From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 698: Half Vision, Whole Heart

Micah drifted in and out of awareness many times after that. Each time he surfaced, it was the same. Confusion. Fear. And the crushing realisation that his body would not obey him.

Sometimes he would wake only halfway, caught between dream and reality. The ceiling above him would blur into strange shapes. The beeping sound beside him would grow loud, then distant. He would try to lift a hand, and nothing would happen. He would try to turn his head, and pain would stab through his skull, forcing him back down.

Every time he realised he could not function normally, panic would seize him.

Once, he tried to open both eyes fully, only to be greeted by that same terrifying blankness on his right side. The world seemed cut in half. He had squeezed his eyes shut again immediately, heart pounding, breath trembling.

Another time, he attempted to move his right leg. He focused all his strength on it, silently begging it to respond. It felt like shouting into an empty room. There was no answer.

That was when the fear truly began to sink in. What if this wasn’t temporary? What if this was the rest of his life?

The thought was too heavy to hold. His mind would retreat again, dragging him back into sleep before the terror could grow roots.

But this time, when he woke up, something was different.

The pain was still there, a dull throbbing deep in his head, but it was softer now. Not the violent hammering from before. More like an ache that had grown tired of screaming.

He blinked slowly and forced his eyes open.

The room was dimly lit, the lights turned low as if it were late at night. Shadows rested in the corners. The faint glow from machines painted soft lines across the walls. The steady beeping sound filled the silence, rhythmic and calm.

He lay still for a moment, listening. Beep. Beep.Beep.

His throat burned. He tried to swallow, but it felt rough and dry, like sand scraping down his throat. His tongue felt swollen. He shifted his eyes carefully, glancing around the room without moving his head too much.

Then he noticed someone on the bedside couch. Clyde. He was sleeping. Micah stared at him for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Clyde’s posture was strange, awkward. He was half-leaning, half-collapsed on the couch, one arm hanging loosely off the side.

But something was wrong. Very wrong. Micah’s heart skipped. Half of Clyde’s body was missing.

From Micah’s perspective, the lower half of Clyde’s figure simply... wasn’t there. It looked like someone had erased him from the middle outward. His two legs. Gone.

What the hell?

Cold dread flooded Micah’s chest. His breathing quickened.

He stared harder, eyes straining, trying to force the missing half to appear. But it remained blank. Empty space where Clyde’s body should have been.

Is he hurt? Did something happen to him too?

His mind spiralled instantly to the worst possibilities. His chest tightened painfully. Clyde’s visible half looked pale under the dim light. His face seemed exhausted, dark circles faintly visible beneath his closed eyes. His lips had lost their usual colour.

The dread grew. Micah opened his mouth to call out to him. No sound came.

His throat was too dry. The air scraped painfully. He tried again, pushing harder, but only a faint, broken wheeze escaped.

Suddenly, a cough tore out of him. It was weak but sharp enough to break the silence.

Clyde reacted instantly. He shot upright as if someone had pulled him by a string. His pale blue eyes flew open, alarm flashing across his face. He looked disoriented for a split second before his gaze snapped toward the bed.

Their eyes met.

Relief flooded Clyde’s expression so quickly it was almost painful to witness. His shoulders sagged slightly, tension draining from him.

He stood up at once and crossed the short distance to the bed. His movements were fast but careful, as if afraid that even the air might hurt Micah.

"Hey," he said softly, voice rough from sleep. "You’re awake... Thank God."

Micah tried to nod. The movement was small, barely there, and it sent a faint ache through his head. He winced.

Clyde was fine. Both halves. It hit Micah slowly. Clyde wasn’t missing the lower half of his body. Micah simply couldn’t see it. The blankness was in his vision. Not in Clyde.

A chill crept up his spine. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or was it worse than that?

"Don’t move," Clyde said gently, noticing the strain on Micah’s face. He reached forward and carefully took Micah’s hand.

Micah barely felt it. That frightened him more than the missing half of Clyde’s body.

"Can you speak?" Clyde asked. His brows drew together. "Is your throat sore?"

Micah parted his lips, but before he could try again, Clyde was already reaching for something on the bedside table. He picked up a small cup and a piece of clean cotton dipped in water.

"Easy," he murmured.

He dabbed the damp cotton against Micah’s lips slowly, patiently. The coolness was immediate relief. Micah closed his eyes for a second, focusing on the sensation. Clyde moved carefully, moistening his cracked lips, then lightly touching the inside of his lower lip so he could absorb a bit of water.

"Bear with it," Clyde said quietly. "I’ll call the doctor to check on you."

He lifted his free hand and gently stroked Micah’s cheek with his thumb. The touch was warm.

Micah opened his eyes again and watched him.

Clyde leaned slightly toward the wall and pressed the call button. A soft click sounded.

But he didn’t step away.

Instead, he stayed close, still holding Micah’s hand, staring down at him as if afraid to blink.

Micah studied his face. Clyde looked different. There was exhaustion there, yes. His usually neat hair was slightly messy, like he had been running his fingers through it too many times. His jaw carried faint stubble. His pale complexion made the shadows under his eyes stand out more.

But beneath all of that, Micah saw something else. Fear. Lingering fear that hadn’t fully left yet. And something softer. Something tender.

"No more thrill-seeking activities," Clyde whispered, his voice lower now. Almost fragile. "You hear me?"

Micah’s chest tightened.

"You scared the hell out of me..." Clyde continued, swallowing slightly. "Out of all...of us."

Micah felt his heart clench painfully. He wanted to respond. To reassure him. To say it wasn’t intentional. But other fears were louder inside his mind. The right side of his body felt wrong. Numb. Absent.

He tried to move his right fingers again, but nothing. Panic began creeping in again.

Clyde must have noticed the subtle change in his expression.

He leaned closer.

"It’s okay," he murmured quickly. Clyde bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Micah’s forehead. The contact was feather-light. Affectionate and Careful.

When he pulled back, his expression was openly tender. There was no attempt to hide it. No teasing smile. No sarcasm. Just warmth and relief and something deeper that Micah didn’t have the strength to analyse.

A soft knock interrupted the moment. Both of them turned their attention toward the door.

It opened slightly, and a nurse peeked in. She paused when she saw Micah’s eyes open. Her face broke into a wide smile.

"Oh, you’re awake," she said brightly, stepping fully inside. "That’s wonderful."

She glanced at the monitor briefly, then back at him.

"I’ll call the doctor."

She left almost as quickly as she had entered. The door closed again. The beeping continued.