely scare people into challenging you to a death match seven or eight times when you go outside. Carry my identification plate, and when you're beaten into pulp in the future, I'll have priority treatment rights. If your face gets ruined, I can give you cosmetic surgery while I'm at it." The Healer pushed him out. "All right, go eat. The cafeteria is about to close..."
Ash thought for a moment, put the Nameplate into his pocket, and suddenly asked, "Oh, right. If I come next time, can you cut me an apple?"
The Healer paused. "Sure."
Good. Objective achieved.
Don't think Ash was just being bored. This was his secret to workplace relationships—getting someone to help him with a tiny trivial matter was a shortcut to building closeness. The feeling of being needed was an advanced emotional need. Ash had relied on this trick to receive the most votes in the "Top Ten Employees" poll and successfully earn an extra six months' bonus.
"Let's have a meal together sometime. I'll get going first," Ash said. "[222], see you next time... I almost forgot. Thank you."
"If you want to thank me, let me give you cosmetic surgery—"
"Next time, definitely next time!"
After Ash left, the Healer continued arranging the tools in the treatment room.
Suddenly, another door opened, and a tall Healer walked in. Looking at the Healer, he sternly asked, "Why are you still here?"
The Healer glanced at his work badge. It was [176].
That was right. Not only did Death Row Inmates not know which Healer was which, even the Healers did not know one another's identities. Other than in their own rooms, Healers had to wear Raven Masks in all public places and identify one another by their work badges.
"A patient just woke up, so I was delayed a little. I gave him my Nameplate and booked his future treatments."
"You didn't talk to him, did you?"
The tall Healer's tone grew serious.
"You know that communicating with prisoners is against the rules. Our identities must be kept strictly confidential. If news gets out that we're conducting the Ritual here, the Human Rights Association will tear Parliament apart..."
"I know." The Healer stuck out her tongue beneath the Raven Mask.
"Then hurry back to your room. Hand in the 11-inch Blood Art Thesis before the weekend, and don't forget." The tall Healer said sternly, "Don't think that having a little talent means you can slack off. If it weren't for the team leader's permission, you wouldn't even be qualified to be here..."
In the past, the Healer would have been terrified by a senior's criticism and immediately reflected on herself. But after talking with Ash, a thought suddenly surfaced in her mind.
"Is he deliberately criticizing my imperfections to establish his authority and suppress my status? Getting in through the team leader's favor is something I can't change, and it has nothing to do with my skills. He can always use that to criticize me."
Listening to the tall Healer's utterly meaningless remarks, the Healer missed Ash more and more, with his pleasant way of speaking.
Come to think of it, Ash's recovery ability seemed far stronger than that of ordinary Body Artificers. He really did feel nice to treat...
I really hope Ash gets beaten to the brink of death soon, the Healer thought.
Before you continue