"Nemo, you're about to take down my PR department head. Where did you learn all this?" Matthew bent down to draw blood from Nemo, who was slumped in the executive chair behind the CEO desk, looking utterly drained.

"Online debates. Average of over fifty positive responses," Nemo wasn’t lying.

"No wonder. My PR drafts are either criticized or get downvotes every time. Have you considered changing jobs?"

"Sorry, I might have also criticized you and downvoted your posts," the curly-haired young man admitted. The good thing about him was that, when it came to the world’s richest man, Nemo wasn’t even bothered to lie.

"It’s fine. I understand. It’s the sad fate of those in power," Matthew responded generously. The fact that the young chef spent time criticizing and downvoting was already a special privilege—after all, this was Nemo Captain, someone who didn’t care much for entertainment gossip.

"By the way, my scientists working on the Green disease project were originally planning to just give up and die once their rationality was lost. But after hearing your performance and vision today, some of them changed their minds. They hope that, when the time is right, you can 'perform surgery' on them." the billionaire said.

Matthew carefully stored the blood sample, and Nemo didn’t ask why they didn’t go directly to the lab. But from the helicopter pad, they had arrived at the familiar president office. Matthew, grabbing his ultra-comfortable office chair, turned toward Nemo, who didn’t hesitate to sit in it.

"Why not just call in a professional surgeon? It’d be safer," Nemo suggested.

"Just think of it as the blessing of the Pope. And besides, your superpower can cause a 'nature change' through contact. Maybe you can resist the assimilation power of East Coast Kaiju blood. I think it’s worth a shot," Matthew pointed out.

"Those researchers are great. Of course, I’m honored to help," Nemo said, pressing an alcohol wipe to his needle wound.

Matthew paused for a moment, quietly observing the curly-haired young man. Nemo had already closed his eyes several times unconsciously, his fluffy hair drooping as he started to doze off. His shoes had even fallen off, and his legs curled up on the chair, forming a strange posture as he leaned back. His tie had long been removed in the helicopter and shoved into his pocket.

Nemo had grown accustomed to having a safe place to curl up and sleep when he was completely exhausted, even if it wasn’t a hospital bed. The billionaire's oversized, soft office chair would suffice.

"I’m sure you remember how many battles I fought today better than I do. Can I just sleep now? You can push the chair and take me to the lab for an examination. I can’t do any physical tests right now," Nemo said, clearly not wanting to move.

"Go ahead and sleep! I’ll move you over when you’re out. I love doing whatever I want with unconscious men," Matthew replied, still holding a grudge over how Nemo had locked him out on the rooftop, cutting his experience of the Green outbreak short.

"Damn!" Nemo immediately opened his eyes wide.

Matthew pulled a thermometer out of his desk drawer and took several readings on Nemo’s forehead. He then clipped a smart health bracelet to Nemo's wrist, linking it to the system to monitor his heart rate and blood oxygen levels.

Actually, measuring his brainwaves while Nemo slept would have been quite valuable for research, but Matthew felt that Nemo’s performance and speech today didn’t deserve to be treated that way. What Nemo really needed was a hot cup of tea with extra milk, a room with thick blankets and a soft mattress, or perhaps the Lakeview Villa far from crowds, with clean air. Given the current situation and how alert Nemo was, Matthew figured he could only provide the first option.

"I’m not checking if you’ve been infected by the Green disease. To be honest, with your carefulness and natural resistance as a superhuman, it’s almost impossible for you to get infected. What I’m worried about is whether your superpower has already activated, the duration, and the cost that comes with it. If you fall asleep right now, it means testing your muscle strength or mental focus won’t be meaningful, but I still need to observe your physiological signs over the next 24 hours, including any decline in your nervous and organ functions, hormone changes, and how much sleep or nutrients you need to return to normal," Matthew explained.

"That last sentence was so shady that it kept me awake for at least ten minutes," Nemo protested.

"Oh, so a little mental stimulation can still trigger your combat power?" Matthew noted this in his mental notebook.

"I’m not hungry right now, I just really want to sleep," Nemo said, tilting his head.

"Then let’s assume that 'exhausted to the point of not moving and falling asleep' is the price of using your superpower for three continuous hours. You didn’t fall asleep in the empty house of the Carnation community, so I assume your defensive alertness to danger is also part of your abilities. It’s a primal survival instinct in humans. Every group has individuals who are particularly good at lookout or escaping. If this ability can be enhanced to superhuman levels, it would be extremely useful. After all, in terms of raw destructive power, my military-industrial products can replace or outperform many superhumans who only excel in attack or speed,"

The importance of Matthew’s words was self-evident. He could have hidden these key insights, which would make it easier to control Nemo, but he chose to reveal everything upfront. It wasn’t just about figuring out Nemo’s superpowers; it felt more like Matthew was educating him about the essence of this new field of superhuman research.

"In most cases of superhumans, excessive sleepiness indicates a higher degree of depletion than hunger. Your superpower’s activation is not obvious, but if your perception changes or you feel unusually good physically, I recommend you avoid using your abilities continuously for over an hour in the early stages, whether it’s for combat or alertness."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"I’ll keep that in mind," Nemo said.

At that moment, the assistant came in carrying two steaming mugs. Matthew’s hands were large, and his custom-made mug was noticeably bigger than the average size. Nemo’s mug was the same design, with a capacity of about 600 ml—perfect for the billionaire to sip coffee while reviewing reports. This time, it was filled with fragrant Darjeeling tea with milk.

“You haven’t eaten anything since you entered the Carnation Community, and you’ve already burned through your energy. Choose between milk tea or an IV. If you can’t finish the milk tea, I’ll give you an IV instead,” the billionaire said, raising his mug of tea toward Nemo.

“No IV!” Nemo, still reeling from having blood drawn earlier, had had enough of needles.

“Pfft!” Matthew couldn’t help but laugh.

Nemo tried lifting the mug by the handle with one hand but found it difficult, as the tea was filled to the brim. Reluctantly, he glared at Matthew before cupping the mug with both hands to drink.

The warm, soothing blend of rich milk, familiar tea leaves, and the sweet scent of honey slid down his throat, instantly making him feel better. It was then that Nemo understood what Matthew meant when he said his body temperature was below normal. His time in the Carnation Community, with continuous combat and hiding, had also been draining his vitality.

After taking a few more sips, Nemo decided to share his thoughts with Matthew while he still had some energy and the memory of the day’s events was fresh. This way, he could get it off his chest and sleep without distractions.

“I think my superpower might be turning into a online game character or seeing my enemies as online game monsters.”

“Based on what?”

“The mental state I was in while taking down dozens of those Greens today—it felt a lot like when I play online games. No pity, no hatred or disgust, not even joy or excitement. Just a blank focus on speed and precision, completing objectives step by step, like crossing a map or protecting hostages.”

“What does that feel like?” Matthew asked, once again encountering an experience he couldn’t comprehend as the world’s top billionaire.

“My record for staying online was thirty-seven hours straight, without cheats or hacks. Spending hours killing monsters or other players is just routine.”

“So that’s what it’s like. Well, you haven’t beaten my record yet. My longest stretch working on research and experiments without sleep is fifty-two hours. But is World of Warcraft really that intense? I don’t play online games, so I wouldn’t know,” Matthew said, puzzled.

“If it’s a new expansion, clearing dungeons, farming reputation, or legendary weapons… Wait, no, I was actually talking about another Japanese online game.” Nemo almost let Matthew steer the conversation off-topic. After all, Matthew’s headquarters and private properties were like video game maps themselves.

“It’s that kind of ‘grow stronger as you fight tougher enemies’...,” Nemo gestured vaguely, struggling to explain. “Some moves are simple and quick but deal low damage; others are powerful but require conditions and time to charge. They can usually only be used once in a short period, so you save them for bosses or when your character is on the brink of death.”

“So what you’re saying is, that shot to my head at the Lakeview Villa—it was your subconscious identifying me as a particularly dangerous target, so you unleashed a high-damage move? Did you feel threatened at the time?” Matthew asked.

Nemo shook his head. “On open-world maps in online games, everyone attacks rare elite bosses on sight because they drop good loot. It’s pure reflex.”

“...I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks,” Matthew said, once again grappling with the unpredictability of the curly-haired young man. “Afterward, during simulated training and today’s Greens assault, since the enemy level was within your expectations, your improvement was limited?”

“Maybe. I’m short on practical combat experience, but I think mastering basic moves and improving physical fitness are the keys to survival. I’m not dissatisfied with where I am now. It’s just something I thought of and wanted to tell you.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to share your thoughts about your powers with me.”

“I have no choice. You almost became one of my victims, and we agreed you’d help me control this power. I don’t even understand it myself. If I don’t tell you, are you going to use telepathy to figure it out?” Nemo said, fully aware of the importance of team communication. Not knowing a teammate’s abilities—or worse, having someone choose the wrong move at the wrong time—usually led to disastrous team wipes.

“Actually, that person did arrive in time but chose to protect you and me from the shadows. that person didn’t want to take away your chance to grow. But you really shouldn’t wear that outfit anymore. You used to enjoy dressing this way, and when you were beaten and captured, you were wearing almost the same thing. Seeing you like this brings up painful memories for my friend,” Matthew said, referring to his mysterious superhero friend. Without this person, Matthew wouldn’t have gotten involved with Nemo and insisted on his training and rehabilitation.

“Oh,” Nemo muttered, scratching his nose. “This is just a lightweight, inconspicuous outfit that’s easy to pack. Lots of people dress like this in the city. As long as I’m not in a quarantined area like the Carnation Community, I can blend in with the crowd.”

“I knew it, but you can’t deny that this casual outfit offers no protection. Next time you plan to act incognito, consult me first,” Matthew said with a neutral, rational expression.

“Then you’d make me wear an embarrassing superhero costume! Thanks, but I’m not that brain-dead yet.”

"The bulletproof vests everyone wears are ugly as hell, but the superhero suits provided by the Grimm Group are top-notch—lightweight, protective, and stylish! Other superhumans are dying to get their hands on them, and I have to think carefully before offering. This is a baseless attack on my company’s image!"

"Then why don’t you wear them when skydiving or doing other extreme sports? You knew the Greens’ turf was dangerous. Did you bother changing into superhero-grade protective gear before going into the hospital basement today? You know exactly how effective wearing it would be." Nemo kept sipping his milk tea, unfazed.

"I'm not a superhero, and honestly, it's kind of embarrassing to wear these..."

Even someone like the billionaire, who wouldn’t bat an eye at being fully nude, admitted to feeling awkward about it. Could anyone blame Nemo for resisting with all his might? Superhero suits were basically made to push the limits of human embarrassment.

"I’m not a superhero either! If you want me to try it, you’d better wear your company’s product publicly for a month first." Nemo dismissed the topic coldly and shifted gears. "Are the Carnation Community and Beelzebub files the work of the same people?"

"Possibly. At least, I’ve started to suspect that." Matthew perched on the edge of the table, taking a sip of his milk tea while half-turning to face Nemo.

"Everyone says that maggot master vigilante doesn’t care about civilian casualties this time. What’s changed?"

" Maybe it's a case of "not a crime worthy of death, but still deserving of it."That would explain why he didn’t personally execute specific targets—whether they live or die depends on their skill and luck. Besides, the National Guard and Special Forces were on the scene, and their firepower far outweighed the critically infected Greens. With less than six months until the presidential election, the governor of LA is likely pulling out all the stops to maintain swing-state confidence in the ruling party, boosting his influence within the party and his chances for re-election in two years. That vigilante probably wants to expose some of the dirt behind the scenes. New York’s also likely involved."

"I stand by my previous point—I don’t get along with that maggot master," Nemo said, recalling their discussion about the mysterious vigilante involved in the Beelzebub files. His biggest grievance was how the vigilante had filled containers holding victims with carbon monoxide and then blown them up when the superheroes and Special Forces arrived, destroying the evidence.

"This time, though, many people might mistake you for him. After all, you saved a lot of influential people."

"Doesn’t matter. I’m ‘Nemo.’ No one can trace me. Once he gets arrested, I’ll send an anonymous statement clarifying that certain icepick-like injuries weren’t his doing." As a former vigilante with a moral code, Nemo wouldn’t let someone else take the fall for his actions.

"Was it your boss who named you some kind of prophet?" Matthew quipped, finding Nemo's personality as troublesome as the fictional character Captain Nemo of the Nautilus.

"I've seen this quote somewhere before: 'I uphold justice and righteousness wherever I can, doing the good I’m able and the evil I must. Know this: justice is not the same as forgiveness.' It really resonated with me, but I'm not enthusiastic enough to help certain people meet God."

Matthew suddenly felt a strong urge to share Nemo's statement with that person—someone who had become an embodiment of justice due to their obsession with Nemo's disappearance. He wanted to ask them how it felt.

"There’s a small room next to my office with a single bed. I rarely use it and never share it. Go lie down and rest properly. Sleeping in a chair isn’t comfortable," Matthew offered kindly.

"Going to bed without showering is gross," Nemo replied with a calmness that bordered on cardiac arrest.

Another one of those mysterious habits unique to Taiwanese people.

"Then I’ll wake you in an hour to shower and change before going to bed?"

"Mm..." Nemo murmured, offering no further resistance.

Ten minutes later, when Matthew was sure Nemo was fast asleep, he carried him into the rest area, laid him on the single bed, and tucked him in with a silk quilt.

Matthew was confident Nemo wouldn’t wake up for the next eight hours, and he still needed the executive chair and desk for himself.