Baia would feel that time flew by quickly.
As the sun set earlier and rose later, she knew winter was approaching. Calm days could make one lose track of time, especially Baia—a person who "didn't exist" in Gotham, with no need for school or work. Like Selina's cats, she roamed aimlessly, occasionally helping her out a bit, but it didn't give her a sense of purpose.
Although there were people she looked forward to seeing, Baia's personality didn't allow her to disturb him frequently.
Sometimes, Baia would ask the system: "Your existence must signify some kind of mission, what is it?"
The system would rarely answer seriously: "That's for you to decide."
However, she was about to have a career. This idea immediately sparked Baia's interest. The people Selina brought were reliable, and now she had a brand new kitchen—although it still had a bit of a freshly renovated smell—and downstairs, the space was turned into a rather private clinic, preserving much of its original appearance, complete with brown floral velvet sofas, magazine racks, and dessert shelves.
They had a very discreet sign, which emitted a green light, looking somewhat ominous, but Holly insisted that healing should use green.
It was beautifully scripted with light lines, hidden among the gradually withering roses.
Swallow's Clinic.
"Swallow's Clinic."
Does Superman come out during the day to save people and sleep on the moon at night?
That would be too boring, too lonely, Baia thought. Maybe he also had a civilian identity, living like an ordinary person, pursuing the same things ordinary people do.
She stayed awake all night because Holly and she chose a good day—today, she was going to embrace her clinic.
As the first rays of light broke through the darkness, casting a faint white glow between the tall buildings, Baia threw off her blanket and confidently went upstairs to knock on the door, "Wake up, it's time to open!"
System: "...At this rate, you'll lose your only employee."
Baia thought about it and realized the system had a point. Instead of waking up Holly, who was likely to be groggy and grumpy, it would be better to bake a warm pineapple pie first. Some people would come down just smelling it.
By the time Holly struggled out of bed, following the scent of food with her eyes closed, her hair in a messy tangle, Baia was holding up a bowl of cat food surrounded by a group of hungry cats. She rescued her just in time, but belatedly realized that Baia seemed to enjoy it.
Covered in fluffy cat fur, Baia was in a good mood, almost purring along with the cats.
Now, there was half an hour left until the first appointment, a friend of Holly's. In Baia's plan, they wouldn't treat unfamiliar patients to avoid any danger, so they temporarily adopted a referral system, which meant they didn't need to be too nervous.
They replaced the first-floor door with semi-transparent tea-colored glass, with several large cat portraits pasted on it, partially open, allowing sunlight to flow in along the wooden floor.
Baia heard a rhythmic knocking on the door.
She stood up and found a tall but somewhat disheveled man at the door. His hair was barely groomed, wrapped in a common old coat for this season. His posture was slightly hunched, hands in his pockets, but even so—even standing against the light, casting his face entirely into shadow—Baia could still see the sparkle in his steel-blue eyes.
"Are you Polly Vaughn?" Baia glanced at the appointment book, then at the man in front of her. The man chuckled softly at her words, "No."
"You can call me Matchstick Marlon."
Baia squinted her beautiful mint-colored eyes, cautiously looking him up and down. The man had stubble, casual but not particularly disheveled, and had a somewhat inconspicuous Gotham low-class name—people wouldn't care if the unemployed on the streets actually had surnames or middle names. His attire, demeanor, posture, all perfectly fitting for his social status.
So she just stood there and stared at him for a while, realizing that he had no intention of getting angry or leaving, so she relaxed.
The cats in the yard scattered as the man arrived. They didn't recognize humans by appearance but by scent. These timid little creatures didn't rush over to inspect their guest like they did when Dick came; this was rare.
Baia compromised, "Alright, Mr. Matchstick Marlon, what do you want?"
Matchstick Marlon pointed to the sign at the door, "Isn't this a clinic?"
Taking the last bite of pineapple pie, Holly, who had more flesh on her cheeks than a well-fed squirrel, rose with her hands on her hips, her voice muffled but unapologetic, "Currently, we're only open to members, sorry."
"But he's already here," Baia tugged on Holly's sleeve, "it's not nice to just send people away like that."
Holly muttered, "Tsk, do-gooders can't survive in Gotham. Haven't you told me a lot of stories? The farmer and the snake, Mr. Dong Guo and the wolf—"
Although the two girls spoke softly, they couldn't escape the man's ears, and he couldn't help but chuckle at their words.
"Indeed, very creative analogies, Mr. Bruce," a refined British accent came through his concealed earpiece.
"You can sit down," although Holly expressed her dissent, it was ultimately Baia who made the decision, "Are you injured?"
The man nodded, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a gruesome wound on his forearm. Though it looked somewhat terrifying, Baia instinctively felt it wasn't serious—clearly, it had been properly treated, perhaps stitched up, with no signs of inflammation or infection.
It seemed like he hadn't injured any important tendons either.
The man seemed lucky, but it still looked painful.
"Wasn't it treated already?" Baia asked warily.
Matchstick Marlon insisted, "I checked online, it said this isn't right, and it still hurts."
"Give me your hand, let me check your pulse," Baia frowned slightly, but she was no longer stressed about bluffing.
Before opening, they had prepared their speeches and even found some traditional Chinese herbal remedies for strengthening the body. So far, Baia's ability still required touching the other person to understand their specific health status and life force.
Was this taking the pulse?
The girl earnestly placed her fingertips on his wrist, striking a posture that looked quite intimidating and professional.
"Fortunately, you came early," Baia withdrew her hand, unkindly saying, "otherwise, it would have healed in a few days."
Matchstick Marlon let down his sleeve, "Can't you treat it?"
"Who said we can't treat it!" Holly exclaimed, "We can cure anything!"
Baia rushed over and covered Holly's mouth, "No, we can't, we don't, you can't just say that randomly!"
The system chimed in unexpectedly: Actually... it's not far from the truth.
The system: Curing everything.
It sounded a bit smug in its electronic voice.
Baia struck back in her mind: Hmph, with just this little ability, you're wagging your tail arrogantly. Other people's systems in novels...
The system: I'm tired of saying this, it's your problem, not mine!
Just as Baia was thinking about how to retort, the door suddenly burst open with a somewhat indignant voice.
A meticulously dressed old man leaned on a cane at the garden gate, his hair completely silvered by time, only adding to his scholarly air.
Hearing his wife mention that a small clinic had opened next door, Mr. Green had originally just wanted to pay a visit to the owner. But as soon as he reached the garden gate, he heard Holly's voice.
His cane struck the ground heavily twice, "I've never heard of any doctor daring to boast about curing all diseases. Who's the doctor here?"
Baia looked up at the sky, unmoving.
Anyway, she didn't say that.
Holly nudged her, "There are still patients here, don't be timid."
The system joined in, "Stand firm! If you can't handle this little problem, what's the point of opening a clinic?"
Baia asked it, "Don't you feel embarrassed to claim to cure everything with your little ability?"
The system fell silent.
"Did you scare the neighbors, grumpy old man?"
The door of the house to the west of the detached building opened, and Mrs. Berenice, with her head full of white hair, poked her head out to complain.
"Mrs. Berenice!"
Baia's eyes lit up.
Having lived in Gotham for a long time, she naturally knew some of the neighbors. Mrs. Berenice was someone she had bumped into at the supermarket, and they had met several times before. She knew that Mrs. Berenice used to be a literature professor at Gotham University, gentle and eloquent. But now, being over ninety, her memory was not very clear.
Once, Baia found her standing alone at the supermarket entrance, lost in thought. Baia approached and found out that Mrs. Berenice had forgotten where her house was.
Since then, Baia often took Mrs. Berenice out to prevent her from getting lost again.
She hadn't mentioned anything about having a grumpy husband.
Mrs. Berenice's health wasn't great either, so everyone had to wait for her to slowly make her way over. "What's going on exactly, Baia?"
Mr. Green was quite displeased, "You seem to have not mentioned knowing any little scam artists."
Holly remained unfazed. In a sense, she had indeed done some—not so good—things in the past. After all, surviving in Gotham was so difficult that she had heard much worse than this, and at the moment, she was only worried about Baia's mood.
And Matchstick Marlon even helped himself to a cup of coffee and showed no intention of leaving.
"I'm not a scam artist," Baia sighed, "at least I can treat external injuries and poisonings."
Mr. Green asked again, "Oh? Girl, which medical school did you attend?—Or let me rephrase, are you in high school yet?"
"Well... it's a family tradition," the girl touched her nose, "If you don't believe me, I can demonstrate it to you."
"Don't be too aggressive, Norman," Mrs. Berenice nodded, "she's not the kind of child who makes a living by theft and deceit."
Holly felt slightly offended, but like everyone else, she turned her gaze to the only patient present.
"Um, why is everyone looking at me?" Matchstick Marlon asked.