Lugh Everveil stood in the hospital corridor, his hands clasped like a kid about to beg for candy. His grin was downright devilish as he whispered to his trusty Wishing System.
"Oh, magnificent system, grant me a little zing today! I wish to be all jittery and buzzing with energy!"
A cheerful Ding! chimed in his head.
"Wish granted!"
A spark zipped through him, like he'd chugged a triple espresso chased with a sugar rush. Every nerve hummed, every breeze prickling his skin like a pesky mosquito. He felt alive—twitchy, wired, and ready to stir the pot.
Inside the ward, chaos was brewing. Marcus Mahatir, curls bouncing with every move, rummaged through his shiny needle case and pulled out a silver beast—long, thick, and gleaming like a knight's lance. He held it over a flame, sterilizing it with the focus of a chef roasting a marshmallow.
"Junior brother," Marcus said, flashing a reassuring grin, "hang in there—this'll be over quick!"
Xavier Cain, swaddled in bandages and sporting a face greener than a lime smoothie, gaped at the monster needle.
"Senior brother, isn't that overkill? Can't we swap it for something… daintier?"
Marcus sighed, his glasses slipping down his nose.
"No can do, junior brother! Your skin's tougher than a rhino's hide—every skinny needle I tried yesterday snapped like a twig! This bad boy's our only shot!"
Xavier mulled it over, his grimace deepening. The logic checked out—his freakishly hard skin had turned Marcus's last attempt into a comedy of bent metal.
"Fine," he rasped. "Just… go easy, okay?"
"Relax—I've got this down to an art!" Marcus chirped, exuding the confidence of a man who'd never stabbed himself twice in one week.
The stage was set. Marcus gripped the oversized needle, his free hand pressing lightly on Xavier's bandaged chest to find the sweet spot. He sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself like a diver on a high board, then plunged the needle down with a grunt.
Success!
The thing slid in smoother than butter on a hot skillet—sinking seven, maybe eight centimeters deep, slicing through like it was born for this. Nearly punched straight through to the other side!
But here's the kicker: Lugh's wish had doubled back, juicing Xavier's nerves to twice their usual zip. That needle wasn't just a prick—it was a lightning bolt of agony slamming straight into his brain.
Xavier's eyes popped wide, and a howl ripped from his throat.
"AAAAAAH!"
The sound was a sonic boom—raw, wild, and loud enough to rattle the hospital's windows. Nurses down the hall dropped their clipboards; a janitor fumbled his mop. The whole building shook like it'd been hit by a banshee's karaoke night.
Marcus flailed, his cool evaporating.
"Junior brother! What's wrong?! Don't freak me out like this!"
In all his years of doctoring, he'd never seen a reaction this theatrical—not even from patients who'd stubbed a toe! He hovered, hands flapping, unsure whether to yank the needle or call for backup.
BANG!
The door flew open, and in stormed Lugh Everveil, trailed by a posse of doctors and nurses like a hero leading a cavalry charge. The head doctor, a burly guy with a mustache that screamed authority, pointed a finger and bellowed,
"Who are you, and what in blazes are you doing?!"
Marcus, already a jittery mess, stammered,
"I-I'm saving him! I swear!"
"Saving him?!" The doctor stomped over, eyeing the needle jutting from Xavier's chest like a skewer in a kebab.
"You jam a harpoon like that into his chest, he screams like a banshee, and you call it saving? Do we look like idiots? That's attempted murder, pal!"
Marcus's soul practically vacated his body.
"No, no—misunderstanding! I'm not killing him! He's my junior brother—why would I hurt him? I'm helping, honest!"
The doctor's mustache twitched with scorn.
"Helping? With that? Spare me the fairy tales—tell it to the cops! Nurse Tina, dial the police, stat! And someone grab this guy—don't let him bolt!"
"Yes, Dr. Khan!" a petite nurse squeaked, scampering off.
"Wait, don't!" Marcus wailed, but it was too late.
Lugh stepped forward, puffing out his chest like a knight in shining loafers.
"Dr. Mahatir, I'd stay put if I were you. No funny moves, or I'll have to play hero and defend myself—legitimately, of course!"
Marcus glanced at the ring of stern-faced staff closing in, sighed a defeated
"Oops,"
and squatted down, hands on his head like a kid caught stealing cookies.
The police swooped in faster than you could say "crime scene," cuffing Marcus and hauling him off with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Lugh, as the star witness, strutted to the station to give his statement, all charm and civic duty.
"Mr. Everveil," the officer said, scribbling notes,
"that's all for now. If we need more, can we count on you?"
Lugh flashed a grin worthy of a toothpaste ad.
"Of course! Helping the law's my duty as a citizen. Call anytime—I'm your guy!"
"Love folks like you," the officer chuckled.
"A real team player!"
"Police and people, one big happy family!" Lugh quipped, shaking hands with a flourish.
Statement done, he sauntered back to the ward, concern painted on his face like a mask at a masquerade.
"Doc, how's my buddy holding up?"
The doctor adjusted his glasses, his tone grave but steady.
"That needle went deep—eight centimeters, nearly nicked the heart! Lucky break, though—it slid into a gap beside it. Just some bleeding, nothing too serious. Still, we're keeping him here to watch him."
Lugh's inner monologue sighed,
"Darn, so close!"
Out loud, he nodded solemnly.
"You're right, Doc—he needs to stay put. Whatever it costs, I'll make sure my brother's fixed up. Please, do your best!"
The doctor shook his head, marveling.
"You barely know the guy, and you're this devoted! Meanwhile, his so-called 'brother' tries to skewer him. What's the world coming to?"
"Beats me," Lugh said, his sigh dialed up to Oscar-worthy levels.
"Human nature's a tangled mess sometimes."
"Too true—and often a little twisted! Let's drop it—gets too gloomy otherwise," the doctor muttered, patting Lugh's shoulder before shuffling off.
Lugh turned to Xavier, who lay there glaring daggers sharp enough to slice steel. With a voice dripping with sincerity, Lugh vowed,
"Brother, don't you worry—I'll see this through. That culprit won't escape justice, I swear it!"
Xavier's hand trembled as he lifted it, rasping,
"Let… let my senior brother go!"
Lugh's brows shot up, his tone a mix of shock and pity.
"Seriously? After all this, you're still defending him? You treat him like family, and he's out here trying to turn you into a pincushion! Look, just rest up—I'll swing by later to check on you."
The door clicked shut, and Xavier's eyes fluttered closed, despair washing over him like a soggy blanket.
___
Back in his penthouse, Lugh flopped onto his velvet couch, cackling like a kid who'd pulled the ultimate prank. His wish had turned Xavier's healing session into a slapstick disaster—Marcus nabbed, Xavier howling, and Lugh playing the saintly savior. It was a masterpiece of mischief, and he savored every second.
Xavier, meanwhile, stewed in his hospital bed, pain throbbing through his chest and betrayal stinging worse. Marcus—his loyal, bumbling brother—hadn't meant harm, but Lugh's meddling had twisted it into a circus. That needle fiasco? Lugh's fingerprints were all over it, even if Xavier couldn't prove it. The guy was a puppet master, yanking strings with a grin.
Marcus, cooling his heels in a holding cell, replayed the chaos with a groan.
"Junior brother trusted me, and now I'm the bad guy?!"
He'd meant to heal, not harm, but that monster needle and Xavier's scream had landed him in hot water. And Lugh—oh, that slick Everveil brat—had swooped in to "help," leaving Marcus to foot the blame.
Jessica Snow, blissfully unaware of the hospital hijinks, floated through her day at Snow Enterprises. The lavender vial sat on her desk, a quiet reminder of Lugh's goofy charm. She hummed, her mind drifting to their movie night—definitely not a date, just a noble rescue mission. Right?
The city buzzed on, oblivious to the ward's drama. Lugh plotted his next move, Xavier nursed his wounds and grudges, Marcus faced the music, and Jessica dreamed of lavender.
The game was a rollercoaster, and none of them were stepping off.