“Stop staring.”
William tossed the empty coffee packet into the trash can at his feet.
“Let’s hear it.
Name, age, work history?
Any history of drug use or a criminal record?”
He picked up his cup of coffee and blew away the steam floating on the surface.
“Even though this is an underground clinic, I don’t take in junkies who cause trouble.
If you ever have a withdrawal and steal my anesthetics, I’ll personally break your fingers one by one.”
The girl immediately sat up straight, her back as stiff as a witness being questioned in court.
“Twenty,” she said quickly, afraid William would change his mind.
“I’ve worked as a bartender and a dock loader.
Occasionally, I help neighbors collect debts or find lost pets.
I never touch drugs, not even marijuana.
I’ve never been to prison; my record is clean.”
She paused for a moment, seemingly weighing her next words.
“I’m a good fighter.
If any blind patients cause trouble in the clinic, I can throw them out the door and into the trash can across the street.
Plus, my lips are sealed tight; unless you’re asking me something, I won’t say more than ten lines a day.”
This self-promotion hit William’s requirements perfectly.
Tough, tight-lipped, and doesn’t cause trouble.
She was the perfect tool, tailor-made for this underground clinic.
William nodded in satisfaction.
He had just brought the paper cup to his lips, intending to take a sip of the low-quality coffee to moisten his throat and finalize the start date.
“My name is Jessica Jones.”
The girl stated her name calmly.
“Pfft—Cough, cough, cough!”
The brown liquid in William’s mouth, which he hadn’t had time to swallow, sprayed out ungracefully.
A few drops of warm coffee splashed onto Jessica’s worn-out leather jacket, while more spilled onto the front of William’s own faded white coat.
He coughed violently, his windpipe stinging from the irritation.
But he couldn’t care less about wiping the stains off his clothes; instead, his eyes widened as he stared intently at the somewhat disheveled young girl before him.
Jessica Jones.
William knew all too well what this name represented in the Marvel Universe.
The future female superhero with immense strength, capable of lifting cars to smash people; a core member of the Defenders; a perpetually alcoholic, hot-tempered, foul-mouthed private investigator.
And now, this future superhero was sitting in his underground clinic, pitching herself as “a good fighter” for a monthly salary of five thousand dollars.
Jessica was startled by William’s massive reaction.
She subconsciously pulled her shoulders back, her brow furrowing into a tight knot.
What’s going on?
Isn’t this boss’s reaction a bit too much?
Did this guy find out about her breaking three of that groping thug’s ribs in a bar last week?
Or was it the rumor about her hanging that deadbeat gambler upside down from a rooftop while collecting a debt for a grocery store owner?
Had she already made it onto Hells Kitchen’s blacklist?
That shouldn’t be it.
She was always discreet, never exposing her superhuman strength in public.
Jessica’s palms began to sweat.
This five-thousand-dollar-a-month job was too important to her; Tracy’s tuition depended on this money.
She couldn’t afford to mess it up.
“Boss, are you okay?” Jessica asked tentatively, her voice tinged with caution.
“Is there…
something wrong with my name?
Or do you know me?”
William pulled out a few cheap, coarse tissues and haphazardly wiped the coffee stains from his chin and clothes.
His brain was working at high speed.
Know her?
It was more than just knowing her.
If it were just hiring a mutated girl with a bit of extra strength as a bodyguard, William wouldn’t mind.
But this was Jessica Jones.
In her personal timeline, there was a nightmare that could not be avoided no matter what—Kilgrave, the Purple Man.
That pervert could completely control others’ brains by emitting chemical pheromones.
As long as he gave an order, the controlled person would execute it without reservation, even if it meant killing someone or committing suicide.
In the original plot, Jessica was controlled by the Purple Man for a long time, suffering extreme inhuman Spiritual torture and even being forced to become his killing tool.
William’s current medical skills were indeed godlike, and the newly integrated Master-level combat skills allowed him to walk tall on the streets.
But he was a man who held a scalpel, not an X-Men who specialized in Spiritual immunity.
If he hired Jessica, he would 100% be dragged into the Purple Man’s main storyline in the future.
If that pervert in the purple suit came knocking and said, “Dig out your heart and show it to me,” the stable life he had worked so hard to build between Marvel and DC would be utterly destroyed.
In this World of dancing demons, making money quietly was the way to go.
Getting involved with this kind of Spiritual-type villain was simply asking for an early grave.
Reason was frantically ringing alarm bells in William’s mind.
He had to refuse.
Kick this human trouble-maker out of the clinic immediately.
William took a deep breath and accurately tossed the crumpled, dirty tissue into the trash can.
He adjusted his facial expression, preparing to use some cliché but effective excuse like “We don’t hire female employees here” or “I don’t think you fit the clinic’s corporate culture” to usher this powerhouse out.
Just as he opened his mouth and the first syllable was about to form in his throat…
At the edge of his retina, that string of ghostly blue characters that only he could see popped up without warning.
Accompanied by a crisp mechanical prompt in his mind, it forcibly blocked William’s words.
[Mission Requirements: Formally employ Jessica Jones and teach her complete medical knowledge and emergency nursing experience.
Enable her to independently perform the pre-processing for routine surgical operations.]
[Mission Reward: One Piece World, Three Types of Haki (Elementary) Fusion Seed.]
William was stunned.
Half a second ago, William was still cursing the Purple Man’s ancestors to the eighteenth generation, wondering which street he was wandering on, and berating the system for being inhuman by stuffing such a time bomb into his clinic.
The next half-second, when his gaze swept over the words “Three Types of Haki,” a burst of uncontrollable greed and fanaticism erupted from the depths of his pupils.
The Three Types of Haki from the One Piece World.
Armament, Observation, and Conquerors Haki.
In this Marvel Universe where superheroes fly everywhere and aliens dismantle New York at the drop of a hat, medical skills could at most ensure he didn’t starve and help him build some underworld connections.
But when faced with truly unreasonable, beyond-standard power, a scalpel couldn’t cut through the armor of an alien warship.
The Master-level combat skills the system had given him before gave him the confidence to protect himself.
But that was ultimately limited to the physical level of the human body.
But Haki was different.
Armament Haki could cause his defense and attack power to take a qualitative leap; with Armament Haki attached to a scalpel, even bulletproof steel plates could be sliced through.
Observation Haki was even more of a divine skill, allowing him to sense danger in advance, predict attack trajectories, and even detect the malice and emotional fluctuations of those around him.
As for Conquerors Haki…
that was pressure applied directly to the Spiritual level.
Once Conquerors Haki was developed, what would a mere Purple Man, who relied on chemical pheromones to control brains, matter?
If he dared to appear before him, a single blast of Conquerors Haki would make that pervert foam at the mouth and go into shock on the spot.
Risk and reward are always proportional.
For this Haki seed that would give him truly extraordinary combat power, never mind Jessica Jones—even if Thanos’s daughter came to apply for a job, William would dare to pin her down and make her sign an employment contract.
The shifting expressions on William’s face, however, appeared to Jessica as signals of extreme dissatisfaction with her.
The girl gritted her teeth, her fingers unconsciously picking at the holes in her jeans.
Five thousand dollars was waving goodbye to her, and Tracy’s modeling class tuition looked like it was about to go down the drain.
“Boss,” Jessica stood up, a rare hint of pleading in her voice.
“I know I don’t have experience.
But I’m a fast learner.
I can do all the dirty and tiring work.
Even if someone points a gun at your head, I can guarantee they won’t even be able to flip the safety.
Give me a chance; you can dock half my pay during the probation period.”
William looked at the future hero before him, forced to bow her head for a living, and curled his lips into an extremely capitalist smile.
“No need for a probation period.”
William pulled a blank employment registration form from a drawer and pushed it to the edge of the desk along with a ballpoint pen.
“Five thousand dollars, not a penny less.
But the rules are as I said: follow orders, ask fewer questions, and do more work.
Fill out the form, Jessica.”
Jessica was stunned for a full two seconds before grabbing the paper, seizing the pen, and scribbling her name, terrified that William would change his mind the next second.
“When do I start?” She tossed the pen aside and asked impatiently.
“Now.”