Chapter 13 Doctor Or Lunatic

"You're lying again! Killing people is wrong!" The boy sighed, clearly exasperated. He walked over to a corner, pulled out a cleaning rag like it was second nature, and sighed again as he looked at Hubert. Hubert blinked innocently. "They tried to kill me first. I just fought back." "Oh. That's fine then." The boy let out a relieved breath, soaked the rag in water, and walked toward the operating table. He looked at Monkey—who had been eavesdropping on the entire conversation—and politely said, "Excuse me, could you step aside?" The former cleaner suddenly felt an intense sense of crisis. He had just returned to the company, and now he had to impress the boss immediately! To put it bluntly— This little brat was trying to steal his job! That was the first thought that exploded in Monkey's mind. He instinctively shot the boy a hostile glare, gripping his mop with vigilance. "I— I can do it!" Recalling how familiar the boy seemed with Hubert, Monkey took a deep breath, forced a flattering smile, and sped up his cleaning! He embodied competition culture to the fullest. At this moment, he even discovered a talent within himself that had never surfaced before—being an angelic bitch! "You're doing it wrong. You need sulfur soap. And don't use a brush—if you scrub the operating table like that, it'll—" The boy kept mumbling under his breath as he casually took the brush from Monkey's hand, leaving the poor guy standing there, utterly lost and at a complete loss for what to do. "So... what am I supposed to—" Monkey anxiously looked around for something to do, but the place was already spotless. Had he just lost his job after working part-time for only half an hour? "Tired? Go rest. You need to take care of your health." Just as Monkey stood there, helpless and bewildered, Hubert's considerate voice rang out beside him. Monkey instinctively turned his head, only to be met with Hubert's warm, gentle smile—like a spring breeze. A chill ran down his spine. He's smiling again! "I-I'm not tired! I can still do some chores—" Monkey stammered. Meanwhile, the boy continued wiping down the operating table with meticulous care, speaking absentmindedly, "You should really go rest. Otherwise, he'll get crazy. And once he snaps, I won't be able to stop him." "I'm not crazy! I just... lose control of my emotions sometimes! You can say I have poor self-control, but don't call me crazy!" Hubert turned his head seriously toward the boy, earnestly explaining his condition. The boy put down the cleaning tool and met Hubert's gaze head-on. "You really need to see a psychiatrist. I looked into it—your mental state is not normal." "I am a doctor!" Hubert shook his head, refuting the claim. "But you're not a psychiatrist." The boy sighed. Despite his young age, his face was filled with the weight of maturity. Hubert tilted his head slightly, glancing at the sunlight streaming in through the doorway. He narrowed his eyes. "There's no difference. A doctor is a doctor." "Well, actually, it's not exactly the same..." Monkey hesitantly raised his hand. "Go to your room." For the first time, Hubert—who always carried a smile whether he was chatting or killing—spoke in a tone as cold as ice. His eyes, once indifferent and amused, were now piercing and filled with an eerie chill. For a fleeting second, Monkey thought he saw an endless sea of blood reflected in those eyes. But it lasted only for a moment. Hubert quickly reined it in, stealing a cautious glance at the boy before flashing a smile at Monkey once again. "Sorry, I lost my temper for a second. Would you mind heading back to your room?" "Got it!" Monkey wasted zero time with extra words—he spun around, rushed into the patient's room, and shut the door behind him in one swift motion. "Your mood swings are getting worse. You can't keep killing people." The boy looked at Hubert with a mix of worry and sadness. He hurried over to the counter, pulled open a drawer, and expertly retrieved a medicine bottle. After checking the expiration date, he jogged back and handed it to Hubert. "Take your meds." "..." Hubert frowned at the pills but, after a moment of hesitation, swallowed them without a word. But in just those few steps, the boy's face had turned noticeably pale. He was breathing heavily, a thin layer of sweat forming on his forehead. Hubert gave a small nod, saying nothing more. He simply walked out of the clinic, lay back down in his rocking chair, and closed his eyes. The boy casually wiped the sweat off his forehead, then smiled again and continued scrubbing every last corner of the room. Compared to his work, Monkey's so-called perfectionism suddenly seemed utterly insignificant. A soft breeze brushed against Hubert's face, stirring the memories buried deep in his heart. Perhaps... It had been five years ago. Back then, he was the infamous Lunatic of Black Street—far more unhinged than he was now. A scalpel, thin as a cicada's wing, had left an unforgettable mark on the minds of everyone in Central Street. Back then, there was only one true taboo in all of Black Street. Of course, back then, his nickname wasn't Lunatic—it was Doctor. A doctor with a twisted personality. At the time, he wandered through Black Street in a daze, like a walking corpse. Dressed in a bloodstained white coat, he embodied the very definition of taboo. Until that day... In the darkness of Black Street, a ray of light appeared. A child, no older than nine, showed up on Black Street. In the bitter winter cold, he curled up in a corner, shivering, yet still trying his best to smile. Such a smile had never existed in Black Street before. It was pure and innocent. Perhaps it was Hubert's luck. Or perhaps it was the child's. That night, Hubert's headaches struck again. After killing a few people, he collapsed in the snow. Amid the freezing night, the frail boy did his best to drag Hubert—who was clearly far too large for him—stumbling his way toward a clinic. By the time he arrived, his limbs had already gone stiff from the cold, and he was on the verge of losing consciousness. What he didn't know, however, was that the very clinic he had found belonged to the man he was trying to save. Back then, the clinic had no couplets hanging by the door. No signboard. Only a single, crookedly written piece of paper taped to the entrance, with the word Clinic scrawled across it. Inside, the place was covered in blood. The boy had never seen anything like it, but he forced himself to suppress his fear. He kept shouting, kept calling for help, never realizing that at some point, Hubert had already woken up behind him. Hubert stood in silence, idly stroking the scalpel in his hand, his cold gaze locked onto the boy's back. When the boy finally noticed and turned around to face him, his first reaction wasn't fear. It was a relief--genuine, heartfelt relief. "You're okay? That's great!" The boy smiled in reassurance. "You're not afraid of me?" "I am." "Then why did you save me?" "Because saving people is the right thing to do." "But this is Black Street." "And? Are people from Black Street not people?" In the dimly lit room, the air was still thick with the scent of blood. The two exchanged questions and answers. In the end, Hubert fell silent, staring into the boy's clear, curious eyes. "Leave." It was the first time Hubert had ever said this word. He didn't know which of the boy's words had struck a chord within him. Maybe it was his innocent gaze. Or maybe it was that one sentence— "People from Black Street are still people." Black Street had always been a place people avoided at all costs. Everyone there was considered the scum of Encten — criminals who more than deserved their fate. "Okay!" The boy grinned and ran out of the clinic—only to collapse in the snow a moment later, unconscious.