MMPS Ch. 5

Chapter 5: Restoring Vitality

A stubby, fluffy goat tail wagged unconsciously from the base of Yu An’s spine, brushing against the waistband of his trousers and swaying with a life of its own. He didn’t seem aware of it at all.

Zhao Ran fell silent, his attention drawn irresistibly to the peculiar sight behind Yu An. His gaze lingered, thoughtful and enigmatic.

The countdown on the right side of the Core Analyzer ticked into its final ten seconds. A faint vibration coursed through it, subtle yet insistent, until the clock struck zero. The Aberrant Core embedded in Yu An’s left eye dimmed, its azure glow extinguished in an instant.

With the energy depleted, the goat-like mimicry clinging to Yu An dissipated, vanishing as if it had never been.

The truth of the Core Analyzer’s description—“Usage limited to 10 minutes”—was now painfully clear. The low-tier Aberrant Core was like a disposable battery: drained, discarded, and destined for obsolescence.

These Aberrant Cores, bizarre sources of bio-energy, were a lifeline for those who bore physical defects—human vessels reduced to living receptacles for some strange power.

Yu An tilted his head and, with a grisly kind of ease, pressed the dead core from his socket. It slid free with a wet, muted sound, leaving behind a gaping, hollow void where his left eye should have been. The socket, deep and shadowed, like the mouth of an endless, dry well.

Zhao Ran took the now-lifeless core in his hands, the faint luminescence gone, its surface dull and gray. For a long moment, he simply stared. The emotions flickering in his pale eyes were a chaotic mix of astonishment and exhilaration. This was the first time he’d seen a human carrier capable of removing an Aberrant Core at will. He was dumbfounded, his thoughts an electric storm.

As the core left his body, Yu An’s strength seemed to drain with it. His legs faltered, his mind reeled, and oxygen briefly deserted his brain. Vision blurred into darkness as consciousness ebbed.

Searing heat radiated from his empty socket, a raw, burning pulse that Yu An couldn’t bear. He closed his remaining eye, searching desperately for relief, his head tilting instinctively. His burning skin found it—cool, soothing, like balm against fire.

Without realizing it, Yu An had leaned into Zhao Ran’s neck, the contrast between his fevered heat and Zhao Ran’s icy skin almost violent, like molten iron plunging into water.

“…” Blood-streaked hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure where to settle. Zhao Ran didn’t dare place them on Yu An, nor did he lower them back to the ground.

A low sigh escaped Yu An, the sound barely audible, as the unbearable heat began to ease.

“What’s this?” Zhao Ran muttered, feigning detachment even as his body betrayed him with a faint tremor. “Lost all your strength already? It’s just a Tier 1 Blue core—hardly enough to sap your energy. Hmm… college students are so delicate.”

Though his tone was even, the pale skin of Zhao Ran’s neck betrayed him again, blooming faintly pink.

“You look young, Interviewer. Did you graduate recently?” Yu An’s voice was muffled, his eye still closed as if speaking from some half-conscious state.

“No,” Zhao Ran replied curtly. “My job isn’t something they teach in schools, so it wasn’t necessary.”

“Interviewer, how old are you?” Yu An asked. He had been curious about this for a while.

Zhao Ran grabbed him by the collar like a stray pup, pulling him upright. His lips curled into a sharp smile, teasing and unreadable. “That’s company confidential. Sign a contract first, then ask whatever you want.”

Yu An narrowed his right eye, unimpressed: “Your company’s nothing but fights and bloodshed. Can’t even guarantee personal safety. Maybe I shouldn’t apply after all.”

“Oh?” Zhao Ran’s smile widened. “Starting salary’s 24,000, with six insurances and one fund. Benefits are excellent. Given your qualifications, there’s no better offer in Hongli City.” His tone softened, almost inviting, as he leaned closer. “Think it over carefully. If I’ve made any mistakes, feel free to let me know.”

But beneath the surface of this charm lay urgency, sharp and desperate. A human carrier who could detach an Aberrant Core was unprecedented—and dangerous. If word got out, rival companies would stop at nothing to claim him. Zhao Ran couldn’t afford to lose Yu An, not when his value remained hidden even from himself.

Suddenly, Zhao Ran’s body jerked as if struck. Blood welled anew from his abdomen, soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt, dark and vivid. The red seeped down, dripping steadily from the hem.

Yu An moved to Zhao Ran’s side, lifting the blood-soaked shirt to inspect the wound beneath.

The injury lay to the left of his lower abdomen, a cruel puncture about five centimeters deep.  It seemed to have been caused by a knife tip that penetrated deeply. It had just been stitched, but it hadn’t healed yet and had burst open.

Scars also crisscrossed his pale torso—two old wounds that had long since healed, their marks faded but unmistakable against his alabaster skin.

Zhao Ran’s breathing grew shallow. He leaned his head back, long hair falling in disarray around his shoulders. Against the crimson of his collar, his neck seemed almost translucent, a stark contrast of red and white.

Yu An frowned and bit off a strip of his own clothing, folding it to press firmly against the wound. “Hold this,” he instructed.

Zhao Ran winced, sucking in a sharp breath. Their fingers brushed briefly as he took over the makeshift bandage, a fleeting touch that left his fingertips tingling.

“I’ll find something, Interviewer.” Yu An said, standing abruptly. He left his phone and the Core Analyzer by Zhao Ran’s side and disappeared into the shadowy corridor.

Left alone, Zhao Ran stared down at his trembling hands, the echoes of Yu An’s touch still alive on his skin. Lowering his head, his hair fell forward, concealing the heaving rise and fall of his chest.

He bit down on the strap of his wristband, tightening it with his teeth, desperately suppressing something that was on the verge of breaking free.

“How old am I…” Zhao Ran whispered to himself, the question slipping into the void.

When Yu An returned, he carried a scavenged backpack stuffed with medical supplies and Zhao Ran’s coat slung over his forearm.

His footsteps faltered at the sight of the ground around Zhao Ran. Beneath him, an entire section of the floor was covered in an eerie sprawl of numbers—chaotic, overlapping, and endless. From one to eighty, the digits had been traced by hand, scrawled in a manic frenzy with no discernible pattern.

Yu An frowned, slowly withdrawing his foot to avoid stepping on the strange marks. Zhao Ran looked a bit paranoid, “Is this… some kind of number obsession?”

Zhao Ran stirred from his half-conscious state, his hooded eyes barely open.

“Don’t move.” Yu An commanded, crouching beside him. He unbuttoned Zhao Ran’s shirt and poured disinfectant over the wound.

The peroxide hissed and bubbled, washing away the blood as Yu An’s fingers worked methodically to assess the damage. The stitches had held, barely.

Zhao Ran hissed under the sharp sting but bit back his pain, watching Yu An’s focused movements with half-lidded eyes. Yu An took out some bandages and wrapped them around Zhao Ran’s abdomen.

“Your hands are freezing,” Zhao Ran muttered, shivering despite the fever burning beneath his skin. His cheeks were flushed, his nose red, a sickly warmth radiating from him.

“I’m cold too.” Yu An lowered his eyelashes; his clothes were still damp. In this frigid season, the old hospital’s exterior walls were only enough to keep out the wind.

Without a word, Zhao Ran grabbed Yu An’s hands, pressing them firmly against his feverish chest.

Yu An tried to pull away but couldn’t resist the comforting heat. Like a moth to a flame, he found himself basking in the warmth, turning his hands to warm both sides.

As Yu An warmed his hands, his thoughts gradually drifted. He found himself staring blankly at a particular spot. This was the first time he had ever seen such a color on another man.

His gaze drifted, landing on something faint, pink, and intimate.

If I just close my fingers…

“Doctor Yu,” Zhao Ran leaned weakly against the wall, “I think you’ve played with your patient’s body enough.”

Yu An jolted, yanking his hands back as if burned: “You told me to—”

“Ahh, yes.” Zhao Ran interrupted with a grin, baring sharp teeth. “I told you to. So obedient.”

“…” Yu An scowled and yanked the bandage tight, earning a sharp yelp from Zhao Ran.

As the Aberrant had been defeated, the medical staff and patients hidden on the second floor emerged cautiously. Seeing the danger gone, they collapsed into sobs of relief, their cries filling the fractured silence.

Zhao Ran led Yu An downstairs for a patrol, his sharp gaze sweeping every shadowed corner. Only after confirming that no other Aberrant Cores were lurking did he ease his stance. Meanwhile, Yu An had been quietly toying with the Core Analyzer strapped to his waist, his fingers tracing its polished surface.

Not long ago, Zhao Ran had handed it to him—a seemingly casual gesture but laced with significance. The device came with one blue and one purple core, both generously offered as part of Zhao Ran’s job proposal. He had even remarked that since Yu An had earned those cores himself, they were rightfully his. If Yu An decided against joining, selling them could easily cover a year’s rent—a practicality that wasn’t lost on him.

Including his depleted Tier 1 Blue Goat Horn core, the analyzer now held three cores in total. On the market, they’d fetch a small fortune—enough to stave off desperation for months, even without a steady income. Yu An wasn’t merely satisfied; he was intrigued. The analyzer’s programming was complex, almost mesmerizing, and he itched to study it in detail.

Zhao Ran walked a step behind, silently observing Yu An’s faint smile. Without a word, he began buttoning his shirt.

A hurried figure disrupted the quiet. A young nurse approached, a child cradled tightly in her arms. Her breath came quick and shallow, and her head dipped in a hurried bow toward Zhao Ran. “Thank you for arriving in time,” she said, her voice trembling with equal parts relief and lingering fear. “It’s a good thing we had your number…”

Yu An’s gaze flicked to her, recognition sparking. That voice—it belonged to the woman who had called Zhao Ran’s phone earlier. Though, at the time, Yu An had been the one to answer.

Sweat glistened on her brow beneath her neatly cropped hair. The child in her arms squirmed, an unfamiliar weight she carried with a fierce determination, though she clearly wasn’t its mother.

Outside, sirens began to wail, the sound growing sharper and more concentrated as it converged around the hospital. Yu An moved to the window, his curiosity piqued. Below, police cars and ambulances had formed an impenetrable ring around the building, red and blue lights flashing in relentless succession. Caution tape unfurled quickly, cordoning off the area.

Above the chaos, three to five golden eagles circled ominously, their metallic cries slicing through the air. On the ground, officers moved in tight formations, and their voices clipped as they relayed orders over radios.

They wore crisp, uniform attire, their backs emblazoned with golden eagle insignias. One woman stood out from the rest, a commanding presence marked by a triple-gold armband. She suddenly turned her head and looked in the window where Yu An was.

Her posture was sharp and authoritative, her brows drawn into a natural arch that lent her face a cold, unyielding intensity. Perched on her shoulder was a mechanical eagle, its brass feathers glinting menacingly. The bird shifted in sync with her, its glowing red eyes scanning the hospital with predatory precision.

Perceptive Eagle Bureau. The emblem alone was unmistakable. 

Zhao Ran caught the sound of sirens and the distant cries of the mechanical birds. His expression darkened, his demeanor shifting into something far less congenial. Hands buried in his coat pockets, he scanned the faces around him, each gaze weighed and judged. “It seems,” he said evenly, “someone here understands the wisdom of not putting all their eggs in one basket. Not only did you call the Underground Metro for help, but you also involved the Perceptive Eagle Bureau.”

He reached forward and plucked the nurse’s ID badge from her chest, tilting it to catch her name. His tone turned cold, deliberate: “Miss Lin. If that’s the case, I’ll have no choice but to remove you from the Underground Metro’s protection list.”

The nurse’s face drained of color. Panicked, she quickly placed the child on the ground and began shaking her head vehemently. “No, no! I swear, I only called you! Please believe me!” She fumbled with her phone, pulling up her call log in desperation. Her hands shook as she held it up for him to see, her legs trembling under the weight of impending judgment.

Zhao Ran turned his attention back to the gathered crowd. His lips curled into a faint, unsettling smile, revealing sharp teeth that glinted in the dim light: “So, who called the police?”

His tone was calm, almost conversational, yet the weight of his presence seemed to drain the air from the room. It wasn’t the voice that unnerved them, but the stillness behind it—a quiet certainty that held the threat of something much darker.

The crowd shuffled uneasily, heads shaking in denial. No one dared to meet his gaze. They retreated, as if mere proximity to suspicion might doom them.

Yu An’s voice broke the tension. He raised his hand, his expression calm, not caring about the strange expressions around him: “It was me, Interviewer. I reported it.”

He stood there, his left eye bandaged, blending seamlessly into the sea of hospital patients. But the moment his words registered, the room recoiled. Faces turned pale with fear, and people scrambled away from him as though he were a harbinger of calamity.

Zhao Ran opened his mouth, hesitating for a long moment. Finally, he forced a smile, though it came brittle and strained. “Alright. Just… don’t do it again.”