As I mentioned before, I will be posting a few more chapters of this fic until I stop for a few weeks. I'll probably stop when the time skip to first day of school arrives, which is after the second egg hatches.
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Outside the large, reinforced glass window of Room 402, the pale, hesitant sunlight of the early morning gradually bled into the harsh, vibrant neon glare of New Eridu's towering skyline. Day turned into night, and night surrendered to day in a seamless, exhausting loop of clinical white walls and blinking machines.
The first forty-eight hours were a suffocating, heavy blur of pristine sheets and agonizing silence.
Wise and Belle had established a silent, unspoken rotation. Random Play remained open, its neon sign flickering stubbornly against the gloomy days, but their usual routines were entirely reshaped. They took turns managing the video store and the Proxy network, ensuring one of them was always free to make the trip to the hospital room.
During her shift, Belle sat slouched in a rigid, terribly uncomfortable plastic hospital chair pulled right up to the very edge of the bed.
Her laptop was balanced precariously on her knees, the bright screen illuminating her exhausted face and the dark, bruised circles forming under her teal eyes. She was desperately trying to manage their Proxy network, rerouting servers, and fielding encrypted messages from increasingly frustrated clients who didn't understand the sudden delays of the Phaethon network.
Down by her feet was Eous, it mirrored her profound misery. The small, dark-grey Bangboo stood gripping the cold metal edge of the bedframe with its nubby, mechanical hands. Occasionally, it would reach out a small arm to lightly, hesitantly pat the edge of the heavy hospital blanket, as if trying to offer whatever comfort a machine could give.
When it was her turn to visit, Wise handled the logistics. She was a ghost of quiet, unwavering efficiency, moving around the room to ensure everything in his immediate environment was absolutely perfect, keeping her immense grief locked tightly behind a mask of professional Proxy stoicism.
When the hospital administration had discreetly handed her the preliminary billing for the emergency surgery, the rapid blood transfusions, the specialized orthopedics, and the premium ICU suite, the number printed at the bottom of the digital tablet was astronomical. It was a sum large enough to bankrupt an average family in New Eridu without breaking a sweat.
But Wise hadn't even blinked. She had simply pulled out an encrypted, jet-black card containing the heavily guarded, accumulated emergency funds of the legendary Proxy Phaethon, and paid the entire balance upfront in a single, cold transaction. The money meant absolutely nothing to her.
Sitting in the corner of the room, a small paring knife in her hand, she methodically peeled a red apple. The skin fell away in one long, perfect, unbroken spiral.
She knew Cedric was in a medically induced coma. She knew he couldn't eat it. He was currently being sustained entirely by the bags of clear and milky fluids running through the tubes taped securely to his uninjured left arm.
But her hands needed to move. She needed the fragile illusion of normalcy, the quiet, domestic repetition of preparing food for Cedric to stave off the crushing, suffocating guilt gnawing relentlessly at her insides.
Placed with the utmost care on the wide, pristine windowsill, bathing in the shifting city light, was the blue, cylindrical water-incubator. Belle had carefully, covertly transported it from the ruined apartment, unwilling to leave any part of his life behind in that shattered room.
The soft, azure light emanating from the thick fluid bathed the corner of the sterile room in a calming, oceanic glow. Inside, the Water-type egg pulsed with a steady, rhythmic heartbeat, a silent, glowing promise of the future, waiting patiently for its master to finally open his eyes.
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…
The feeling of absolute, paralyzing helplessness was a toxic, burning poison that Wise could not swallow.
She couldn't shake the memory of the camera feed. The horrifying image of Cedric, heavily battered and actively bleeding, planting his feet on the cracked concrete and using the last of his explosive, inexplicable strength to hurl Howl and Eous to safety.
He had willingly, deliberately left himself behind to be torn apart by the monsters in the dark just so they could live. Eous had simply been a camera. A fragile, helpless observer watching a tragedy unfold through a lens.
She couldn't allow that to happen ever again.
After her hospital shift ended, heading back to relieve Belle at the store, Wise carefully packed Eous into a discreet, padded carrier bag and walked out into the abrasive, noisy afternoon air of Sixth Street.
She bypassed the usual comforting coffee shops, the flashing lights of the arcade, and the steaming noodle stands. Her boots carried her straight toward the heavy, industrial thrum of the Turbo Remodeling Shop.
The air inside the garage was thick, almost chewable, heavy with the sharp, biting scent of machine oil, scorched metal, burning flux, and raw ozone. Bright orange sparks rained down like aggressive fireworks from the ceiling as heavy machinery operated in the background, a loud, chaotic symphony of New Eridu's mechanical heart.
Standing in the center of the organized chaos was Enzo.
The master mechanic was a towering, ruggedly built figure. A sturdy orange brimmed hat sat on his head, and thick, dark safety goggles completely obscured his eyes to protect them from the welding glare.
He wore a grease-stained plaid shirt beneath a heavy, orange leather apron emblazoned with the bold "Turbo" logo. A carved wooden pipe rested comfortably in the corner of his mouth, puffing a steady, rhythmic cloud of fragrant smoke into the high-ceilinged garage.
But his most defining feature was his right arm—a massive, industrial-grade mechanical limb composed of heavy-duty hydraulic pistons, exposed gears, and a thick, orange-painted gripping claw currently holding a high-torque power drill.
Wise approached the cluttered workbench and gently set Eous down on the scarred, oil-stained metal surface. The Bangboo let out a soft, confused whir, looking around the noisy, intimidating shop with wide digital eyes.
Enzo paused his work, wiping a smear of grease and sweat from his forehead with the back of his good hand and pushing his dark goggles up. He let out a booming, hearty laugh that rattled the heavy wrenches hanging on the pegboard.
"Well, well! If it isn't my favorite video store manager," Enzo rumbled, though his eyes held a sharp, knowing glint.
"Or should I say... my favorite local Proxy? What brings someone of your particular, underground talents to my humble, greasy abode today? The little guy here take a nasty hit during a... 'special delivery'?"
Wise didn't return the easy, knowing smile. Her teal eyes were dark, incredibly focused, and entirely serious.
"I need him upgraded, Enzo."
"Upgraded?" Enzo chuckled, puffing on his pipe and leaning against the workbench. "Sure thing. You want a better battery life? A faster processing chip? Maybe a high-definition projector lens? I've got some new audio processors in the back."
"No," Wise interjected, her voice smooth but carrying a chilling, razor-thin edge of absolute determination. "I need more than a tune-up. I need a complete, structural overhaul. I need him tougher. Much tougher."
Enzo's smile faded slightly, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He stared at her, the pipe dangling loosely from his lips.
"I need you to improve his chassis so he can take massive, blunt-force trauma without his internal processors shattering," Wise continued, her demands precise, cold, and calculated. "I need him to be able to survive environments that would crush a normal machine."
"Whoa, hold your horses there, missy," Enzo said, his tone turning serious as he tapped his massive mechanical claw against the metal workbench, the sound ringing loudly.
"Heavy armor? Structural overhauls? For a navigation model? Did this little Bangboo fall into a nest of Ethereals or something? You don't need to turn the poor guy into a miniature, walking tank just for a standard Hollow guiding job."
Wise offered a tight, perfectly polite, incredibly guarded smile. She didn't explain. She couldn't burden the mechanic with the reality of the blood she had seen.
"Let's just say... I want to be prepared for the absolute worst-case scenario. Can you do it?"
Enzo looked at her unwavering gaze. He sensed a fierce, terrifying protectiveness radiating from her that brooked absolutely no argument. He looked down at the small, innocent-looking Bangboo sitting on his table, then shrugged his broad shoulders, tapping the ash from his pipe into a nearby tray.
"Hey, the customer is always right in my shop. If you want him built like a mobile bunker, I can do it. By the time I'm done with him, a rogue cargo truck could ram him at full speed and he'll only walk away with a scratched paint job and an attitude problem. But it's gonna cost you a pretty penny for those heavy-duty, military-grade alloy parts."
"Money isn't an issue."
Wise turned and walked out of the shop, the heavy mechanical grinding, sparking, and welding sounds resuming behind her.
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..
The heavy, oppressive, suffocating silence of the ICU was completely and utterly annihilated on the third day.
The automatic double doors didn't just slide open; they practically shuddered on their electronic tracks as the Cunning Hares descended upon Room 402 like a chaotic, incredibly noisy hurricane of unfiltered energy.
Nicole was the first through the door. She carried a rather sad-looking, cellophane-wrapped fruit basket that proudly displayed a bright red "50% OFF - MUST GO!" sticker on the side, likely procured from a convenience store bargain bin down the street.
"I am telling you, it is absolute, downright extortion!" Nicole was currently loudly complaining to the acoustic ceiling tiles, flipping her long pink hair over her shoulder indignantly, completely ignoring the "Quiet Please" signs.
"Fifty Dennies an hour for the parking garage?! This is a hospital, a place of healing, not a luxury resort! They are legally robbing the sick, the poor, and the hardworking independent contractors of this city!"
Right behind her, Billy Kid strutted into the room, entirely oblivious to the concept of an 'indoor voice'. The tall guy was carrying a large, pristine cardboard box tucked carefully under his arm.
"Fear not, citizens!" Billy announced theatrically, striking a dynamic, heroic pose in the middle of the cramped hospital room that nearly knocked over a metal IV stand. He marched confidently over to the bedside table, carefully clearing away a box of tissues and a plastic water pitcher to make room for his prize.
He unboxed a highly detailed, incredibly expensive, limited-edition, fully articulated action figure of the Starlight Knight. He posed the plastic hero flawlessly, adjusting the joints until its miniature plastic sword was pointing bravely toward the door, standing eternal guard over the blinking medical equipment.
"There!" Billy declared, dusting off his mechanical hands proudly, his optical sensors glowing with satisfaction.
"The Starlight Knight is on duty! He will guard the perimeter and protect our boy from any encroaching nightmares! Villains beware, for justice never sleeps!"
Anby walked in last, completely ignoring the chaotic theatrics of her teammates. The white-haired girl was holding a brown paper bag from a local fast-food joint, the greasy, heavy smell of fried meat and melted cheese temporarily overpowering the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic in the room.
She walked quietly up to the bed, her bright green eyes staring intensely down at Cedric's sleeping, pale face. She stood there for a full two minutes, completely motionless, just observing the slow rise and fall of his bandaged chest with clinical, unblinking precision.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a massive, triple-patty burger loaded with extra pickles. She held it out toward his face, waiting patiently.
When Cedric failed to magically wake from his deep coma to accept the high-calorie offering, Anby simply nodded in understanding, slowly lowering her arm.
"Nutritional intake rejected. Caloric preservation engaged," Anby muttered in her flat, monotone voice. She meticulously unwrapped the burger and took a massive bite herself, chewing methodically right next to his bed, logically deciding the calories shouldn't go to waste.
But before the Cunning Hares were finally shooed out by a very annoyed, red-faced head nurse for exceeding the strict noise limit and violating several sanitary protocols, Anby lingered behind.
She reached deep into her pocket, pulled out the latest, freshly printed volume of a popular manga, and very carefully, very stealthily slid it underneath Cedric's pillow.
"For reading material," she whispered softly, giving his sleeping form a firm, solemn nod before gliding soundlessly out the door.
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…
In a dimly lit private office three floors below the ICU, the Head of Orthopedic Surgery was staring into the abyss of an impossible medical miracle.
The older man, his greying hair thinning after decades of impossible surgeries, sat heavily behind his wooden desk. He had isolated the terminal completely from the hospital's central network, refusing to let even a single byte reach the main servers. On the screen were two sets of scans belonging to the boy in Room 402 — the one they called Cedric.
The first set, taken on the day of admission, was a nightmare. The right femur snapped brutally in half, fragments jagged and wildly displaced. The left clavicle had been reduced to dust. Deep necrotic lacerations covered the right forearm, and initial bloodwork showed dangerous traces of volatile Ether corruption. By every known medical protocol, the boy should have been dead — or worse, turning into an Ethereal.
The second set had been taken just four hours ago.
The doctor leaned closer, zooming in on the microscopic images, his hand trembling slightly as he sipped the cold coffee. What he saw defied every law of human physiology.
The shattered femur was already fusing. Not merely healing, it was rebuilding. Osteoblasts worked at a terrifying speed, laying down thick layers of dense, robust woven bone callus far stronger than normal human bone. The pulverized collarbone shards were migrating and reattaching with eerie precision. Even the necrotic tissue was closing rapidly.
But the hematology report was what truly terrified him.
The boy's macrophages weren't just fighting the Ether infection, they were consuming it. The volatile particles were being broken down and converted into pure cellular energy, fueling an accelerated regeneration that showed no signs of telomere degradation. The daily blood draws now showed zero traces of Ether left in his system.
"This is completely, utterly illogical…" the doctor muttered to the empty room, running a trembling hand through his thinning hair.
"His body hasn't just survived the corruption. It has adapted to it. It… conquered it."
A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.
He knew the dark underbelly of New Eridu all too well. If this data ever reached the central database, the Hollow Investigative Association's bio-research division — or worse, certain "interested parties" within the corporations — would descend within minutes. They wouldn't see a teenage boy who had miraculously survived a Hollow disaster.
They would see a perfect, living specimen. A biological anomaly too valuable to be left free.
The doctor's eyes drifted to the framed Hippocratic Oath on the wall.
Primum non nocere.
(First, do no harm)
Handing this child over to the labs would be the greatest harm of all.
With a heavy sigh that carried the weight of his entire career, he began the illegal process. He carefully pulled up archival records of a deceased Hollow Raider who had suffered severe but ordinary blunt trauma, then started overwriting the boy's real files — scan by scan, report by report.
"The boy's body is regenerating like a monster…" he whispered, a primal shiver running down his spine as he permanently wiped the original X-ray data from the terminal. He was risking everything — his license, his freedom, perhaps even his life — to protect a boy he barely knew.
"So I'll make the world believe he's just a fragile, ordinary human."
What the doctor failed to realize was that in New Eridu, true digital isolation had always been a dangerous illusion.
Even before his final keystroke completed, a silent ghost protocol — a backdoor quietly planted months ago by skilled hands with deep connections — had already finished its work.
Miles away, in a subterranean chamber bathed in sickly, pulsing green Ether-light, rows of monitors flickered alive.
A perfect mirrored copy of the forbidden data streamed in: the impossible bone density, the aggressive woven callus stronger than steel, the macrophages that didn't merely resist Ether… but devoured it, turning corruption into fuel for monstrous regeneration.
A hooded figure sat motionless before the screens, fingers gently tracing the glowing cellular division rates. A slow, ecstatic smile spread across their lips, eyes burning with fervent devotion.
"The Creator has delivered unto us a true vessel," they murmured, voice thick with reverence.
"One who has begun the Ascension… naturally, without the need for the Elixir."
The hospital's main database might have been blinded.
But the shadows never slept.
And the Exaltists' hunt had already begun.
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…
While the daylight hours in Room 402 were filled with the quiet, domestic vigilance of Wise and Belle, or the chaotic, loud interruptions of their friends, the deep, graveyard hours of the night belonged to someone else entirely.
Back at the sprawling, immaculate estate of Victoria Housekeeping, Ellen Joe was currently living through her own personal, highly irritating brand of hell.
Her usually serene, lethargic days off were a thing of the distant past. The pristine estate had been completely, thoroughly overrun by a knee-high, blue, insatiable engine of absolute destruction.
In just three days, Gible had managed to chew a jagged, splintered hole straight into the intricately carved leg of a priceless, antique mahogany dining table. It had thrown a massive, screeching tantrum in the kitchen, aggressively demanding to eat the premium, A5 Wagyu Kobe beef that Lycaon had specifically reserved for a high-profile, incredibly wealthy client dinner.
And just yesterday, when Corin had accidentally stepped on its thick tail, Gible had inhaled deeply and blasted the poor, terrified maid with a point-blank Sand Attack, leaving Corin sobbing and vacuuming the expensive Persian rug for three hours straight.
Ellen hated the noise. She hated the extra, unpaid work. But mostly, she hated the way the little creature would look up at her with those big, round, innocent black eyes immediately after destroying something, completely melting her icy irritation into a reluctant, grudging fondness she didn't want to admit she possessed.
So, to escape the madness of the estate and to avoid the annoying, overly emotional daytime crowds at the hospital, Ellen only visited Room 402 long after midnight. She slipped past the drowsy nurses' station with the silent, completely undetected grace.
The door to the ICU clicked shut softly behind her. The room was bathed in the dim, rhythmic pulsing glow of the life-support monitors and the faint, amber city lights bleeding through the horizontal blinds.
Ellen wore her oversized, comfortable black hoodie, the hood pulled up to hide her face. Slung over her shoulder was a heavy, black nylon sports duffel bag.
Before she even reached the plastic visitor's chair, the bag began to vibrate aggressively against her hip.
Ziiiip.
Ellen yanked the zipper open. Gible didn't just climb out; it launched itself like a blue, muscular missile.
It hopped onto the small metal bedside table, carelessly knocking over a plastic cup of water, then took a flying leap, landing squarely on the very edge of Cedric's mattress. It completely ignored the sterile, heavily monitored environment.
It waddled frantically up the length of the white bed, its short, sharp claws incredibly careful not to snag the delicate IV lines or the monitoring wires taped to his skin.
When it reached Cedric's upper body, the creature stopped its frantic movement. It looked at the heavy, thick white cast encasing his ruined right arm, and the stark bandages wrapped across his chest.
But instead of whining pitifully in the dark, the energetic land-shark puffed out its chest. It leaned forward, gently nudging Cedric's pale, uninjured left fingers with its snout, and began to excitedly, clumsily babble into the silence of the room.
"Gyu-gi! Gi-ble..."
[Da-dad! I... I back! Dark bag is... so boring. But... brought outside smells! For you!]
It tapped its hands against the mattress, its round black eyes wide and animated as it delivered its daily, toddler-like status report to its sleeping master.
"Gyaaa! Gi-gi-gaa! Gible..."
[The... the very hairy man! Big and fuzzy! He has... yummy red meat! I ate a biiiig mountain! Nom nom nom! He got mad when I spit sand... but meat was so good!]
It wiggled its body happily, remembering the feast, before continuing its rapid-fire chirping.
"Gi-ble! Gyu-gyuu..."
[And... and the nice woman! With the... the flying things! She makes them dance! She gives bestest scratches right behind my fin. So warm...]
"Gaa-gi! Gyu!"
[And the little green-hair girl! She cries... cries a lot! Scared of everything! But I let her pet my head. She smells like... like scared, but nice!]
It paused, tilting its large head as it looked at Cedric's unresponsive, pale face. It gently nudged the edge of the heavy cast, its voice dropping into a softer, questioning trill.
"Gyuuu... gi?"
[Are you... still tired, Da-da? You sleep... sleep so much... You should wake up! Eat meat with me!]
Then, the creature turned its round body, pointing a stubby, blue claw directly at Ellen, who was currently dragging the plastic visitor's chair to the bedside.
"Gible! Gyu-gyu-giii! Gya-gi-gaa!"
[But... but don't worry! Mom! Mom is the bestest! She yells... rawr! Pretends to be mad... but she feeds me sweet brown dirt! And... and she lets me sleep on her back! It's so warm... just like you...]
Ellen, who had just unwrapped a dark cherry lollipop and placed it in her mouth, nearly choked on the plastic stick. Her crimson eyes widened in sheer, mortified panic. Although she couldn't speak Pokémon, she somehow understood what Gible was saying.
"Hey!" Ellen hissed, her cheeks dusting with a frantic, vivid shade of red. She quickly swatted Gible's pointing claw away.
"Don't go snitching on me to a guy in a coma! And 'sweet brown dirt'?! That was my premium chocolate cake! I did not share it, you stole it! And you invaded my bed, I didn't invite you!"
Gible just blinked its innocent, stark white pupils at her, letting out a happy, vibrating little snort before curling its heavy, dense body into a tight, warm ball right next to Cedric's hip. It rested its chin heavily on his uninjured arm, letting out a contented, rumbling purr.
Ellen huffed, her heavy black tail swishing defensively as she spun the rigid plastic chair around and sat backward, resting her chin heavily on the backrest.
She sat in the dark, the only sound the rhythmic, synthetic beeping of the heart monitor and Gible's soft, engine-like purr.
She glared at Cedric's sleeping face. He looked so incredibly fragile, so utterly breakable without his usual, gloomy, deadpan expression defending him from the harshness of the world.
"You are such an idiot," Ellen whispered into the quiet room, her voice deliberately low, harsh, and dripping with a manufactured, highly defensive annoyance to mask her earlier embarrassment.
"Look at you. You should have just stayed in the arcade where it's safe. Instead, you go and play hero in a collapsing Hollow and get yourself injured."
She took the lollipop out of her mouth, pointing the plastic stick at him accusingly, as if he could hear her.
"Wake up already, you stupid, weak Kouhai. Your annoying blue dirt-shark is a walking disaster. Do you have any idea how much the very hairy man's premium beef costs? You currently owe me exactly 150,000 Dennies in babysitting fees and property damage. And I'm charging you compound interest for every single day you make me carry this fat shark around the city."
Her words were sharp. She didn't like caring. Caring meant vulnerability.
But her actions betrayed every single, bitter syllable she spoke.
A cold, biting draft from the hospital's aggressive central air conditioning system blew from the overhead vent, causing the thin hospital blanket to slip down Cedric's chest, exposing his bandaged, bruised shoulder to the chill of the room.
Ellen stopped talking mid-sentence. She leaned forward, the heavy, muscular black shark tail behind her going completely, uncharacteristically still.
With a gentleness that completely contradicted the terrifying girl who had violently bisected a Ethereal with giant, frozen ice-loppers, Ellen reached out.
Her fingers—cool, calloused from combat, and usually so quick to strike—pinched the very edge of the cotton blanket. She carefully, meticulously pulled the fabric back up, tucking it securely and warmly around Cedric's uninjured shoulder to keep the chill away.
She let her hand linger for a fraction of a second against the fabric. Her piercing crimson eyes drifted downward, staring in utter, profound silence at the massive, white cast hiding the mangled, shredded remains of his right arm.
The vivid memory of the sheer, terrifying volume of blood flowing through her hands flashed violently in her mind, a waking nightmare she couldn't seem to shake no matter how many times she scrubbed her hands.
The sharp, biting annoyance melted away completely, leaving behind a quiet, highly vulnerable, and incredibly rare sorrow that she couldn't hide in the dark.
"Just... wake up soon," she murmured, her voice breaking slightly, barely a breath, softer than the hum of the life-support machines.
She sat back in the dark, the lollipop completely forgotten in her hand, watching the steady, incredibly slow rise and fall of his chest.
The silence stretched out, heavy and absolute, broken only by the rhythmic pulse of the machinery.
But then, as the very first pale light of dawn threatened to break the city horizon, a sudden, subtle shift occurred. The steady, metronomic beep of the heart monitor hitched. It skipped a beat, then accelerated slightly, the green line spiking with a sudden surge of internal adrenaline.
Ellen froze, her crimson eyes snapping up to the screen, her breath catching in her throat.
Down on the mattress, beneath the gentle, heavy pressure of Gible's resting chin, Cedric's pale, uninjured left hand trembled. It wasn't an involuntary spasm. It wasn't a trick of the dim lighting.
Slowly, fighting against the suffocating weight of days of unconsciousness, his index finger twitched. It curled inward with deliberate, agonizing effort, weakly but unmistakably brushing against the rough, warm scales of the blue dragon resting beside him.
Gible's fins immediately perked up, its round eyes flying open in the dark.
The sleeping beauty was finally waking up.