Finally, it was time for Nemo’s own health checkup.
Based on the Grimm Group’s leader’s hints, it was clear that this would be an exhaustive investigation—one that would tear him apart, scrutinize every detail, and go to unimaginable lengths. What? So, you think Nemo's overreacting?Well, you don’t know Matthew Grimm.
Those golden eyes, accustomed to peering into countless secrets, would leave no stone unturned. Even if he had to dissect Nemo into cells and reassemble him, Matthew would still be determined to unravel the mystery of his amnesia. He wouldn’t allow a single broken part in Nemo’s body that he couldn’t fix.
Just the thought that the tycoon would leisurely peruse medical data on Nemo—data even Nemo himself didn’t fully understand—made him uncomfortable. Matthew had full access to everything, granted openly by Nemo himself, who had authorized Matthew to investigate and treat his amnesia and injuries.
The checkup was held at the Grimm Group headquarters. The initial tests were similar to what boss Liu and his wife had gone through: height and weight measurements, blood draws, oral cell swabs, X-rays, ultrasound, and MRIs. For now, Matthew had canceled any invasive tests, probably to avoid frightening Nemo during his first physical exam. The richest man was being cautious.
With just these samples and machine data, Matthew should be able to uncover a lot, or so Nemo thought. If not, they would proceed step by step.
The next four hours were spent filling out a questionnaire the size of an entire dictionary. During breaks, Nemo could test his fitness level on the side.
“Why not use the digital version?” Nemo asked, sitting next to the billionaire. Every time Nemo completed a page, Matthew would take it and review it.
“After the Meteor Shower Even, everything needs to be backed up on paper. Just to be safe, I’ll decide which of your data can be stored electronically or needs to be modified or hidden. After all, you’re a ‘special project.’”
“Is this for the confidentiality level of the person who commissioned you to find me?” Nemo didn’t even look up as he checked boxes and filled in answers.
“No, it’s because I’m establishing the highest level of confidentiality for you. After all, you know so many of my secrets. If your confidentiality level isn’t the same as mine, doesn’t that lower my own?” Matthew gave him a look that seemed to say, "Kid, you need to grow up quickly."
“You could have just kept quiet back then,” Nemo said.
“I had to get it off my chest. You’re the only one I can talk to like this,” Matthew said candidly.
His sudden honesty made Nemo’s pen hover for a moment before he quickly continued writing.
“Tired? Want to try a standing jump and see who jumps farther?” Matthew, dressed in a sharp suit with gleaming shoes and perfectly styled hair, suggested—much to the horror of his exclusive stylist, who would’ve fainted at such an idea.
“No thanks. I’ll just stick to the normal jump test later.” Nemo felt like he was back in elementary school, with a hyperactive classmate who was over 6 feet tall.
“How about a punching bag with sensors? Want to try?” Matthew persisted.
“You’re not the one doing the homework, so please stay quiet,” Nemo replied, grabbing another blank questionnaire and continuing. He discreetly observed his surroundings. The small, interconnected rooms were filled with unfamiliar equipment, and Nemo guessed that at least half of these machines hadn’t been commercialized yet.
Honestly, it wasn’t until he stepped into Matthew’s testing station that Nemo truly felt like he had entered the near future. The value of these machines must surpass that of several hospitals combined. With the way they were arranged, it felt like a one-stop service tailored for a select few, with cross-checking tests designed to uncover even the most subtle anomalies.
If the testing station was this high-tech, Nemo wondered, what would the experimental areas be like? Would there be giant hamster wheels to test the speed of superpowers? By this point, Nemo wasn’t naive enough to not see through it—Matthew had brought him to the Grimm Group’s health checkup facility specifically set up for people with extraordinary abilities. Perhaps it also served as a qualification review?
After finally completing the vast array of questionnaires, Nemo closed his eyes and lightly pressed on his sore eye sockets. It was just another set of psychological traps. Who knew if they cleverly embedded hints about his true identity to test his reactions?
Matthew must have seen the news about the chef battling robbers, but he didn’t say anything—another suspicious detail. According to the terms of their cooperation, Matthew would provide appropriate information based on how well Nemo cooperated and the progress of his treatment.
“You don’t like being passive? Then make an effort to remember what you’ve forgotten. I guarantee you’ll find out more than I can tell you,” Matthew said.
Aside from his real name, the version of himself that had transmigrated retained a clear memory of everything. It was a soul transfer, but the brain's habits and muscle memory seemed to have truly brought back some fragmented thoughts and unfamiliar emotions from his past life.
Alright! He couldn’t rule out the possibility that his former self might try to contact him in a dream! Or maybe these crazy scientists had zapped his brain and swapped the soul back.
“Nemo, this S-15 form isn’t filled out completely.” Matthew magically pulled out a sheet from the pile of documents.
Nemo took it, glanced at it briefly, and his lips twitched. “Didn’t I fill out most of it?”
“Heterosexual, single, no romantic partners, no crushes, ex-partner not in the U.S.? No. But the next two questions about whether you’re sexually active and how many times a week weren’t filled out.” Matthew read them out loud, one by one.
“Personal privacy, I don’t want to answer!” Nemo shouted angrily.
“The previous questions are about setting up a safety net to prevent enemies from using intimate partners to infiltrate or blackmail you. The last two are from a psychologist. If it’s inconvenient to find someone, DIY will do. Sexual activity is an important indicator of a man’s physical and mental health. This is a medical need, I’m not making jokes here. The doctor thought it necessary to include them in the questionnaire, so how many times a week?”
How many times had Matthew Grimm said such nonsense with this sincere expression? If printed on A4 paper, it could probably stretch from the East Coast to the West Coast. Nemo leaned back and took a deep breath, reluctantly giving the numbers from before the transmigration.
Matthew looked at him sympathetically. “Nemo, you’re still young, don’t give up.”
Shit! I’m 35 in real age, alright? I’m usually so tired from work, like a dog, and then I still have to make progress in games—where do I find the time to waste energy on this in real life?
Nemo really hadn’t felt any impulse in sex. It wasn’t even his own body. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. In fact, the thought of maintaining someone else’s "sword" was uncomfortable. Putting himself in the other’s shoes, if his original body had been transmigrated and was still engaged in "mosaic" sexual activity, he'd probably want to kill the person. He'd better be a priest or a monk!
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
However, his original world body was probably either frozen in a morgue or cremated. Nemo only needed to take basic moral responsibility for the transmigrated body.
“It could also be that an undetected brain injury has suppressed the sexual desire center. Luckily, it’s not completely gone, there’s still hope,” Matthew said cheerfully.
Nemo decided to keep his mouth shut.
Matthew seemed to have thought of something, his expression darkening.
“After you lost your memory, you clearly lost interest in sex. It could be a side effect of the torture. To further clarify the victimization process and the perpetrator’s motives and methods, would you mind if I arranged for a psychologist?”
Nemo, already a powerful mage before transmigrating, felt embarrassed to pin the blame on the previous Nemo.
“I mind. No need for now. I have no problem with you or Tolya having close contact. Obviously, strong men haven’t left any sexual violence trauma on me. Sexual assault as a torture method is common, but according to the border hospital’s medical report, there’s no record of sexual assault. You should’ve already seen this data.”
“The perpetrator could also be a woman,” Matthew said.
“The same principle. Women can use tools and their hands or feet to harm men, It's unnecessary to differentiate the perpetrator's gender. Sexual assault is sexual assault, but that’s not the point.” Nemo had to add an example: “Recently, I met a strong Russian woman, and I could really appreciate her beauty. Also, the new Asian girlfriend you mentioned on last night’s news, I think she’s really cute. Listen, I’m not afraid of men or women, I just don’t like doing that kind of thing with people I’m not familiar with. I need time to find the right person, but I usually don’t have time.”
Matthew’s mouth dropped open. “Nemo, which century are you from?”
The same parallel world as yours.
“Because picking the wrong person is troublesome, and if the other person isn’t human, it’s even worse. I hate trouble, it’s that simple.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay in this regard, really.” The richest man felt even more that Nemo needed mental treatment after hearing his preacher-like speech.
“By the way, speaking of my girlfriend, Angie is also Taiwanese, just like you. I’ll introduce you to her sometime. I’m curious about what other amazing things come from your homeland. At a fashion party, I heard a model was from the same place as you, so I asked her about it. We got along really well. I guess it’s good karma for me, God sent me an angel through you.” Matthew grabbed Nemo’s right hand and shook it without asking.
“Oh, congratulations on getting out of singlehood again.” Did Matthew Grimm even have a dry spell longer than a week? Nemo didn’t want to waste brain cells thinking about the answer.
“Well… for now, we can confirm that there are no 'known' foreign objects inside your body,” Matthew read aloud from the medical department’s fastest expedited checkup report.
“No 'known' foreign objects, why make it sound so complicated?” Nemo replied.
“There’s also the possibility of something that won’t reflect ultrasound or can be penetrated by X-rays. 'Fragments' often have such characteristics, so I’m not ruling it out, it’s for your own good. Who knows, maybe you were hit by a meteorite and lost your memory!”
“Case solved, no need to bother me with this again. Thank you very much!” Nemo turned to leave.
Matthew quickly grabbed him. “Your brain isn’t inflamed, and no tumors or blood clots pressing on the nerves have been detected. Perhaps your memory loss is closer to a psychological cause.”
Nemo added in his mind: Actually, it’s supernatural.
Having transmigrated and still trying to remember the original body’s memories was too much of a challenge. Therefore, Nemo could truly understand the amnesia part.
“But you’re slightly malnourished. It could be caused by picky eating or poor eating habits, combined with obvious autonomic nervous system disorder. In other words, your body and mind have been in a ‘fight’ state for a long time, which has caused your physical and mental indicators to drop to sub-health levels. You need to convince yourself to really rest.”
Nemo paused and looked up at the golden-eyed man. “I’m just getting started with the preparation for battle.”
“It’s okay, we’ll see.” Matthew answered.
Next came a series of basic strength tests.
“How are you still allergic to ultraviolet rays? That’s so delicate.” Matthew commented as they tested under the sunlight.
“As long as I’m not allergic to peanuts, thank God! Stop bothering me!” Nemo responded for the nth time, stating that he couldn't fly.
After a whole day of testing, Nemo decided he was done: “Grip strength is average, jumping ability is normal, cardiovascular function is fine, no super senses, no web-slinging, no freezing breath, no heat vision or x-ray vision––I came here for a health check, not a superpower test. The scratch on my finger from the fight two days ago is still there, so no miraculous self-healing either. Are you satisfied now?”
“This is hard to say. What if you’re just pretending?” Matthew asked. “How about this? What color am I wearing today? If you get it right, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”
“Gray boxers, now give me the money.”
“Ding ding ding, wrong!” Matthew leaned close to Nemo’s ear and whispered, “I gave them to my girlfriend this morning as a first-date gift.”
Nemo was shocked. “So you didn’t…?”
Matthew shyly hummed a response.
“Sometimes working like this is quite comfortable,” the billionaire said with a deep expression.
“Go ask your assistant to bring you a spare pair of underwear to change into!” Nemo felt mentally violated.
“Why? I didn’t! When the pandemic hit, we were all stuck at home, and other department heads and senior executives were probably not wearing anything during international video calls. At least I still had my suit pants on!” After long-term observation, Matthew felt it was unfair.
Is this a thirty-five-year-old man? He might as well be three and a half! Nemo thought to himself.
After some one-sided, exhausting communication, Nemo finally convinced Matthew to put on the basic gentleman's attire.
On the way back, Matthew, who insisted on personally driving, handed Nemo an invitation card for a charity gala.
“I’ve already gotten the consent of the restaurant owner and her husband. We’ll start a fundraiser focused on the health check results of Westlake Restaurant staff. The funds will go to refugees and low-income people in Lone Star City. We will also set up regular health check stations at key traffic points. This will help improve the city's public health while reducing the rejection of new immigrants and refugees. Additionally, we’ll be funding relevant charitable organizations.”
“That's a good idea,” Nemo said, knowing full well that Matthew was buying goodwill and showing off his new girlfriend (or letting her show off him), but Nemo couldn’t help but be impressed by his challenge in tackling the most difficult points while also benefiting Nemo’s own circle.
“Unfortunately, the Westlake Restaurant owners had to decline because of work. They don’t want you to be overly exposed, but this gala could have a significant positive impact. They wanted me to personally invite you. Whether you attend is up to you,” Matthew explained.
“As your savior and the representative of new immigrants at Westlake Restaurant, my attendance would certainly add some flair to your charity event. On the other hand, if I don’t attend, gossip reporters will say you’re ungrateful and wouldn’t even give me a small invitation.” Nemo leaned back in the car seat, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he looked at the golden-eyed man. “And is this also an attempt to use me to lure the snake out of the hole?”
“I did consider that, but usually, I’m the one who gets targeted. You’re just a bonus,” Matthew said with a shrug. “Mainly, my new girlfriend really wants to meet you. After learning that you’re a new immigrant and suffered amnesia, she insists on seeing you in person.”
“Why would you even say something like that?” Nemo glared at him.
“Basic questions: Why did you come to America? Where did you live in Taiwan? What is your Chinese name? I can’t answer any of these. You’re my savior, and not answering would be weird. Waiting for her to ask you in person? It’s better to just clarify the known facts openly. I specifically told Angie that your amnesia is a personal privacy matter and shouldn’t be spread. She’s from your homeland, and When she heard about it, she seemed quite worried. It was probably a maternal instinct,” Matthew explained.
It had been some time since he transmigrated. Aside from Sunny Jie, an immigrant who had been in the United States for many years, Nemo had never had any personal interactions with Taiwanese people in this world. At most, he had overheard some customers casually mentioning related topics in the restaurant's kitchen. They were always quite cautious and low-key about anything related to Taiwan.
In these extraordinary times, Nemo understood why. After all, wasn’t he the same? But that also led to his lack of interest in making connections. If a friendly Taiwanese person approached him, of course, he would welcome it.
“I think the charity gala is a good opportunity to introduce the two of you. At least you won’t be bored at the event,” Matthew said.
Was Matthew worried about him feeling out of place at the high-profile gala? Nemo nodded, acknowledging the concern.
"So, are you sure you’re coming or not?"Matthew asked, still seeking confirmation. Nemo seemed not to oppose, but a lack of certainty still made him uneasy.
Matthew, knowing from experience that Nemo wasn’t likely to be interested in a grand elite gala, didn’t expect him to enjoy it. But since the curly-haired young man showed no interest in any social gathering, it made it feel like a celebrity gala was just as annoying as a random neighborhood party.
If Matthew let a driver pick Nemo up and then relay the invitation through his assistant, Nemo’s chances of attending the charity event would be fifty-fifty. This was only with the restaurant owners' names and the possibility of doing a great deed for charity. If Matthew drove him home himself and extended the invitation in person, the chances would go up by about ten percent. Matthew was gradually understanding Nemo’s personality—he needed straightforward, face-to-face exchanges to be convinced.
“The invitation card specifies bringing a plus-one. Where am I supposed to find a date?” Nemo asked.
“Based on my experience at past events, many guests bring a same-sex companion. They’re not necessarily romantic partners—friends or relatives are just as common. As long as they’re dressed formally, it’s fine. My styling team will handle it. Just show up on the day. Your Russian roommate is a good option. He publicly opposed the war back home and successfully applied for political asylum in the U.S. He could help deflect some of the media attention from you,” Matthew suggested.
“Neither Tolya nor I like media attention. I can ask him, but if he doesn’t want to, then forget it.” Although Matthew could easily find a perfect companion for Nemo—maybe pulling someone from his assistant pool—Nemo wasn’t about to make such a sacrifice for charity. If Matthew’s Taiwanese girlfriend wanted to meet him, she wouldn’t have trouble finding a way.
“I understand. I’ll wait for your good news,” Matthew said, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning toward the curly-haired young man.
“What are you doing?” Nemo asked warily, unbuckling his own seatbelt.
“Aren’t you going to give your future fairy godmother a goodbye kiss? My dear Cinderella,” Matthew said, his golden eyes gleaming with a hot glow.
Nemo slapped Matthew lightly on the left cheek—not hard, but enough to be shocking.
“If you have hands to scratch your own itch, why waste my energy?”
“I just wanted to confirm whether the heterosexuality questionnaire you filled out earlier is true,” Matthew said, covering his cheek with a mock-pout.
Nemo remembered how this man, bored, took his supermodel girlfriend to a space station for a birthday party, stripped down to play the victim to gain the trust of a target. Matthew was a true terror in social relations.
“If I had filled out ‘gay,’ would it be any of your business?”
“That way, I’d know whether to introduce you to handsome guys or beautiful women! Isn’t it awkward if I get it wrong?” Matthew replied confidently.
“Please, for God’s sake, stop meddling in other people’s business,” Nemo said slowly, each word deliberate, as if counting how many times he would have to punch the rich man.
“Okay,” Matthew said, immediately sitting up straight.
Nemo got out of the car without a moment’s hesitation, leaving with no unnecessary words. Matthew began to seriously consider hiring a professional British butler to listen to his woes.