Nineteenth Century Medical Guide

Chapter 487, Section 483: Anders' Script
The appetizer for the second act is over; it's time to get down to business.

The swordsman handed himself a clean red cloth and looked at Gallardo, praising, "The final move wasn't very pretty, but it was clever."

"Thanks."

"Is your back alright?"

"It's alright, I'm fine." Gallardo's hands trembled uncontrollably; that moment was etched deeply into his mind. "Does this mean I've completed my mission?"

"I guess so, but there's still one last round."

The swordsman was helpless; Gallardo's performance was certainly deserving of a pardon. If he were in Gallardo's shoes as police chief, he'd be willing to pay out of his own pocket, after all, this was a big guy that even the two Spurs players found troublesome.

But the higher-ups demanded three rounds of applause; not even one less was acceptable.

"Okay." Gallardo lowered his head, his voice also low. "One more round."

"You get some rest. It's my turn now. Hopefully, this thing will wear down its stamina and help you get through this smoothly."

Gallardo didn't thank her. He should have, but a deep feeling told him it wasn't something worth thanking her for. He didn't want it to be this way; he even felt a little disappointed.

This feeling was so deeply hidden that even Gallardo himself didn't realize it, let alone the swordsman beside him.

Upon hearing the horn and drum, the swordsman quickly put on his sleeveless jacket, picked up the pennant and red cloth beside him, and turned to walk into the square.

These short, heavy spikes have steel barbs and are decorated with colorful ribbons. Once they pierce a cow's back, the ribbons can be pulled out, much like a bee pulling out its intestines after a sting.

Having learned from past mistakes, the bullfighters were more cautious than before, simply circling the bull and controlling the red cloth in their hands to drive the bull toward the position of the two pistolmen.

The pistolman was highly focused, his eyes fixed on the charging bull. When the distance was right, he would nimbly thrust his pistol with both hands, driving the lances into the bull's neck on both sides, and then turn to dodge the attack.

After several rounds, colorful ribbons covered the cow's back, followed by enthusiastic applause.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the square, Anders was staring at the barrier blocking Gallardo's path.

He admitted that he was immediately drawn to this courageous and passionate young man, and his opening performance exceeded his expectations. This was also what he found regrettable; those who allowed Gallardo to participate in bullfighting clearly didn't intend for him to leave alive.

But the result was different from what he had imagined; Gallardo was almost unharmed.

The trampling injury on the waist was caused when the bull was pacing in place, and the force was much less than when it charged, so it was not considered a serious injury.

Why could an ordinary person with no training repeatedly dodge the Bulls, especially the Bulls that had caused such a commotion for the excellent Spurs players? His movements were clumsy, his lower body unstable, and his decisions foolish, but the reality was that Gallardo managed to survive thanks to that final flick.

Was it his status as a mounted police officer that gave him abundant stamina? Or was he just lucky?

Anders thought for a long time and felt that neither was the case.
Is it really talent?
“Mr. Anders,” an aged voice came from behind the barrier.

"Father."

"I've heard the bugle call three times, it's your turn to go on stage."

“Yes, Father.” Anders took off his hat and bowed. “How is Hardy? The Spurs player who was injured earlier.”

The priest emerged from the shadows, his eyes narrowing into slits as he faced the sunlight: "The injuries are quite severe. We've already taken him to the hospital."

"Is everything going to be okay?"

“This,” the priest sighed, “San Sebastián is not like Pamplona, ​​much less comparable to Seville and Madrid; it’s just a small seaside town.”

"Thank you for speaking frankly."

“Bullfighters are prone to injury. Every year, dozens or even hundreds of people die in the bullring, and even more die in the hospital.” The priest took off his hood and comforted him. “But things have gotten better in recent years. I don’t know if it’s because the hospitals have improved or something else, but I will pray for him.”

Anders clenched his fists and placed them in front of his chest, closed his eyes slightly, and bent his waist even lower.

The priest pulled a black wooden box with gold trim from his pocket. Inside was a chalice filled with holy oil: "You Seville bullfighters have so many tricks up your sleeves. This was made overnight and cost me a lot of money."

"Thank you."

Anders winked at the swordsman beside him, who handed him a few silver coins, exchanging money for goods.

The priest made the sign of the cross, clenched his fists, murmured a few words, and then placed his hands on the man's shoulders: "Brave and indomitable fighter, may the Lord bless you."

Anders looked up, carefully took the box, and kept his eyes fixed on the Holy Grail. After a while, he dipped his finger in the holy oil, applied the aroma of cinnamon and olive oil to his forehead and chest, straightened his black velvet hat, took the red cloth, and slowly walked into the square.

He was handsome, with a velvet cape with gold trim, and came to the main grandstand. He bowed deeply and asked for permission to kill the bull.

The third act officially begins. The pistolmen and sword bearers all leave the stage, and the noisy square falls silent once again. The band also stops playing. With the permission of the event organizer, Anders steps into the center of the square.

Anders carefully chose his performance location for Act III, stepping lightly on the gravel. The sand here was flat, without any bumps or depressions, allowing him to better showcase his skills.

He casually swung the red cloth with his left hand, and with just a few simple movements, he attracted the bull's attention.

The ribbon around its neck and the pistol constantly agitated the bull; the wounds drained its strength, but also fueled its extreme rage. Seeing something taunting it, it charged without hesitation.

Unlike Gallardo's panic, Anders saw the bull's every move clearly, grasped the speed, distance and angle, calmly knelt on one knee, flipped his hands, and the unfolded red cloth flew from his chest to his back, gently brushing the bull's horns and wrapping around his body, like a blood-red rose blooming in mid-air.

The crowd gasped in amazement, "This is real bullfighting! This is the bullfighting of Seville!"

Anders stood with one hand on his hip, concealing his sword within the red cloth, dodging each charge as bull horns grazed his knees and blood splattered on him. No one else needed to join the fight; one man and a red cloth were enough to keep the bull spinning wildly.

Everything was proceeding according to the script, except for Gallardo's bad luck, which disrupted the performance order. But if viewed in segments, the content of the performance remained unchanged.

After several rounds of playful banter, Anders suddenly noticed that the bull's legs were starting to weaken. He tried a few more times, and the bull's attention was indeed waning; its strength, speed, and agility were less than half of what they had at the start. It was time to strike.

"Huh? What's he doing?" "Why did he stop at the last minute?"

"I get it, he wants Gallardo to come in! The show's only just begun!!!"

Kave calmly watched the audience below, watching Gallardo slap his body hard with both hands to stimulate his muscles and nerves, which was also a way of encouraging himself when he was feeling cowardly.

"Mr. Orni" Kavi looked at his "friends" beside him and thought, "I didn't expect there would be a third round of the performance."

"Huh? Uh, yes, I didn't expect there to be a third round." Olney looked flustered, unsure of what expression to make. "Mr. Kavi, if I'm not mistaken, you should be a doctor, right?"

Kavi was taken aback: "Did I say I was a doctor?"

After saying this, he looked at Bergett, who was most likely to slip up, but Bergett didn't react at all, his eyes only on the exciting bullfight. Casper and Jonah on the other side were the same, their attention drawn to Anders's arrangement.

“It wasn’t them who said things they shouldn’t have said; it was Gallardo who said them, and it was you who proved the medicinal value of chloral hydrate.”

Olney finally smiled: "Moreover, your temperament proves it—calm, opinionated, and undisturbed by entertainment, which is almost impossible to find among your peers."

“Thank you for the compliment,” Kavi explained. “I just came here for a short vacation; I didn’t expect to encounter something like this.”

“I apologize again on behalf of Gallardo for spoiling your good mood.”

“It’s all in the past now, and his performance just now was enough to express his apology.” Seeing that he didn’t mention the Spurs player who had been injured earlier, Cavie replied politely, “I am also touched by your friendship with Gallardo. If it were up to me, I would waive his fine.”

"Now that we're in the bullring, there's no reason for us to leave."

Olney stared at the audience, his expression a mixture of worry, joy at his friend's ability to demonstrate his worth, or something else entirely.

The complexity of his expression was unfathomable even to Kavi, and Casper, who was well-versed in such matters, had no motivation to analyze it.

According to him, Olney's identification was valid, his police uniform was professional, and his identity was genuine. Moreover, judging from his skin color, muscle definition, and gait, he lacked rigorous training and did not conceal any weapons, so even in a one-on-one fight with Kavi, he would not gain any advantage.

Such a person may have impure motives, but he won't have the malice of Manuel. As for how he treats others, he can do whatever he wants; it's none of their business.

Kavi was also quite helpless.

Casper was implicated by Mick; not only was the library forced to disband, but he also lost command of the Men in Black. He was promoted in rank and gained a higher position, but only received a sinecure.

It's like putting a fresh-faced, ambitious surgeon in the medical affairs office, calling him a leader, and having him attend meetings, deal with inspections, and give administrative reports every day, until all his sharp edges are worn away.

Casper ultimately chose to resign.

On the evening of the day he resigned, Count Morasso found him at a tavern and he became Cavill's bodyguard.

For Casper, there was no better job than this, where he could showcase his talent without taking too much risk, escape the stale atmosphere of Vienna, and earn a good income—a win-win-win situation.

"Aren't you worried that someone in the audience might try to harm me?"

"Huh? No way," Casper quickly composed himself, glancing around twice. "There aren't that many people who want to harm you. You're overthinking it. Besides, Jonah is here, so you don't need to worry too much."

After saying all that, when his gaze returned to Kavi's face, Casper realized that this guy was testing him.

“I checked the audience seats when I entered the venue, and there was nothing wrong. Besides, my nose isn’t that sensitive; I would have sensed something was wrong long ago.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than someone reached out from behind and patted Kavi on the shoulder, passing through their line of sight: "Excuse me, are you Mr. Kavi?"

Below the stands, in the makeshift bullring, Gallardo's final "trial" had begun.

Unlike his previous two entrances, Gallardo appeared much more relaxed and wasn't in a rush to show off. He was stalling for time, but not entirely; he was looking for the right opportunity.

He crouched low, holding the red cloth covered in cow hoof prints in his hand, and slowly took steps.

“Young man, the bull won’t move unless you move it,” Anders said with a smile, standing by the barrier. “Don’t be fooled by its injuries. Even if you shoot it a few more times, it can still hold out for hours.”

Time ticked by, the audience began to stir, their anticipation slowly turning into boredom and frustration, and finally into boos.

Anders, not allowing any more mishaps in his script, ordered several of his henchmen to lead the bull toward Gallardo without even a warning.

The bull spotted the clumsy young man again, lowered his head, and his eyes became even more frenzied.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the clumsy bull-dodging performance is coming to an end, and the real bullfight is about to begin. Before that, please give a round of applause to our cheerleaders and to that bold and brave young man. His running is clumsy, lacking any skill or grace, but it has brought you some joy."

Gallardo could feel his heart pounding in his ribs, and his whole body trembled like a leaf in the wind. He knew that his little trick wouldn't work again, and if he tried it again, he would surely be gored to death by the bull's horns.

The bulls started accelerating!
Gallardo took a deep breath, mustered all his strength, and darted out like a rabbit. He stopped hiding and started running wildly towards Anders' location.

Anders smiled.

Yes, smart kid, that's it! You're tired, you can't handle it anymore, and you have no other hope. I'm the only one left on the field; I'm your last lifeline!

Come to me, I'll take care of it!

He would get into position, waiting for Gallardo to get close before waving the red cloth to lure the bull away. He would repeat this several times before finding the right opportunity to stab the bull to death with his sword.

This is the perfect script to honor the heroes of the bullring! It's a performance unlike any other you'll ever see in a bullring!

But Anders forgot that a good script needs both the protagonist, him, and excellent supporting actors. Gallardo was not a fighter who would be easily manipulated by him, much less a supporting character in his eyes.

Gallardo now only has the Bulls and himself in his eyes; everything else is just a tool.

He rushed towards Anders, his speed even greater than before. Just as the bull's horns were about to strike, Gallardo seized the opportunity when Anders dodged, and snatched the matador's curved sword.

Then, with a sharp turn, he bypassed Anders, completely exposing him to the Bulls.