My Amnesiac Nemesis

Spring arrived late. April's weather was still cold, with occasional light snow. Today, it was drizzling, a cold and relentless rain. The raindrops seemed like a dense, impenetrable net, merging with the uneven asphalt road. A somewhat worn-out bicycle slowly made its way to the front of a shabby yet bustling building. The architecture here was old and retro, plastered with various crudely-made advertisements that looked like something out of an old magazine from the last century. The bicycle stopped in front of a clinic. It was evident that this was a shady clinic. In other words, as long as you had money, they would do anything, even illegal activities. As for the doctor's skills—well, they were far from commendable. If they forgot some gauze or a pair of scissors inside your abdomen, you would not only have to fend for yourself but also pay for a second surgery. Harper Arai was a regular at this clinic. She sat idly in the reception room, her fingers playing with a coffee cup printed with a golden retriever puppy, while her other hand rested on her sharp chin. The lighting in the room was dim and harsh, reflecting off her nearly bloodless lips, making them appear even paler. Her long dark lashes drooped, casting a small fan-shaped shadow on her cheek, concealing the nonchalance in her eyes—as if what she was waiting for wasn't a life-or-death medical report, but just a menu. The door was slammed open, bringing with it the pungent smell of disinfectant. "Look at your report!" The clinic's doctor and owner, dressed in a white coat and wearing delicate gold-rimmed glasses, appeared refined and genteel. But Harper knew that this man was nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing. Harper barely gave any attention; she didn't even bother to open her eyes wider. She slowly moved her hand from her chin, picked up the report, squinted at the cover, and said, "I don't want to read it. It's too thick. Just tell me, how much longer do I have?" Dr. Lam exhaled a puff of smoke, his expression showing genuine concern, "Conservatively, two to three years. I've warned you repeatedly that this kind of drug has deadly effects on someone with your... genetic makeup. If you manage to live longer, it's not because of good karma—at most, it's because some deity has taken a liking to you." Harper wasn't surprised by the outcome. She showed no emotion and simply responded with a light "mm," before drinking the coffee from the cup. In this era, coffee was a bitter and expensive commodity. Harper didn't understand it, nor did she have the extra money to buy it—she only tried some when she was at the clinic. She stood up, ready to leave, without even taking the report. Dr. Lam called after her, "Hey, Miss Heroine, are you planning to stiff me on the payment again this time?" "Nope. No money. What are you going to do about it?" Harper replied lazily without looking back. Although she was female, typically considered "fragile, rare, and of reproductive value" in the post-apocalyptic world, Harper wasn't afraid of Dr. Lam. Because whether it was during an apocalypse or peacetime, whoever had the stronger fist, whoever fought better, had the power to speak. When they first met, she had destroyed a large amount of expensive medical equipment and facilities in the clinic, as well as the door and windows, and also managed to break Dr. Lam's collarbone and two ribs. Thus, she naturally became the top free VVIP at this shady clinic. ——And, incidentally, made Dr. Lam fall in love at first sight. Of course, Harper was completely oblivious to this. Dr. Lam walked over to her, quietly watching her, hesitating, with words unspoken. Harper sighed, "Just say what you want to say, I'm in a hurry." She pulled her jacket zipper up to cover her neck and chin. Her head followed the motion slightly, and since she was wearing a baseball cap, her violet, seaweed-like hair was almost entirely tucked inside, with only a few short strands swaying in front of her forehead. She raised her head, revealing her bright brows and eyes, clean, pretty, and icy cold like snow in sunlight, "Hurry up and say it, while I'm—still alive." "Alright," Dr. Lam took a heavy drag on his cigarette, then sighed as if making a losing deal, "Will you consider marrying me? After all, you don't have much time left." Harper's otherwise expressionless face showed rare confusion. She frowned, her expression as ugly as if she had swallowed a bitter gourd, "Marry? You? Why? Are you planning to inherit my corpse and my massive debt when I die?" Originally, Dr. Lam wanted to patiently explain how reliable he was, how he could immediately take care of her if her genetic illness flared up suddenly, and how he could provide life-supporting medical equipment and so on. But then Harper suddenly laughed and said, "Forget it, Dr. Lam. I really don't like men weaker than me." She left that statement, opened the door, stepped out with one foot, then came back to take the coffee cup she had been playing with, printed with the golden retriever puppy, "Hey, I'm taking this, I need a cup." The bandit-like smile on her face was almost proud. Dr. Lam was used to it, and he didn't say anything. He stood by the window, looking down through the clinic's glass, watching Harper disappear on that old, falling-apart bike—a relic of the past. Once the sound of her bike vanished, he made a phone call, "Three doses of gene repair agent, same old place." Harper rented a place in a remote area, paying 500 per month for a two-bedroom, one-living-room, and one-bathroom apartment. The apartment also had a spacious balcony where she could enjoy the sun. She always felt renting this place was one of the rare pieces of good fortune she had encountered, and that this seemingly scam-like rental ad had come from one of the inconspicuous advertisements in the alley next to Dr. Lam's clinic. Harper's landlord was very mysterious; they had never met. Even the contract was signed online. Harper's chat history with the landlord contained only monthly rent payment records. To add, the landlord was good—not even charging extra for water and electricity. So Harper always thought renting this place at a low price and having a landlord who never tried to disturb her was one of the best things that had happened in recent years. The building's elevator had long been broken. Harper lived on the seventh floor—a height that wasn't tiring but wasn't easy either. She took out her key and opened the door—the room was bright and spotless. Although the furniture was a bit cheap, the overall decor reflected a decent taste. She placed the coffee cup on the side table and turned to her bedroom. The cup had a golden retriever puppy printed on it, and Harper refused to admit that she actually liked such little dogs. Soon, she changed into pajamas that did not match her previous bandit-like demeanor—a gender-neutral design with long-eared rabbits printed on it, which was a discounted "buy one, get one free" item from the supermarket. She then walked to the kitchen, rummaged through the refrigerator, pulled out a carton of yogurt that had expired three days ago, inserted a straw, and took a few sips. Harper thought she was lucky—this yogurt didn't seem to have gone bad. She continued drinking the yogurt while walking back to her computer, booting it up, and skillfully logging onto a website named D. "No new emails," Harper muttered. It seemed that they were probably having a hard time themselves, so much so that they hadn't even contacted or monitored her lately—their high-cost, illegally cultivated experimental new human.