"Excuse me, is Mr. John Doe in?"

  The man in the dark blue suit stood at the clinic entrance, his tone as mild as if he were inquiring about the weather. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, his hair combed meticulously back—radiating an aura of suffocating, machine-like rationality.

  John eyed him warily. "I am."

  "I am the Risk Control Officer for Eternal Life Insurance, Moriarty."

  Moriarty.

  Ding!

  The tablet suddenly burned hot, automatically popping up a red summon request.

  [WARNING: NEMESIS REACTION DETECTED!]

  [Responder: Sherlock Holmes]

  [Status: Hyper-Excited (Hostility Level: MAX)]

  [Summon Cost: FREE (He'd pay to come out)]

  John froze.

  Before he could even react, the thick, pungent scent of tobacco smoke flooded the clinic.

  "Well, well, well, look who we have here?"

  A mocking voice drifted from the clinic's shadows.

  Holmes stepped out. He was still wearing that signature deerstalker cap, pipe in hand, his grey eyes locked dead onto Moriarty.

  "If I'm not mistaken, isn't this the man who calls himself a 'Math Professor' but actually designs 'Perfect Exploitation Models' for capitalists... Mr. Moriarty?"

  Moriarty’s smile didn’t vanish; it deepened.

  "Holmes. I knew you'd be here."

  He ignored the detective completely and turned to the patients queuing at the door.

  First in line was the veteran, Harry. He held the medicine John had just prescribed, looking at John with gratitude.

  Moriarty walked over. He didn't pull out cash like a nouveau riche. He simply, politely, handed Harry an exquisite flyer.

  "Sir, your leg looks like it gives you trouble. I am the director of the newly established 'Eternal Community Rehab Center.' We need a few highly respected veterans like you to serve as our 'Rehabilitation Experience Ambassadors.'"

  Harry blinked, confused. "Ambassador?"

  "Yes. You only need to visit our center twice a week for physical therapy and share your feelings with the community. We will provide full medical coverage and a monthly 'consultant fee' of two thousand credits."

  Moriarty’s voice was sincere and respectful.

  "This isn't charity; it's a job. We need your experience and your reputation."

  He then moved to the mother holding her child.

  "Madam, our nutrition lab is recruiting 'Product Trial Families.' Your child looks like they need nutritional supplements. As long as you're willing to fill out feedback forms, we will provide this premium formula milk for free, for life."

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "This is for science, and for the next generation."

  In just a few minutes.

  Moriarty didn't hand out a single cent of "charity." He handed out "decent job opportunities." He packaged this naked bribery as "cooperation" and "respect."

  Harry’s hand trembled. He didn't want to betray John, but this money was something he would earn by his own merit (even if he was a shill), and it satisfied his self-esteem, which had been humbled by poverty.

  "I... I'll think about it," Harry whispered, afraid to meet John's eyes.

  Moriarty smiled and walked back to John, spreading his hands.

  "Do you see clearly now, Mr. Doe?"

  "This is human nature. They need more than just medicine; they need dignity."

  "You give them mere survival, gasping for air. I give them 'Value.' In the face of survival, only relationships built on the exchange of interests are the most stable."

  He pulled out an acquisition contract.

  "Join us. Your clinic can become our 'Grassroots Recruitment Point.' You can not only save people but also help them find jobs. It’s a win-win."

  John looked at the patients with shifting eyes. He felt a deep sense of powerlessness. Moriarty understood too well. He hadn't just bought their lives; he bought their hearts.

  Just then.

  "A brilliant social engineering experiment, Professor."

  Holmes blew a smoke ring. He wasn't angry; instead, he carried the cool detachment of academic discussion.

  "Using 'decency' as bait to turn victims into accomplices. Truly, much more sophisticated than simply handing out cash."

  Holmes walked up to Moriarty. He glanced at the flyer in Harry's hand, but he didn't expose the lie.

  He knew the so-called "Rehab Ambassador" was likely just a guinea pig reserve for human experimentation; the "free formula" probably contained addictive agents.

  But he couldn't say it.

  Because right now, Harry was clutching that paper as if it were his last shred of dignity. If Holmes burst that bubble now, telling Harry "You're being scammed, you fool," the intense shame would corrode Harry's self-esteem like acid.

  And that shame would turn into anger. But that anger wouldn't be directed at Moriarty, who gave him "decency," but at John and Holmes, who ripped open the wound. People instinctively distance themselves from those who make them feel ashamed.

  If he spoke, John would lose these people completely.

  So, Holmes chose silence. He shifted the target of his attack from the "victim" to the "perpetrator."

  "However, Professor. In your perfect 'mutualistic symbiosis model,' there is a fatal flaw."

  "What?" Moriarty raised an eyebrow.

  "Irreplaceability."

  Holmes pointed at John.

  "You can give them jobs, give them formula, even give them false dignity. But there is one thing you cannot give, something only John can give."

  "And that is... miracles."

  "Your rehab center can only provide therapy; it cannot cure Harry's leg. Your formula can only provide nutrition; it cannot cure that child's genetic defects."

  "Your system is built on 'statistically probable' industrial standards. While John's clinic is built on the miracle of 'saving them even if there's only a one-in-a-million chance.'"

  "When that child's fever won't break, when Harry's leg hurts so much he can't sleep again, your 'consultant fees' and 'free formula' will become worthless."

  "When that time comes, they will still come back."

  "Because only here can they be given... a real life."

  Moriarty’s smile stiffened slightly.

  He glanced at John, then at the dilapidated clinic.

  "The Singularity Effect," Moriarty muttered to himself. "Unpredictable extreme values."

  He put away the contract, his gentle disguise finally vanishing to reveal a trace of cold regret.

  "Very well. Let us see then, whether your Singularity can create miracles, or if my Big Data will override everything."

  He turned and left, his stride as elegant as ever.

  Harry held the flyer, hesitating for a long time, before finally stuffing it into his pocket.

  "Dr. John... I..." Harry’s face flushed red, shame making him unable to look John in the eye.

  "Go ahead, Harry," John said softly. "It’s a good opportunity. I don't blame you."

  Harry left. Most of them left. They walked quickly, as if walking fast enough would let them outrun the guilt chasing them.

  The clinic entrance became empty.

  Holmes looked at John, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

  "You didn't stop them. That was good. Leaving them some face is leaving yourself a way back."

  Ding.

  The tablet vibrated. Daoist Singularity’s voice came through.

  "Kid, don't be discouraged."

  "Moriarty gave them 'Face' (dignity/surface), but you gave them the 'Foundation' (survival)."

  "Face makes them feel like humans, but the Foundation... lets them stay alive."

  "Just wait. When that paper-thin Face tears, they'll remember who the one saving their lives really is."

  [Message from Singularity]

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