The rotation continued. The air in the small room grew denser with every exchange. One man offered a basilisk fang for a shadow mineral; another traded a short-range teleportation scroll for information on a mana vein in Eastern Europe. Ethan watched in silence, feeling the weight of his economic "poverty." His nine hundred million, which in the outside world could buy mansions and fleets of cars, was mere pocket change here used to balance the scales.

Finally, the turn reached a very old woman sitting two seats to Ethan's left. Her face was etched with deep wrinkles and her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes held a harrowing urgency.

"I need a healing potion. It must be at least Grade 2," said the old woman, her voice cracking with desperation. "I am prepared to negotiate any price. Money, assets, favors... anything."

The silence that followed was sepulchral. The other bidders looked away. High-grade healing potions were extremely rare; no one who owned one gave it up easily, as it represented a second life in the event of a disaster. Zwager, the evaluator, let out a soft sigh.

"It appears no one in this room possesses an item of such value for exchange," Zwager declared in a solemn tone.

The woman lowered her head, her shoulders collapsing. She looked crushed, almost depressed, as if that potion were her final hope for a loved one.

"System," Ethan called out mentally. "Can I give her one of mine?"

[Of course,] the System replied with indifference. [They are your potions, earned through your own effort. You can drink them, sell them, or throw them in the mud if it pleases you.]

Ethan waited a few more seconds, letting the tension reach its peak. Just as Zwager was about to move to the next turn, Ethan raised his hand calmly.

"I might be interested in negotiating," Ethan said, his voice echoing with authority. "But I would like the mediation to be conducted in private."

The old woman snapped her head up, her eyes shining with a mixture of suspicion and renewed hope. Zwager nodded.

"It is a right of the participants. Let us proceed."

The three moved toward a small side door leading to a soundproofed security chamber. The old woman, the evaluator, and Ethan—who was still dragging Axhel by the chain—entered. Once inside, Zwager donned his white silk gloves.

"Very well, Mr. Blake. For the mediation to proceed, I must verify the item. Please show the potion to confirm it meets the Grade 2 criteria."

Ethan closed his eyes for an instant.

[Healing Potion purchased - 100 Lux]

With a fluid motion, he reached into the inner pocket of his tattered suit jacket and pulled out a small, reinforced glass vial. The liquid inside vibrated with a crimson color so intense it seemed to pulse like a human heart. As he brought it out, a faint scent of life and renewal filled the room.

The old woman stared, incredulous. Her eyes jumped from the vial to Ethan's impassive face.

"You were carrying something so valuable... just in your pocket?" the woman asked, her voice trembling. "Weren't you afraid it would break? Something like that should be in a climate-controlled security box, protected by stasis spells..."

Ethan let out a small laugh, maintaining his cool while the System mocked the woman's shock in his mind.

"Don't worry," Ethan said with a cold smile. "I assure you, there is no safer place in this entire building than right in my pocket."

Zwager took the vial with extreme delicacy, bringing it close to his monocle. His expression, previously neutral, shifted into one of absolute surprise.

Zwager stared at the vial for a long moment, his hands steady despite the visible tension in the room. "With your permission, Mr. Blake, I must take a sample for a full diagnostic," the evaluator said, his voice dropping into a whisper of professional reverence.

Ethan nodded slightly. The old woman leaned in, her breath hitching as she watched Zwager pull out a set of strange, archaic tools. With precision, he extracted a single drop of the crimson liquid and divided it into several smaller vials containing different colored reagents.

The reactions were instantaneous and spectacular. The reagents didn't just change color; they glowed with a pure, radiant light that filled the soundproof chamber.

Zwager's eyes widened behind his monocle. He turned to the old woman, then back to Ethan, his composure finally fracturing. "Madam, you are beyond lucky. This potion is not Grade 2. It is high-tier Grade 3—maximum quality. In fact, due to its absolute purity, it could be categorized as Grade 4 without any objection from the Union. I have never seen a potion of such magnificent quality in my entire career. It is... it is a masterpiece of alchemy."

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The old woman and the evaluator now looked at the small bottle as if it were the most fragile and divine object in existence. They barely dared to touch it, as if their very breath might contaminate its perfection.

Ethan allowed a thin, satisfied smile to play across his lips. This was exactly what he had planned. He had hesitated for a moment, realizing that if no one else was offering such a potion, it meant they were incredibly rare—perhaps the secret of their production had been lost, or the ingredients were extinct.

He knew this move was a double-edged sword. On one hand, revealing such wealth could make him a target for the greedy. On the other hand, it provided him with the ultimate shield. By positioning himself as a source of high-grade life-saving medicine, he became untouchable. They could try to coerce him, they could try to buy him, but they would never dare to destroy him for fear of losing the supply of the world's most perfect healing elixir.

"So," Ethan said, his voice cold and steady, snapping them out of their trance. "Since the quality is verified, I believe the price just went up. What do you have that is worth a Grade 4 life, Madam?"

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