Alex forced himself to walk forward, not even bothering to go back to his shack. He had already seen enough of that miserable hovel to know there was nothing useful waiting inside—only stacks of debt papers and reminders of failure.
The slum stretched before him, a warren of half-rotted homes and crooked stalls. Smoke from cooking fires clung to the air, mixing with the stench of sewage and sweat. Every person he passed wore the same look: sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and pale, cracked lips.
Malnutrition. Vitamin deficiencies. Rampant infections.
In the modern world, half of them would already be dead, hospitalized, or begging for antibiotics. Yet here they trudged on, weak bodies somehow surviving through sheer stubbornness. Maybe this world's harshness had forged a kind of resistance, but the signs were all too familiar to Alex's trained eyes.
He couldn't help himself. His mind catalogued symptoms automatically, like flipping through the pages of a medical textbook.
'Iron deficiency anemia. Rickets. Roundworm infestation. Malnutrition in the kids, scurvy in the adults… this place is a walking medical journal.'
BUMP.
Alex's shoulder slammed into something solid. He staggered back, startled out of his thoughts.
"Ah… sorry," he muttered automatically.
THWACK!
A fist smashed into his face before he even registered what was happening. His head snapped back, stars exploding in his vision, and he collapsed onto the dirt.
"Watch where you're going, lowlife!"
The man who hit him stood tall, his clothes cleaner than most of the slum's residents. A silver chain gleamed around his neck, and a whip hung loosely from his belt. His boots were real leather, polished enough to stand out like a trophy among the rags of the common folk.
Alex's stomach tightened. He knew this type instantly.
A debt collector. A predator who fed on the desperation of the poor.
The man's scowl twisted into a grin as he peered down at him. Then his eyes lit with cruel recognition.
"Ohhh, if it isn't dear old Alex Mercer," he sneered, crouching slightly to meet his eyes.
Alex froze. His brain kicked into overdrive.
'He knows my name?'
The gears turned. Either he had reincarnated into a body that coincidentally shared his name, or the system had placed him into the life of this world's Alex Mercer—a man already neck-deep in debt.
Neither option was good.
The collector grabbed him by the collar and yanked him up with surprising strength, forcing their faces close together. The stench hit Alex instantly—rotten, sour, and rank enough to make his eyes water.
"In a fantasy world, monsters should be the greatest threat," Alex thought bitterly. "But right now, my biggest enemy is halitosis…"
Still, that foul breath gave him more than disgust. It gave him data.
'Gums swollen. Teeth loose, bleeding. Skin sallow. Limbs slightly bent. Likely bone pain. Classic presentation…'
Alex's mind whirred, piecing it together almost instantly.
"Have you been feeling weak lately?" Alex asked calmly.
The collector blinked, confused by the sudden question. "Huh? What the hell did you just say?"
"I asked if you've been feeling weak." Alex's voice didn't waver. "Because you are. And you know it."
For a moment, silence fell between them. The slum dwellers nearby slowed, watching curiously. Normally, anyone would grovel or beg in this situation. But Alex's calm, measured tone unsettled the collector.
The man narrowed his eyes. His hand tightened on Alex's collar before, with a grunt, he let go. Alex dropped onto the dirt with a dull thud.
"Why?" the collector asked with a crooked grin. "You think you've got a way to fix me?"
[Eye of Ophiuchus: Ability]
[Completing Diagnosis…]
[Detected: Scurvy]
Alex smirked faintly, wiping the blood from his lip.
'Thought so.'
"You're dying," he said plainly. "And you know it. You've felt it for weeks. The pain. The weakness. The bleeding gums. Call me a liar if I'm wrong."
The man stiffened. He couldn't hide it. The words hit too close to home.
Alex leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a quiet, sharp edge. "So what'll it be? Die choking on your pride… or swallow it and trust me?"
His heart hammered in his chest. His palms itched with nervous sweat. But his face—his face remained stone cold.
The debt collector studied him for a long moment, then chuckled darkly. He reached for his whip, dragging the leather slowly against the ground. The crowd tensed.
But then, with a sigh, he slid it back into its loop.
"It's no fun whipping someone who doesn't even flinch," he muttered. "Fine. You fix me, and maybe I'll forget your debt."
Alex's eyes narrowed. Maybe. There's no way he'll let it go that easily. Still, he nodded, not daring to provoke the man's mood swings.
"Good. Straight to the point. I like that," the collector said, gesturing sharply. "Follow me."
They walked through the slums together, the crowd parting to let them pass. Murmurs spread like wildfire.
"Poor bastard…"
"Guess that's it for him."
"Better him than us."
Mothers pulled children close, shielding their eyes.
"Mom… is he going to—"
"Don't look, sweetie."
Alex's eyes caught on one of the kids. Bloated belly, thin arms, pale skin. Parasite infestation. Roundworm, probably. His fists clenched at his sides.
"This whole place is a plague pit."
They arrived at a house that stood out like a jewel among the mud. Large concrete walls. A roof of tightly woven straw. Actual windows. By slum standards, it was practically a mansion.
Inside, the difference was even sharper. Wooden furniture. Tapestries. A stocked kitchen. By modern standards, it was still shabby, but here? It screamed wealth.
The debt collector leaned against a doorway, his breathing slightly ragged. "I'll give you one hour. If you can't fix me, I'll make sure you're whipped in public until your skin peels off."
He disappeared into a side room, leaving Alex standing alone.
Alex exhaled slowly, touching the faint bruise on his jaw. "Alright… if this world has anything like oranges or lemons, I might have a chance."
[Eye of Ophiuchus: Ability]
The glow ignited. Labels appeared over every fruit and vegetable in the kitchen, his vision overlaying reality with medical clarity.
[Dragonfruit]
[Helps with digestion and sore throat]
Alex blinked at the bright red, faintly steaming fruit. It looked familiar, but twisted—like nature had decided to improvise.
He rifled through baskets, drawers, and shelves until finally—
[Sourfruit]
[Rich in nutrients. Needed for your current task.]
Alex's lips curled into a grin. "Convenient, and what a fitting name for a citrus..."
He held the fruit up, studying its rind. "I wonder if my 200% medicinal effectiveness works on others… as long as I'm the one administering it?"
The door creaked open.
The collector stood there, sweating and pale, his gums bleeding slightly as he grinned.
"Found what you needed yet?" he asked, though his voice cracked with weakness.
Alex turned, raising the fruit with the smuggest smile he could manage.
"I already got exactly what you need."