I Gave Them Glory, Now I Take It Back

Agony ripped through me as death closed in. Still, I gritted my teeth and answered affirmatively in my head.

[Selection confirmed. Return protocol initiated. 72-hour countdown.]

[Violation detected: Unauthorized extended presence in this world. Additional return conditions activated.]

[Within 72 hours, you must obtain the following: Your father performing a demonstration of his combat technique for you once, your mother spending a sum of money on you, and your sister naming a scientific experiment after you.]

The artificial heart sparked a violent rejection response, and my chest felt like it was filled with molten iron.

Step by step, I dragged my broken body home.

The Sullivan family was holding a lavish welcome-home party for Daniel Sullivan. When I appeared in the doorway in a bloodstained hospital gown, I instantly became the center of attention.

The second Dad saw me, his composed expression darkened.

"Clifford Sullivan!" he barked. "It was just a minor surgery. Daniel had a procedure, and he's already at the party, chatting and laughing as if nothing happened. You're a grown man. Stop acting like you're on your deathbed!"

I stared at him and pressed my pale lips into a thin line.

Back then, Dad had been nothing more than a background stuntman in a theater. He trained until he had broken nearly every bone, only to spend his days as a human punching bag in the corner of the stage.

I had sacrificed my own coordination and natural athletic instincts. From that moment on, I became so hopelessly uncoordinated that I could barely run without tripping over my own feet.

In exchange, Dad gained a once-in-a-lifetime combat talent that carried him to the peak of the fighting world. He had gone undefeated, winning championship after championship.

However, at the peak of his career, he had retired to devote himself entirely to training me.

Maybe it was my unwavering stare that finally made him relent. His tone softened slightly as he said, "Clifford, stop competing with Daniel.

"He's been out there alone for years and suffered more than you can imagine. As long as you behave, we will take care of you for the rest of your life."

I forced myself to stay upright and spoke in a low, hoarse voice. "I won't compete with him anymore. Dad… could you demonstrate one last combat technique for me?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, Daniel walked over with a glass of red wine in his hand.

"Come on, Cliff. Isn't that a little selfish? Dad's combat techniques aren't yours to keep. They're something the whole world gets to see," he commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

I let out a cold laugh and held his stare. "But he promised me that he'd quit fighting to train me."

Tears immediately filled Daniel's eyes as he turned to Dad.

"Dad, I grew up without a father. Even seeing you perform in person was something I could only dream about," he said, his voice shaking.

He added, "Clifford had you all to himself for so many years. Why is he still trying to take this from me?"

All at once, Dad's anger flared. He snapped, "You think you're in any position to make demands? Clifford, I've spoiled you rotten. You want me to demonstrate, huh? Fine."

Then, ignoring the fact that I had just undergone surgery, he seized my shoulder and hauled me onto the stage in the center of the reception hall.

"Since you're so eager to watch, be my sparring partner. I'll make sure you see everything up close!"

The drums thundered to life as Dad unleashed the Iron Fist, the brutal technique that had made him famous.

In the next instant, he spun and kicked me. I couldn't dodge, and blood gushed from my mouth and nose.

At the same time, the stitches across my chest gave way.

Another takedown followed. Dad's fist crashed into my ribs, and I heard the sharp crack of bones.