After arriving home, Elric went straight to his room and pulled out a notebook from his desk drawer. The pages were still mostly blank, waiting to be filled with plans and observations. He clicked his pen and started writing, organizing his scattered thoughts into something resembling a coherent strategy.
Even if the government was hiding something about the Sleeping Sickness—and he was increasingly certain they were—they shouldn't have a cure. He was sure of this for one inescapable reason: when the illness first started three years ago, it hadn't discriminated based on wealth or status.
Billionaires around the world had fallen into comas. Politicians, actors, business magnates, people with access to the absolute best medical care that money could buy—they'd all succumbed just like everyone else. Some had died after months in their comas. Most still lay unconscious in the world's most expensive hospitals, surrounded by teams of specialists who were completely helpless.
If there was a conventional cure, those people would have received it. Money and power would have guaranteed that much. The fact that they remained comatose proved that modern medicine had no answers.
So he couldn't rely on the government to do something about it. This wasn't a normal illness that could be treated with medicine or surgery or any therapy currently known to medical science. It was something else entirely—something related to mana, to that strange energy he could now sense flowing through his own body.
The other world, where people already knew about and used mana regularly as part of their daily lives, was his best option. Perhaps his only real option.
After thinking it through carefully, turning the problem over in his mind from multiple angles, he decided on his primary goals for that world. He numbered them neatly in his notebook:
1. Learn about mana as much as possible.
Understanding the fundamental nature of this energy was essential. How it worked, how it affected living beings, what it could do, what its limitations were. The more he understood mana itself, the better equipped he'd be to understand what was happening to his mother and the millions of others affected by the Sleeping Sickness.
2. If possible, learn to use mana.
Right now he could only sense it when it was activated, when it came into contact with another source like his mother's trapped energy. But the people in that other world controlled it consciously, shaped it to their will, used it to perform feats that would seem like magic in his world. If he could learn to do the same, it might help him understand his mother's condition better. Maybe he could even use it to help her directly.
3. Most obviously, try to find a cure for his mom's illness.
This was the ultimate goal, the reason for everything else. It would certainly be faster than waiting for his world to develop knowledge about something they didn't even know existed. In that other world, where mana was understood and studied, where healers and scholars had spent centuries—maybe millennia—learning its properties and applications, there had to be answers.
The first goal shouldn't be too hard to achieve. Even if he didn't know much about his clone's kingdom yet, the fragmented memories he'd inherited suggested a well-established society with libraries and scholars. And more importantly, he was a proper prince. He should have access to education and resources that common people couldn't dream of.
Now that he was actually writing it down, the realization hit him with unexpected force.
He was a prince. With an actual kingdom.
The thought was so absurd, so completely divorced from his life as a chef in a small restaurant, that he almost laughed. Part of him still couldn't quite believe it was real. But the memory of the knife sliding into his heart, the pain, the golden light of the healing blessing—all of it had been undeniably, viscerally real.
He shook his head, forcibly removing the distracting thoughts, and focused on the most immediate and important question: who the hell had sent an assassin to kill him?
That would be his first priority after returning. Because he genuinely didn't know if he would die if something fatal happened to his clone in that world. The sympathetic trauma from nearly dying had been devastating enough—two days of unconsciousness, violent physical reactions, pain that transcended the boundary between worlds.
What would happen if the clone actually died? Would his consciousness simply snap back to this body, traumatized but alive? Or would the death be complete, final, ending both versions of himself simultaneously?
Was that death? Was that what dying truly felt like?
He didn't know, and there was absolutely no way in hell he wanted to find out. The experience of that knife piercing his heart would haunt him for the rest of his life—he had no desire to discover what actual death felt like.
This would be his plan for now.
Elric closed the notebook and set it aside, satisfied that he'd organized his thoughts sufficiently. He would return to that world after a week, giving himself time to recover fully from the trauma and prepare mentally for what was coming. In the meantime, he needed to investigate the Sleeping Sickness more thoroughly in his own world.
If everyone afflicted with the illness had the same condition as his mother—mana concentrated in the heart, trapped and stagnant instead of flowing through the body—that would confirm his theory about the nature of the disease. But if his mom's case was somehow different, unique in ways that set her apart from other patients, that would be troublesome. It might mean her condition required specialized treatment that would be even harder to find.
And he wanted to talk with some people who'd woken up from the illness. Understanding what had changed in their bodies, whether they still had mana or if it had somehow dissipated, could provide crucial insights into how recovery worked and what conditions allowed people to wake up.
With his immediate plans settled, Elric prepared for bed. Tomorrow would begin his investigation in earnest.
Three days later, as evening approached, Elric was finishing up his shift at the restaurant.
"Elric, are you leaving early today too?" Ivy's voice carried from the kitchen, where she was overseeing the prep work for tomorrow's service.
"Yeah, I already finished everything," Elric called back, hanging up his apron on its designated hook. "I have some work to do."
Ivy emerged from the kitchen, hands on her hips, fixing him with a skeptical look. "What work could a brat like you possibly have? You're just going to play video games, aren't you?"
Elric didn't bother arguing with her anymore. He'd learned over the past few days that the more he protested, the more suspicious she became. Instead, he simply grabbed his jacket and headed for the back door.
"See you tomorrow, Ivy."
"Don't stay up too late!" she called after him, her tone softening slightly. "And actually eat something for dinner this time!"
The moment he stepped outside, the night's cold wind hit his face, sharp and clarifying. It reminded him that the world was as real as it could be, regardless of how much it had fundamentally changed in the past week. The same streets, the same buildings, the same stars overhead—but now he knew there was so much more beneath the surface.
He pulled out his notebook as he walked, flipping it open to check his progress. Several names had been crossed out in neat lines, each one representing a patient he'd examined over the past three days.
Giving some cash to a nurse had solved his first problem with surprising ease. Hospital staff were overworked and underpaid, and a hundred dollars here and there bought a lot of cooperation for something as simple as letting him observe coma patients during visiting hours. Most nurses assumed he was a medical student doing research, and he didn't correct that assumption.
In the previous three days, he'd checked on thirteen patients at various facilities around the city. With no surprise, their situations were identical to his mother's—mana concentrated in the heart, trapped and stagnant instead of flowing freely through their bodies. The energy sat there like water in a sealed container, unable to circulate, unable to be used.
So there was no problem there. His mother's condition wasn't unique or unusual among Sleeping Sickness patients. Whatever was happening to her was happening to all of them.
Thirteen people wasn't really enough to say for certain that every single patient in the world had the same mana pattern, but he didn't want to waste more time on that particular aspect of the investigation. The pattern seemed clear enough, and each day he spent examining coma patients was another day his mother remained trapped in her condition.
So he'd moved on to the second part of his plan: finding people who'd actually woken up from the illness.
But even as he'd made the decision, doubt gnawed at him. He wasn't entirely sure this was a good idea, or more importantly, whether it was safe. The more he thought about it, the more potential dangers he could identify.
People who'd woken up from the Sleeping Sickness—he could only conceive of two possible explanations for their recovery.
The first possibility was that the mana had somehow left their bodies. Dispersed, dissipated, returned to wherever it had come from in the first place. If that was the case, they were just normal humans now. No threat, no danger, nothing to worry about. They'd be safe to approach and interview.
But the second possibility was far more concerning. To wake up, you might need to adapt to the mana rather than lose it. Just like he had, where the energy now flowed through his body like blood, fully integrated into his physiology. The mana would become part of them, as natural as breathing.
And just because he couldn't consciously use this energy to do anything didn't mean they couldn't either.
That was what worried him most. He was one hundred percent certain the government had been running experiments on recovered patients. Everyone who woke up from the Sleeping Sickness had to be examined by a new agency created specifically for this crisis—the Department of Neural Health Services, or DNHS as it was officially called.
Before, he'd thought it was some kind of medical agency doing standard follow-up examinations to ensure full recovery. But now he understood it was probably something else entirely. Testing for mana, studying how it affected the awakened patients, documenting any abilities that might have manifested, maybe even recruiting or detaining people who showed particularly unusual capabilities.
The government clearly knew more about this than they were telling the public. The secret facility he'd glimpsed when those agents took Josh from the hospital proved that much.
Still, after weighing the risks, he'd decided to check it out anyway. His mother had the illness, and he desperately wanted to know more about it. People shouldn't be so unreasonable as to directly kill him just for talking to them, asking a few questions about their recovery experience.
At least, he hoped not.
Elric stood in front of a run-down house in a neighborhood that had clearly seen better days. Peeling paint flaked from the siding, the small front yard was overgrown with weeds, and one of the windows had been patched with cardboard and duct tape.
He checked his notebook carefully, confirming the address. This was definitely the place listed in the records he'd obtained, but it seemed wrong somehow. Rick Smith had supposedly woken up from a twenty-nine-month coma—wouldn't his family be celebrating, renovating, living better now that he was back?
"Young man, did you need something?"
A female voice called out from behind him, making Elric turn around.
A middle-aged woman had stopped on the sidewalk, grocery bags hanging from both hands. She wore a tired expression that suggested life had been hard lately, and she was studying him with mild curiosity mixed with wariness. Strangers standing in front of houses in this neighborhood usually meant trouble of one kind or another.
"Oh, I'm Rick's friend," Elric said smoothly, the lie coming easier than he'd expected. "We went to college together. I'm in town anyway, so I thought I'd visit him."
The woman's expression softened immediately, suspicion replaced by something sadder. "You didn't call before or send a message? I thought kids nowadays only wanted to talk online, not show up in person."
"Haha, I just wanted to give him a surprise, so I didn't call ahead," Elric said, flashing what he hoped was an appropriately embarrassed smile. "You know how it is—wanted to see the look on his face when I showed up."
"Oh, well, you maybe don't know, but Rick got INS." She used the medical abbreviation—Idiopathic Neural Shutdown, one of the official names for the Sleeping Sickness that had become common shorthand among families affected by it.
"He woke up about five months ago," she continued, shifting the grocery bags to her other hand. "Then, I don't know, maybe he won the lottery or something? He suddenly became very rich and moved away. Just packed up and left within a week of waking up. Didn't even say a proper goodbye to the neighbors."
"Oh..." Elric let surprise and disappointment color his voice. "Do you know where he went?"
The woman shook her head. "I'm afraid not. He didn't leave a forwarding address or anything. Just told his landlord he was breaking the lease, paid whatever penalties were required, and disappeared. We haven't heard from him since."
"I see. Well, thank you for the information."
"Sorry you came all this way for nothing," she said sympathetically. "If you want to leave your contact information, I can pass it along if he ever comes back to visit."
"That's okay," Elric said quickly. "I'll try to track him down another way. Thanks again."
He didn't linger, walking away with purposeful strides while his mind raced through the implications. The woman headed into her own house, and Elric rounded the corner before pulling out his notebook and making additional notes.
The government was covering their traces. That much was obvious now.
Finding even this much information had taken considerable effort and expense. He'd spent two thousand dollars bribing various administrative staff at hospitals and government offices for access to records that should have been confidential. Patient lists, discharge information, forwarding addresses—all of it supposedly protected by privacy laws, but everything had a price if you knew who to ask and how much to offer.
Then he'd found a retired police officer willing to do some off-the-books investigation. That had cost another five thousand dollars, paid in cash with no receipts or paper trail. The man had connections in various agencies, people who owed him favors from his years on the force. He'd used those connections to track down this address and confirm that Rick Smith had indeed woken up and then immediately disappeared from all official records.
Seven thousand dollars total, and all he'd learned was that recovered patients were being relocated somewhere. Probably to facilities like the one hidden behind that illusion in the jungle. Taken away from their families and homes, given new identities or simply erased from public databases.
Were they prisoners? Research subjects? Or were they being protected from something the government wasn't telling anyone about?
If he dug too deep, pursued this investigation too aggressively, he might attract unwanted attention. The kind of attention that resulted in people disappearing or having convenient "accidents." He'd already spent a significant amount of money and asked questions in multiple places. If someone was monitoring inquiries about recovered Sleeping Sickness patients, his activities might have already been flagged.
So he decided to stop the investigation for now, at least on this front. He should first try to find a solution in the other world, where mana was understood and studied openly. If he didn't find answers there, he could think about pursuing this angle more aggressively later.
But one thing was becoming crystal clear: something significant was happening to people who recovered from the Sleeping Sickness. The government knew about it, was actively managing it, and was going to great lengths to keep it hidden from public knowledge.
Elric walked toward the bus stop, hands shoved in his pockets against the cold. His mind was already shifting focus, preparing for what he needed to do next.
One week. He'd given himself one week to prepare, and that week was nearly over. Tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, he would return to that other world. Return to being Prince Elric.