“Run. Why aren't you running anymore?” the director's low, chilling voice echoed in the Clown's ear.
The Clown's expression shifted through several shades before he finally squeezed out a forced, awkward grin. Taking a deep breath, he respectfully held up the ballpoint pen with both hands and offered it outside the car window. “Returning your pen. Returning it to its rightful owner, its rightful owner...”
The director gave a cold laugh as he took the pen and casually stuffed it back into the dirty pocket of his white coat.
Seeing this, the Clown's expression turned cautious, yet his tone remained self-righteous. “The pen has been returned to you. You can leave now, right?”
“Leave?” The director's bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Where are the keys?”
The Clown's eyes darted around, and without a second's hesitation, he pointed at Yue Shi, selling him out on the spot. “It's him! He's also been to Qingshan Sanatorium. He must have taken the keys. Go look for him!”
Yue Shi's gaze became quite subtle. He hadn't expected the fire to be turned on him so quickly.
“Is that so?” The director's gaze swept over Yue Shi, carrying a hint of scrutiny.
Yue Shi's lips curled into a smirk as he spoke with biting sarcasm, “Director, he's playing you~”
The director's nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air. He slowly shook his head. “I've never seen a man with hair this long, and the scent isn't right.”
He turned his head back, locking onto the Clown again, his voice rising. “You worthless brat, you're the one reeking of the sanatorium the most. You really were lying to me! You're the one who took the keys!”
“I've told you so many times, the keys aren't with me!” The Clown also lost his temper, counter-attacking with a shrill voice. “Why can't you understand plain English!”
“What's with that attitude?” The director's volume became even louder and more overbearing. “Even if you didn't take the keys, you definitely stole the pen. Can't you even say a word of apology?”
It was clear that the director likely knew all along that the keys weren't on the Clown. In fact, the stolen keys and ballpoint pen might have been entirely irrelevant; he was simply using them as an excuse, refusing to let go of this little brat who had repeatedly caused trouble at the sanatorium.
The Clown was so angry he was nearly jumping in his seat. “What do you mean 'stole'? I borrowed it! Do you have any idea how many people out there covet your abilities? They all want to capture you for research and turn you into a supernatural object!”
“I only 'borrowed' a single pen from you. That pen was corroded by your power and had the ability to establish rules, but its strength wasn't even a tenth of your own. I clearly could have emptied your entire shitty hospital, yet I only took one pen and didn't touch anything else! Is there anyone in this world more kind and principled than me?”
“Sophistry!” The director detested such twisted arguments and went straight into action with a zero-frame startup—
Slap!
A loud slap landed on the Clown's face. The force was so great that the Clown's head snapped to the side, and a trace of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
“You're sick; you need treatment!” the director said solemnly, his tone carrying the grave yet lively authority of a psychiatric expert.
“I used to treat patients like you all the time. They're stupid and stubborn, and they love sophistry. Usually, they're the patriarchs of a family who clearly aren't as smart as their juniors, yet to maintain their pitiful 'face,' they refuse to listen to reason and insist on their own foolish ideas. Then, after causing massive losses, they throw a tantrum and shift the blame to others! Everyone else is wrong, and they themselves are never at fault!”
He looked the Clown up and down as if observing a rare medical case. “Patients of this type are usually quite old. It's rare to see someone as young as you with this disease. But don't you worry—”
A bone-chilling, benevolent smile appeared on the director's face. “Come back to the sanatorium with me for a period of treatment. I'll give you a good 'shock,' and I can definitely cure you. If that doesn't work, I can arrange a hundred dark-skinned muscular men for you to experience a brand-new therapy where you won't see a single 'refined' soul. I guarantee your stubborn mouth will be cured in less than a day!”
“You... you dare hit me?” The Clown was still immersed in the shock of being slapped and hadn't heard a word the director said.
He slowly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, the mockery in his eyes replaced by a burning rage.
“If I want to hit you, I hit you. Do I need to pick a special day for it?” The director spoke as if he had heard the world's greatest joke.
“You old fossil, I gave you some face, and you really think I'm afraid of you?” The Clown was completely enraged, and unstable, kaleidoscope-like shadows of light and color rippled around him.
“Stubborn and incorrigible. The condition has worsened again.” The director shook his head with a sigh. Moving as fast as lightning, his hand whipped back for another, even heavier slap.
Slap!!
The Clown was struck so hard he slammed into the car door on the other side, blood streaming from his nose.
When he came to his senses, he screamed and kicked open the car door, lunging at the director as the brilliant, illusory curtains of his ability unfurled around them.
The director's filthy white coat fluttered without any wind as a mountain of power radiated outward with him at the center.
The verbal conflict between the two had escalated into a physical one.
Yue Shi took the opportunity to activate his Insight vision to observe the director, seeing the information on the man—
【Dictatorial Domain】: Within the scope of his own influence, he can ignore existing physical laws and logic, forcibly defining, adding, modifying, or deleting the basic rules of all targets within a localized area.
No wonder the Clown was so wary of the director; Yue Shi now also felt this ability was troublesome.
Back at Qingshan Sanatorium, how had the Clown managed to lock the director in a toilet stall?
Oh, it seemed he had exploited a conflict of rules, causing the director to restrict himself...
At this moment, the Clown was utterly furious.
One dazzling, illusory curtain after another appeared out of thin air.
Crimson, bright yellow, fluorescent green... all sorts of extremely saturated colors swirled and intersected frantically, twisting into a dizzying display. They crudely painted the entire space, dyeing the surrounding wasteland into a gaudy, multicolored mess.
The intense light pollution made it impossible not to cover one's eyes.
“Quite sick, quite sick indeed!” the director roared amidst the frantic storm of color.
He didn't dodge. Instead, he stood his ground, took a deep breath, and announced loudly: “Loud shouting is forbidden here!”
It was as if a bundle of white socks had been stuffed into the Clown's mouth; his shrill curses instantly became muffled and blurry.
Then, the director began stacking rule buffs on himself. His body became stronger, his eyes glowed, and his movements became extremely agile. His hands grabbed the shimmering curtains around him and gave a violent tug—the illusory veils were actually torn to shreds by him!
“You old lunatic, you're such a dramatic bitch.” Although the Clown's voice was suppressed, his venom was undiminished. He waved his hands repeatedly, and more veils surged in all directions like a colorful tide.
“I am not a lunatic, I am a doctor! I specialize in treating spiteful patients like you who refuse to follow orders.” The director tore through several more veils and said decisively, “Your logic is chaotic and your cognition is distorted. You need a forced admission! For electroconvulsive therapy!”
“You're the one who needs treatment! Your whole family needs treatment! You're the biggest lunatic in Qingshan Sanatorium!” the Clown screamed, his figure flickering erratically behind countless colorful curtains.
Rate on N.U.
