I'm Trapped in the Block

"Madam, we’ll find a suitable candidate for the exchange within a week and will notify you when it’s time to come in. Please hold on to this document."

Martin spoke gently to the wealthy woman, his fingers brushing the back of her hand as he returned the document.

"Of course, Mr. Martin..."

After the wealthy woman left, Martin stretched out his legs, propped his feet up on the desk, and lit a cigarette.

’A fool and her money.’

Martin had a professional scam down to a science.

After the clients signed the agreement and completed the therapy, he would require them to stay at his sanatorium for a period, where they lived on a fixed schedule.

During their stay, he would use the results of their full-body checkups to adjust their daily routines. He’d also have specific drugs mixed into their food and hire professional nutritionists to manage their health.

With good food, a regular schedule, and the help of medication, these wealthy individuals would invariably feel a marked improvement in their health.

Their improved mental state left them looking radiant.

At this point, Martin would tell his clients this was the effect of the Blood Exchange Therapy. He’d also inform them that the therapy required a fresh infusion of new blood every so often to maintain its effects.

Some were skeptical at first. But after leaving the sanatorium, their old habits—poor diet and irregular schedules—would quickly run them down again.

And so, they would come back to Martin.

The cycle repeated.

’I’m not really lying to them,’ Martin often told himself. ’For a while after the blood exchange, they genuinely do feel much better.’

Through this repeated brainwashing, his wealthy clients became firm believers in the Blood Exchange Therapy.

Martin never had to advertise. His clients had already turned the Blood Exchange Therapy into a form of social currency, even bringing it up in conversation themselves.

In fact, when chatting with friends, his clients would often boast about the Blood Exchange Therapy, sometimes exaggerating its effects.

Gradually, this bizarre treatment became what they called "the latest trend."

Soon, Martin’s sanatorium became a hotspot for socialites and influential figures.

These prominent figures might close a few major business deals while taking a leisurely stroll through the sanatorium grounds.

Some of the less affluent were even willing to pay a fortune just to get in, hoping to network with the elite. This only made the sanatorium’s reputation grow.

As long as there was money to be made and institutions to provide endorsements, even the most fraudulent scheme could be hailed as a beacon for humanity. Just recently, Martin had even been named an honorary alumnus of a university.

At this thought, Martin rose and went to the floor-to-ceiling window of his office. He watched the clients milling about the sanatorium grounds in the distance, a bitter, ironic smile touching his lips.

He picked up his phone and made a call, urging his subordinate to speed up the search for a blood match for the wealthy client.

"The lady is Rh-negative. Do your best to find a donor who is attractive enough. We need to keep her happy."

The next day, his subordinate brought the donor with the matching blood type to Martin’s office.

"You’re Miss Anna, correct? Have you read over our agreement?" Martin asked, sizing up the young, beautiful, brown-haired girl before him.

She was a natural beauty, but her clothes were faded from countless washings. The rough calluses on her fair, delicate hands marred the image, and her pants didn’t quite fit.

As if sensing Martin’s scrutiny, Anna carefully tucked her worn-out shoes under her chair.

"I’ve read it, Mr. Martin. Can you really give me the amount stated in the agreement? And... will the payment be quick? I really need the money. My father is in the hospital waiting."

Anna was clearly desperate, but her questions were still timid.

Looking at the beautiful girl, Martin felt a twinge of pity. After tapping his fingers on the desk a few times, he said, "I can advance you the money, but we’ll need to add a clause to the agreement."

"If our sanatorium needs your blood again in the future, you’ll need to be available. We will, of course, compensate you for it."

Martin was confident. It was an offer few would refuse.

But Anna didn’t agree immediately as he’d expected. Instead, she asked cautiously, "Will it be harmful to my health?"

Martin shook his head. "We’ll be infusing you with the other party’s blood to ensure your volume remains stable. She’s covering all the costs, and you’ll even get to stay at our sanatorium for a while, free of charge."

With that assurance, Anna finally signed her name on the agreement and left the office.

After Anna left, his subordinate asked in confusion, "Boss, why are you having her stay here? Before, we just did the exchange and they’d leave, right?"

But Martin only responded with a look of contempt. Realizing his mistake, the subordinate quickly excused himself and fled the office.

The day of the procedure arrived quickly. The two participants underwent the surgery separated by a thick pane of glass, neither aware of the other’s identity.

The procedure was a success, and both of them took up residence in the sanatorium.

「A few days later.」

"How are you feeling, Anna?"

Martin had called Anna to his office and inquired with concern.

She looked a little haggard. ’She’s probably just not used to living here,’ Martin thought.

Anna answered truthfully. "I feel weak. It feels like the blood in my veins is thick and sluggish. I also keep smelling something... rotten on me. And I’ve noticed my reflexes are slower."

Martin sighed and explained helplessly, "It’s all in your head."

He, who never explained the truth about the Blood Exchange Therapy to anyone, found himself telling Anna all about his scam. He wanted to put her at ease so she could relax and enjoy her stay.

"You’re joking, right, Mr. Martin?" Anna asked with a disbelieving laugh.

"I’m not," Martin said, his gaze leaving no room for doubt.

"But I really feel like there’s something wrong with me. I’ve also been having strange dreams... I dream that I’m negotiating business deals with people..."

Anna gathered her courage to say more, but Martin cut her off. "Go back and get some rest. You’re being overly anxious."

Seeing the finality in Martin’s expression, Anna had no choice but to leave in silence.

Martin leaned back in his chair and thought for a long time. Then, on a strange impulse, he went down into the main area of the sanatorium.

Along the way, various socialites greeted him warmly, and he smiled and returned each greeting.

Soon, he arrived at the wealthy woman’s suite and knocked on the door.

"Mr. Martin! What brings you here in person? I was just wishing I had someone to share my delight with! Please, come in."

The wealthy woman took Martin by the hand, pulled him inside, and gently closed the door behind them.

"Look at my hair. It’s turned brown. Isn’t it beautiful?" The wealthy woman stroked her hair, a faint, pleasant scent wafting from it.

"My skin is so much better, all soft and smooth again. Here, feel it."

The wealthy woman grabbed Martin’s hand and placed it on her cheek, looking up at him with a radiant smile.

But Martin’s eyes had gone wide. He stared, dumbfounded, at the changes in the wealthy woman. He clearly remembered that her hair had been half-gray when they first met.

And, if he remembered correctly, the wealthy woman had been a blonde.

Still, he feigned composure and asked, "How have you been feeling lately? Any discomfort?"

The wealthy woman smiled. "I feel so energetic, just like I did when I was young! It’s wonderful. The only odd thing is, I’ve been dreaming a lot... dreaming that I’m doing housework."

She frowned for a moment, then her expression smoothed out again.

"It’s quite interesting, though. I’ve never done housework in my life!"