Chapter Seventy-Four: Norman Seeks a Healer

“All right, Mr. Osborn, your treatment is complete.”

What?

Hearing those words, Norman Osborn was momentarily baffled.

He had barely settled into the chair, and yet he was being told that the hereditary disease that had plagued the Osborn family for centuries was cured—just like that?

Norman Osborn instinctively found it hard to believe.

He couldn’t help but recall the events that had led him to this little clinic in the first place.

It was during a transaction between his men and a local gang that he’d caught wind of a rumor: somewhere on Ingram Street, there was a miracle doctor who could cure any ailment—even regrow severed limbs—though his fees were said to be exorbitant.

His men had wasted no time in bringing this news to Norman Osborn’s attention.

The hereditary illness that haunted the Osborn family was an absolute secret within the corporation; only a handful of his most trusted confidants knew, not even his own son, Harry Osborn.

Fortunately, the subordinate who’d relayed the message was one of those trusted few, which was why he had chosen to report it to Norman Osborn immediately and discreetly.

Norman, skeptical but hopeful, conducted his own investigation and found that this so-called miracle doctor on Ingram Street indeed had a reputation—he was becoming a sensation among the wealthy circles of Queens.

So, Norman decided it was worth a try.

When his stretch Lincoln arrived at 19 Ingram Street—the address of the rather dilapidated little clinic—Norman’s first reaction was that it might all be a scam. Then again, he mused, perhaps those with extraordinary talents always had their quirks.

Having come this far, Norman wasn’t about to turn back. At the very least, he’d give it a go—and if the man turned out to be a fraud, Norman knew exactly how to make him pay, courtesy of Osborn Industries.

Under the rough wooden sign that bore the words “Zhong Divine,” Norman, protected by his bodyguards, entered the courtyard.

He couldn’t quite recognize the characters “Zhong Divine,” but with his vast knowledge, he guessed they were from a long-standing Eastern civilization.

It was said that in those lands, there existed a tradition of medicine distinct from the Western system… Yes, they called it traditional medicine.

Norman had sought out such doctors before: men with white beards who would take his pulse and utter cryptic pronouncements he couldn’t understand, before prescribing strange concoctions that required special preparation. The brews tasted vile, but after taking them, Norman’s debilitating symptoms did improve somewhat—he even considered, at one point, giving Harry a younger sibling.

But after he used the super serum, he never touched that bitter medicine again.

The nature of his illness had changed; he was no longer weak, but instead plagued by splitting headaches so intense he would sometimes pass out.

In truth, Norman’s main reason for coming this time was to seek relief from those headaches.

When he realized this was yet another traditional medicine clinic, many of his misgivings faded.

Until… he stepped fully inside.

The clinic was far smaller than he’d imagined: a single bed, a few medical implements of questionable sterility, and at the entrance, a boy of about ten darting around like the wind—a sight that reminded Norman of Harry.

If only Harry’s illness hadn’t flared up, perhaps he would run with the same effortless speed, Norman thought wistfully.

By the bed stood two people: one, a handsome young man with short black hair. Norman had always considered himself quite the dashing figure in his youth, but compared to this doctor, the difference was plain to see.

Beside him stood a girl in a pink nurse’s uniform, her long dark red hair tied back neatly with a black ribbon. Yet she looked impossibly young—fifteen? Norman suspected she was younger still.

Was she truly a trained and certified nurse? Or just a child playing pretend?

Norman was deeply skeptical.

The shabby little room and the excessively young medical staff made him question the reliability of the place.

When the young doctor casually named a fee of a hundred thousand dollars, Norman’s doubts turned into near certainty.

He was wealthy, yes, but his fortune hadn’t come from thin air!

If this man didn’t prove himself worth the price, Norman would make sure he felt the full weight of Osborn Industries’ “gratitude.”

With that in mind, Norman Osborn lay down on the bed.

He instructed his men beforehand: if the doctor tried anything dangerous—like surgery—they were to intervene at once.

And so… Norman waited for the treatment to begin…

And then—

He was simply told the treatment was finished!?

Norman was utterly bewildered, tempted to summon his men and drag this charlatan out by force.

But—

He suddenly noticed something.

A simple wave of his hand… felt different from before.

He tried it again, several times. There was no mistaking it—something had changed, though he couldn’t quite say what.

Then, realization struck.

He was more agile!

His arms moved with newfound fluidity, and the fog that had so often clouded his mind had lifted—his thoughts were clear and sharp.

The change was so sudden that Norman found himself at a loss.

Still, he couldn’t be sure this was the young doctor’s doing. After all, as far as Norman could tell, the man hadn’t done anything to him at all.

“Doctor, what exactly was the cause of my illness?” Norman decided to probe.

“It’s a matter of hereditary genes. There’s a flaw in your genetic chain—subtle, but growing more pronounced over time as your cells divide. Not only that, but I sense there was a recent change in your body, something that amplified the defect, though your other genes were strengthened as well. That’s why your symptoms have shifted—most notably, the persistent headaches that often follow genetic modification…”

He had seen right through it… He even guessed about the super serum!

Norman was stunned. In a single brief meeting, this impossibly young doctor had effortlessly identified the root of the disease that had tormented him for years.

A flaw in his genes!

And gene therapy was notoriously difficult—one wrong move could bring disaster…

“Doctor… have I been completely cured?” Norman asked, lowering himself in a rare display of humility.