As the two small dots on the safety phone screen, one yellow and one red, almost completely overlapped, the billionaire leaned out of a second-floor window of an abandoned house, its lace curtains fluttering, and waved enthusiastically like Juliet.

Nemo made an immediate "get down here now" gesture with his hand.

Matthew quickly appeared at the door, and upon seeing him unharmed, with his suit and hairstyle still perfectly in place, Nemo felt a surge of unexplained anger.

"I did not expect that you'd be able to sneak out on your own from a place filled with National Guard chaos. Nice job! Is this your superhero transformation?" Matthew said, inspecting Nemo's fierce look in his black hoodie, though the billionaire thought the mask was lacking in style.

"No, I just don’t want to be your savior again, or be seen for my appearance as a serious violent criminal in the act," Nemo replied, pulling out an ice pick.

"I don’t want your skills or abilities exposed too soon."

That comment from the billionaire made Nemo lose his composure in an instant.

"Are you insane? Why do you always ditch your bodyguards?" With only Nemo left by the billionaire’s side, he was seething with anger. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the ice pick had already pierced through some violent Greens, Nemo would’ve wanted to stab Matthew himself, preferably in the ass.

"I also want to know why, every time I encounter elite assassins, my bodyguards end up dead one by one in front of me. And still, without them, I seem to escape more easily," Matthew shot back.

"At least they could help with the minor threats! You don’t know how annoying it is to be surrounded by game mobs!" Nemo immediately struck down one of the Greens rushing towards them, and Matthew finally witnessed firsthand how precise and quick Nemo’s attacks were. The most surprising thing was that Nemo didn’t hesitate at all, even when the target was another human.

"True! Normally, when I go out, I plan the scene management, but this doesn’t count as a normal situation, does it? Besides, my bodyguards and assistants also contributed to drawing the Greens' attention before leaving the community," Matthew said, explaining that he expected his bodyguards to maintain the lavish scene and prevent crazy fans and media from getting too close. The real knights were the snipers and security teams working in the shadows.

The awkward situation arose as the Carnation Community was now under military control, and Matthew’s security team could not enter, so they had to wait outside the community.

"Remember his physical details. With you here, I’m too lazy to take pictures. The information was meant for you anyway. We need to speed up the retreat," Nemo said seriously to Matthew.

How could Matthew argue?

"You decide which building's rooftop we should head for to be airlifted out, and I’ll handle any threats that get close. If any bystanders see us, you can just make up a story to explain my presence," Nemo quickly assigned tasks.

"That’s easy."

Nemo didn’t believe for a second that Matthew couldn’t leave the Carnation Community on his own. He was obviously refusing to leave, whether to watch the show or personally explore the basement where the Greens had been confined. The billionaire wouldn’t settle for waiting for official reports (Matthew argued that the state government and the U.S. military would erase the evidence). Someone had to kick Matthew Grimm’s butt to get him on a helicopter.

Along the way, they encountered wave after wave of Greens, some of whom had already been injured by bullets and grenades, their bodies leaking discolored blood. These were especially troublesome. Nemo quickly found a mop and a metal dog leash, using them effectively. He first threw the leash to entangle the lower leg of a highly infected wounded Green, then used the mop to knock him down, and finally stabbed the Green in the eye with the ice pick

"The National Guard probably didn't receive a shoot-to-kill order; they just considered the Greens as dangerous patients, attacking only to protect themselves and normal citizens. Aiming for the head would have avoided most of the issues," Nemo explained.

"Sending the National Guard to kill patients would also be a big problem. While their equipment is almost on par with the regular army, they are still reserve forces. If it’s a special military task related to infectious diseases, chemical troops and special forces should be deployed," Matthew added, tapping his hidden earpiece. "The National Guard has received the order to retreat. The Carnation Community is about to be taken over by the Army."

Whether it was Matthew’s hacker team monitoring the community’s cameras and providing him with the best hidden routes or the fact that many of the National Guard were leaving the community center along with the VIPs, they encountered no government or military personnel along the way. This was a big advantage for Nemo.

The two returned to the starting point, and Matthew chose to evacuate from the old library, where he had given the speech earlier. It was a brilliant move, a place where neither the Greens nor ordinary ones would likely show up, and it had been under strict security only recently. As soon as the governor and officials evacuated, the place had emptied.

Before reaching the old library, Nemo first broke into a fast-food restaurant that had just closed, the water and electricity still intact. After finding a new long-handled weapon, he promptly discarded the mop that had been contaminated with green blood. Nemo also threw the dog leash and ice pick into a bucket, pouring in a whole bottle of bleach to disinfect them.

Matthew knew that as a chef, Nemo had a bit of a cleanliness obsession with his tools, so he quietly stayed aside watching him.

Five minutes later, Nemo poured the contents of the bucket into the sink, turned on the faucet to wash everything off, and was finally satisfied as he picked up his weapons.

"Where are your bodyguards?"

"They passed the checkpoint immediately. Because of quarantine, they can only wait with my assistants in an open area until the medical tents are set up. Only after a federal doctor confirms they’re not infected can they leave. Basically, they can only be briefly checked to ensure they haven’t been bitten or had any bodily fluid contact, or been sexually assaulted," Matthew explained.

"Will the last type of check be... that invasive?" Nemo asked cautiously.

"It shouldn’t be invasive, since that’s not the focus. They’ll probably check for signs of assault, like torn clothing, bite marks or scratches on the chest or thighs, and assess the position of the Greens’ attacks based on defensive injuries. They’ll also look for signs of psychological trauma. If any suspicious evidence is found, they might arrange for a specialist to privately convince you to undergo more intimate examinations or treatments. And, in case of unfortunate circumstances, forced medical intervention would still be necessary, right?" Matthew said.

"Hmm," Nemo replied, his voice low and melancholic.

The Greens were becoming increasingly violent, and sexual assault was one of the typical forms of aggression. Victims could be of any gender, and the risk of infection was even higher.

"Don’t worry. So far, New York City has maintained a voluntary registration system for the Greens. They encourage the victims to actively seek medical help. Even now, many first-generation infected people are hiding or fleeing to other states. As long as you claim no close contact with the Greens, the government wouldn’t dare force you into a body check. Want to cancel your fundraising dinner? They’d just strongly encourage voluntary checks. If you refuse, they’d likely back off. After all, everyone gathered here doesn’t like being offended, but your bodyguards might not be so lucky. The boss might want you to show a little compliance," Matthew's opinion was quite reasonable this time.

Matthew estimated that these high-profile figures were probably more inclined to publish personal medical reports or post swimsuit pictures on Twitter to prove their health and glowing skin, rather than undressing in a small tent. Not to mention, there were media lurking beyond the barbed wire, eager to document any human rights violations by the military, as well as capture these powerful elites in an embarrassing light.

Everyone entering the Carnation Community, from guests to staff, had their names clearly registered. Even if they didn’t accept a medical check on the spot, they couldn’t escape future public authority tracking. It was much safer than the unidentified infected individuals. But once the massive number of violent Greens was released, it was impossible for there not to be victims. The right decision was to find the victims immediately and isolate them for treatment.

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"Being your bodyguard really sucks; even chastity isn’t safe," Nemo couldn’t help but comment as they climbed the emergency escape ladder to the rooftop.

"My first requirement for hiring bodyguards is obedience. They are to protect my personal safety only when there are no specific orders. When situations become too chaotic, I typically send them to help evacuate the crowd to a safe location or protect the elderly, the weak, and women. It’s those who fail to understand this at crucial moments that really give me a headache. The ones I’ve worked with long-term, however, have a solid understanding," Matthew explained.

"You should just hire superhumans or experts as your bodyguards! Why bother hiring people you could easily defeat?" Nemo teased.

"If these strong individuals betray me, I wouldn’t even have a chance to call for help! Besides, those experts either have grand ambitions or value their freedom more. My bodyguards just need to be able to handle reporters and obsessive fans! Plus, they can take on special forces!" Matthew said, defending his choices.

Although Matthew had a point, Nemo still felt that he had a passion for courting death.

"How was I supposed to know the California state government had such guts? The number of Green patients they’re hiding is twenty times what they reported to me! And they’re all the most severely symptomatic ones! Babe, don’t you think this is too much?" Matthew said as he used a small field telescope to observe the Greens wandering around, estimating their numbers. He was now certain that the state governor had not only deceived him, but had done so on a massive scale.

"So what do you plan to do? Don’t tell me you want to save everyone? Either call the superheroes to save them, or let the military clean up, but how the superheroes and military will treat the Greens is out of your control! I’ll cover you to the rooftop. Just summon the helicopter and fly back to headquarters!" Nemo said with a pointed remark.

Matthew might be able to command some superheroes, like Salamander, but he had to keep this influence a secret, remaining a passive financial supporter providing logistics. Otherwise, he’d soon find out what it was like to become a global enemy.

Superhumans already operated above the law and ethics, so who could be above them? No government could tolerate that, especially Matthew’s own country, where every appearance by top-tier superheroes was a slap in the face to the U.S. military, the embodiment of world power.

"How about you?" Matthew asked.

"I’ll stay behind to observe the situation, try to blend in at a safe location. Maybe I can find some clues about the group behind the creation of the Beelzebub files—there must be someone from their group in the community right now. If there's time, I’ll switch back into my bodyguard uniform. If not, I’ll just find some casual clothes that look different from what I’m wearing now and use the excuse that my clothes were contaminated by a Green’s bodily fluids and need to be changed." Nemo had no objections to a simple physical check; even if they only gave him an underwear to put on, it would help maintain his image as the "little chef."

"Since that's the case, I’ll hide with you. You’re my bodyguard, so it’s only right we act together." Matthew's research instincts screamed not to miss the opportunity of seeing whether Nemo might show any superhuman traits in combat, and Nemo certainly wouldn’t be casually taking selfies with his phone. The fact that Nemo was able to move freely was thanks to the mysterious vigilante group who had temporarily disabled the community’s surveillance system, and even drones had been shut down.

"No way, have you figured out how to cure Green infections yet? I can’t even guarantee I didn’t get a drop of their bodily fluid on me during that fight. When it’s time to act, you can't worry about everything!" Nemo was clearly aware that he had been exposed to biological risks.

"Typically, superhumans aren’t easily assimilated by human infected individuals. They’re protected by their own power systems, but your concerns are valid. It’s safer to avoid any contact with contaminated materials that carry the monster's power," Matthew replied.

"So when you have the chance, just get out of here quickly. I’m not skilled enough to create an invincible shield for you anytime and anywhere! Don’t forget, you’ve got your whole company to take care of!" In summary, the billionaire was a hassle.

"Afterward, you need to go to headquarters for a checkup. We agreed on that, right?" Matthew stared into the deep brown eyes of the curly-haired young man, the only part of Nemo’s face visible beyond his mask. Half of Nemo’s eyes, bathed in the light from the ventilation window, were almost transparent amber, rimmed with black, the rest still hidden in shadow, deep and solemn.

Matthew didn't particularly associate those eyes with adjectives like beautiful gems or the wildness of animals. If anything, there was only one way to describe them: "Nemo's" eyes—alive, unique windows to his soul, allowing Matthew to see the various quirky and interesting little emotions of the young ex-vigilante, as well as his occasional, breath-taking thoughtful reactions.

Nemo probably didn’t realize it, but in the moments when he attacked the Greens, his gaze remained calm and focused, like watching a magnified water droplet or a butterfly just emerging from its cocoon. Even though Matthew tried to observe his mental state through his eye movements, he was still caught off guard.

There was neither malice nor pity in that gaze, not even a godlike superiority—just a brief encounter with personal disaster, like stepping into electrified puddles or hitting your head on a stone while falling. Even though criminals and lunatics shared a certain disastrous absurdity in human nature, in that moment, there was nothing in Nemo's eyes, like the deep sea where no human trace can remain.

Nemo’s superpowers were certainly mysterious, but he himself was still fragile and vulnerable. If those eyes, the same color as the tea Nemo loved to drink, lost their luster and the pupils dilated... Matthew recoiled at the thought.

"I’d go even without you saying so. I can’t bring danger to the people around me," Nemo said firmly.

Halfway up the stairs, Matthew suddenly realized that Nemo hadn’t let go of the ice pick in his right hand, and he was still holding a mop and a dog leash in his left. He could understand the use of the iron chain, and it made sense to use the ice pick as a weapon, but why was he carrying a new mop upstairs? The enemy was just outside the old library.

"Nemo, answer one question, and I’ll obediently get on the helicopter and leave."

"Ask quickly!"

"Why choose the notorious prefrontal lobotomy as your killing move? You and I both know it causes irreversible brain damage." Even if someone were stabbed in a major artery, as long as they were sewn up and given a transfusion, they could recover and be discharged. But Nemo’s choice was truly terrifying. Matthew was more curious about the deeper meaning behind the young man’s actions.

So far, Nemo had used that ice pick to stab no fewer than thirty brains, but his technique was precise—one clean strike, no need for any rough stirring.

"About the severe victims of bloodsucking mosquitoes, didn’t you once suggest euthanasia? If I want to end someone’s suffering, I could stab them more than seven centimeters deep. This is more efficient than snapping their neck or cutting their artery. Directly destroying the pain receptors would make it much easier for someone nearing death," Nemo said calmly.

This was a young man who had clearly endured torture, and no doubt, many times wished for a quick death during that ordeal. Even if he didn’t remember it, rather than feeling pity for the victims, it seemed more like he regretted the unfulfilled wish for death. The billionaire thought to himself.

"So you’ve considered the necessity of assisting suicide?" Matthew asked slowly, a smile beginning to form.

"I can’t have double standards when it comes to the Beelzebub files author. That would be too lame," Nemo responded. This meant that when faced with victims who couldn’t be saved, he too had to question what he could do.

He glanced at t Matthew and said, "The main cause of death in war isn’t usually a direct fatal injury, but injuries that can’t be treated in time or treated improperly. Matthew, you could punch some thug in the street unconscious, but you can’t guarantee he won’t die from a brain hemorrhage a few days later. Such things can’t be considered bad luck for either side. It’s the imprecise violence that leads to such outcomes."

"I can't possibly do a full health check before throwing a punch," Matthew said, pouting.

"Exactly. When I face an enemy who's planning to kill me, I might just want to wound them a few times or knock them out, reducing their combat ability. But there are too many uncertainties in the environment and with the opponent, and I end up killing them. Maybe the police won't catch me, or legally, it might be considered reasonable self-defense with no guilt, but I hate it," Nemo paused, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"You like to confirm whether the opponent wants to live or die before acting. If you want to kill, you do it seriously, not by accident. Conversely, when you don't want to kill, you make sure the opponent won’t die easily after losing their combat ability," Matthew looked down at the stubborn young chef.

"Later, we’ll definitely encounter situations where we have to stop monster-infected or serial killer-type individuals from attacking civilians. Targeting the brain is at least a bit better than actually killing them, leaving them a slim chance of survival. The main reason is to save effort when dealing with multiple opponents, reduce weapon wear, and avoid having to kill constantly. The mental burden is too much," Nemo explained.

Even though he had unstable superpowers, Nemo still didn’t believe he would become a superhero capable of punching asteroids into oblivion. He didn’t consider training an indestructible body to brawl with enemies in hand-to-hand combat either. He could only develop advantageous techniques based on the changes he had felt so far, even if they were considered devious and cruel.

"Besides, damaging the brain is also a fatal blow to real monsters—if they have a brain. And I don't just stab Greens on sight; I only target those who block our way and pose a threat by attacking us," Nemo added.

" Got it. I’m not criticizing you, just curious about how you’re thinking strategically. Honestly, this technique is pretty unexpected," Matthew interrupted Nemo, who was speeding up his explanation. The curly-haired young man was getting emotional, a yellow warning light flashing.

"Severe Green patients are defined as targets to be shot because of their excessive aggression and violence, correct? Cutting off the prefrontal lobe nerves still leaves room for other new treatments, and they 'seem alive.' It's the minimal bodily damage, even if they end up paralyzed, maybe someday a magician or super-powered healer will show up, or you might even develop some kind of neural repair technology," Nemo whispered, explaining a somewhat naive wish.

"Do you have that much confidence in me?" Matthew felt that all his efforts over this time had been worth it.

"If you haven't started researching yet, you’d better speed up. In case one day you're parasitized by alien bugs and I have to take action, maybe you can rely on an AI backup of your brain information, plus a super medical team to save you. The only thing I can do for you is try to keep your body intact," Nemo didn’t want Matthew to get too smug, and this was indeed an emergency scenario he had thought of for his friend.

"Nemo, your practicality is really impressive." Even though it was summer, why was the wind on the rooftop so cold? Matthew sincerely negotiated, "My brain is my most valuable asset. If necessary, you can cut off my limbs."

"What if those bugs specifically parasitize the head? If I kill it in time, you can perform surgery to clean the bug’s corpse, leaving the usable parts. After all, your brain is the most valuable. I also want to help preserve its value. If aliens control you and the Gimm Group, they’ll control most of America, and indirectly, most of the advanced countries. Sometimes, we have to make tough decisions," Nemo said, continuing to climb the stairs while urging Matthew to move ahead of him.

But Matthew didn’t think Nemo’s tone sounded as difficult as he described it.

"Actually, this isn’t the killing move I want most. My ideal is something like the 'butcher carving an ox*,' where I can fight while unloading the opponent's burden, ending the battle quickly without accidentally killing them. I can't stand randomly cutting muscle and veins or chopping bones. It makes me uncomfortable," Nemo said. Matthew would look up Chinese idioms himself, and Nemo wasn’t at all concerned that he wouldn’t understand the reference.

"I’ll arrange anatomy courses for you," the billionaire responded, sensing the chef's hint.

"Thanks." Nemo stopped behind Matthew and didn’t move from the staircase. The billionaire was confused; he stood there and waited for Nemo to catch up.

"The door opens outward. I’ll lock it from the inside to prevent you from sneaking away when I leave." Nemo placed the dog leash and ice pick aside, gripped the mop handle, and pressed it against his knee with force, snapping it cleanly in half. The crisp sound made Matthew’s neck tingle, silently imagining whether the young chef would one day snap someone’s spine the same way.

Then, Nemo handed over half of the mop, still attached to the mop head, to the billionaire as friendly as handing over sugar cane.

"For self-defense. You take half, I’ll take half. If any Green try to open the door, you can block it from the outside with this," Nemo explained.

"Your cautious concern is really touching," Matthew responded, the terrifying sound of the iron chain dragging on the floor awakening all his PR instincts.

As Matthew could only see a sliver of Nemo’s eye through the gradually closing door, the young chef spoke ominously, "I can't be bothered with useless talk. If I find out you’ve climbed down the outer wall, I’ll be very, very angry, and you won’t want to know what the consequences are. You can send more helicopters to assist with air rescue, since the Greens can’t fly. As long as they’re lifted a certain height off the ground, it’ll be safe. I hope we don’t have to wait too long before we see helicopters hovering over this building."

"Of course, I am an important person," Matthew replied, holding the half of the mop handle like a royal scepter.

Nemo slammed the door shut with a resounding sound and locked it.

* The Chinese idiom is "庖丁解牛," which comes from a fable in 莊子 (Chuang Tzu). It refers to a chef named Ding who had perfected the art of butchering cattle to an extraordinary degree. After nineteen years of using the same knife, it still felt as sharp as new. His movements were as smooth and graceful as singing or dancing as he skillfully dissected the ox, with the meat falling to the ground like mud. Nemo uses the idiom here in its literal sense, implying that he hopes to strike his enemies' weak points with minimal force, achieving the greatest effect, in harmony with nature.