The international prison was located on a high-seas island, surrounded by ocean, nearly seven hundred kilometers from the nearest land. It was outside the jurisdiction of any single country, staffed by members from across the globe, all executing their duties regardless of race or color.
The warden’s coffee room was rich with the aroma of dark roast. Du Mo placed a cup of coffee in front of the warden, then stood beside him organizing files.
“We’ve arrested two experimental subjects in Yachong City and taken them into custody,” Du Mo said, presenting the day’s list: “Subject 61012, Curse User Eris, and Subject 9100, Divine User Bai Chunian.”
The warden flipped through the records: “Bai Chunian… the little White Lion personally vouched for by Siren. Who was foolish enough to bring him in?”
Du Mo explained: “He and Eris caused a huge commotion in Yachong City. Leaving them unchecked would damage our reputation.”
“Hmph…” The warden rested his chin in his hand, uniform slouched over his shoulders. “Yan Yi dares to openly send an undercover here.”
Du Mo asked softly: “Bai Chunian is a trusted subordinate of Chairman Yan. Aren’t they afraid this might be a one-way trip?”
“One-way trip? He relies on Siren’s backing to do as he pleases,” the warden said lazily, stirring his coffee. “Alright. Over the years, Research Institute 109 has produced three fully mimetic experimental subjects. We’ve captured two here at once. The third I’ve been longing for… yet he’s always hiding. Let’s see how long he can stay hidden.”
Du Mo circled behind the warden to massage his shoulders, leaning in to strategize: “Bai Chunian is cunning and full of tricks. During the ATWL exams, he pulled many stunts on us. I’ll notify the team to lock him permanently in solitary confinement—no steps outside.”
The warden waved his hand gently: “Too obvious. Yan Yi has always suspected collusion with foreign powers. Our stance is clear: experimental subjects are like nuclear weapons—powerful and deterrent. Every nation should have its own ‘nuclear arms,’ but uncontrolled or unmonitored warheads must be destroyed or permanently buried.”
“Perfect timing,” Li Wangxing thought, sitting up straight, curious to see what he could glean from me. “Tell the subordinates to follow standard procedure.”
The international prison, or International Maximum-Security Prison, held anyone who posed enormous harm to society or carried extreme potential risk. Almost every inmate here had blood on their hands. In reality, experimental subjects were relatively rare; most inmates were human criminals.
Even without extra guards, the prison itself was heavily fortified.
Bai Chunian and Eris weren’t assigned to the same block. Eris, guilty of mass murder, was classified as a high-risk inmate, placed alongside terrorist leaders and demolition maniacs. Bai Chunian, having caused chaos but no deaths, was grouped with humans who had committed street-level terror acts, violent brawls, and other minor offenses.
The moment the prison officer pushed him through the cell door, seven or eight hostile eyes were already fixed on him.
These eight cellmates could easily be described as hulking brutes. At the front sat a bald man with a dragon-claw tattoo peeking through the stubble on his scalp, picking at his foot, arms hugging one knee, surveying Bai Chunian from head to toe.
An experimental subject with a suppressor looked no different than a human—sometimes even more vulnerable. Due to his physique, Bai Chunian fit the aesthetic ideals of his designers: tall, fair-skinned, long-limbed, a stark contrast in this rough crowd. Thanks to Lan Bo’s influence, his features seemed almost otherworldly, clearly standing apart from this ragtag bunch.
As he entered, the prisoners who hadn’t smelled meat in years brightened, alpha instincts flaring. Given enough hunger, even the most beautiful alpha could be prey.
Just as Bai Chunian seemed about to be devoured, the officer who brought him in smirked, muttered a casual, “No fighting,” and locked the door behind him.
The alphas immediately closed in. One large, stocky black-bear alpha rinsed his mouth by the sink, wiped his face, and, with the other inmates spreading out, approached Bai Chunian. He was clearly the cell leader.
Bai Chunian leaned against the door, wearing the standard gray-green prison uniform. The loose clothing somehow suited him, his hands in his pockets, fishbone earrings glinting. A mischievous air hung around his brows.
The black-bear alpha’s gaze settled on him, lust flaring, already plotting to drag the “kitten” to his bed that night.
“What’s with the eye? Poor thing.” He reached for the bandage covering Bai Chunian’s left eye, feigning concern. “Pick whichever bed you like, sweetheart.”
Bai Chunian, ever friendly, extended his hand to shake and chose the best bed in the cell—the one already made up with bedding.
The others whistled and jeered—he’d picked the leader’s bed.
The black-bear alpha chuckled, lifting his shirt to reveal a muscular abdomen. “Want me to sleep with you?”
“No, no.” Bai Chunian rolled up the bedding and casually placed it on another empty bed, then began neatly making the bed. He had grown used to making beds for Lan Bo: the delicate little fish refused them, preferring the aquarium. Bai Chunian would flatten the water bed, then carry Lan Bo out, dry him, and tuck him into his own bed.
Now that Lan Bo had matured, he was less heat-sensitive. At night, Bai Chunian liked holding him firmly. This bed, being in a more private corner, was perfect—he could think about his “wife” in peace.
He wasn’t pleased with this cell. To see Jinluchong, he’d need access to a higher-security block.
Bai Chunian’s diligent bed-making only made the black-bear’s heart race, his throat dry, hands itching.
“Ever been with an alpha?” the black-bear asked hoarsely.
Bai Chunian glanced down, adjusting the pillow. “My wife gets fierce just like an alpha.”
The black-bear laughed. “Oh, the kid has a wife? Forget her—you’ll be stuck here for decades before you see her again.”
Once Bai Chunian finished arranging his things, he had time to look at the alpha properly, crossing one leg on the bed frame, the other dangling. “So, how did you all end up here?”
The black-bear smirked: “I burned down a whole street of merchants who refused to pay protection fees.”
“Oh.” Bai Chunian’s expression didn’t change. Years of fieldwork as an agent had desensitized him—this level of crime was minor compared to what he’d investigated.
The black-bear, proud of his “achievement,” had hoped to impress him. Bai Chunian, however, hadn’t even been paying attention.
Suppressing his frustration, the black-bear growled, “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“This?” Bai Chunian replied nonchalantly.
The black-bear grabbed his collar, lifting him with one strong arm, smiling viciously. “Looks like new blood needs a taste of hardship. I’m being merciful considering your pale, tender skin—don’t spurn my kindness.”
Bai Chunian wasn’t worried until the rough hand clamped down on his forearm. He immediately bristled.
He kicked the black-bear in the chest, leveraged the wall to land on his feet, checking the tattoo on his forearm. Lan Bo had engraved it, faintly glowing blue—too much friction would fade the ink.
“Hiss… play all you want, but don’t rub off the mark. In a place this dull, I’ve been clinging to this to survive.”
Seeing the leader’s face flush from the kick, the other inmates realized he was genuinely angry. They stopped watching and rushed to teach the newcomer a lesson.
Bai Chunian grabbed the bed frame, spinning to sweep one of them across the cell with a flying kick, then, ignoring the others, focused on the black-bear, delivering a relentless barrage—punch after punch, all-out, no holding back.
It should be noted that anyone entering the International Prison—whether experimental subjects or humans—must wear a suppressor. Human suppressors contain only a minimal dose of chemicals, enough merely to prevent them from using any differentiation abilities.
In bare-handed combat, few could stand against a professional agent, let alone one trained as a special experimental operative.
In just three moves, Bai Chunian pinned the black-bear alpha’s head against the bars, his hand holding the back of the man’s neck, breathing steady, a light laugh escaping him: “Sweetheart, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m already a married man, guarding my wife with all I’ve got, do you think any of your little dickheads could have held out?”
The black-bear tried to struggle, but Bai Chunian’s knee slammed hard into his lower back. He let out a pained scream, holding his waist as he fell to the floor. Bai Chunian hooked his foot to flip him over, grinding down on his crotch.
After a long pause without striking, the familiar violence relaxed Bai Chunian. He relished the sound of bones cracking under his feet, lips curling into a satisfied smile—this was a feeling that truly belonged to him.
The black mineral in his earring pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat—or a breath. Suddenly, Bai Chunian felt a spark of awareness. He stepped over the black-bear, who was still howling in pain, and sat on a lower bunk, crossing his legs. “Alright, new leader here—time to lay down some new rules.”
The others froze, too intimidated to act, heads bowed as Bai Chunian began to speak.
“Get some paper and pens,” he instructed. “I’m going to teach you a new language so you can understand me directly. Today, we’ll start with ten words.”
The commotion quickly drew a guard. Muttering complaints, the man pushed open the door, holding a thin rod—a shock baton. Contact with the rod would deliver a painful but non-lethal electric jolt, and the prisoners feared it.
The guard immediately spotted the black-bear writhing in pain, radioed for backup, and demanded sharply, “Who did this? Step forward!”
Bai Chunian stepped out calmly.
“Ah, first day and already causing trouble, huh?” the guard muttered, recognizing a troublemaker he’d have to teach a lesson.
Bai Chunian was locked into solitary confinement—a narrow, dark room with only a faint line of light through the door’s crack. His black mineral earring glowed faintly blue in the darkness.
He lay with his hands under his head on the damp, hard bed. The air smelled faintly of decay, probably the night outside—night always carried a whiff of rot.
He bore the marks left by the electric baton on his pale skin without concern, waiting patiently.
About three hours later, noises came from the neighboring cell—someone entering. Bai Chunian wasn’t surprised. He had assumed he’d be waiting a full day.
He whistled, and Eris, hearing the sound, excitedly peeked around the guard: “Big brother, where are you? What a coincidence!”
Eris was promptly shoved into the cell by the guard, scolded along the way.
Though the International Prison had many blocks, the solitary cells were grouped together. Eris wasn’t part of Bai Chunian’s plan, but now that he was here, Bai Chunian wouldn’t waste a usable resource.
Once the guard left, restless Eris began exploring, scraping along the walls, whispering softly.
Despite the suppressor preventing differentiation and companion abilities, inherent glandular powers remained—Samiel’s contagious virus, Bai Chunian’s heightened hearing and climbing skill, and Eris’ curse-inducing touch.
Bai Chunian could hear everything in the surrounding solitary cells.
“Hey, I know you can hear me,” Eris whispered next door.
Bai Chunian remained silent; the walls were thick enough that Eris couldn’t hear him.
Knowing Bai Chunian was nearby, Eris continued: “Do you know why I got thrown in here? Haha, that cop I marked got decapitated by a falling ceiling fan in the cafeteria! Too funny!”
Even without a reply, he kept chatting: “I thought this place would be something special, but it’s not much different from my old life… Oh, I saw Jinluchong when I came in, badge 211, just like us.”
To avoid confusion, experimental subjects used their own ID numbers in prison; 211 belonged to Jinluchong.
Bai Chunian sat up, listening seriously to Eris’ rambling.
“Jinluchong was bought with us, always hugging some mummy thing, eating with it, sleeping with it. Wonder where that mummy ended up? Looks like he’s matured now, doesn’t seem as naive.”
Bai Chunian considered this carefully: if Jinluchong had reached maturity, the intelligence he could gather from him would increase—a positive sign.
The immediate priority: find a way into the high-risk block to see Jinluchong. There was no rush.
He estimated the warden likely already knew of his arrival. His goal wasn’t to investigate the prison itself—it was to get close to Jinluchong.
After a while, Eris’ chatter faded, leaving the solitary cell in quiet. Time in darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, disconnected from the world.
Eventually, Bai Chunian heard Eris murmur: “Actually… I don’t like the dark either.”
Bai Chunian, in contrast, liked nighttime—peaceful, empty, accompanied all through the night.
The mineral in his ear pulsed, as if Lan Bo were breathing against it.
That little mischievous fish… probably time for bed. Bai Chunian gently stroked the earring, soothing him.
It was nighttime on Aphid Island.
Tonight, Lan Bo did not sleep in the sea. Holding the key Bai Chunian had left him, he climbed into the empty single-instructor villa. Pushing open the door, he was met with the faint lingering scent of alpha pheromones.
Half a month had passed, and Lan Bo hadn’t smelled the scent he liked in all that time. Though half a month was nothing in the span of his lifespan, ever since meeting Bai Chunian, time seemed to move more slowly for him.
He pulled out one of Bai Chunian’s short-sleeved T-shirts from the suitcase, cupped it in his hands, and inhaled its scent. Sitting silently in the quiet bedroom, he drifted off for a moment before secretly slipping it on.
The shirt, made for an alpha, hung loosely on his frame, the hem long enough to barely cover his fins.
Lan Bo tugged at the collar, sniffing it again, then took another shirt onto the bed. Curling up on the mattress where Bai Chunian had slept, he hugged the shirt and drifted into sleep.
In his dreams, someone gently stroked his heart. He loved being treated this way, but as a king, he, of course, wouldn’t speak of it.