On the other side, Aiden Cross, who had been forcefully stuffed with candy, let out a helpless sigh.
He returned to his laboratory bench.
Aiden Cross was the leader of this team. Not long ago, their team's new research project had achieved a breakthrough, right at a critical moment.
It was precisely at that moment that Aiden Cross had been hit by a large truck, forcing him to bind to a system and complete tasks to revive himself.
After finally seeing hope in his research, it would have been such a pity if he had died.
...
Half a year later.
Inside a luxurious VIP ward of a private hospital.
A woman sat in a wheelchair, staring blankly out the window.
Her aristocratic, coldly beautiful face now had a faint flush of color, and her long dark brown hair was shinier than it had been when she first awakened, loosely hanging down behind her.
The aura around her sent chills down one's spine. Her subordinates standing behind her trembled uncontrollably.
"Did you find him?"
The woman's icy voice echoed in the silent room.
"R-Report, Miss Rory Yates, we've expanded the search nationwide, but relying on just a name, it's still—"
"I'm asking you — did you find him?"
Her sharp tone cut off her subordinates' words, tinged with anger.
The subordinates immediately shivered and stammered, "N-no… not yet."
"Out."
"Yes!"
The subordinates all bowed and huddled against themselves, literally "rolling" out.
Rory's sharp eyes returned to the window, tinged with a hint of confusion.
More than half a year ago, she had been sabotaged by a competitor and accidentally fallen into a deep coma, surviving only thanks to medical equipment.
During the six months of unconsciousness, she drifted in a daze, reviewing her life through her dreams.
At some point, a figure appeared in her dreams.
This figure, like an inescapable nightmare, constantly entangled her.
She hated this figure.
When she was seven years old, Rory had spilled water on the floor because she didn't carry a tray properly.
Her mother slapped her face.
Her face immediately became red and swollen.
Rory remembered this incident — she would never forget it.
At ten, she had failed to score a perfect grade on an exam and was punished by her father, locked inside a cupboard.
The darkness devoured her reason. No matter how she screamed, no one came to open the door for her.
From then on, she developed a fear of darkness.
At fifteen, she refused a family-arranged marriage and was beaten while suspended by ropes by her parents. Yet she still refused to submit.
At eighteen, she slammed documents proving her company shares into her father's face, showing that she could manage the family business herself rather than being a mere decorative "flower vase" with the sole purpose of a marriage alliance.
She won. She triumphed. She proved herself to her parents.
But her psychological disorder never disappeared.
Her room had to be lit at night. She feared the dark.
Until he appeared.
Rory did not know when he appeared or where he came from.
She only knew he understood her deeply.
Even more than she understood herself.
When she was thirsty, he would immediately hand her a glass of warm water.
When she feared the dark, he would appear with a flashlight.
Rory scoffed at this kind of care.
Her childhood experiences had shaped her into an extreme personality.
The more someone treated her well, the more she wanted to hurt them.
So she hit him, cursed at him, mocked him.
But no matter how vicious she was, he always accepted everything with gentle eyes, looking down calmly.
Even when Rory woke from nightmares, she saw a young man staying awake all night by the desk lamp.
The dream was too real. So real that every time Rory turned, she felt he was still standing behind her.
Then, a disaster destroyed him.
It was a fire. Rory was trapped in flames, surrounded by firelight.
Just as she believed that her misdeeds had summoned divine punishment, he appeared again.
He risked everything to carry her through the flames, taking falling debris on himself, determined to get her out safely.
Rory was shocked and moved.
Then, he died before her eyes.
He died, his body scorched, still telling her to live well.
Rory held his body, feeling heartache like knives for the first time.
Then… she woke up.
Ha.
Ridiculous.
Looking at the pristine white ward and the cold medical devices, Rory curled her lips into a bitter laugh.
"So… it was all a dream."
It was all fake.
There was no one in the world who would care for her entirely; it had all been a fleeting illusion.
Yet she could not escape that dream. How absurd.
She had fallen in love with a false person in a dream.
She even traced his figure in her mind many nights before sleep, just to see him once more in dreams.
Rory regretted it.
She regretted not treating him better.
In the dream, she had done nothing but evil.
Awake, she sank into loneliness and remorse.
This was what she deserved.
Perhaps a little psychological consolation, perhaps the result of longing for him madly — after finishing her rehabilitation training, she issued an absurd order.
To find a man named Aiden Cross.
Age unknown, appearance only describable, birthplace unknown, family background unknown.
It was even uncertain if such a person existed.
Absurd.
But Rory insisted on finding him.
Even if it were a substitute who looked the same and bore the same name.
At this moment, Rory's doctor friend, Tanya Moore, pushed open the door.
"Rory, you're daydreaming again."
Tanya's hair was tied in a ponytail with soft curls at the ends. She said,
"Finally, after rehabilitation and subsequent treatment, you've regained mobility. You should make the most of it and go out more."
Rory ignored her, staring out the window.
She kept recalling his figure, unwilling to let him vanish from her memory.
If she forgot, where else could she find him?
Seeing the coldly beautiful CEO still sitting like an ice sculpture in the wheelchair, Tanya sighed.
She grabbed the nearby remote and turned on the TV.
"Our CEO cannot be disconnected from the world. Let's watch some news."
"Right now, we are at—"
The TV reporter was conducting an interview with a background that looked like a laboratory.
"Turn it off."
Rory cold voice came. "Annoying."
Tanya, though both a friend and private doctor, did not dare to slack off in front of this still-patient woman.
"Alright."
"Wait!"
Rory's pupils suddenly contracted as she slowly rose from the wheelchair.
—After six months of rehabilitation training, she could move freely. Using the wheelchair had been purely out of habit.
She stood, her striking phoenix eyes staring directly at the TV.
On the screen, a female reporter was interviewing the head of a team inside a laboratory.
"We've invited the team leader, Aiden Cross, and now we…"
On TV, the man in a white lab coat spoke elegantly, unflinching in front of the camera.
The person being interviewed looked exactly like the figure in her memory.
Appearance, name.
How could there be someone in the world so identical?
Watching her friend Rory nearly get hypnotized by the television, Tanya Moore turned her gaze toward the news broadcast.
It was nothing more than a reporter interviewing a laboratory.
"Oh, they've made a breakthrough in research and developed a targeted new drug for clinical use," the reporter explained.
Tanya Moore commented casually, "Pretty impressive. Especially the team leader—he's really handsome."
Her words had just left her mouth when the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees.
The source was her friend—who had just awakened from a vegetative state.
Then, her friend and heiress picked up the phone, her tone commanding and impossible to refuse:
"Bring that Aiden Cross here for me."
...
"Phew."
Tina Smith exhaled in relief.
"Finally done with the interview. I was so nervous. Hey, Vivian, want to go eat some barbecue?"
"No," Vivian quickly refused.
Because Senior Aiden absolutely would never attend such a casual gathering.
"Oh, what a pity."
"Hey, take me with you."
"Sure, come on."
Aiden Cross dismissed the interviewers and turned to say, "Go ahead, it's on me."
As the team leader, it was only proper for him to host a celebratory dinner.
Though he disliked crowded places, he wasn't completely ungracious.
Vivian, who had initially refused, immediately changed her mind.
"Yeah, we should celebrate. I'll go too."
The others immediately cheered, "Yay!"
They finished their remaining tasks and moved to the designated dining area.
The private room was lively, full of laughter and chatter, and Aiden Cross, rare as it was, allowed a faint smile to appear.
Vivian sat in the third seat to his left. From a few seats away, she quietly observed him.
Unfortunately, Aiden Cross did not touch alcohol at all, leaving her little plan of "taking advantage of the moment" completely thwarted.
After the dinner, Aiden personally sent everyone off one by one, standing alone in the damp, chilly night while waiting for the next car.
The moon was half-covered by clouds. He looked down the empty road and suddenly felt it seemed unfamiliar.
He glanced behind.
No one. The hotel was brightly lit, the faint sound of conversations drifting down from above.
Yet, his instincts pricked. Something felt off.
It was as if a venomous snake was watching him from the shadows.
His hand twitched at his side, counting seconds. When the next car didn't arrive, he turned and headed back into the hotel.
Passing through the lobby and corridors, the sense of being watched finally eased.
A polite attendant asked, "Sir, do you have a reservation?"
"I left something in the private room," Aiden replied, politely refusing the staff's offer to help, walking past the lobby and heading up the stairs.
At that moment, he noticed two ordinary-looking men ascending the stairs from below.
They clearly knew each other, speaking in low tones.
"Where did he go?"
"Upstairs."
What the hell?
Seeing this, Aiden's mind raced, reviewing his life at lightning speed.
Had he offended anyone?
He was just a quiet student doing experiments—no theft, no murder, no alcohol, no smoking, minimal social contact.
Why was he being targeted?
He dared not gamble that they weren't after him. The worst-case scenario was the safest assumption.
He needed to find a way to lose them.
Aiden quickly climbed the steps, intending to loop around from another direction.
Suddenly, a private room door burst open, a hand shot out, and yanked him inside!
Thud!
His back slammed against the wall, the door shutting behind him.
"Shh, don't make a sound."
A subtle, elegant fragrance instantly enveloped him. A soft, delicate hand pressed firmly over his mouth.
At the same time, Aiden saw her face clearly.
Gold-rimmed glasses framed her, exuding a refined, almost ascetic aura. Her peach-blossom eyes were clear and captivating, drawing him in.
A small, reddish mole at the corner of her eye didn't mar her flawless face—it enhanced her charm, adding a hint of allure.
They were so close that Aiden could see each eyelash individually.
For a moment, he forgot the softness of her touch; all his attention went to her face.
Not because it was beautiful—but because it was familiar.
How was she here?!
Half a year's worth of memories surged into his mind.
This woman in front of him was no stranger. She had been one of the protagonists in his system tasks.
Nia Yumo.
She was the most special among the four targets.
In that system space, he had been required to "pursue" four vegetative individuals, who would awaken only after experiencing extreme emotional fluctuations caused by his death in front of them.
The other three had either been trapped into comas or suffered accidents; Nia was different. She had attempted suicide, rescued in time, but her subconscious had resisted waking.
When Aiden completed his task in her dream and "died" before her, the extreme emotional shock finally roused her from her deep coma.
Realizing it was her, Aiden instantly masked his surprise, pretending not to recognize her.
Regardless of why she was here, the first rule was clear: never reveal any emotion.
Nia Yumo had a "special ability" to sense subtle emotional changes in others with extreme accuracy.
This ability came from her mother—not genetically, but through forced training.
Her mother suffered from bipolar disorder, swinging between depression and mania unpredictably. One moment crying, the next destroying objects in a rage.
Living with her mother, Nia had developed the instinct to detect emotional shifts instantaneously.
It was not a gift, but a survival mechanism born of pain.
Because of this, Nia was naturally suspicious. If she guessed Aiden recognized her, explaining himself would be impossible.
Where had he known her? From when? Why? He could not answer any of these questions.
Avoidance was the only solution.
Aiden's lips brushed her soft hand, his own pressed tight in silent compliance.
But she did not release him. Instead, she pressed closer.
The feeling of constriction increased. Those captivating peach-blossom eyes came nearer. The mole at the corner glowed red, clearer than ever.
Suddenly, the woman leaned down, pressing into his neck.
She inhaled deeply, as if drawing his very breath into her lungs.
"Thank goodness."
Excitement colored her voice, slightly husky, relief evident: "You're still alive… you're here."
"Is this a dream? Am I still dreaming?"
The warm, damp breath on his neck sent a jolt through Aiden.
Not good.
How… how does she still remember me?!