Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 20: A Life Hanging by a Thread

The private hospital room was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines surrounding the frail boy lying on the bed.

He looked no older than twelve or thirteen, his small frame nearly swallowed by the crisp white sheets. An oxygen mask covered his face, his breaths slow and shallow. IV drips fed into his arms, supplying him with the nutrients and medication needed to keep him alive.

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Monitors displayed his vital signs, and a ventilator stood nearby, ready should his body fail him further.

In the dimly lit corner of the room, a man sat in complete stillness. His face was concealed by the shadows, but the weight of his presence was undeniable.

The quiet was broken when the door creaked open. A man in a lab coat stepped in, a tablet in hand. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the unmoving figure in the corner before finally approaching. Taking a steadying breath, he spoke.

"Sir, according to our findings, your son has been injected with an active strain of Project Helix—the same synthetic pathogen designed by Dr. Mystorium twelve years ago."

The man in the corner remained silent, but the faint clench of his fingers against the armrest signaled that he was listening.

The doctor continued, his voice careful but firm. "Based on our records, only two individuals survived the injection twelve years ago. Their biological markers are nearly identical to your son's. The pathogen itself leaves no direct trace in the bloodstream, but its effects on cellular function follow a distinct pattern. On the surface, patients appear stable, but internally, their organs deteriorate at an accelerated rate."

He gulped, hoping for some kind of reaction, but the silence stretched on. The unspoken command was clear—keep talking.

"For the first five years, the pathogen doesn't enhance the body. Instead, it destroys and rebuilds." The doctor hesitated before elaborating. "The immune system is forced into overdrive, breaking down and reshaping cellular structures. Patients experience severe fatigue, cognitive fog, muscle deterioration, and chronic pain, all while appearing perfectly normal on the outside."

A beat of silence. Then—

"At the five-year mark, the restructuring phase completes, and the enhancements begin. The pain stops. The body stabilizes. Neural pathways become more efficient, metabolic rates accelerate, and sensory perception sharpens. Their wounds heal rapidly, broken bones mend in hours, and illnesses no longer affect them. The process turns them into something beyond human—stronger, faster, more resilient."

Another pause filled the room before the doctor forced himself to continue.

"But after seven years of enhancement, the pathogen enters its final phase. It begins self-replicating beyond control, consuming biological resources faster than the body can regenerate. The immune system collapses, organs strain under the load, and cellular breakdown becomes inevitable." His voice dropped. "That's why your son is suffering now. His body is at its limit—his organs are moments away from catastrophic failure."

A long pause filled the room. Then, finally—

"How do I save him?"

The voice was quiet, but the sheer weight behind it sent a shiver down the doctor's spine.

For the first time, the man in the corner moved, lifting his head slightly. The doctor could just barely make out the sharp glint of his eyes through the shadows.

He straightened, his own voice regaining strength. "Sir, we extracted preserved biological samples from the two survivors twelve years ago. When comparing their data with your son's current condition, we found a key difference."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through the man's eyes.

"The pathogen in your son is still in its early phase," the doctor explained. "But in the two survivors, it had already reached full adaptation. Interestingly, their blood carries an anomaly—a self-produced protein that functions as both a catalyst and a regulator."

The doctor's expression shifted, tinged with urgency. "It's strange, but when combined, their blood produces a compound that neutralizes the pathogen's instability. It won't cure your son, but it will slow the degradation—prolonging his life significantly."

A tense silence followed.

Then, the man in the corner finally looked up, his gaze piercing.

"What are you waiting for?" His voice was ice-cold. "Find them. Save my son."

The doctor stiffened, feeling the weight of the command pressing down on him. He hesitated, fingers gripping the tablet tighter.

"Sir... there's something else."

The air in the room felt heavier.

"The two survivors—wherever they are now—they might be experiencing the same symptoms as your son." He swallowed hard. "They could be in agonizing pain. And..."

He hesitated.

"Based on our studies, if they aren't treated in time... they will die within 180 days."

The man didn't hesitate. He stood abruptly, snatching the tablet from the doctor's hands.

Then, in one swift motion, he strode toward the door and barked an order to the guards outside.

"Find them. They should be adults by now. I need them alive."

---

Meanwhile...

Across the city, inside Diamond Public Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air.

Kendrick Montclair's eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the bright hospital lights overhead. His mind felt sluggish, his body oddly heavy, but before he could gather his thoughts, a familiar voice broke through his haze.

"Bro, you're finally awake!"

Blinking, Kendrick turned his head, only to be met with his sister Levy's teary-eyed face. Her expression wavered between relief and frustration, and before he could even sit up, she was already at his side, helping him.

He groaned, wincing as he attempted to push himself upright. His throat felt dry, like he hadn't spoken in days.

Levy, ever the attentive one, grabbed a glass of water and pressed it into his hands. "Here. Drink."

Grateful, he took a few slow sips before finally managing to croak out, "How long have I been here?"

Levy sniffed but immediately switched back to her usual teasing self. "Three days," she said, crossing her arms. "I was starting to wonder if I should turn your room into my personal library."

Kendrick gave her a flat look. "You brat. Are you that excited to get rid of me?"

Levy smirked, but her expression quickly turned serious. "Then you should take better care of yourself. One of your clients found you passed out in your studio and was kind enough to bring you here."

Kendrick frowned. "I passed out?" He rubbed his temple, trying to recall, but everything felt hazy.

Levy nodded, her concern deepening. "The doctor said your body was completely exhausted. You've been overworking yourself again, haven't you?"

Kendrick didn't immediately respond. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, mind racing.

Something wasn't right.

He had no memory of being in his studio. Instead, he remembered being on a mission with Eclipse. There was no recollection of feeling sick, so why had he suddenly felt such intense pain at that moment? And now, here he was, hooked up to IV drips like a critically ill patient.

His fingers clenched the blanket.

What the hell was happening to him?