My Infinite Investment System

"Your job is to keep your hands on me," an Apex contestant shouted before Ryan cleared the Cup medical wing’s entrance.

Antiseptic stung the air above hot fabric, electrolyte powder, and the metallic scent of fresh blood.

The man occupied a treatment cot beneath Apex banners, one armored boot grinding red drops into the white floor.

Dr. Amara Bello stood three steps away with both hands behind her back, denying him any wrist he could seize or force toward the wound.

At thirty-one, she was petite, with an elegant hourglass waist beneath fitted navy scrubs plus compact strong thighs filling charcoal field trousers.

Her dark skin carried a pale burn around each wrist, while glossy black coils spilled from a high soft ponytail to brush her square jaw.

Gold glasses framed deep-set brown eyes, and one front tooth overlapped its neighbor whenever her wide mouth tightened around something she refused to soften.

"Touch the cot again," the contestant said as he held his split forearm toward her, "we have six minutes before the draw."

Amara looked at the blood soaking his sleeve, then at the pulsing red meter on her own wrist.

"I told you to withdraw when your tendon reached grade two," she said, keeping both hands out of reach, "you chose another round."

"I won," he said as blood gathered beneath his rigid fingers.

"Yes," she replied without bringing either hand forward.

"Then heal it," he said as the injured arm crossed the space between them.

She adjusted her glasses with one knuckle while the red meter climbed another point beneath the medical lights.

"No."

The word changed the room.

Two nurses stopped sorting bandages while Cup cameras swiveled toward the Apex logo.

Neither nurse looked surprised by the refusal, which told Ryan this argument had happened before without enough witnesses to make the outcome expensive.

Ryan watched the burn rings around her wrists darken in time with the red meter, each pulse showing yesterday’s treatments still inside her body.

Spark Sense showed a damage route running from the injured man’s arm toward her palms, ready to transfer the tear into her nerves.

Mika joined Ryan near the doorway, her phone lowered rather than filming.

"Is that normal?" she asked.

"For a pain sink, yes," he replied as the route brightened, "she absorbs part of every injury she repairs."

The contestant slid off the cot while fresh blood tracked from his sleeve across the white vinyl.

His sponsor jacket hung open across a thick chest, while dried blood crossed the shaved line above one temple.

Kasimir Dube, according to the Cup band, a C-rank brawler from Apex’s favored team.

He stepped into Amara’s space with the injured arm still extended.

"Your guild owns your tournament contract," he said as his good hand found the sponsor logo across his chest.

Her face remained still, yet the fingers behind her back curled hard enough to press white crescents into both palms.

"They purchased my hours," she said without moving toward the cot, "the body inside them remained mine."

{healerwatch: did she just say no on an Apex camera}

Kasimir looked toward the live viewer count and lowered his voice too late.

"You make us look weak," he said after noticing the public viewer count.

"Your tendon is tearing because you punched through a warning tone," she replied while the treatment display flashed red beside him.

"Fix it," he repeated as his wrist moved closer.

"My pain meter is at eighty-seven percent," she said while lifting the warning band into his view.

He reached for her left wrist before the red meter could pulse again against her skin.

Ryan crossed the room before humor had time to follow.

"Do not touch her," he said while placing his body between the reaching hand and her warning band.

Kasimir found an F-rank band on the person blocking him and gave a disbelieving laugh.

"Northstar’s accountant wants a medical opinion?" Kasimir asked as a laugh opened across his bloodless mouth.

"I want you to move your hand," Ryan replied with his attention fixed on the brawler’s good shoulder.

Nia entered behind him with her repaired shield still strapped across her back.

The brawler saw its black edge reflected in a cabinet, then let his fingers fall away from Amara.

Mika leaned against the doorway with her public smile switched on.

"Great choice," she said while the nearest camera caught his retreat, "personal growth in real time."

An Apex manager pushed through the nurses before he could answer.

Marek Okafor wore a white sponsor coat cut tight across a narrow waist, with neat locs tied above an angular brown face.

His polished shoes avoided every blood drop while a silver pin marked him as tournament medical director.

"Doctor Bello," he said as one hand covered the live meter on her wrist, "complete the treatment."

She pulled her arm free.

"My limit remains eighty percent," she replied while pulling her arm beyond his reach.

"The limit is advisory," Marek said as his fingers flattened against the silver pin.

"Then advise somebody else," she replied while placing her glasses on the instrument table.

One nurse looked down quickly, though the corner of her surgical mask moved.

Marek noticed the cameras and changed his posture, shoulders opening toward the Cup feed.

"Apex provides every reasonable safeguard," he said, "refusing urgent care violates our reliability standard."

She held both arms away from her aching sides.

"He needs a brace, anti-inflammatory treatment, and twelve hours without combat," she said, "he does not need my nerves added to his."

"You are terminated from Cup service," he said as the sponsor pin flashed toward every camera.

Kasimir blinked before the nurses reacted, his injured arm dropping once the threat became real.

The meter on her wrist pulsed eighty-eight, then began falling once she stepped away from the cot.

Marek held out his hand for the Apex badge while the public feed enlarged his waiting palm.

Amara removed it without looking at him, leaving a clean rectangle amid the sweat on her scrub top.

The badge landed across his palm beside a thin smear of blood transferred from the treatment cot.

"You may also return the treatment kit," he said.

She opened the navy case beside the cot, removed a wrapped sandwich plus one cheap pen, then passed him the rest.

’Do not cry over the pen,’ she thought, ’the sandwich has too much mustard, my hands hurt, keep walking.’

Mika pushed an empty plastic chair into the aisle with one boot.

Its Cup logo had been scratched away, while gray tape crossed a crack in the backrest.

"Sit down," she said as one hand steadied it, "that is an offer of furniture, not employment."

Amara looked at the chair, then at Northstar’s four Bronze bands.

"Why?" Amara asked while keeping both aching wrists suspended away from her legs.

"Your hands are shaking," Mika replied as she locked both wheels beneath the seat.

"That answer is suspiciously normal," the doctor said after lowering herself onto the taped cushion.

"I contain multitudes," Mika replied with one hand pressed to her chest.

Nia took the treatment brace from a nurse, checked its tension, then placed it beside Kasimir.

"Use that," she said.

The brawler looked at Marek for permission before allowing the nurse to bring the brace near his arm.

Amara noticed the silent appeal, and something behind her eyes hardened while the injured man waited.

"He can fit a brace without sacrificing another person," she said.

Marek turned his polished shoe around the nearest blood spot and addressed Ryan.

"Remove your team from my medical wing," Marek said while guarding the returned treatment case with one polished shoe.

"Cup administration assigned this wing to every competitor," Ryan replied as he opened the shared access clause.

"Your registration can be reviewed," the director said as his silver pin turned toward the nearest camera.

Jun lifted his tablet from the corridor while its recording light stayed hidden beneath his thumb.

"The threat is on the public feed," he said as his thumb marked the timestamp, "review will include it."

The medical director stared at four cameras, then walked away with Amara’s kit held against his coat.

Kasimir sat back on the cot while one nurse secured the brace around his forearm.

Kasimir’s attention followed the doctor to the taped seat while the nurse tightened his brace without waiting for permission.

"You could have fixed it in thirty seconds," he said.

She sat carefully, keeping both wrists suspended above her knees.

"You could have stopped at the warning," she replied while one burned wrist remained visible above her knee.

"That is not how Cups are won," he said after glancing toward the Apex cameras.

"Today it is how your arm survives," she replied without moving toward the cot.

Nia’s jaw shifted once.

"She is correct," Nia said while settling the shield harness against one shoulder.

The brawler looked from the tower shield to his rigid brace, then found nowhere useful to put his anger.

Ryan took the chair beside Amara after checking that she could see both his hands.

"Northstar has no healer," he said, "we also do not have a contract ready."

"Your striker cooks her own nerves," she replied while studying Mika’s left wrist, "your bulwark hides impact damage under replacement plates."

Nia looked almost impressed.

"Continue."

"Your scout favors his left ankle despite new boots, while your founder’s pulse is visible through a barrier burn," she said.

Ryan lowered his wrapped wrist.

"You make a persuasive case against hiring you," he replied while Nia studied the doctor.

The overlap in her front teeth appeared when one brief laugh escaped.

"Good, I am currently unemployed enough to enjoy that."

He opened the Northstar conduct page instead of an offer letter.

"Thirty-day probation is our current standard," he said, "equal field shares, private medical footage, one challenge before a field order."

Her thumb rubbed the pale burn around her opposite wrist.

"Who decides whether I keep healing?"

"You do."

The answer came before he checked with anyone, revealing exactly how much he had wanted somebody to ask.

Mika sat on the floor beside the taped chair and placed her phone face down.

"If I argue while concussed, ignore me," she said, "if I argue while conscious, you can also ignore me."

"That distinction lacks medical value," Amara replied while inspecting the regulator route beneath Mika’s collar.

"You are going to fit in disgustingly well," Mika said as one crooked smile escaped.

Ryan sent the probation template to Amara’s phone with the start date blank.

The document granted medical privacy, equal field shares, independent licensing, and a clean exit that returned no equipment except property she had borrowed.

"Read it after your hands stop shaking," he said, "the seat remains free either way."

"Furniture support creates no loyalty debt?" she asked while curling one foot around the taped leg.

"Correct."

"Can I take this home?" she asked while pulling the taped backrest closer.

Mika looked at the gray tape, then pressed her lips together before answering.

"Please do," Mika replied as she nudged the chair closer, "the Cup may sue us for improving their decor."

Amara drew the chair against her calf.

The system appeared at the edge of Ryan’s vision before she touched the contract.

[Potential Found: Dr. Amara Bello]

[Immediate Need: Calibrated Pain-Sink Bracer]

[Offer Support?]

He kept his face neutral while Spark Sense mapped the damage around her forearms.

Her current warning band measured pain volume alone without separating temporary strain from permanent nerve damage.

It could warn her after transferred pain crossed the limit, yet it could not divert the injury or release stored strain safely.

A better bracer would change healing from self-destruction into a choice.

The better equipment would still require her informed consent before one dollar moved through the private fund.

Ryan dismissed the private offer without approving it, leaving the purchase untouched until she could inspect every term.

"Before you consider our contract, there may be equipment that protects your limit," he said, "I can show you the exact terms tomorrow."

Amara’s eyes narrowed behind the glasses she had put back on.

"Show me the equipment before the promise," she replied as her sore fingers tightened around the taped seat.

"Agreed."

Cup alarms chimed through the medical wing while the opening draw appeared across every wall.

Northstar’s crest entered the first-match wheel beside Apex’s favored team, and the taped chair rolled forward when Amara stood to watch.

Marek saw her from the far doorway while the returned treatment case remained locked against his white coat.

He touched his earpiece while the public wheel slowed, then smiled toward somebody off camera.

Ryan’s private screen replaced the public draw for one breath, visible to him alone above the spinning team crests.

[Verified Growth Need: Prevent transferred pain from becoming permanent damage]

The price field expanded past seven figures as the wheel clicked toward Northstar.