From Villain to Virtual Sweetheart: The Fake Heir's Grand Scheme(BL)-Chapter 701: Buzzing with Concern

By the time Micah returned to Isatis City, spring had completely taken over.

It was not the hesitant early spring where the wind still carried winter’s chill. It was in full bloom. The kind that arrived only after winter had given its final stubborn push, the kind that promised there would be no more cold days. The sky stretched high and clear above the city, a soft blue brushed with thin streaks of white clouds drifting lazily as if they had nowhere urgent to be. The air was warmer now, carrying the faint scent of damp soil and blossoms. Even the light seemed different: brighter, golden, livelier.

Cherry trees lined the long avenue leading toward the university campus. Their branches were heavy with pale pink petals, so full that they bent slightly under their own beauty. Whenever the breeze swept through, petals loosened and fluttered down like quiet snowfall. They gathered on sidewalks, clung to parked cars, brushed against shoulders and hair.

Wildflowers had crept between cracks in stone pathways. Yellow, purple, white, small bursts of colour that refused to be ignored. The campus lawns were lush again, grass newly grown and soft. Students lounged on benches or sprawled under trees with books open but attention wandering.

It was the kind of day that made people want to start over.

Micah walked through it all with a baseball cap pulled low over his silver hair and dark sunglasses shielding his eyes. The brim cast a shadow across his face, hiding the faint scar near his temple and the careful way he still moved. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders relaxed on the outside, but anyone who watched closely could see that each step was measured.

Eight weeks.

Eight long weeks of hospital corridors that smelled of disinfectant and cold metal. Eight weeks of physiotherapy rooms filled with mirrors and bars and the quiet determination of people trying to reclaim their own bodies. Eight weeks of frustration.

His walking had returned to something close to normal. If you didn’t know him well, you might not notice the subtle stiffness in his right leg when he first started moving after sitting too long. You might miss the faint hesitation when he turned too quickly.

His vision had improved. The terrifying blankness that once swallowed half his world had retreated. The doctors called it progress. Clyde called it a miracle. Micah called it exhausting.

Sometimes, when someone spoke too fast or strung together complicated ideas, he still needed a second. Just one more repetition. Just a moment longer to untangle the meaning before answering. The gap embarrassed him more than he would ever admit aloud.

But he was here. Alive. Walking. Returning.

That alone was enough to make the Ramsy family look at Clyde as if he had descended from the heavens.

In their eyes, Clyde had transformed from an intimidating businessman to a devoted guardian. They had watched him through those eight weeks, watched him sleep in hospital chairs, argue with doctors, learn medical terms, memorise medication schedules, attend physiotherapy sessions like a soldier reporting for duty. They had seen him spoon-feed Micah soup when his hands trembled too much to hold the utensil steady. They had seen him wipe his lips, adjust his pillows, and brush his hair back from his forehead.

True love, they whispered among themselves.

Even Elina, who rarely praised anyone openly, had clasped Clyde’s shoulder once with silent approval.

Flora and Nora, on the other hand, had experienced an entirely different revelation.

Their long-held assumption that Micah and Darcy were romantically involved had collapsed spectacularly during those hospital weeks. The truth had become painfully obvious. The way Clyde hovered. The way Micah searched for Clyde first when he woke. The way Darcy stood slightly aside, protective but not possessive.

The embarrassment had been so intense that Flora avoided Darcy’s gaze for days. Nora, normally outspoken, had turned quiet whenever Darcy entered the room.

Yet the misunderstanding had not fully disappeared. The Harper brothers, blissfully unaware of the clarified reality, remained under the firm impression that Darcy and Micah were a couple.

The number of glares Ilyas shot at Darcy during those days could have pierced through stone. If looks could dig holes, Darcy would have needed protective armour. There was something dark in his stare, something territorial, something unspoken. It turned the hospital room into a battlefield of silent tension.

The atmosphere between them had grown so strained that even nurses noticed. Thankfully, that chaos had remained confined to hospital walls.

Now, under the blooming cherry trees of Isatis City, Micah stepped back into university life. Two months MIA. That was how the campus gossip described it.

The moment he crossed the main courtyard, the reaction came in waves.

"Micah!"

"Is that really you?"

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

Students emerged from everywhere, classrooms, benches, and stairways. Concerned faces gathered around him. Questions tumbled over each other. Hands reached toward him but hesitated, unsure if touching him might break something.

Micah forced a smile, adjusting his sunglasses slightly.

"I’m alive," he said lightly. "Disappointing, I know."

A few people laughed, relieved.

But the crowd didn’t thin.

That was when Emile stepped in.

He positioned himself subtly at Micah’s side, not blocking people aggressively but creating space with careful movements. His eyes scanned constantly, watchful, calculating distances, monitoring noise levels, assessing stress.

Clyde had given him a list.

A literal list.

Symptoms to watch for. Triggers to avoid. Warning signs that required immediate action. Emergency contacts. The nearest hospital routes. The responsibility weighed heavily on Emile’s shoulders.

He still carried guilt like a stone in his chest. If he hadn’t dragged Micah toward that ski tube that day... if he had insisted they stop earlier... if he had been more careful...

Maybe the crash wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Micah wouldn’t have spent weeks unable to move properly. Maybe he wouldn’t have stared blankly at them in confusion during that first terrifying week.

So Emile overcompensated. He treated Micah like fragile glass.

Micah, who had barely survived Clyde’s suffocating protectiveness over the past weeks, now found himself facing its second generation.

He rubbed his forehead slightly. It wasn’t even a real headache. Just fatigue from noise and sunlight and too many voices at once.

Emile reacted as if an alarm had gone off.

"What? Do you have a headache? Is it serious?" His hand flew to his pocket, already pulling out his phone. "We should go to the hospital. Now. What if it’s internal pressure? What if the vein ruptured again? Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Double vision?"

Micah blinked. Students around them fell silent, eyes widening. Emile was halfway through unlocking his phone. Micah wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole.

He exhaled slowly. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

If only he were some overpowered mage from those fantasy manga he used to read, an eighth-circle archmage capable of casting invisibility spells. He would vanish in a puff of light, reappear somewhere quiet, perhaps under a cherry tree with no humans in sight.

Instead, he pulled Emile toward himself and whispered, "Dear nephew-in-law, I’m fine. Just annoyed by a bee buzzing around me like a mother hen."

Emile froze. His mouth snapped shut and he glared. "A bee?" Emile repeated in a hushed tone. "After everything I’ve done, I’m an annoying bee? What does that make my uncle? The king of drones?"

Micah tilted his head thoughtfully. For a split second, he pictured Clyde with tiny antennas and translucent wings, golden strips on his body, ready to service the queen...

The image was so ridiculous that laughter burst out of him before he could stop it.

"King of drones!" he repeated, slapping his thigh as he laughed.

Emile huffed and turned his head away dramatically. But beneath the act, relief seeped through him. Micah was joking. Micah was teasing. Micah sounded like himself.

That first week in the hospital had nearly broken them all.

Micah had lain there, eyes open but unfocused. Words floated past him without anchoring. He had stared at familiar faces as if trying to place them in a puzzle he no longer remembered solving. He had asked the same question twice. Three times.

Watching that had been worse than the accident itself.

They had realised then how much his presence mattered.

How his mischievous grin eased tension before arguments escalated. How his teasing comments bridged gaps between personalities that normally clashed. How he shifted dynamics effortlessly.

Without him, everyone had been sharp-edged.

Emile had almost forgotten how intimidating Clyde used to feel. It was Micah who softened him, who laughed at his stern looks, who dragged him into ridiculous situations until he loosened.

The three cousins had grown closer to their uncle because Micah stood between them, fearless.

Even between Darcy and the Ramsy family, Micah had been the bridge. When he was absent, conversations turned brittle. Small misunderstandings expanded into heavy silences.

Micah was a treasure. Not in a fragile, ornamental way. In the way sunlight is a treasure. In the way warmth changes everything without demanding recognition.

Emile glanced at him now, at the cap hiding his hair, at the faint tension in his posture, at the determination in his stride.

Their treasure had cracks now.

But he was still shining.

Cherry petals drifted down around them as they walked toward the lecture building. The breeze carried laughter from distant groups of students. Somewhere nearby, someone played music softly through a speaker. The world had moved forward while Micah was gone. And now, slowly, he was stepping back into it.