Mr. Brooks really is... someone who knows everything, but if you ask what he’s actually an expert in, or what skills he really has, even he can’t say much.

As for those things that can make a fortune in another world, he certainly knows that they exist, but as for “how they work,” he only has a rough idea.

In other words, if you really let him make something, he wouldn’t be able to produce any finished product at all...

Teacher, I’m sorry.

I’m truly sorry for returning everything you taught me... Now I understand the importance of knowledge. May I go back and study hard, memorize all the key points of transmigration, and then transmigrate again?

As for any attachment to my previous life... I’m sorry, but there’s none.

As a corporate drone.

As someone who works all day, exhausted and blamed for everything, worse off than a dog, with no hope of getting rich, who can only brag to feel good, and who is a single dog with no attachments.

How much attachment could I possibly have?

On the contrary, he feels relieved.

In this world, there’s still a chance to get rich—if you’re willing to risk your life, to fight, to struggle, to act.

The spirit of the bachelor!

This is the most precious quality Ethan Brooks has had in both his past and present lives. Hmm, it’s also the only thing he can really show off right now.

—As long as there’s even a sliver of hope, he can keep his eyes fixed on that distant, almost unreachable light, and keep working desperately toward it!

As long as he grabs hold of that light, he can keep striving until his last breath.

He’s felt lost before, he’s felt uncertain.

But after bragging and wiping away his tears, he still goes to work full of fighting spirit and energy.

Even if he was just scolded by his boss like crap yesterday.

As long as you, you damn turtle, still pay me, I’ll still smile at you today.

Because I know myself—I’ll never find another sucker like you if I leave...

Sure enough.

After coming to another world.

After leaving you.

I really haven’t found another sucker with the same precious qualities as you.

Boss, I miss you...

Your salary.

...

(3)

A rare rainy day.

A rare moment to reminisce.

Ethan Brooks sat at the entrance of his little shop, watching the drifting rain like a misty blue smoke, and gathered his thoughts.

“It’s just this mist-like drizzle, the same as in my previous life.”

“Wind, frost, rain, and snow—there’s no difference.”

“Petals fly freely, light as dreams; endless threads of rain, fine as sorrow...”

“How did I suddenly get so sentimental? This is bad, really bad, totally out of character for a cold-blooded killer like me.”

He frowned, like a poet: “Could it be that deep down, I’m actually a melancholy poet, and this sentimentality has seeped into my heart and bones...”

“Sigh, what kind of world is this... I can’t even muster the interest to recite a poem... In this damn world, the dream of reciting poetry to show off and pick up girls never even awakened... So what’s the use of memorizing all those Tang and Song poems...”

Right now, Ethan Brooks was truly feeling melancholic.

He deeply felt that he was born at the wrong time.

From inside came a voice, full of grievance and suppressed anger: “...Sir, we know you have your rules, but you’ve been spacing out for an hour... Could you take a look at our injuries first? It hurts... it really hurts...”

That’s right.

This was Ethan Brooks’s shop.

His own little shop.

A...

Hmm, clinic.

As a killer, he needed a hidden identity even more than most.

The doctor of this clinic was exactly Ethan Brooks’s hidden identity—well, one of them.

...

No matter what world you’re in, assassins can never show their faces.

Ethan Brooks especially didn’t want to be exposed.

After ten years of struggle, after countless brushes with death, at first, he used to record every mission he completed.

But after a while, he didn’t know when he stopped.

What’s the point of recording all that?

Does it mean anything?

Wouldn’t it be better to spend that time on something more meaningful, like making sure he could survive a little longer?

So, after he’d saved up a little money, relying on his barely passable knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine—really just some half-remembered stuff from reading herbal manuals and ancient prescriptions—he opened this clinic.

Whether there was business or not didn’t matter.

The key was... he now had a legitimate identity, and that was better than anything.

To be honest, in this world, doctors are still in high demand.

“Conscience Clinic”

The name of this clinic, chosen by Ethan Brooks, was pretty good—common, but not cliché.

But the couplet on the side gave the “conscience” in the signboard an even more “conscientious” explanation.

Top line: Whether the door is open or closed depends entirely on my mood.

Bottom line: Whether you get cured or not depends entirely on your luck.

The meaning is clear: Don’t come here, my skills aren’t that great!

From the day Ethan Brooks opened the shop, he never expected to have any business.

Who says that opening a clinic and being a doctor means you have to treat people? Saving lives is not a killer’s job, is it?

But what he never expected was...

From the moment the clinic opened, business kept coming in, almost non-stop.