Although Brandon had slept for more than sixteen hours, he felt like everything remained cold, foggy, and unstable. The breeze in the dreamlike environment kept blowing against his eye. He, too, felt like his body had an unusually heavy boulder resting on top of it.

If he hadn't spoken to Mika earlier, he wouldn't have thought of going against the wind and hurling that invisible boulder away.

Once Biscoe left, Brandon lifted his sound leg into the air. Then he flexed his foot slowly and rhythmically, releasing his ankle from stiffness. As he repeated the foot flex, though, images of William lifting Brandon's leg flashed across his eye. The good old days... Now that Zach had shown his true colors, Brandon could perhaps forgive William and go back to those days. His old friend might have necrolyzed Bernard, but without Zach's involvement, maybe Bernard wouldn't have killed and hurt a lot of people.

No, they couldn't go back again. The last time he saw William, the doctor's hair had turned gray, his eyes had become golden, and jagged fangs had replaced his teeth. In a few days, he would decay to nothingness. And Mika, Brandon thought, recalling the last time he saw his child; his poor little girl lay on the ground, unconscious while bleeding out from her head and teeth. If William hadn't created Bernard...

Oh, never mind. Brandon had made things even by killing Bernard in front of William anyway.

Twenty flexes later, he lowered his leg and smiled at how refreshing this little workout was.

He continued with leg lifts. The exercise spawned fire and needles in his injured lung, but he brushed them off without much effort.

Searing pain overwhelmed his lung after around thirty lifts and forced him to stop. He scowled and growled; this wasn't even a quarter of what he could do when he was healthy! After spending about a minute to catch his breath, he resumed the exercise again. His sweat now drenched the bandage around his head and torso.

Ten lifts later, someone knocked on the door. "Mr. Brandon, this is Albert!"

Brandon lowered his legs. "Come-" Pain jolted from his chest as he sat up, and his hand shot to his wounded side.

The door opened, and Albert stepped in. Closing the door, he walked towards Brandon with a smile. "Up already?"

Brandon nodded.

As Albert approached his bed, the man scratched his head. "Your bandage is soaked? I don't think there's a problem with the aircon. Or did your chest hurt so much?"

"Just did a few leg lifts."

"A few? You shouldn't be sweating this much if it were true."

Brandon sighed. "Forty lifts aren't even a quarter of what I usually do."

"Your training regimen is just crazy. Three hundred push-ups, pull-ups, ab crunches, and much more...and you do it almost everyday. Also, I remember that you have ten miles running with weighted clothing in the list, but it's optional." He shrugged. "Didn't the doctor say a thing about that?"

Brandon shook his head. William once instructed him to do one hundred for each chosen item in addition to three miles running with weighted clothing, but he did them all without breaking a sweat. Then the doctor raised the regimen by fifty percent, which still wasn't challenging enough. Eventually, Brandon himself found the best regimen for him, and William approved it.

"By the way, I heard that your barbell was quite a monster. But you didn't find it interesting?"

Brandon shook his head. He had his own barbell, made by the organization's scientists. Weighing around two tons, it caused a mess during the creation and transportation until Biscoe sent him to lend a hand.

If Brandon hadn't lost a leg, he would've practiced more with the monstrous barbell. His prosthesis always broke down after a few squats.

Albert seemed to notice the discontent in his face. "You know, you can't possibly get an armored truck to be your barbell."

Brandon grinned at how famous the story of the armored truck was. Maybe Mika spread the tale across the organization; she was there when that incident happened. That massive vehicle crashed into the trailer, threatening to crush his and Mika's bones. But little did the enemies know that a necrolyzer, especially the one triggered by his child's terrified scream, could easily send an elephant flying across the street.

Remembering that feat stung his heart a bit, though. Looking at the stump of his left arm, he wondered if he could still throw away such a gigantic object.

"Did I just say something wrong?" Albert asked.

Looking at Albert, Brandon pointed at the remainder of his left arm.

"I see. Sorry for reminding you about that. I was just trying to get a laugh out of you." Albert walked towards the bench further beside Brandon's bed. Sitting down, he added, "But really, you mustn't push yourself so hard. I know how you lost your arm. It was because you kept fighting although you hadn't been receiving any therapy for days."

I bet you're telling me to take a few days off. Brandon cast an angry glare at Albert, a growl escaping through his gritted teeth.

"I'm just wondering if you can do Millennion a favor without putting yourself in danger."

Brandon sighed. As if an uncharismatic undead man with a scarred face could draw those moneybags into buying forged paintings and other stuff... Moreover, he hated dealing with graphs and numbers - the breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the businessmen of Millennion.

"You're part of the loan shark department, right? You can run the business during this summer holiday."

"Loan sharks get money only when it's the time to collect debt," Brandon groused. "We've collected them all before the holiday." And honestly, I hate doing the bookkeeping by myself.

"How about this? You used to be a street thug." Albert grinned. "You should visit the shopping district and look for some unguarded pockets. You can donate the money to the organization."

If one ever asked why Brandon liked having Albert as his sidekick, he'd say that it was because of Albert's ability to think of brilliant ideas. Being a pickpocket wouldn't earn him a lot of money, but it was quite safe and fitting for him.

He gave Albert a broad smile, which Albert responded with a soft laughter. "You really should smile more often."

Gentle knocks came from the door. "This is Dr. Douglas," a man's voice called.

"We hear you, Doc!" Albert replied. "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing Douglas with a briefcase in his hand. Anybody who took a closer look at his face could easily conclude that the doctor had something he couldn't get off his chest right now.

Albert didn't seem to notice the sadness within Douglas, but Brandon knew why. His sidekick cared less about those who weren't his superiors.

As Douglas walked in and placed his briefcase on the desk, Albert said, "His bandage is soaked."

Douglas looked at Albert and blinked. "Soaked?"

"He did forty leg lifts earlier."

Douglas turned to Brandon, his jaw dropping in awe. Brandon only sighed; he could do three hundred leg lifts when both of his lungs worked, so if he had only one good lung, he was supposed to do at least one hundred and fifty lifts.

"It's still a feat, Sir." Douglas approached Brandon, his eyes fixed at the necrolyzer's bandage. "You were also dealing with the pain. Not just the damaged lung." When he arrived at Brandon's bed, he said, "Look at the ceiling for a moment."

Brandon nodded and looked up.

With a finger, Douglas pulled down the lower part of the necrolyzer's eyelid and inspected the exposed region. When he retreated, he asked, "You look rather anemic. Did you receive any transfusion earlier?"

Before Brandon could speak, Albert suggested, "Better ask Boss, Doc. I heard Mr. Brandon was out cold most of the time earlier."

"All right." Douglas returned to his briefcase. "I'd better change his bandage first. I doubt he's comfortable with it."

"Let me help."

Brandon watched Albert push the trolley to the drawers beside Douglas. Together, they loaded the trolley with rubber gloves, gauze pads, rolls of bandage, tubes of antibiotic ointment, bottles of saline solution, and a box of minor surgery set before pushing it back to Brandon's bed.

With his gloves on, Douglas began removing the bandage around Brandon's head. He suddenly gasped. "What has Zach done to you? A little deeper, these stab wounds on your forehead would've killed you or left you comatose for days."

"They were caused by Zach's claws," Albert commented as he poured some saline solution onto a gauze pad. "Without them, Boss wouldn't have paid the ransom. I heard Zach asked...quite a lot."

Brandon's eye widened in shock. Then he looked down with a frown. Zach must die for his crimes, but Brandon had quickly blacked out when Zach stabbed him in his injured chest. However, nothing hurt him worse than how Zach used his failure to extort Biscoe.

I'm pathetic! He hissed, looking up and glaring at Albert. Useless!

Stopping their work in surprise, both Albert and Douglas let out a "Sir?"

For a moment, Brandon wondered if asking Albert to spar with him was a good idea. If he ever reopened his wounds during the fight, Biscoe would blame Albert for everything. Moreover, Albert would surely make up hundreds of annoying reasons to keep him at bay.

As he racked his brain for another solution, he looked down and muttered, "Sorry."

"Mind telling us what made you angry all of a sudden?" Albert asked.

Brandon took off his oxygen mask and put it away.

"Put it back on, Sir!" Albert shouted.

"And let my lungs be lazy?" Thousands of invisible needles suddenly punctured Brandon's chest, causing him to wince and grasp the hurting site. Albert rushed to him and picked up the oxygen mask, but the necrolyzer simply swatted Albert's hand away. "I have to be strong! I have to get the money back for Millennion!" Because they've been taking care of me and Mika!

"Mr. Albert," Douglas began, "leave this to me."

"But-"

"Mr. Brandon, you won't need to wear the mask if you're comfortable without it," Douglas said with a smile. It radiated with gentleness, but Brandon could still feel the sorrow within the doctor. "You may even walk around the basement if you feel like it."

"Doc, are you crazy?"

"Trust me," Douglas reassured. "Now, could you give me a piece of soaked gauze?"

"All right." Albert returned to the trolley and handed Douglas the gauze pad.

One hour passed. Without the aid of an oxygen mask, the fire and the needles in his chest bothered him more frequently. The fog, which had dissipated when he did the leg lifts, gradually filled his sight again.

Bandage changed and shirt on, Brandon pointed at his prosthetic leg, which lay a few feet away from his bed.

"One moment please." After throwing away the pile of dirty gauze pads and rubber gloves into the trash can, Douglas brought the prosthesis to Brandon. As he helped the necrolyzer put on it, something growled.

"Ah, I'm sorry!" Albert laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't eat much for lunch." He looked at Brandon. "Can I have my dinner now?"

Brandon nodded with a small smile.

"Thanks." Albert turned to Douglas. "Doc, you want something from the cafeteria?"

"No, thanks. I brought something for my dinner."

"Okay." With that, Albert headed to the trailer's exit and pushed the door open. "Well, just call me in case you want some snacks." Then he left.

At the same time, Brandon had donned his prosthetic leg. As he adjusted his bed into an armchair by pushing the buttons on the remote beside the railing, he heard the doctor mutter, "I still can't believe what's happening recently."

Brandon quirked an eyebrow.

"I heard that William has been necrolyzed." Douglas shook his head with a wistful look on his face. "Why would someone do this to a kind man like William? He'll rot to death in a few days."

"Zach was involved. I believe he just wanted to make sure that William couldn't return to Millennion again."

"Why would he go so far then? If he wanted to replace William so badly, he could've just thought of another way."

Brandon replied with nothing, his lips taking a downturn. If he hadn't learned about Zach's involvements, he could just show no mercy to William. Now, what could he do to help the poor necrolyzed doctor? Convincing Biscoe to sustain him? Impossible. Ending his pain? Perhaps that was the best, but he still hadn't forgotten his experience with little Nina. If that poor girl ever saw his axe coming... No...

"I wish I could help him, but how? I don't think I can collect enough money to sustain his body, while I can't bring myself to euthanize him."

"Doc, I'll try..." He grimaced at the memory of Nina's cry. "...to give him a painless death."

"Really? But you don't really like the idea I see."

"I'll try. He's been taking care of me for a long time after all."

"Thank you."

When Douglas smiled, Brandon could no longer feel the grief within the doctor.

As Douglas helped Brandon to his feet, he added, "Do you know? It was William who introduced me to Millennion and necrolyzation. I was really glad, because being part of a mafia organization gave me power."

"Power?"

"You know how corrupt this town is? One won't have the chance to be a specialist doctor unless one is related to somebody important in Billion." Douglas pointed at himself with a thumb. "Like me."

"You still can't be one right now." Brandon limped towards the exit door. "Studying takes time, while Millennion doesn't tolerate members' absence very well."

"Yeah, but my kids can just bring up Millennion's name in the future." When Brandon opened the door, Douglas said, "Let me help you."

Gaze fixed on the trailer's ledge, Brandon said, "I can do this by myself." As he struck the lower ground with his fake foot, the sudden surge of pain from his chest knocked him down.

"Sir!"

Brandon looked up, gritting his teeth at the image that flashed across his eye. With an arm wrapped around Mika's limp body, Zach stared down at the necrolyzer. "You're helpless," he could hear him say.

"Get out of my head!" Brandon roared, getting up despite the searing pain in his chest.

"Calm down!"

The image vanished in an instant. Douglas now stood before him, his eyes full of concern.

"Why were you angry?" the doctor asked.

"I couldn't even get off a ledge without falling!" Brandon snapped. "I'm just that pathetic!"

"It's okay to fall. You should know the obstacles you're facing right now." Douglas pointed at Brandon's chest. "Wounded lung." His finger moved to Brandon's eye. "Anemia... Er, I just remembered that I forgot to ask Boss about the transfusion." He walked past the necrolyzer. "Why don't you walk around the basement as I call him? We'll just meet up at the guard post later."

Brandon nodded, still scowling. He must be strong. For Mika and Millennion.

So he started sprinting around the basement. The first lap refreshed his body, but after another lap, the environment began to shake and blur. His chest, too, burned even worse.

Like hell he'd succumb to this!

Brandon continued running, but he collapsed during the fourth lap. As his vision blackened, he could see Douglas approaching with a few basement guards.

A guardsman crouched before him. "He looks so pale. Doc, why did you let him run around the basement?"

The unpleasant tone gave Brandon enough time to say, "It's not his fault. He told me to walk, not run."

===

"Brandon."

Brandon's eyelid felt heavy, but knowing the owner of that hoarse voice, he forced his eye open. He found himself in his bed with an oxygen mask attached. Before him, Biscoe stood with a terrified Douglas by his side.

"The guards said that he let you run around the basement, while he denied that," he said firmly. "Which one is true?"

A growl escaped through Brandon's gritted teeth. Those damn guards...

"You hear me?" Biscoe asked.

"Dr. Douglas only told me to walk. I just didn't care."

Biscoe shifted his gaze to Douglas, who nodded frantically. After a moment of silence, he turned to Brandon and yelled, "You bullhead! Always pushing your body beyond its limit!"

"I live to protect," Brandon grumbled. "If I keep slacking off, I'll become weak. Am I still worthy of living if I don't have the strength to protect you all?"

"If you say so..." Biscoe gave Brandon a death glare. "Fine. This week, the Gatou Underground Fighting Club is hosting a tournament. Make sure you enter that and win the one hundred million yules."

Although Brandon could feel the angry, yet mocking tone in Biscoe's speech, he nodded without arguing back.

"I'll explain the details when you're getting your transfusion tomorrow." Then Biscoe turned to leave. "Whether you'll continue sleeping or abusing your body, it's up to you. I'm sick of this already." He slammed the trailer's door shut.

Brandon only sighed. As much as he respected Biscoe, sometimes he couldn't help but think of him as an old fool. Millennion created necrolyzers because they needed protection, nothing else.

"He's just had a bad hair day, Sir," Douglas remarked, "but I've never thought that he would be so angry. Telling you to enter that sickening event is just-"

"An underground fighting club isn't that horrible."

"I heard this tournament is unlike others from that club. This is held for the undead, and you all will fight to death in a ring. The tickets are much more expensive because people just love to watch necrolyzers bleed." Douglas sighed. "Do you really like being reduced to a fighting cock?"

Brandon remained silent. Whatever made Gatou Gang hold a tourney for the undead, Brandon figured this might just lure Zach or his minions out. William might find the prize money interesting as well.

As long as he could do Millennion a favor, Brandon wouldn't mind being a fighting cock.