Chapter 116
Chapter 116
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: Chapter 9: Star Fall (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***
The next morning, the Professor woke up groaning from his hangover and headache, only to find his friends huddled together in the living room.
“Ughhh, I’m dying. Corduro, water... get me some water...”
Corduro, who had been buzzing around busily, spotted the Professor’s disheveled face and presented him with a pre-prepared glass of water—
“Here, this is what the others were drinking... Gasp! Master!”
Clang!
“There’s blood on your head!!!”
He dropped it.
“Ugh... I scratched my scalp with my nails without thinking.”
Life in the wasteland had conditioned him so that his eyes snapped open precisely at 6 a.m. The first thing a hungover person does upon waking? ‘Ugh, my head...’ while clutching their head. The problem was that if his hand clutched his head like that right now, it could really smash his skull like a tomato with its weapon-like danger.
[At least that solves your headache. You wouldn’t feel pain if you turned your brain into juice, idiot.]
‘...I’m not thanking you. Hurry up and fix it.’
If Hyde hadn’t freaked out and stopped his hand, he would’ve been seriously hurt.
This left arm. The blood seeping from the scratch on his scalp had jolted him awake, and he’d immediately demanded Hyde revert it.
‘It’s your body! If I took it, you gotta know how to use it!’
[Hahaha. It’s hard for a pathetic amateur like Professor Park, who owns nearly 90% of this body but can’t even use it properly, to understand, but transforming the body isn’t a technique—it’s closer to art, something that relies on inspiration...]
‘Cut to the chase. Conclusion?’
[Heh heh, can’t do it. Sorry!]
...That’s what it was. He’d have to live with this creepy, pitch-black arm for a while—maybe forever—until either he or Hyde figured out a way.
‘For now, I should consciously avoid moving my left arm. One slip and I could punch a hole in the shelter.’
There were plenty of inconveniences, but some conveniences too. Like sweeping up broken glass with his bare hand. He’d have to explore that step by step.
“So, what were you all doing huddled up here?”
The Professor swept aside the broken cup and took a sip of the fresh cold water Corduro brought him as he spoke.
Sure enough, the guys who would normally fuss over his arm or the wound just glanced at the blood trickling from his forehead, grinned wide, and turned their heads toward the kitchen.
“What, is there something in the kitchen—Whoa!”
“Sshhh! Don’t interrupt!”
Ian, looking nothing like the tragic figure from last night and instead flustered beyond belief, grabbed the Professor’s shoulder as he tried to enter the kitchen and shoved him down behind the sofa where they were hiding.
“No, wait, Bex, you too? You’re injured, why are you out here—”
“Cynthia’s using the kitchen! She’s making us breakfast!”
“What? Why her? Corduro, were you busy this morning?”
“No! Nothing’s more important than taking care of you masters! I was just going to boil some clear soup with the leftover ingredients, but the new young miss was already in there!”
Zzzing—
In response to the Professor’s question, Corduro shook his lenses wildly and pulled up footage recorded that morning.
‘Mi-Miss Cynthia? You weren’t sleeping?’
‘I always wake up at this time.’
‘I see. But why... Oh no! You can’t touch that! It’s shiny and pretty, sure, but that’s not a toy—it’s a knife! A knife! Touch it and ouch! It’s dangerous...!’
‘Are you stupid?’
‘Yes?’
‘If there’s cooking ingredients, a cutting board, and a knife in the kitchen, what kind of person is holding them?’
‘W-Well... a cook?’
‘Right. Mom said taking someone else’s stuff is bad, but food is really precious. Leaving it to a dummy like you is wasting precious food, so this kitchen’s mine from now on. Got it?’
.
.
.
.
Zzzing—click!
“That’s how it happened.”
“Kuhuk! Isn’t she just the best? So sharp and clever!”
“Hear that rhythmic chopping? Her grip’s solid! You can tell her knife stance is perfect just from the sound!”
“...So that’s why you three are holed up behind the sofa making faces like total dorks?”
No wonder. He’d thought it odd that these guys, as wasted as he was last night, were weirdly excited. It was all thanks to the kid’s morning antics.
[But doesn’t Corduro’s cooking taste way better? He says he’s a drone, but this whole shelter is basically his body, right? I know there’s an auto-cooking system in the kitchen.]
‘Let it be. She’s a kid who bounced around foster homes. Think about how many times she got kicked out after losing her parents. How sharp her survival instincts must be.’
At an age when kids still whined to their parents, she’d already lost both and figured out her own ways to survive.
“Ahem! That’s good news. When I was a kid, I liked my dream house so much I did chores without being asked. Looks like she likes it here.”
‘Idiot! Being like Jor back then means she’s been hurt enough to turn sociopathic!’
“Damn it all! How did I not think of that! I’ll go right now and—”
Crack!
This time, the Professor grabbed Ian as he lunged forward and shoved him back behind the sofa.
“Just go wait at the table. Our job is to devour whatever she brings like it’s the world’s greatest delicacy. That’ll ease her mind. Proving your worth is the easiest way to get accepted as part of the group.”
“Hmph! We’re not accepting Cynthia like that—!”
‘It’s not us—it’s how she sees it. This won’t resolve in a day or two. She’s a kid. Ten years old. Forcing ‘You’ll be happy here from now on’ is less comfortable than letting her get used to it naturally. She doesn’t seem that fragile from how she talks. Wasteland kids grow up fast.’
The Professor said this while peeking over the sofa. The girl, wearing a massive T-shirt down to her ankles with KILL! scrawled across the back like a billboard, was busily working atop a wooden chair. Seeing her cute furrowed brow somehow melted away his lingering hangover. Damn. She was cute as hell.
“I’ll have to get her some proper clothes later. We’ve got all those pretty ones from the Dome—why’s she wearing that? Isn’t that yours, Ian? From the drying rack.”
“Seems she snuck it. Actually... she hid a bunch of stuff. While you masters slept, she wandered around grabbing things and stashing them under the bed. She folded her pretty outfit nicely and put it in there too.”
What Corduro’s footage showed was a neat pile of odds and ends under the sofa in the only bedroom-like connector room in the house.
“Kleptomaniac... There were plenty like her at the orphanage.”
“Is she planning to leave? Did we do something to make Cynthia hate us...”
“Shh! Cynthia’s coming!”
The four stared seriously at Corduro’s screen, then at Azel’s signal, popped up from behind the sofa with perfectly bright smiles. There were issues, but right now, the most important thing was eating the breakfast the kid had made since dawn.
***
What the kid made was, astonishingly, actual food.
A stew of potatoes, carrots, onions, and various veggies cut into neat rounds, simmered with meat.
“Huaa! Delicious! My gut’s clearing right up! Right, Bex?”
“Y-Yeah! Everything’s perfectly cooked!”
“In the Dome, when someone’s sick, they make stew like this until the contents are all mushy!”
Thanks to their pre-coordinated plan, the three kept their heads buried in their bowls like it was the best food on earth. Cynthia watched them contentedly, twisting her body.
“Mom said... simmering it like this lets you absorb every single nutrient without missing any...”
“Mhm! That’s right! You learned well!”
“Wow! I can feel strength surging already!”
It was stew, at least in form. No seasonings—just prepped ingredients dumped in and boiled, from the looks of it. Up close, there were oddly cut veggie scraps. Probably clumsy chops that got trimmed and reused.
Bex, Ian, and Azel with their faces in the bowls, slurping stew that still reeked of pig and grass. And Cynthia beaming at them.
[Something’s off?]
‘No kidding. She’s sly as a fox.’
Slurred speech. Feeble, uncertain movements like a fragile creature. Nothing like the sharp girl in Corduro’s footage.
‘Snatching stuff, playing the innocent little girl card. Guess she bounced around more homes than I thought. Pretty sly, huh?’
[Doesn’t seem as pure as we thought. But... you look happy?]
‘Heh heh heh, do I?’
He couldn’t help it. The Dome foster parents who’d taken Cynthia in before probably wanted the image of a pure little girl rediscovering happiness in a new home. But he was different.
Tap tap.
His left hand felt like a tiny bird pecking with its beak, so he looked down to see the kid sidle up and poke his hand with her finger.
“Daddy... not eating?”
“I’ve eaten plenty. And don’t call me Daddy—call me Uncle. Professor Park. That’s my name. Call me whatever you want, but not Daddy.”
Unlike the other three who lit up at her every word, his calm reply made Cynthia furrow her brow slightly. The Professor chuckled.
‘She’s Luvil’s daughter, the one who handled assassinations and intel in the 14th Special Forces. Her dad would be proud.’
She was his comrade’s kid, killed because of him, but he wasn’t planning to just spoil her rotten. She was in the wasteland now—wasteland rules applied. Hiding her true feelings and scheming to fool adults at her age? Excellent! She’d be fun to raise!
[...Maybe the orphanage would’ve been better for you, Cynthia.]
And so, the Professor drank the leftover broth from his bowl while watching his three friends sneak glances at each other over boiled cucumber and Cynthia pout a bit. It was fishy, but the warm liquid warming his insides felt good.
***
After breakfast, the four gathered side by side on the living room sofa like it was planned.
“Azel, no work today?”
“The Director gave me leave with the booze.”
“Kuh huh huh, living the dream.”
“That’s how much the Audit Division values ties with BDSM. Look, the community’s blowing up.”
Now with four, the Professor’s morning routine was checking the community for new info. Every morning, 20-30 posts piled up steadily, and even trivia built up to reveal the big picture.
Of course, today was way different.
========
[HOT! Post #1] - Dome-Raptor Massive Clash Causes 47th District Checkpoints, Safe Zone Changes. What’s the New Faction BDSM? by Team Hermes (1058)
---
* Type 3 Variants: All Known Traits and Precautions. With All Humanity Infected, Where Does Human End and Variant Begin? (49)
---
* Must-See! Raptor Defeat and Consequent Wasteland Major Faction Territory Changes (Speculation) (52)
---
* This post has been deleted.
---
* It’s Time! Humanity to the Next Stage! The Truth Behind Evolved Human Professor Park! (287)
---
* So who the hell is this Park whatever? All bullshit? (1285)
.
.
.
.
.
========
“What a shitshow?”
“Fucking insane.”
The Professor’s head throbbed as he scrolled through the community plastered top to bottom with Dome, Raptor, BDSM, Professor Park.
“Corduro, summarize?”
“We’re processing, but... it’s updating live, so hard to pin down precisely?”
“Rough summary?”
“Hmm... War-related: 685. Speculative rumors: 7320. BDSM member info and known activities: 2. Inaccurate rumors: about 2400.”
“Whoa...”
“First time in nearly 2 years the community’s this flooded. At this rate, it’ll surpass the post count from when 53rd Dome fell.”
“Hey, check this. You’ve got a cult now in your name. ‘Professor Park Lord’? Says the half-variant human who communes with all variants will lead a variant legion to purify the world.”
“What’s that meta-human? Marvel shit?”
“Hmph! You’ve got a fan club too!”
“Ugh, don’t shove that crap at me. Gonna puke.”
In the end, they gave up sifting truth from nonsense and exaggeration. From the info flood still swelling, what the Professor gleaned was:
Their faces were known worldwide.
His current state—especially the left arm—was drawing massive attention, with photos in every post.
And if they didn’t correct the rampant misinformation now, it’d spiral into uncontrollable nonsense.
The third point mattered most. New posts already claimed BDSM had swallowed 47th District, new recruits topped 30k ordering thousands of prefab shelters, running Dome factories full tilt—pure rumors.
“Hey, I gotta log in now. Anything you need me for? Dangerous spot or something?”
“Ignore it and do your thing. Leave this and tomorrow we’ll be treated like new world gods and apostles. I’ll swing by Dome, scout 47th. Fame like this would be dumb not to use. Got tons of messages on my account too. ‘Great vid, can I buy the guns from the war?’ Even got a contact from Life & Murder Inc. about distribution.”
Checking the community clarified today’s plans. Bex, still needing rest, stays home teaching Cynthia about the wasteland (he was thrilled). Ian to Dome for business meetings. Professor to 47th chat for BDSM official statement.
“When you coming back?”
“Evening? Mouth off a bit, game a while, then out.”
Creak—crick creak!
“Argh, come on!”
The Professor grumbled as he forced his awkward left arm into the connector. It fit since it was free-size, but uncomfortable—he’d need Dome mods or something later.
“That game... think you can fix it? Hyde side?”
“Our only hope right now. Gotta cling to it.”
For now, just the arm changed, so he could play it off as a handy new tool. But if Hyde took more?
Until recently, it was vague fear of losing his body to another mind in his head. Now he felt the change. Fear of his body turning monster against his will. He played it cool, but he was desperate. Find a way ASAP. Back to normal, or at least separate from Hyde so no more control loss.
Scraaaape—click!
The connector closed with the scrape of sharp nails on the lid. The neuro-sensor linked at his nape, flooding his vision with the familiar screen.
[47th District Chat: 3245]
“God damn. Lightning promotion.”
The chat that peaked at 500 from recent streams now had over 3k. Weak signals blocked outsiders, so half the connector users around 47th were here.
Even the iron-stomached Professor couldn’t help tensing.
He carefully hit enter.
“Holy shit...”
The chat scrolled up like missiles launching.
- PapuaNewType: How many times I gotta say it, moron! Gear type! Detachable! Symbiotic! Don’t you get it? No way he uses it that freely otherwise!
- arms5275: You clueless variant-fuck who doesn’t know shit—why so cocky? Variants are viruses! Shove a fist of lead shot in your gut, variants don’t cure it! They just hijack the corpse! No fancy symbiosis!
- TaxSummon: Correct. Professor Park reaching ‘variant-ization,’ a new evolutionary stage, is a miracle, divine calling. Bow and worship. A new world dawns soon. Before the gates of salvation close, hasten to Lord Park—
+ TaxSummon has been kicked from the chat.
- D.Asset3315: Excessive spam/agitation will be sanctioned. This 47th chat is under Dome Broadcast Support Dept. Official policy to be announced after discussion with Professor Park.
- Heung An Mandu: Is this a dream or reality...
- Take a Look: Knew you’d go big, but not this sudden explosion. Name’s Professor Park too? ‘professor’ your real name?
- WhiteSmith: Bastard? I’ll chop your fingers off! He’s my buddy! Oi! Respect! Professor sir! Savior sir!
- Take a Look: Fuck off! Years before you simps sucked him dry, we were bantering! Who the hell are you, punk! Piss off!
- Holy: Saw professor at the hospital! He was yelling and running around, didn’t hear me call! Levit sis said she talked to him!
- WhiteSmith: Ooooh! You beheld his visage!
- aiosye2222: Was his arm really that black and massive?
- InstantPain: Did his eyes shine with holy light like the rumors?
- soeor732: They say Savior’s holy hand (聖手) causes accidents even in sleep—is it true?!
- InSaint: Hospital! Badly hurt?! Is that why he hasn’t shown...
- Holy: I-I don’t knooow!!! Just heard from a cosplay-loving sis!
- Deer Drug Please: Sponcha. Know anything? I’ll pay.
- Speed Wagon: Busy. Fucking. Dogshit. Don’t. Talk. To. Me.
+ Player `professor` has entered.
It stopped. The chat flood rushing upward halted like the screen froze.
‘Argh, fuck! So tense! Act normal, just like always...
- professor: Hi, Professor Park here...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Silence. Unbelievable in the chat that was blazing moments ago—no messages.
- Deer Drug Please: Ah, Professor, welcome.
- professor: Uh, yeah... hey. Long time.
- Deer Drug Please: Pay the fine. Remember? 500 sil for muddying waters with outsiders.
The usual banter proving who he was played out before the masses—
- asdklj223: Waaaaaa!!!!
- upoxui: Waaaaaa!!!!
- NucleicAcidAlcohol: He’s here! It’s really him!
- InSaint: Savior! Savior! Savior! Savior!Savior! Savior! Savior! Savior!Savior! Savior! Savior! Savior!Savior! Savior! Savior! Savior!Savior! Savior! Savior! Savior!
- InstantPain: Professor Park! Teach us Type 3 variant secrets!
- aiosye2222: My husband! My dead husband turned Type 2! Locked in shelter—can he still be saved?!
- Gorilla: True you solo’d Raptor’s main tank brigade?!
- ubabababa: Put me in BDSM! Strong as hell! 44th!
- CountryIdiot: Heard attack on Raptor Nest planned! True?!
- omniman: One word please!
- eir213: Professor Park!
- 78784343: professor sir! Just one word!
- Janist99: Professor Park!!!
The chat exploded.
***
***