Strongest Maniac: Born in an Asylum

One-Eye lay on the hospital bed, his expression impassive. He said nothing, turning his head to stare at the wall. His mind was a calm sea of resignation; there were no ripples of anger, not even a flicker of a new plan.

He had accepted the facts.

His right leg was temporarily paralyzed.

"So, how do you feel? Did the eye grow back?"

Leo and Walter, with a complete lack of tact, immediately pestered One-Eye the moment he returned. Walter was especially anxious; this was his second attempt with the needles, and he couldn't bear the thought of another failure.

One-Eye ignored them completely.

He finally understood. These two were genuinely insane. He didn't even know what he had been thinking, trying to outsmart them. The results were clear: he'd been knocked unconscious twice, and the second time had left him with a paralyzed leg.

It was a devastating outcome.

He wouldn't utter another word to them, no matter what they asked. Seaside City was crawling with malevolent entities, and there was much to be done. He had no time to waste in this hospital room with two madmen. He cursed his own stupidity. To be fooled once was a mistake; to be fooled twice was just plain idiotic.

"He must be very excited," Leo concluded, observing One-Eye's silence.

"That's why he's not talking to us," Walter added, nodding in agreement.

"Mmm..."

Leo and Walter put their heads together, whispering conspiratorially.

Mark Zhang was on high alert. Now there was another one. A one-eyed man, built like a tank, with a grim and serious face. If he went berserk, how could Mark's small frame possibly protect his beloved daughter?

It doesn't matter, he thought. No matter how dangerous it gets, I will risk my life to protect her.

If One-Eye could have read Mark's mind, he would have roared in protest. You're the crazy one! I was tricked by the crazies! You can't just insult me like that!

Just then, Leo pointed to the little girl on the bed. "She's in a lot of pain right now," he said softly. "I can feel it."

"Should I give her a few needles?" Walter asked earnestly.

"You can't poke her," Leo said firmly. "She's a Little Angel. I can see it. You can't poke a Little Angel."

"Oh. Well, does she need some soy milk then?" Walter asked.

The two sat cross-legged on their beds, communicating with a series of expressions and gestures.

A chill ran down Mark's spine. The psychological pressure was immense. Only now did he truly understand how dangerous it was to share a room with mental patients.

He stood before his daughter's bed like a furious lion, puffing out his chest to look as intimidating as possible. He glared at Leo and Walter, sending a clear signal: Don't even think about touching my daughter, unless you go through me first.

At that moment, an elderly, white-haired doctor entered the room.

Mark's eyes lit up. He rushed over. This was his daughter's head physician, a kind doctor who had helped him immensely. Knowing his financial difficulties, the doctor had tried to minimize costs where possible and had even organized a hospital fundraiser for his daughter.

"Doctor, is there any news? Have you found a bone marrow match?" he asked, his face alight with hope. His daughter had been waiting for months, undergoing countless preparations for a transplant.

The doctor looked at the hopeful father, and his silence was answer enough. He simply shook his head.

The hope drained from Mark's face. He staggered, nearly collapsing, and gripped the bed rail for support. "How can this be?" he mumbled.

"We are still searching," the doctor said gently. "We will notify you the moment we find a match."

Mark sank to the floor, clutching his head. "But can my daughter wait that long?" he croaked, his voice raw with despair. "We're out of money."

The doctor sighed, helpless in the face of such tragedy.

"I saw something like this on TV," a calm voice said. "If that's the case, I can donate."

"He can donate too."

"And he can donate."

Leo pointed to himself, then to Walter, and finally to One-Eye.

"Donate what?" Walter asked, confused. He hugged the case of needles tightly. "I'll donate anything except my needles."

"Hematopoietic stem cells," Leo stated.

"What's that?"

"I don't know. I saw it on TV."

If anyone was utterly bewildered, it was One-Eye. He wanted nothing more to do with these two. He had already planned to leave that night; for a powerhouse like him, a temporarily paralyzed leg was a minor inconvenience. But now, this madman had volunteered him to donate his "hematopoietic stem cells" without even asking.

Did anyone consult me?

But as he thought about it, a strange sense of pride kicked in. Both of these mental patients were willing to do it. If he refused, wouldn't that make him less noble than a madman? Damn it, he thought. I refuse to be outdone by them. He gave a curt nod, signifying his consent.

The white-haired doctor heard this and turned to look at Leo and his companions. He had almost forgotten about the two mental patients in the room; he hadn't taken them seriously. If they had an episode now, the situation could become dangerous. But none of that mattered at the moment.

"Are you all certain?" the doctor asked.

"Certain," Leo said calmly.

"Me too. Whatever he's donating, I'll donate. But I want a Sprite first," Walter insisted. The donation itself wasn't important; getting his soda was.

"I want a Coke," Leo added.

Mark's jaw dropped. He stared in disbelief at the men he had been so wary of. He never imagined they would be willing to donate. Even if it turned out they weren't a match, the gesture alone shook him to his core.

He walked over to Leo's bed. He reached out to take Leo's hand, but Leo recoiled, avoiding his touch. Mark then dropped to his knees beside the bed.

"Thank you..." he sobbed, his eyes turning red, deeply ashamed of his earlier behavior.

"Move," Leo said, pushing Mark aside. This person was so strange. Crying for no reason, thanking him for no reason, and now kneeling in front of him, blocking his view.

He looked over at the little girl, his eyes crinkling as a wide, bright smile spread across his face, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth.

It was a smile that sent a shiver down the doctor's spine. It was the kind of smile that could give you nightmares—eerie and unsettling.

But the little girl on the bed, enduring her pain, smiled back. To her, this big brother's smile wasn't scary at all. It was like a smile from a cartoon, the kind that could make you feel warm inside.

For a moment, the room was filled with a strange, profound warmth that no one else could feel. At least, none of the adults Leo had ever met. To them, his smile was always weird, sinister, and terrifying.

After that, things were simple. They just needed to draw blood for precise tissue typing. Leo and Walter were VIP customers at this hospital; their health records and data were already on file, so there was no need to waste time.

Walter leaned over to Leo and whispered, "He seems really short on money."

"Do you have any money?" Leo asked.

"Nope."

"Me neither."

Walter scratched his head. He pulled up his sleeve, lovingly caressing the watch on his wrist. Then, he got off the bed, crept over to One-Eye's bedside, and whispered.

"Interested in buying a watch?"

"It's a Rolex."

"A symbol of nobility."

"If you buy it, I'll even throw in another acupuncture session. How about it?"