The wooden box sat on a pedestal in the center of Lian's high-tech laboratory, a silent threat amidst the hum of modern machinery. Lian had spent the night analyzing the residue on the lid—a rare, neurotoxic orchid pollen that didn't exist in any current botanical database.
Shao-Hui wasn't just here. He was playing with the laws of nature.
"If you stare at it any harder, it might catch fire," Jin-Ho's voice drifted from the doorway.
Lian didn't turn. "He is faster than I remembered. He bypassed three layers of biometric security to place this here. If he wanted me dead, I wouldn't have woken up."
"But he doesn't want you dead," Jin-Ho said, walking into the room. He was dressed in athletic gear, his usual playful smirk replaced by a look of grim determination. "He wants to break you. He knows your weakness. He knows that in a fight, if he touches you, you'll collapse."
Lian's hands clenched into fists. The truth was a bitter pill. His Haphephobia was no longer just a psychological burden; it was a tactical liability. In his previous life, he was a master of close-quarters combat. In this life, he was a god who could be toppled by a handshake.
"We start today," Jin-Ho stated.
Lian finally turned, his eyes narrowing. "Start what?"
"Desensitization. You're a doctor, Lian. You know the only way to kill a phobia is to face it." Jin-Ho stepped into the center of the room, clearing a space on the mats. "You need to retrain your brain to realize that contact isn't an attack. And since I'm the only one you haven't tried to kill for standing too close, I'm your sparring partner."
The Sparring of ShadowsThe training was a descent into hell.
Lian stood across from Jin-Ho, his breath already shallow. The "Extreme Loneliness" he felt was a protective shell, and Jin-Ho was trying to crack it.
"I'm going to move toward you," Jin-Ho said, his voice low and grounding. "Slowly. I want you to track my movement. Don't look away."
As Jin-Ho stepped forward, Lian's nervous system ignited. His skin began to itch, a phantom heat spreading across his chest. His vision blurred at the edges—the hallmark of a looming panic attack.
"Stop," Lian wheezed.
Jin-Ho stopped. He didn't pull back. "Look at my hands, Lian. They are just hands. They aren't the Viper's needles. They aren't your father's grip. They're just... me."
Jin-Ho reached out, moving with agonizing slowness toward Lian's forearm. Lian's heart hammered so hard it felt like it would crack his ribs. Just as Jin-Ho's fingertips brushed the silk of Lian's sleeve, Lian's knees buckled.
He didn't hit the floor. Jin-Ho caught him, his arms wrapping around Lian's waist to steady him.
The contact was a physical explosion.
Lian's mind screamed. He saw flashes of the White Room, the cold prison, the betrayal. He struggled, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, but Jin-Ho held firm, not with force, but with a steady, unyielding warmth.
"I've got you," Jin-Ho whispered into his ear. "Stay here. Don't go back to the dark. Stay in the room with me."
Slowly, the white noise in Lian's head began to fade. He realized he wasn't dying. The touch was firm, but it wasn't painful. It was... anchoring. For the first time in two lifetimes, the touch of another human being felt like a shield rather than a sword.
Lian slumped against Jin-Ho's chest, his forehead resting on the man's shoulder. He was trembling, his breath coming in jagged sobs, but he didn't pull away.
The Viper's StrikeThe moment of peace was shattered by the shrill ring of the estate's emergency line.
Lian shoved himself away from Jin-Ho, his face ghostly pale but his eyes snapping back to their icy clarity. He answered the phone.
"Young Master!" Mr. Song's voice was frantic. "It's the Chairman! He... he collapsed at the office. He's not breathing, and the paramedics say his blood is... it's turning black."
Lian's blood turned to ice. Septicemia? No. Shao-Hui.
"Don't let them touch him with bare hands!" Lian roared into the phone. "Get a vacuum-sealed oxygen mask on him and get him to my private clinic. Now!"
He turned to Jin-Ho, his hands no longer shaking. The training was over. The war had begun.
"He struck my father," Lian said, his voice a low, lethal hum. "He's using him as bait to draw me out."
Jin-Ho grabbed his jacket, his fox-like eyes glowing with a predatory light. "Then let's go fishing. I've already got the Nebula security teams surrounding the hospital. If that silver-haired bastard shows his face, he won't get a second chance."
Lian grabbed his medical kit—the one filled with both modern antidotes and ancient herbal essences. He looked at his hand—the one Jin-Ho had just held. The skin still tingled, but the fear was gone, replaced by a cold, burning purpose.
"He thinks I'm still the student," Lian whispered, walking toward the door with the grace of a reaper. "He's about to find out what happens when the student surpasses the master."
As they raced through the city streets, the mystery deepened. Why would Shao-Hui target the father Lian supposedly hated? The answer lay in the black blood—a message written in the language of shadows that only Lian could translate.
The game was no longer about survival. It was about who could hold their breath the longest in the dark.