uncer 293

+25 Parts 

He woke abruptly, breath tearing out of his chest as if he had been dragged up from deep water. 

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was…or worse, who he was. His eyes flew open to dim light and unfamiliar shapes, his body slick with sweat, his heart hammering so violently it felt like it might bruise his ribs from the inside. 

The ceiling stared back at him. White. Lined with faint cracks that branched like veins if he focused long enough. 

Still here. 

The realization came with a strange mix of relief and dread. Relief that this wasn’t some half–remembered dream. Dread because nothing had changed. He was still trapped inside a body that felt foreign, in a place he didn’t understand, with a mind that refused to give him 

answers. 

His breathing slowly steadied, though the tension didn’t leave his muscles. He swallowed, throat dry, and turned his head slightly. 

A hospital bed. 

That much, at least, was familiar. Machines hummed softly nearby, steady. A curtain was drawn halfway across the room, swaying slightly as if someone had passed through not long ago–or maybe hours ago. Time was slippery here. He had no sense of how long he’d been lying in this bed, no way to tell whether it was still night or already morning. 

His body ached in places he couldn’t explain. Not sharp pain–but a deep soreness, as though he’d been pushed beyond his limits and then dragged back from the edge. His limbs felt heavy, uncooperative, like they belonged to someone else. 

He squeezed his fingers slowly, watching them curl and uncurl. 

They obeyed. That was something. 

But obedience didn’t mean familiarity. 

He shut his eyes briefly, hoping–irrationally–that something would rush back if he concentrated hard enough. A name. A face. A voice calling out to him with recognition. 

Nothing came. 

Only fragments. 

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< Chapter 293 

A flash of movement. 

The sense of running. 

Cold air cutting against skin. 

Pain. 

Then darkness in his dream. 

His chest tightened as frustration pooled low in his gut. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t remember–it was that his mind felt like it was holding something back, as if answers were hovering just out of reach, deliberately evasive. 

He opened his eyes again. 

Still the same ceiling. 

Still no answers. 

With a slow exhale, he shifted, bracing his palms against the mattress and attempting to push himself up. His body protested immediately, a wave of dizziness washing over him so fast he had to stop and lie back down before the room tilted completely out of control. 

“Okay,” he muttered hoarsely, though the word sounded strange in his own ears. 

His voice didn’t feel like his either. 

He waited, counting his breaths, until the spinning eased. Sweat clung uncomfortably to his skin, cooling now, making him shiver slightly. Whoever had treated him had been thorough- bandages were wrapped neatly where they needed to be, his injuries stabilized, monitored. 

Someone had cared enough to keep him alive. 

That thought should have comforted him. 

Instead, it unsettled him. 

Because he didn’t know why. 

After a moment, he tried again–more carefully this time. He swung his legs slowly over the side of the bed, letting his feet find the floor. The cold shock of it grounded him more than anything else had so far. 

He sat there for a few seconds, head bowed, hands resting on his thighs, breathing through the dull ache that bloomed along his spine. 

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Chapter 293 

You can do this. 

425 Ponte 

He didn’t know where the thought came from. It didn’t sound like a memory. It sounded more like instinct. 

That, at least, he trusted, 

When he finally pushed himself upright, the room seemed to loom around him, larger than it had moments ago. He swayed slightly, catching himself on the edge of the bed, jaw tightening as his muscles trembled under the strain. 

His body felt… used. 

Not just injured. Exhausted in a way that suggested exertion rather than illness. 

That bothered him more than the pain. 

He took a cautious step toward the door. 

Each movement sent small warning signals through his body, but none of them were sharp enough to stop him. The urge to see what lay beyond the room outweighed the discomfort. Staying inside felt unbearable–too contained, too controlled. 

He needed context. 

He reached the door and hesitated, fingers hovering over the handle. His heart picked up speed again, nerves flaring sharply. 

Was he safe? 

The question landed hard. He had no reason to think he wasn’t–but no reason to believe he was, either. The absence of memory made every possibility feel equally real. He didn’t know who had brought him here, or why. He didn’t know whether the people walking these halls were allies or something else entirely. 

Three figures surfaced in his mind unbidden. 

The doctor–calm, measured, eyes sharp with curiosity and caution. 

Then the man. 

Tall, controlled… intimidating without raising his voice. There had been something about the way others reacted to him–subtle shifts in posture, in tone–that suggested authority. Leadership. The kind that didn’t need to announce itself. 

And then… her. The woman who walked in after… 

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<Chapter 293) 

+25 Point: 

Something in his chest moved at the thought of her. He couldn’t explain it–not with logic, n with memory–but being in the same room with her hadn’t set his nerves on edge the way everything else did. She hadn’t looked at him like a problem to be solved or a risk to be measured. 

That mattered more than he could say. 

He pulled the door open quietly and stepped into the corridor. 

The hallway was dim, lit with low, practical lighting that cast shadows along the walls. It didn’t feel like a typical hospital–not sterile enough, not busy enough. There were no hurried footsteps, no constant stream of voices. 

It was too… contained. 

He took a few cautious steps forward, bare feet silent against the smooth floor. His body protested more now, a dull burn spreading through his legs, but he ignored it. 

That’s when he heard it. 

At first, it was faint–so distant he thought he might be imagining it. A rhythmic thud. Then another. The sound of movement. Impact. 

Voices followed, low and sharp, carrying intent even if he couldn’t make out the words. 

Training. 

The realization slid into place slowly. 

The sounds weren’t random. They were structured, repetitive. Like drills. 

His pulse quickened as he turned slightly, orienting himself toward the direction the noise was coming from. The pull was instinctive, immediate, like his body recognized the feeling even if his mind didn’t. 

Was he in a barrack? 

The thought sent a ripple of unease through him. This wasn’t just a hospital, then. It was something else layered over it–something organized, guarded. 

His fingers curled unconsciously at his sides. 

Before he could take another step, a voice cut through the quiet. 

“Hey–no, you shouldn’t be out here.” 

He froze. 

Chapter 203 

425 Points 

A nurse hurried toward him, her expression tight with concern that edged into something firmer as she took him in. 

“You need to be back in bed,” she said gently. “You’re not cleared to walk around yet.” 

Her eyes flicked briefly down the hall, then back to him, as if checking to see whether he’d seen too much. 

Or wandered too far. 

She placed a steady hand on his arm, already guiding him back toward his room. “You shouldn’t be stressing yourself. Please. Come on.” 

He considered arguing. 

The urge flared briefly…but it passed just as quickly. He didn’t have the strength for a confrontation, and something in her tone told him it wouldn’t get him anywhere anyway. 

He allowed himself to be led back inside. 

The door closed behind them. 

Once he was settled back on the bed, the nurse adjusted his blankets, gave him a look that lingered just a second longer than necessary, then left without another word. 

The room felt smaller now. 

He sat there in silence, hands resting on his knees, listening to the distant sounds of training bleed faintly through the walls. The rhythm seeped into him, stirring something restless beneath the confusion. 

Whatever this place was, it wasn’t random. 

His gaze drifted to the door. 

The woman from earlier came to his mind again. 

He sighed slowly, exhaustion pressing in again, but his mind refused to settle. Questions circled endlessly, overlapping, unresolved. 

The next time the doctor came in, he would ask…insist…to see that woman again. 

Because something told him that he could trust her. 

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