Over the next hour, six more women walked through that door, and six more women walked out looking like they'd been reborn.
Each one arrived nervous. Each one left crying with relief. A two star sparrow beastkin who hadn't been able to fly in eight months because her pollution locked her wings. A one star deer who had been rejected from three jobs in a row. A one star cat whose hands shook so badly from contamination buildup that she couldn't hold a cup without spilling.
Maxver cleared them all. Sixty five percent drops, every single time, bringing each one down to thirty percent in a single session. The green light flowed from his hands like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his mental power gauge barely moved. S rank reserves were deep. Deeper than he'd imagined.
"System, I've done seven. How much mental power have I used?"
[Current mental power consumption: 12%. Host has significant capacity remaining.]
"Then open fourteen more slots. Same parameters. One star, ninety to ninety five percent pollution."
[Slots posted.]
Three seconds. All fourteen booked.
"These women are fast." Maxver cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. "Alright, send them in. One after another, no breaks."
Dr. Park appeared at the door with a look on his face that fell somewhere between professional admiration and pure disbelief. "Mr. Cole, I've just received seven reviews on the center's StarNet page. All five stars. All of them mention you by name. Two of them are already trending."
"What are they saying?"
"I'll read you the top one." Dr. Park held up his communicator, his voice carrying a faint tremor of excitement. "Quote: I walked in expecting to be beaten by a monster. I walked out feeling like a human being for the first time in two years. Maxver Cole is not what the internet says he is. He's the real deal. End quote. Forty thousand shares in the last twenty minutes."
Maxver let that settle. The original Maxver Cole had spent his entire reputation being called a brute, a violent obsessive, a man so desperate and pathetic that his own wives openly chased another man. And now, one day after divorcing all five of them, his name was trending for the opposite reason.
"Keep them coming, Dr. Park."
The next fourteen went faster. Maxver found his rhythm, learned how to read the contamination patterns before his light even touched their skin, figured out where the worst clusters usually hid and how to dissolve them without wasting energy on the lighter patches that would fade on their own once the heavy buildup was gone.
By the time the fourteenth woman walked out, tipping him five hundred contribution points with tears streaming down her face, Maxver had been working for three hours straight and his mental power sat at thirty one percent consumed.
"System, total sessions completed?"
[Twenty one purification sessions completed. All clients reduced from 90 to 95% contamination to 30%. Total tips received: 11,400 contribution points and 168,000 star coins, in addition to standard Terminal payouts.]
"And my life points?"
[Current life extension: eighteen days. Previous balance: less than twenty four hours. Net gain from twenty one sessions: seventeen days, four hours.]
Not enough. Eighteen days was better than twenty four hours, but it wasn't security. It wasn't breathing room. It was still a countdown.
"Open twenty eight more slots." Maxver stood up from the chair he'd been resting in and rolled his shoulders. "Afternoon session. Let's go."
[Warning: twenty eight additional sessions will push mental power consumption to approximately 70%. Host will require overnight recovery.]
"I'll sleep when I'm not dying. Post the slots."
[Slots posted.]
The notification barely finished before his light brain exploded with confirmations. Twenty eight slots. All filled. Maxver didn't even bother checking the time.
On StarNet, the reaction was chaos.
[HE OPENED 28 MORE SLOTS. TWENTY EIGHT. THIS MAN IS A MACHINE.]
[I tried to book one and it was gone before my finger left the screen. I am going to scream.]
[Someone on the secondary market is selling a reservation slot for 800,000 star coins. EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND.]
[A friend of mine just offered a million for a slot and got outbid by someone in California. This is insanity.]
[His reviews are all perfect. Every single woman says the same thing. He dropped their pollution by 65% in one session. That's not normal. That's not even close to normal. The best S rank in the country averages 40%.]
Dr. Park had the center's kitchen prepare a full lunch spread and delivered it personally to Maxver's room between batches. Grilled protein, fresh greens imported from the agricultural domes, real fruit juice instead of synthetic. Maxver ate standing up, shoveling food into his mouth between clients, barely tasting it but needing the energy.
"Mr. Cole, I feel obligated to point out that most purifiers do five to eight sessions per day." Dr. Park stood in the doorway, watching Maxver finish a glass of juice with the efficiency of a man fueling a vehicle. "You have done twenty one this morning and you're about to do twenty eight more. That is unprecedented."
"I'm motivated." Maxver set the glass down and wiped his mouth. "Send the next one in."
The afternoon was a blur of green light and grateful tears. Women walked in gray and shaking. Women walked out pink and laughing. Some of them tried to hug him. A few dropped to their knees and thanked him like he was some kind of saint. One woman, a one star moth beastkin who had been bedridden for six months, took her first full breath in his purification room and sobbed so hard she couldn't speak for five minutes.
Maxver kept working. His hands grew warm, then hot, then tingling with the kind of deep fatigue that settled into bone. His vision blurred occasionally and he blinked it clear. The green light still flowed, steady and strong, but he could feel the well getting lower with every session.
At exactly five o'clock, his last client walked out the door. A one star finch beastkin who left him a tip of a thousand contribution points and a handwritten note that simply read, "Thank you for giving me my life back."
Maxver collapsed into the lounge chair and closed his eyes.
"System. Status report."
[Mental power consumption: 70%. Overnight recovery required. Do not attempt further purification sessions until morning.]
"How many sessions total today?"
[Forty nine purification sessions completed. All clients successfully reduced to 30% contamination.]
"And my life points?" This was the number that mattered. The only number that mattered.
[Current life extension: thirty two days, seven hours, and fourteen minutes.]
Thirty two days.
Yesterday he had less than twenty four hours. This morning he'd started with eighteen days after the first batch. And now, after grinding through forty nine sessions like a man possessed, he had a full month of life sitting in his account with days to spare.
Maxver opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of the purification room. His body ached. His mind felt like wrung out cloth. His fingers were still tingling and probably would be until morning.
But thirty two days. That was real. That was a cushion. That was enough time to settle into his new house, meet his five matched wives, build a routine, and keep grinding sessions until the countdown stopped scaring him awake at night.
He pulled up his task board one more time, watching the life counter tick upward by fractions of seconds as residual merit points processed through the system. Thirty two days, seven hours, fifteen minutes. Sixteen minutes. Seventeen.
Tomorrow he would do it all again.
Previous Chapter
