Supreme Legacy: Rise and Revenge

Chapter 9: A Fantastical Cure

Inside the bedroom, Adrian stepped to Hunter Logan’s bedside.

“Lucky for you I got here when I did,” he murmured. “Another hour and you’d have been a memory.”

He drew a slim case of silver needles from his jacket and laid them out in a neat row.

A soft hiss—and a needle flashed between his fingers, plunging with unerring precision into the point over Hunter’s heart.

At once, a pale blue vapor pulsed from the needle’s base.

“Rise.”

With a low command, Adrian’s palms struck the mattress; power rippled through the frame, lifting Hunter from the bed. The same blue aura unfurled from Adrian, cradling the patient’s body in the air.

His hands blurred. Needle after needle found its mark, blooming across meridians and nodes.

At each tip, the same cool, cerulean light shimmered.

“One stitch for life, one for death. Fate is fixed—until it’s not.”

Energy flooded out of him, streaming into thirteen needles like silk in a current.

Anyone witnessing it would have been struck dumb. The sight was beyond belief.

Minute by minute, the rictus of pain on Hunter’s face eased. Color crept back beneath his skin; his breathing steadied.

Even a layperson could see he was better—much better—than before.

Adrian’s voice cut low and hard.

A muted hum shook the room. Hunter flared, bathed in a burst of blue radiance that filled the space and vanished in a blink.

When the light died, the needles were already back in Adrian’s hand.

Hunter settled gently onto the sheets.

The work had cost him dearly; fatigue shadowed Adrian’s face. He opened the door. “He’s out of danger.”

Kayla rushed to the bed, Mrs. Logan on her heels. Hearing Hunter’s faint but steady breath, both women dissolved into tears.

The others stood stunned. Moments ago, Mr. Logan’s heart had stilled. Now he drew breath again. Impossible—and yet.

“Mr. Doyle, will my husband truly wake?” Mrs. Logan asked, noticing how Adrian’s shirt clung, soaked through with sweat.

“Rest easy,” he said. “The first stage is done. His life is safe.”

He wiped his brow. “You can pay me now.”

Mrs. Logan didn’t hesitate; she passed him a black bank card. “Ten million dollars. It’s yours.”

“Wait.”

Before the card reached Adrian’s fingers, another hand snatched it away.

Kyle Logan held it up. “He’s not awake yet. Why pay him?”

Mrs. Logan turned to Orson Montgomery. “Doctor, your view?”

Orson considered, then said plainly, “The patient is breathing again. Whether he will wake remains uncertain.”

Kayla’s head tipped in sorrow. If her father didn’t wake, nothing else mattered. Maybe Adrian really was a fraud.

Adrian’s gaze swept the room. “None of you trust me?”

They looked away, silent.

He smiled, stepped in, plucked the card from Kyle’s hand—then backhanded him across the face.

Kyle reeled, dazed.

“I’ve earned it,” Adrian said. “He’ll wake soon—but without my follow-up, he has only three days. If I don’t continue, he dies.”

He didn’t wait for replies. He walked out of the Logan home.

“He hit me again? That crook just stole ten million dollars. That’s armed robbery!” Kyle fumbled for his phone. “I’ll have him thrown in a cell forever.”

He hadn’t dialed before a cough cut the air.

“Kh—kh…”

Kayla and Mrs. Logan snapped their heads toward the bed. Hunter Logan’s eyes fluttered open.

“Water,” he rasped. “I’d like some water…”

The words were barely sound. To the two women, they were music.

“Dad—you’re awake!”

“Hunter—you truly woke!”

Both of them folded around the man they loved most.

Kyle froze where he stood. His phone slid from his hand.

The butler arrived with a glass; Mrs. Logan fed Hunter sips, careful as a prayer.

With each swallow, his strength returned.

“My wife. My girl. I’ve made you worry.”

They shook their heads through tears, relief washing everything else away.

“Where’s the doctor who treated me?” Hunter asked. Midway through the treatment his awareness had returned—Adrian Doyle had dragged him back from the edge.

He’d been unable to open his eyes then. Now, he could.

Hearing her father say his name brought heat to Kayla’s cheeks. She had misjudged Adrian from the start. He hadn’t lied once.

She wanted to apologize—but he was gone.

The most rattled man in the room was Kyle. The things he’d spat earlier now sounded like blasphemy.

“Professor Montgomery—what… how?” he stammered.

Orson was ashen. “This—this is impossible. Mr. Logan could not wake. Two days at most, I said—my diagnosis was certain. This… defies reason.”

Kyle stared at the weeping trio and ventured, “Maybe… it’s a death rally. A last spark.”

Mrs. Logan’s palm cracked across his face.

“Rally? What filth are you spewing? Cursing your father already?”

It was the third time that day someone had slapped him. Fury seethed in Kyle’s gut—but before his mother and his newly breathing father, he swallowed it whole.

From the side, Harper Green cleared her throat and reported everything Kyle had done earlier.

Hunter’s face darkened. “Bastard,” he snarled. “Get over here.”