The helicopter ascended toward the transport airport. Bai Chunian and Eris were locked separately in two sturdy metal cages. Even with suppressors applied, the officers maintained vigilant watch.
Due to the helicopter’s limited space, temporary transport cages were relatively small. Adults could not stand upright; they could only bow their heads, bend, or curl up, hugging their legs.
The neck-mounted suppressors were active, producing a sensation akin to severe cervical pain. No position relieved the discomfort; even the head throbbed faintly.
Bai Chunian remained silent. Before he could destroy his micro-communicator, he detected a communication signal requesting access through headquarters.
At that moment, He Suowei had accessed his communicator and, just before he was about to be taken away, said to him: “Before heading to Port M, we were on a mission in Cuba, working with the IOA South America branch. An agent named Beijin asked me to apologize on his behalf—he said you two have some connection. He also said everyone there is grateful for your command and protection. He regrets any accidental harm done to you.”
Bai Chunian had never mentioned that unpleasant incident in the Caribbean to anyone. Although he wasn’t the type to hold grudges, the memory still left a thorn in his heart—after all, it was a deadly bullet: the same strike, yet when aimed at others it kills, while aimed at him it didn’t. He felt it was unfair that his pain was deemed “less.”
Hearing He Suowei’s words eased him considerably. After a moment’s thought, he gave He Suowei a set of coordinates so he could comfort the child who had lost his mother at the subway station.
Curled up in the cage for over half an hour, Bai Chunian’s legs went numb. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t fully stretch them; any larger movement drew a sharp kick from an officer warning them not to act out.
The officers looked at them not as people but as animals.
Eris suddenly grabbed the two-inch-thick cage bars, pressing his face against the gaps, and let out two “woof” sounds toward the outside.
The officer who had just kicked their cage immediately paled, quickly drawing his gun and even stepping back slightly. The other guards stiffened and straightened, guns raised.
Eris grinned, turning to Bai Chunian: “Scared again? Even in the cage, they’re afraid of us.”
He was genuinely happy, the corners of his mouth curling high, though his eerie aura gave his smile a chilling undertone.
Bai Chunian found a relatively comfortable position, resting his head on his folded arms against the cage door. Lazily, he said, “Aren’t you tired? I’ve already slept twice today.”
“It’s my first time flying like this,” Eris said excitedly. “Nyx told me what it’s like on a plane, but every time I was just transported in a box.”
Bai Chunian suddenly perked up. Their knowledge of the Red Throat terrorist organization was scant; any piece of intelligence was precious.
“Your boss?” Bai Chunian asked.
“No, a subordinate of the boss, but everyone respects him,” Eris said eagerly, squatting in the cage and speaking without self-consciousness. “He likes making ball-jointed dolls—they’re beautiful. The others in the organization called him ‘the Puppeteer’ behind his back. I killed them because I thought he deserved to be called ‘artist’ at least.”
Yet Eris’ long explanation mostly revolved around the Puppeteer’s gentleness and talent. Aside from learning that he had left the Red Throat organization, Bai Chunian gleaned very little actionable intelligence.
The surrounding officers were meticulously recording their conversation. One omega officer pressed his gun against Eris’ nose, asking: “Where is the Puppeteer now?”
The Puppeteer was also on the international prison’s wanted list. Though not an experimental subject, he was elusive and possessed unusual differentiation abilities, consistently acting as a strategist for the Red Throat boss.
Bai Chunian thought the officer was utterly foolish and couldn’t help but snicker: “Can’t you tell? If he knew where he was, would he still be locked up here?”
“Shut your mouth!” the officer snapped at Bai Chunian, but his attention was momentarily diverted. Eris seized the opportunity, grabbing the officer’s gun barrel and biting down on his fingers.
Startled, the officer yanked his hand back. The other guards immediately drew their guns, warning: “Stay still. Behave.”
The bitten officer glanced at the mark left by Eris’ teeth—a tiny Death Daruma imprint appearing on the back of his hand.
Because the suppressor limited Eris’ pheromone output, the mark was small.
Eris licked the drop of blood at his lip and taunted: “Want to be my omega, officer? I’m fierce.”
Infuriated, the officer kicked Eris’ cage hard, shouting “monster” as Eris laughed, hitting his head against the cage.
Upon arrival at the transport airport, they were searched by a professional team. Bai Chunian and Eris were pushed into separate sterile rooms.
Any micro-bombs or tracking chips inside Eris’ body were now to be removed—a major loss for Red Throat, who by now must have been restless.
Bai Chunian could not see Eris’ situation. On his side, he was restrained with hands and feet secured, the neck suppressor attached to a short chain to fix him in place. Only then did the medical staff begin their examination.
Despite it all, Bai Chunian remained relaxed, lying on the exam table with his forearms crossed under his chin, soothing the tense omega doctors and nurses: “Don’t be afraid, I won’t struggle.”
He was thoroughly searched, with no electronic chips found. The only item of contention was the fishbone earring he wore.
Set with black minerals, the fishbone had fused with his flesh in several points connecting to the piercing, with nerves linking it to his body. It appeared fully integrated.
A doctor bent down: “We scanned the earring—no violation detected. If you can explain it, regulations allow you to keep it.”
Bai Chunian immediately brightened: “Finally, someone asked me.”
This caused the transport flight to be delayed by three hours.
Once Bai Chunian was taken from Yachong City, all contact was temporarily lost, including with Lan Bo.
Yan Yi, however, found tasks to keep him occupied, preventing boredom. In Bai Chunian’s absence, the merman inevitably felt a little out of place in the human city, and his emotions could easily get the better of him, leading to mischief.
Surrounded by the sea on all sides, Lan Bo likely felt more at ease on Aphid Island. And he was right—Yan Yi wanted him to interact with human children, hoping that even if he didn’t fully let down his guard, he would at least reduce some of his prejudices.
After returning from Port M, Yan Yi often reflected on what Lan Bo had said to him. Although Lan Bo was proud and self-willed, his innate instincts and judgment were worth considering.
At the Aphid Island training base, a new instructor was about to arrive. Early that morning, the trainees lined up at the seaside dock, craning their necks in anticipation of the ferry.
Suddenly, the sky darkened with heavy clouds. Lightning arced and forked through the clouds, illuminating the sea below—a storm was imminent.
The calm sea swelled with massive waves, and from the surf leapt a translucent, deep-blue manta ray, carrying a travel case adorned with a cat-head charm on its back.
All the trainees gaped, heads tilted back, witnessing this bizarre scene for the first time.
The deep-blue manta ray descended from the sky, and as it touched the ground, a dizzying hum of thunder and electricity filled the air. When the electrical waves dissipated, Lan Bo landed abruptly on the sand, slowly straightening, seated atop the travel case. He wore sunglasses, a short instructor jacket over bandages wrapping his torso, with an IOA badge embedded on his chest.
The trainees froze. Lan Bo pushed his sunglasses up into his golden hair and said from his perch on the case: “Your instructor is on a business trip. From today, I’ll be covering for my little White’s teaching duties. Think White is strict? That’s because you haven’t met me. Every day, one little omega comes to me to hand in homework. Don’t complain—I won’t listen anyway.”
His magnetic male voice carried the subtle allure unique to merfolk, a striking contrast to his delicate, sensual appearance.
The trainees were stunned silent. A few seconds later, all the little omegas with furry traits scattered, ending the welcoming ceremony. Most of the children had fled.
Lu Yan and Bi Lanxing, however, stayed behind, gathering around Lan Bo. Lu Yan hugged his arm happily: “Old Nie finally retired! My good days are here.”
Lan Bo let him circle around, gently pinching his rabbit ears.
Since Bi Lanxing had won a small marking from Lu Yan after a previous game, he had become obsessed with these private little symbols, frequently betting or competing for them. The small mark would last a week, and Bi Lanxing worked especially hard on weekly exams to win more.
He liked to roll up his sleeves slightly, letting the edge of the mark peek out. Suddenly noticing Lan Bo watching, Bi Lanxing grew self-conscious, hiding his hand behind his back and pulling down his sleeve to cover the mark.
“Don’t hide it,” Lan Bo said, beginning his dangerously provocative teaching philosophy: “I support young love. Go on your dates quickly.”
Bi Lanxing: “……”
Lu Yan’s ears twitched: “I didn’t do anything!”
Xiao Xun hadn’t left either. Finding a moment, he tugged gently on Lan Bo’s fin and whispered: “Will Instructor Bai be okay?”
Lan Bo leaned on the travel case handle: “He’ll be back soon. Your tail tucked like that is adorable. Dr. Han was sneaking glances at the X-rays under the conference table—apparently, it’s your tail. He was looking very intently.”
Xiao Xun blushed at the comment. Since returning from Port M, Dr. Han had indeed taken X-rays to check for fractures.
Ying and Little Clownfish were due to leave the training base at the end of the month to join the Special Agent Division. They had planned to inform Instructor Bai but found he hadn’t returned.
Little Clownfish had never dared approach Lan Bo before—his aura made his legs weak, and even a small step closer made him want to kneel.
But fear came exactly when Lan Bo beckoned with the tip of his tail.
Stiffly, Little Clownfish approached, saying through a swallowed gulp: “W-Wang… uh, hello, Instructor…”
Lan Bo’s cold tail tip coiled around his neck, pulling him close. Leaning on the handle, he watched him, gently twisting his hair with his fingers, and asked softly: “I heard you helped White translate ‘jideio’ as ‘child’s dad’? You really are…”
Xiao Cheng froze, legs trembling, palms sweaty. When Lan Bo suddenly raised his hand, he feared a slap and shut his eyes: “Wang, I know I was wrong. I won’t speak out of turn again, please…”
Lan Bo opened his palm, revealing a small floating blue jellyfish, a reward for Xiao Cheng.
“You really are a clever little trickster.”