She tapped a few buttons, then turned toward the large pod in the corner of the room. It looked like an egg that had been dipped in chrome—smooth, ovular, slightly tilted back on a reinforced base.
"Alright," she breathed out, gesturing toward it with her mechanical hand. "Time for a proper recovery. Should get you back in shape."
Liu Xian's eyes flicked toward the pod.
It looked like a coffin.
And was definitely not comforting.
But he didn't argue.
He stood up, his movements stiff from pain and prolonged stillness, and walked over to the egg-like machine. His bare feet made no sound on the floor. He climbed inside slowly, lowering himself into the hollowed center, and let the pod close with a gentle shhhk around him.
Dr. Yuna watched his vitals shift on the display. His heart rate slowed. His breathing deepened. His mana readings spiked for a moment—then settled into a strange, humming baseline that didn't match anything she'd seen before.
"Interesting," she murmured to herself.
Inside the pod, Liu Xian floated in a warm, viscous fluid that smelled faintly like something metallic. The machine hummed softly, almost like it was singing, and thin threads of mana-infused energy wove through the mixture, wrapping gently around his limbs, knitting bruises, pulling closed half-healed scars.
His eyelids fluttered shut.
For the next hour, he stayed like that—suspended in a mockery of peace.
Dr. Yuna remained at the console the entire time, occasionally jotting notes on a sleek data-slate, her mechanical fingers tapping out long strings of medical jargon.
And then, with a soft chime, the pod hissed open.
The air inside cooled instantly as the fluid drained away, vanishing through tiny grates. Liu Xian sat up slowly, his skin pale and glistening under the overhead lights. He blinked, still groggy, blinking away the haze as he swung his legs over the edge and touched the floor.
Dr. Yuna stood, arms folded.
Her brow furrowed.
"Well, that's disappointing."
Liu Xian looked up at her.
What now?
"You look…" She paused, choosing her words with faint amusement. "Exactly the same."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Well—not exactly," she corrected, waving her slate at him like it held some hidden truth. "The wounds are gone. Bruises, cuts, internal bleeding—it's all patched up. Textbook recovery, honestly. But everything else?"
She gestured at him with a sweep of her hand.
"You still look like a damn corpse."
It was true.
His cheeks were still hollow. His skin still ghostly pale. The dark circles under his eyes hadn't budged. He looked like someone who'd crawled out of a tomb, not a state-of-the-art healing pod.
"I've read theories," Dr. Yuna continued, more to herself than to him. "Something about how storing large amounts of mana in the body—especially when unregulated—can mess with cellular regeneration. The theory was that it strains the nervous system, but I never thought it'd affect external appearance this much."
She stepped closer, leaning in slightly as if inspecting him under a microscope.
"Even after recovery, you still look like shit."
She chuckled.
And for some reason… that comment—and the laugh—stinged.
It shouldn't have. He'd heard worse.
Said worse to himself.
Back at home, insults were like the air—constant and expected. He'd been called a freak, a ticking bomb, a monster, a mistake that should've been discarded. Compared to all that, being told he looked like shit warmed over was practically a compliment.
So why did it sting?
He didn't show it, of course. Just stood there, dripping, staring past her with the usual dead-eyed calm. But a tightness curled in his chest all the same.
"Well," Dr. Yuna said, stepping back and placing her slate on the console. "If you plan on surviving orientation, you'll need more than just patched skin and pretty scars."
She turned to grab a towel from a nearby drawer and tossed it to him.
"Dry off. There's a fresh uniform in the locker next to the wall. Someone'll come to collect you in ten."
With that, she walked toward the door, her mechanical hand clicking softly at her side.
Right before stepping out, she paused.
"Still," she added, glancing over her shoulder, "I'm curious to see how long you'll last. Arcane Academy's… not a forgiving place. But something tells me you're not exactly easy to break."
Then she was gone.
And Liu Xian stood alone once again, steam rising from his body, the cold air stinging his skin, as he let out a scoff. "Not easy to break," he muttered, his voice hoarse, thick with sarcasm.
He reached up and ran a hand down his face, smearing away some of the drying pod fluid that clung to his skin. It was sticky, metallic, slightly sweet-smelling, and left a faint shimmer across his arms. Whatever the hell was in that egg-shaped tank hadn't done a damn thing for how he felt. His limbs were still heavy, his thoughts still fogged with memories he didn't want, and that damn collar still pulsed against his throat like a leash tightening with every breath.
At least the stinging in his ribs was gone. No more sharp jabs when he breathed in too deep. No more hot, blooming pain with every movement.
That was something.
He tossed the towel over his shoulders and shuffled toward the wall Dr. Yuna had pointed out. The locker was a simple, seamless panel embedded in the titanium bulkhead. No handles. No keypad. Just a small glowing rune beside it—blue and soft.
He pressed it.
With a gentle click-hiss, the panel slid open, revealing a neatly folded uniform resting on a metal tray. Black fabric. A high-collared undershirt. Long Trousers. A long-sleeved jacket with the Arcane Academy crest etched onto the shoulder—a golden flame swallowing a crown.
He grabbed the clothes and stepped toward the smaller door to the side, where a private stall waited—a place to change, maybe even to wash off properly. But he didn't bother with anything more than wiping down. The idea of a shower after all that would've felt… too soft.
Too normal.
Like pretending he hadn't spent days being someone else's experiment.
The uniform was stiff at first. Not uncomfortable—just unfamiliar. He yanked the jacket on last and zipped it up halfway, leaving the collar open just enough so the suppression collar wasn't completely hidden.
He glanced at the mirror across the room.
For a moment, he didn't recognize the reflection.
Not because he looked better— hell no, he still looked like trash. Pale as hell. Eyes sunken so deep it was like sleep had been a myth. Hair still slightly damp and clinging to his forehead.
But because he looked... different, yet the same.