Cub 083: Who Gave Zao Zao the Shot?

The cub was curled almost into a ball, fluffy white wings drawn in front to shield his little body.

So aggrieved, so pitiful, yet so well-behaved.

And he still had a fever.

Right now, he was just like a melted little honey candy.

No Crown Clan could remain untouched.

Even the slightly flustered Lien paused, standing in the doorway, just looking at the little one.

Anya thought it over and got up—coincidentally, Feeney stood up too.

Feeney rubbed at the spot his second brother had disciplined him—second brother really was heavy-handed, always hitting where it hurt most.

Anya walked out, with Feeney following close behind.

Anya glanced back, only to see Feeney reach out a hand, resting it on his youngest brother’s shoulder.

“Be honest, Anya, you’ve been with Zao Zao this whole time, so tell me—why did Brother Amos target me? It can’t have been you, right?”

Anya: …

“Because your ideas are questionable and you’re unreliable. Second brother usually doesn’t need a reason to beat you up.”

Feeney paused—

It made such perfect sense, he was at a loss for a retort.

But—

“Where are you going?”

“Where’re you going?”

Anya and Feeney exchanged glances; they knew each other so well, everything they needed was in the look.

—The little one had just been crying about his little wings and the captured big bird that got away.

Anya, in his rush earlier, hadn’t thought about catching the bird.

But right now, the candy Lien found last time was unavailable, but looking for a flying big white bird nearby shouldn’t be a problem.

The two dashed out.

Right in time to run into the tall Crown Clan coming slowly down the opposite corridor.

“Feeney, Anya?”

Ayala looked at them, a little bewildered.

“What are you two doing?”

“Ayala?”

“Oh, right, just heard you’d arrived.”

Anya and Feeney turned.

No time to chat, they just waved, hustling off to search for the ‘victim bird.’

Leaving Ayala standing alone, puzzled by it all.

So what was going on, exactly?

Ayala knew about Little Chu Zao.

But only just that.

Ayala was generally aloof, with a naturally fierce and arrogant face. He was usually out dealing with beasts, the type who’d rather use his hands than speak.

He didn’t care about the cub’s influence on himself.

Ayala hadn’t thought much about it, just heard that His Majesty Amos had found a new cub.

He didn’t feel much, but he was a little curious.

So he’d looked up the basics online, checked out other races’ cubs—

Be they human or other fluffy, cute types.

After reviewing them, Ayala’s cold thought: cubs seemed just weak, troublesome little things.

Of course, a Crown Clan cub couldn’t be that weak or troublesome, but for Ayala, they held no appeal.

But at least it was Amos raising him.

After all, it had little to do with him.

He had no interest in cubs. From what he saw on the net, Ayala didn’t think they were cute.

So, seeing his fellow Crown Clan acting so strange, Ayala quietly raised a question mark.

Was there really a need to lose composure like that?

He’d just got back, and seeing companions he hadn’t seen in ages—

From Lien to Feeney and Anya, all gave him a rather odd feeling.

Ayala thought, finally reaching the infirmary—where quite a few people were standing.

He looked in and saw Amos in the center, holding a small bundle, soft and snowy white, curled up. The little one was dazed, hugging his crown, blinking in response to an unfamiliar psychic aura.

Ayala paused, then realized something wasn’t right—wait, what was that Amos was holding???

Ayala caught his breath for a second.

But when he arrived, both Lien and Amos had already sensed him, they just didn’t look over.

Little Chu Zao was curled in Amos’s arms, fever-bright cheeks, looking awfully pitiful and small.

The antipyretic injection sat nearby; the little one had never had a shot before, and the Crown Clan weren’t really sure what might happen—

Would he cry if it hurt?

Crown Clan rarely considered things like that.

But this was a matter of their status in the cub’s heart.

Even Amos hesitated—a bit. Anya and Feeney had just run off to find that ‘victim bird.’

Little Chu Zao still didn’t know he was about to get a shot.

Right now, his fevered brain worked less logically than usual.

He just felt awful, head hurt, wings hurt, nestling into Amos’s arms didn’t help, and then, when he looked at the door.

Someone was there, with a fierce face, startling him.

The little one shrank further into Amos’s arms.

Head burrowed in, wings shivering at his back, trying to squeeze in deeper.

“He looks terrible,” said Lien.

“Mm.”

Amos acknowledged, looking at the clueless Ayala.

“Everything handled?”

“Yes…”

Ayala answered automatically, stepping in.

Up close, he saw what the cub held in his arms.

He stared blankly for a few seconds, unsure.

Then the halo above his head appeared, and—like discovering a new world—he stared at his own crown.

“Can you… take off the crown?”

Lien: …

Amos: …

The little cub shook his wings in Amos’s arms.

Obviously not.

“Feeney once pulled himself unconscious trying it.”

Amos’s calm statement immediately killed Ayala’s curiosity.

“Oh…”

So what was up with this cub, anyway?

Ayala stood beside Amos, watching the tiny bundle cradled there. The cub kept his face hidden, snuggling further into Amos, sticky and miserable.

But Ayala still recalled that glimpse just now.

Those misty, honey-colored big eyes.

Even as he assured himself that cubs didn’t interest him, Ayala watched for a while.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Overused his power. He’s feverish.”

Amos was changing the towel for the little one.

Still hoping to bring the fever down a bit.

This time, his temperature was higher than the last fever episode.

The cub seemed even more uncomfortable. Amos stroked his forehead again, and the little one, all soft, nudged closer—like a little hot coal.

He nestled into Amos completely, utterly dependent.

Amos couldn’t bear to be rough—His Majesty was genuinely heartsick, undecided.

“There’s no other solution?”

Ayala watched a little longer.

“Could do an antipyretic injection.”

Lien nodded toward the nearby syringe.

But with Zao Zao in such an aggrieved state already—one more needle…

Wouldn’t he just bawl?

Lien wondered.

“Why not do it?”

Ayala didn’t get it.

“He looks really uncomfortable.”

He took up the syringe.

Amos considered: “Let’s do it; his fever’s higher than last time, not coming down.”

He adjusted the cub’s position in his arms.

“Baba?”

The little one was ‘dug out’ of Amos’s arms.

Big eyes blinking, softly asked.

Then his little sleeve was rolled up, revealing a white, plump arm.

Little Chu Zao was a bit confused, not sure what was happening.

The clothes over his arm blocked his view a little.

He heard Amos’s gentle, reassuring voice: “Zao Zao, we’ll get a shot.”

A shot?

Ayala held the syringe, watching Amos’s careful handling.

He thought—wasn’t this a bit too doting?

For a little Crown Clan, after all.

But Ayala had no qualms; he pinched the syringe and stuck it into the cub’s arm.

The little one winced, confused, used his free hand to pull away the shirt, and peered through the gap—

He saw the needle in his skin, the medicine pushing in.

His reaction was slow, but as the medicine finished, the needle out, and blood welled, Amos pressed a hand to it.

Amos looked down.

Little Chu Zao’s curls were tousled in Amos’s embrace; he stared dumbly at his arm.

Then—

It hurt.

The little one’s big eyes went round, little tears gathering again.

He looked from his arm to the stranger—

Ayala had darker skin, deep features, the kind of fierce type little kids fear, smile or not.

He’d scared Zao Zao before, and now he’d poked him!

The cub hesitated, met Ayala’s gaze—and the tears fell.

“Baba—!”

Little Chu Zao burst into sobs.

“Needle, needle poked Zao Zao—so mean—so fierce—Zao Zao wuwuwu—”

Lien, whose psychic thread was still coiled around the cub’s crown, jumped from the sudden shock.

Of course Amos heard the cry ringing in his own mind.

Not that he wore any expression—compared to his head splitting from the cub’s wailing, he felt more distressed.

“It’ll stop hurting soon; your head won’t hurt as much either.”

He undid his uniform buttons, opening his jacket to let the little one cling with hands and feet, snuggling into his arms, sobbing.

Amos wrapped him snugly in his uniform.

The cub peered out through a gap, dazed eyes fixing on Ayala, who had just been calm but was now stunned by the cub’s sudden outburst.

“Wuwu—fierce Zao Zao, poked Zao Zao with a needle—”

Ayala, looking calm a moment ago, now froze. He looked at the syringe in his hand, then at Lien, who had quietly edged away.

For a second, Ayala felt completely wronged.

“I didn’t—when was I mean to you… I…”

Meanwhile, on the Holy Chalice side, Caverno’s examination had ended. Derick, finally allowed, went in to see his father.

Clan chief Caverno lay on the bed, face blackened, exhausted, hands folded at his chest, holding a psychic-powered Holy Chalice.

Now, that chalice, usually pale bright, was muddy and dark.

“We’ll inject medicine in a moment; he’ll wake for a while.”

The medic prompted Derick, who stood frozen in place.

“Mind the time; your health isn’t good either.”

A medic injected Caverno.

Derick stepped to his side, gingerly taking his father’s hand—icy cold.

No warmth could reach it.

One elder, weakly receiving treatment, glanced over and sighed.

“Young master…”

“Papa…”

Derick curled up beside the bed.

“Papa, what’s wrong? Please wake up, tell me this is a dream, I ruined everything, papa, what do I do, if you leave—what do I do? I never thought—”

Derick kept it down, voice choked.

As an immortal with a lifespan so long, the Holy Chalice spent their days hiding away, living in seclusion.

He’d never thought about losing his father.

Especially now—when he’d gone numb and made mistakes.

The hand he held moved faintly.

Derick, dazed, looked up.

Caverno, destroyed by the Hymn Organization’s anti-Holy Chalice virus, opened his eyes a little. He shifted his hand tiredly, from Derick’s grip up to pat Derick’s head.

Cold, yet gentle, he stroked his hair.

“Derick—”

Caverno whispered.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Derick choked instantly, barely holding his sobs.

Caverno had regained brief clarity before; he mostly knew what was happening.

He looked at the Holy Cas soldier nearby.

Low voice: “I’d like… to see His Majesty Amos. Please tell him—I have something to say, as the Holy Chalice Clan chief, at the end, for the sake of our people’s stability, I can use the last of my life to foresee—a few futures to be avoided.”

The future always shifted; every present decision changed it.

This was not ordinary Holy Chalice psychic foresight.

Only the chief’s line possessed this power.

Caverno had had no intention of seeking the Crown Clan.

He’d once been warned by his own father.

But now Derick had problems too.

Avoidance wasn’t the solution.

Caverno thought so.

He finished, stroking his child’s hair again.

Softly: “It’s not your fault, Derick. It’s the direction of our whole clan that went wrong.”

Derick, who’d just been holding back, finally broke.

He’d been hiding his face, crying.

He couldn’t control it.

“Derick, papa knows. It’s alright, cry…”

Caverno gazed gently at his child.

Derick’s shoulders shook, he finally sobbed aloud.

At the same time, in the med bay of another starship.

Just got a shot, just hurt, not up for reason, miffed and miserable, the cub whimpered and cried.

Suddenly, his crying was interrupted by another, even louder wail from out of nowhere.

Amos was still coaxing, nearly done; Ayala suddenly fumbled for words, having gotten into trouble with this “troublesome cub.”

Sweat even beaded his brow.

The interrupted cub blinked, looking around.

Who was that?

Crying so loud.

Louder than Zao Zao—

All Crown Clan had a competitive streak.

That was certain.

Little Chu Zao stared, thinking for a while, then cleared his throat—

Zao Zao had been complaining, but why was someone else outcrying him?

Zao Zao wouldn’t accept that.

Zao Zao had to cry back.

Prepping for a renewed tantrum, with wronged logic.

Lien, sulking in a corner, reached out, helpless—wait, Zao Zao, this was not what grandpa imagined!

Don’t use your competitive side for things like this!

Amos suddenly realized what his cub was about to do.

He reached into his pocket for a candy and handed it to the cub.

And, swift, unwrapped another and popped it in the cub’s mouth.

The already ready-to-cry-again cub froze.

He blinked up, the antipyretic just starting to work.

But not yet enough to make him much more comfortable. He was still dazed, chewing.

Sweet.

The cub held the candy, looking up in awe at Amos.

Amos wiped away the tears on that suddenly-so-wronged face.

“Baby, you’ll drown papa with all these tears.”

Zao Zao loved it when Amos called him baby.

He stared blankly at Amos for a while, little wings shyly folding in, at last forgetting he’d just had a shot, burrowed into Amos’s arms again.

Muffled, soft.

“Baba, I’m not.”

Zao Zao didn’t have that many tears.

Lien looked over.

Worthy of His Majesty Amos.

Amos was soothing the cub in his arms.

It only took a moment.

Noises echoed from outside the door.

Little Chu Zao turned and looked.

There were Feeney and Anya, each holding a big white bird—different species, where on earth had they caught them?

They strode in.

The cub was distracted.

“Zao Zao, look—”

Anya began.

Feeney beat him to it.

“Zao Zao, guess what this is?”

“Wings!”

Little one, with a towel on his head, pointed with delight.

Then tugged his own small wings, looking up to Amos.

“Baba, eat what hurts—”

His bright eyes lit up, fluttering his uncomfortable little wings.

Happily, he said, “Zao Zao eats wings!”

If he finished, would he stop feeling bad?

The two ‘victim birds’: …

The little one wriggled in Amos’s arms, trying to get down.

Amos let go.

The feverish cub’s steps were wobbly, but he toddled over, looking at the two big birds.

Feeney and Anya handed him both.

He grabbed one by each neck.

Feeney came over.

“Get the shot?”

“Yeah, got it.”

Amos replied.

“Who did it?”

Feeney looked around.

“Second brother, was it you?”

“And Zao Zao still curls up with you?”

Anya, always the lowest-ranked in the cub’s heart, muttered, eyeing Amos.

He remembered the cub’s expression on entering, and was obviously a bit jealous.

“No.”

Amos glanced behind him.

Feeney and Anya turned in unison, looking at Ayala, who was standing there, not knowing what to do.

The two paused.

Finally got it.

—Ayala did it?

And if they remembered right?

Zao Zao didn’t even know Ayala before?

And Ayala was not at all the kid-friendly type.

Anya adjusted quickly.

Now, at least his rank in the cub’s heart was rising steadily—Little Chu Zao liked big brother Amos best, nothing to be jealous about.

But Ayala—

“Did Zao Zao cry before?”

He remembered their entrance, the sounds heard, and couldn’t help but snicker.

Ayala: …

Ayala looked across at the small one, holding the two birds by the neck, drooping his head, seemingly pondering how to bite into them—the cub sensed Ayala looking, glanced up, then quickly turned away.

Ayala: …

In the end, the little cub dragged the two birds back, as if seeking Amos’s approval.

Still feverish and fuzzy, he was like a sticky rice cake with little security, wanting to snuggle Amos every so often.

But in the end, he couldn’t guard against the plot to escape—both birds squawked and broke free from his weak grip.

Last time he’d let one go—was he going to let them both?

He turned, chasing after, greedy for both, fluttering his little wings behind—lunged, but missed.

The little one blinked up; the birds were already hiding, and he turned to find—all the grown-ups watching.

At the infirmary door, Holy Cas soldiers hurried up to report on the Holy Chalice, heavy-hearted—then saw the little one sprawled out, soft wings trembling, face-first in the rug, their eyes went wide—That… that’s just too cute, little highness! What are you doing?

There was a sudden hush. The cold towel slid from the cub’s head and hit the floor with a plop. Little Chu Zao paused, a bit embarrassed.

He got up, sat on the soft carpet, voice small, curls a mess, sounding like he was making excuses—but, thanks to the medicine, his mind noticeably clearer: “No, not a failed hunt—Zao Zao, Zao Zao let them go on purpose.”

That’s absolutely right.