The Threat

Back home, I placed the glass marble that used to be Adrian’s eye on my collection shelf.

That shelf held my small treasures.

The marble, for example, came from a slingshot competition I once attended.

I had just collapsed onto the sofa when YourCuteIceCreamDuck sent a message.

Want to see the real Adrian Ji?

Then came a video.

The thumbnail seemed to be a hospital room.

I did not know who was behind the account, but I clicked.

The first few seconds showed a man lying on a hospital bed.

Tubes.

Breathing mask.

Machines flashing constantly around him.

Even from a distance, I recognized the pale man.

Adrian Ji.

Then a large masked face suddenly appeared in front of the camera.

Only the eyes were visible, but they were laughing wildly.

As the video progressed, my brows tightened.

The masked man pulled open Adrian’s breathing mask.

Pinched his infusion tube.

Then took out a small blade and traced it across Adrian’s body.

Some touched skin.

Tiny beads of blood appeared.

I gasped.

I wanted to send the video to Adrian.

But the moment I exited, a message appeared.

If you send this video to a second person, I’ll pull his oxygen tube.

The sender probably did not know Adrian’s soul was no longer trapped in that body.

Otherwise, they would not have threatened me that way.

But even if pulling the oxygen tube would not kill his soul, I did not want him permanently stuck inside a doll without touch, taste, or warmth.

Another message arrived.

Bring me the doll, and I’ll let him live.

The cute username now felt horrifying.

Cold sweat ran down my back.

Where? I asked.

I did not understand.

If the sender did not know Adrian was inside the doll, why insist on getting it?

They sent a location.

An unused plot of land in the south of the city.

Formerly an abandoned temple.

Adrian’s hospital—if I guessed correctly—was a private hospital in the north, the kind that protected public figures.

Friday before eleven. Come alone. Bring the doll.

It was Wednesday, 4 p.m.

Less than two days.

I tried messaging friends and family to test whether the man sent warnings.

Nothing.

But my phone might still be monitored.

I could not directly tell Adrian what happened.

While switching screens, I found a tiny opening and tapped Adrian’s chat with a silent nudge.

It would not create a new message notification.

If someone monitored my phone, it might not be noticed easily.

Of course, Adrian might not notice either.

But seconds later, he nudged me back.

Then we continued.

I tapped him.

He tapped back.

I tapped again.

He replied again.

Somehow, we built a ridiculous silent code from mutual poking.

Then my doorbell rang.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Had the masked man discovered me?

“Hello. Delivery.”

The voice outside sounded familiar.

Through the peephole, I saw a fully covered courier holding a box.

Even with the hat, mask, and sunglasses, I recognized him.

My doll.

Adrian 2.0.

I opened the door.

He entered without speaking and placed my phone inside a delivery box.

Then he walked through my apartment, checking each room.

Finally, he returned to the living room and removed his disguise.

“No listening devices. No cameras. As long as we don’t use your phone, it should be safe.”

The box must have been a signal jammer.

He noticed my shock.

“You kept nudging me. I knew something was wrong.”

Then he walked to my shelf and picked up his old glass eye.

“Teach me how to make something.”

I reminded him kindly that it was his former eyeball.

He said that was precisely why he wanted to use it.

So I taught him to make a simple pendant.

When it was done, he looked satisfied.

“Can you wear it?”

“As thanks for making me.”

His face, usually stiff and doll-like, showed a hint of pleading.

Doll makers treat their creations like children.

This talking, moving child had scared me once.

But now I somehow found him adorable.

So I put on the necklace.

The cold glass touched my collarbone.

Then slowly warmed with my body heat.

Only then did I remember the emergency.

I told Adrian everything.

My guess.

The video.

The location.

The threat.

“I think YourCuteIceCreamDuck doesn’t know you can move.”

Adrian nodded.

“Agreed. Also, the name is familiar.”

He took out his phone, searched, and handed me the screen.

I recognized the avatar immediately.

“Yes! That one!”

“This account belonged to my cousin Julian’s driver’s daughter,” Adrian said. “She died recently.”

My brain nearly burned.

He saw my confusion and explained.

His father and Julian’s father had long been at odds.

The accident that made Adrian comatose was likely arranged by his uncle.

“So Julian didn’t hire me to revive you,” I said slowly. “He hired me for…”

“I may have misled you earlier,” Adrian said gently. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

His voice was warm.

Comforting.

Damn it.

He was strangely kind for a billionaire soul-possessed doll.