Man With Super Medical Skill (Matthew)

As soon as the door to the second-floor training hall opened, a cacophony of noise filled the air.

"What do you think of our soundproofing, sir?" Errol asked Matthew with a grin.

Matthew nodded in approval, acknowledging the quality of the setup before he began surveying the space. The training room spanned over 200 square feet, its floor covered in layers of foam mats to protect the kids from injury.

In the center was a sparring ring where two boys were preparing to face off. One was noticeably skinny, though his sharp eyes gleamed with readiness. The other was more muscular but lacked a solid stance, his posture looking lazy and unfocused. Matthew predicted that the scrawny boy would likely win this match with ease.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

"Mr. Hervey, has the food quality here dropped this low?" Matthew asked, his eyes fixed on the scrawny boy's frail frame.

There was a stark difference between being naturally slim and malnourished. The former could eat heartily and still stay lean, but the latter showed signs of a lack of proper nourishment. And it wasn't just this boy-Matthew's gaze quickly swept the room, identifying at least a dozen other boys with similarly gaunt appearances when the Martial League had a standard meal plan for all the kids in training.

Seeing Matthew's intense and scrutinizing gaze, Errol's face betrayed a flash of panic. "Mr. Summit Warden, I-"

Before he could finish, Matthew's attention shifted back to the ring, where the sparring match had already begun.

The scrawny boy darted forward, aiming directly for his bulkier opponent. The larger boy casually raised an arm to block the attack, his smug smile growing as he easily absorbed the hit and took only a single step back. In contrast, the scrawny boy was knocked back several paces by the recoil.

The larger boy's face lit up with satisfaction, a glint of mockery in his eyes. How ridiculous of these commoner kids to think they could ever beat me!

Meanwhile, frustration filled the scrawny boy's eyes. Why should these rich kids get everything without even trying while I have to train tirelessly every day? Even. though he had consistently ranked first in every drill, the special resources-like body-strengthening supplements-were always reserved for the elite. He and others like him never got a chance.

As he prepared for another attack, a sudden wave of dizziness overcame him. He collapsed to the ground, overcome by nausea, and began retching violently at the edge of the ring.

The larger boy's expression twisted in disgust as he quickly jumped down from the ring. "Losers will always be losers, no matter how hard they try. Trash will never turn into gold."

Matthew's smile vanished, and Shawn had already moved to stand next to Errol.

Matthew's handsome face remained calm, but the anger radiating from him was palpable, like a storm gathering in the distance, ready to unleash its fury. Errol's face turned deathly pale under Matthew

pressure, and he collapsed to his knees.

"Errol Hervey! Oh, you've really done well, haven't you?" Matthew's voice dripped with sarcasm, and with a single glance, Shawn hauled Errofto his feet, dragging him to the side of the scrawny boy still recovering from his bout of sickness,

Matthew pointed at the vomit on the floor, where bits of spinach and potato could be seen, his voice sharp with malice. "Errol, tell me, is this what the Martial League feeds these kids? Spinach and potatoes?!" Matthew's booming voice echoed through the hall like the roar of an enraged dragon, making Errol tremble.

Matthew frowned deeply. Is this really how these guys here treat the kids training here?