From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)
Chapter 98: White-Haired Soldier

Chapter 98: White-Haired Soldier

Micah stirred, blinking up at the ceiling where a soft glow of light illuminated the semi-dark room. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. The dull ache in his stomach and the back of his throat reminded him. The street food. The excruciating pain, and the disorientation.

He sat slowly, groaning. His IV tugged at his right hand. He glanced to his left and saw the newly wrapped gauze. Yeah. The one Darcy wrapped was stained with blood from vomiting. On the sofa beside the bed, Emile was curled up in a ball, his cheek squished against a folded coat. His chest rose and fell slowly, lips parted in sleep.

Micah rubbed his eyes, unsure how to feel. He and Emile had fought only hours before. Yet here he was, staying by his side. That, well, never had happened before.

He shifted, feeling the pressure from his full bladder. He swung one leg groggily, and the bed suddenly made noises.

Emile stirred with a sharp inhale, blinking awake. He sat up with a jolt, his gaze immediately finding Micah.

"Are you okay?!" Emile blurted out, his voice filled with sleep.

Micah looked blankly for a second, then cleared his throat. "Yeah. Just...need the toilet."

Without hesitation, Emile stood up. "I’ll help you, your IV is still going," he said, already reaching for the metal stand. He took it in one hand and gently grasped Micah’s arm with the other, guiding him upright with surprising steadiness.

Micah didn’t protest. His mind and body still felt disconnected, dulled by medication. He had already embarrassed himself before by throwing up blood in front of people. What did it matter now if he leaned on someone to walk?

"Why are you so good at this?" Micah blurted out.

Emile smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "I used to stay with my Mum a lot in the hospital. Practice makes perfect."

"Oh, I’m sorry. How is she now?"

"She finally reduced her workload. Now she is more stable."

"Good." Micah was at a loss for what to say. He wasn’t that familiar with Emile’s family situation. What if he said something insensitive? It wasn’t the first time that he had put his foot in his mouth by speaking carelessly.

They moved slowly, Emile keeping pace with Micah’s unsteady steps. Afterwards, when Micah emerged, he was surprised to find Emile still waiting by the door.

Wordlessly, the two returned to the bed. Micah sank onto the mattress with a sigh, his limbs heavy from the side effects of morphine. As he adjusted the blanket over his legs, he pursed his lips and mumbled, "Thanks..."

Emile paused in the act of repositioning the IV stand, then hummed.

Micah glanced toward the window, the night outside still dark. "What time is it?"

Emile checked his phone. "2 am."

"Ah... we have got to be up for training in the morning ..."

"No, my cousin called the HR of the university, explaining your condition. They said we could report later," Emile said.

But Micah didn’t feel any better, knowing Darcy would be furious when he found out he hadn’t told him anything and had gone to the hospital. He couldn’t dwell on it any more as the medication took effect, and sleep soon consumed his mind.

The next time Micah opened his eyes, morning sunlight was creeping through the blinds. A light knock on the door echoed in the room, and the attending doctor entered.

"You are awake, good," the doctor said briskly. He stepped closer, flipping through pages.

"You had a bleeding peptic ulcer, which was treated by cauterising the affected vessel. You are lucky came in when you did. Have you experienced extreme stress recently?"

Micah paused. The doctor looked up, waiting.

He nodded. "Yeah, I’ve been under a lot of stress."

That was putting it mildly. Finding out he was not the real young master, not the son of his family, occupying someone else’s place,

who would be okay? Of course, it had taken a toll on his stomach.

"What about painkillers?" the doctor continued. "Were you taking too many?"

"Yeah. I had stitches on my arm. And also some bruises on my abdomen...I took a few...or maybe more."

"Okay, that explains it," the doctor muttered, scribbling something on his notes. "I informed your guardian last night. You should avoid stress. No more NSAIDS. Also, eat only light meals for a while. I’ve prescribed medication to protect your stomach lining. Take it seriously."

Micah nodded, then paused. What guardian? Emile?! How did he pass for his guardian?

But he didn’t think much of it.

Later that morning, he was discharged. Micah and Emile returned to their dorm. When they opened the door, the room was empty. Their roommates had already left, probably attending the first day of military training.

Micah sighed, his eyes landing on the uniforms neatly folded on their beds along with a cap and pair of boots. His fingers twitched at his sides, already dreading seeing Darcy. He wasn’t ready. How to explain his actions?

He changed slowly, his movements sluggish. Emile didn’t comment, just waited patiently for him. Once done, they left for the training field together.

As they arrived at the assembly ground, dozens of students were already in place, lined up in orderly rows.

Micah instinctively tried to shrink behind Emile. But the moment they stepped in, a voice called out to them.

"You two at the back! Come here!"

Emile and Micah reluctantly stepped forward, cutting through the rows under dozens of eyes.

The instructor stood tall, looking at them from behind sunglasses. "Why are you late?"

Emile had completely gone mute from the fright. The pressure the man exuded was too much for him to deal with.

Micah straightened his back. "I was hospitalised, sir!" Then he handed over his hospital certificate, along with the proof that Emile had been caring for him.

The instructor barked. "Rank and name first, Private!"

"Yes, sir! Private Ramsy present!" Micah said, saluting sharply.

The instructor nodded in approval. "Good. And him?"

"Private Collins present," Emile said quickly, mimicking Micah.

"Go find your unit," the instructor said.

Micah and Emile sighed in relief and jogged off toward the sign-up tables.

Unbeknownst to them, the instructor remained watching, then asked another instructor beside him. "Was his hair white?"

"Yeah. A strand slipped out from under his cap. Why?! We don’t regulate length or colour at university training."

"No.. It was just surprising." Sergeant Seth McKay said, eyes narrowing.

His gaze lingered on the white-haired boy-Private Ramsy.

(Author’s note: My description of military training is based on the year I transferred to a military university to be closer to my family. While I didn’t participate in any actual military activities, it was one of the best times of my life- I was treated like a princess, being the only girl in the class! Haha!)

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