Chapter 16: The Price of a Life
The morning sun filtered brightly through the stained-glass windows of the Rose Hotel lobby, casting colorful, dancing mosaics across the polished marble floor.
The heavy oak door of Room 1 clicked open.
Mame stepped out into the lobby, the epitome of high-society perfection. His silver-white silk robes caught the light, pristine and flowing, while his dark hair was impeccably tied back with its black ribbon. He moved with the slow, deliberate grace of a boy who owned the very ground he walked on, his pitch-black eyes scanning the room with mild, aristocratic boredom.
However, his stroll was immediately interrupted by a commotion near the grand, glass-paneled entrance.
A small, ragged bundle of dirt and rags was huddled against the base of a decorative marble pillar just inside the doors. As Mame stepped closer, his Void Instinct picked up the horrifyingly faint thermal signature. It wasn't just a beggar; it was a little girl, perhaps six or seven years old. Her skin was ashen, her breathing was a shallow, wet rattle, and she was so emaciated she looked more like a skeleton wrapped in sackcloth than a human being. She was moments away from her heart stopping entirely.
A crowd of wealthy patrons had already formed a wide semicircle, whispering in disgust and holding perfumed handkerchiefs over their noses.
"Ah! Young master, avert your eyes!"
The hotel manager came sprinting out from behind the reception desk, his face flushed with panic. He rushed over to the dying child, looking down at her with absolute revulsion.
"I apologize profusely for this hideous sight, young master," the manager groveled, bowing toward Mame before sneering at the little girl. "These street rats always try to sneak in to steal the warmth from the lobby. Do not trouble yourself to look at it. I will have the guards throw this trash out back immediately so it doesn't foul your morning."
The manager reached out, his polished leather shoe pulling back to unceremoniously kick the dying child out of the doorway.
The Rule of the King Beast. Mame's eyes went dead. The polite, aristocratic smile vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, suffocating absolute zero. He didn't use his Saiyan speed, and he didn't channel his soul power. He simply stepped forward and raised his hand.
SMACK.
The sound echoed through the cavernous lobby like a thunderclap.
The hotel manager didn't even see the hand move. He was suddenly lifted completely off his feet by the sheer physical force of the slap, spinning in mid-air before crashing violently into a crystal display table. Glass shattered everywhere. The manager groaned, clutching his rapidly swelling, bleeding cheek, his eyes wide with absolute terror as he stared up at the boy he thought was a pampered noble.
The entire lobby went dead silent. The wealthy patrons gasped, taking a collective step back.
Mame slowly lowered his hand, his expression a mask of chilling, aristocratic disdain. He looked down at the bleeding manager as if the man were an insect that had just crawled out of a sewer.
"How dare you," Mame's voice was smooth, quiet, and laced with absolute venom. "How dare you speak of a living soul with such vulgarity in my presence. You look at a dying child and see trash to be kicked. I look at you, and I see a pathetic, groveling dog who doesn't deserve the air she is struggling to breathe."
He didn't wait for the manager to stammer out an apology. Mame turned his back on the man and knelt down on the marble floor.
The crowd gasped again. This boy, wearing silk that cost more than a commoner's entire village, was letting his immaculate, silver-white robes pool directly into the filth, mud, and street grime covering the floor.
Mame didn't care. He gently slid his arms under the frail, shivering girl and lifted her to his chest. She weighed practically nothing.
Without a word, Mame tapped his spatial ring. A soft, emerald-green light illuminated the lobby as he pulled a small, delicate herb from his inventory. It was a Verdant Sun-Leaf—a remarkably rare, gentle healing herb that didn't require the violent absorption of soul power to work. It was designed to slowly, perfectly mend broken meridians and replenish a failing life force.
A Spirit Master in the crowd let out a choked gasp, recognizing the glow. "Heavens above... that's a five-hundred-year Verdant Sun-Leaf! That single leaf is worth ten thousand gold coins!"
Mame ignored the whispers. He gently parted the girl's cracked lips and crushed the glowing leaf, letting the warm, emerald sap drip directly onto her tongue.
Almost immediately, the girl's breathing deepened. The ashen, deathly pallor of her skin began to recede, replaced by a faint, healthy flush. The violent shivering stopped as the herb's gentle warmth flooded her starving body, stabilizing her completely.
She wasn't cured of her starvation, but she was no longer dying.
Mame stood up, holding the sleeping, dirt-covered child securely against his pristine silver chest. He looked up at the crowd of frozen onlookers.
"Where is the nearest medical clinic in this district?" Mame asked, his voice returning to its polite, cultured tone, though the underlying threat of violence still hung heavily in the air.
For a moment, no one dared to speak. Then, an elderly woman near the back of the crowd, leaning on a wooden cane, stepped forward hesitantly.
"Three streets over, young master. Look for the sign of the White Lotus," the old woman pointed a trembling finger toward the exit. But her face fell into a sad, knowing grimace. "But... they are an elite clinic. They cater only to the nobility and the merchant class. They won't even let you through the door with a slum child. They don't heal the poor."
Mame looked down at the little girl sleeping against his shoulder, and a cold, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"She isn't poor," Mame stated, his voice ringing with untouchable privilege. He glanced back at the terrified manager bleeding in the glass shards. "She is currently under my protection. Which makes her the wealthiest patient they will ever have the privilege of treating."
Without another word, Mame swept out of the Rose Hotel, the glass doors parting for him as he carried the girl out into the bright Suotou sun.
Behind him, the lobby remained in stunned, breathless silence. The legendary standoff between Dai Mubai and Tang San over the hotel suite was supposed to happen right here, on this very floor, at any moment.
But Mame had just completely walked away from his front-row seat, because to the King Beast pretending to be an Aristocrat, some things were vastly more important than a script.
Chapter 16: The Price of a Life (Continued)
The White Lotus clinic was less of a hospital and more of a palace. Located three streets away from the Rose Hotel in the heart of the wealthy district, its pristine white marble columns and fragrant indoor gardens were designed exclusively to soothe the minor ailments of Suotou City's elite.
Mame kicked the polished double doors open, stepping into the waiting room.
The contrast was jarring. The waiting room was filled with minor nobles and wealthy merchants sipping imported tea while complaining about phantom backaches. Standing in the center of the room was Mame, wearing his flawless, shimmering silver-white silk, but holding a filthy, emaciated child wrapped in coarse rags that dripped street mud onto the immaculate white carpets.
Behind the grand reception desk stood a woman in a crisp, high-end uniform. She took one look at the bundle in Mame's arms and physically recoiled, her nose wrinkling in absolute disgust.
"Excuse me!" the receptionist snapped, her voice cutting through the quiet murmurs of the waiting room. "You cannot bring that... thing in here! This is a sterile environment for paying patrons only. We do not run a charity for gutter trash. Take it outside immediately!"
Mame didn't say a word. He didn't even blink. He walked directly toward the reception desk, his footsteps silent on the marble floor.
He stopped right in front of the woman. With his left arm securely holding the unconscious girl, he casually raised his right hand. A heavy, blindingly bright flash of spatial energy erupted from his ring.
SMACK.
It wasn't a hand that struck the receptionist's cheek. It was a solid, three-pound ingot of pure, refined gold.
The heavy metal struck her across the face with a sickening thud—just hard enough to leave a massive, humiliating red welt and knock her entirely off balance, but controlled enough not to break her jaw. She shrieked, collapsing into her plush chair as the gold ingot clattered loudly onto the desk, spinning before coming to a rest next to her perfectly manicured hands.
The entire clinic froze. The wealthy patrons dropped their teacups.
Mame leaned over the desk, his pitch-black eyes boring into the terrified, trembling receptionist. The air around him dropped ten degrees, radiating the heavy, crushing arrogance of true, untouchable privilege.
"Look again," Mame whispered, his voice smooth as glass and cold as the grave. "And tell me if my patient still offends your delicate sensibilities."
The receptionist stared at the solid gold bar—worth more than she made in three years—and then up at the terrifying, silver-robed boy. All of her elitist pride instantly evaporated into pure, primal panic.
"D-Doctor! Head Doctor, immediately!" she screamed, scrambling backward and slamming her hand onto a silver call bell. "We need a trauma room! Now!"
The clinic erupted into chaotic motion. Two frantic nurses bolted from the back hallways, pushing a pristine, silk-lined medical cot. Behind them came the Head Doctor himself, an elderly Spirit Master with a healing-type Martial Soul, taking one look at the gold on the desk and the terrifyingly calm boy standing before it.
"Put her here, young master! We will handle it!" the Head Doctor urged, sweat beading on his forehead.
Mame gently laid the little girl onto the white cot. "She is severely malnourished and suffering from exhaustion. I have already stabilized her failing meridians with a Verdant Sun-Leaf. You will provide her with the finest, gentlest restorative tonics you possess. If she has so much as a lingering cough when she wakes up, I will buy this clinic and burn it to the ground. Am I understood?"
"Crystal clear, young master!" the Head Doctor gulped, immediately summoning a soft, white restorative light from his palms as they wheeled the girl into the VIP trauma suite.
Mame followed them in, standing silently in the corner of the room with his arms crossed, watching like a hawk. The Head Doctor didn't dare cut corners. For the next hour, the clinic's absolute best medicinal broths, spirit-infused acupressure, and healing soul power were poured into the little girl.
By the time the sun reached its peak outside, the treatment was finished. The girl had been carefully cleaned, wrapped in fresh, incredibly soft cotton robes, and tucked into a massive, warm bed. The dirt and grime were gone, revealing a frail but peaceful face with a healthy, rosy complexion.
The Head Doctor bowed deeply to Mame and practically sprinted out of the room to avoid the boy's suffocating presence.
A few minutes later, the little girl's eyelids fluttered. She let out a soft groan, blinking against the bright light of the VIP suite. She looked down at the pristine cotton blankets, then up at the massive, sparkling crystal chandelier, her eyes wide with total bewilderment. Finally, her gaze landed on the boy in the silver-white silk standing by the window.
Mame's cold, arrogant mask instantly melted away. He offered her a warm, incredibly gentle smile—a genuine piece of the Saiyan who remembered what it was like to be small and starving.
He walked over and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
The little girl stared at him, her large brown eyes brimming with awe. "I... I don't hurt anymore. The cold is gone." She looked down at her hands, which were clean for the first time in her life. "Are you an angel, big brother?"
Mame chuckled softly. "Far from it, little one. I'm just a traveler passing through. What's your name?"
"Xiao Ya," she whispered timidly.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Xiao Ya. Are you hungry? I can have them bring you anything you want. Pastries, roasted duck, sweet buns."
Xiao Ya's stomach gave a quiet rumble at the mention of food, but to Mame's surprise, she violently shook her head. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her clean cheeks.
"No, big brother," she sobbed softly, clutching the blankets. "You saved me, but... but I have nothing to give you! I don't have a single copper coin to repay you. And... and even if I did, I couldn't eat. Not when my friends are still cold."
Mame's smile faded into a look of deep, profound empathy. "Your friends?"
"At the orphanage," Xiao Ya sniffled, wiping her eyes. "In the outer ring of the city. The roof is broken, and the master who runs it took all the donation money and left. The little ones are so sick. I only came to the nice streets to try and beg for bread for them, but I got too tired to walk back."
She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "Please, big brother. I don't need pastries. Can you help them too?"
The Rule of the King Beast. Mame felt a cold, familiar fury ignite deep in his chest—not at the girl, but at the world that allowed a corrupt master to steal from starving orphans while the nobles two streets over threw away gold on minor backaches.
Mame reached out and gently patted Xiao Ya's head.
"Don't cry, Xiao Ya," Mame said softly. "You don't owe me anything. As for your friends... I promise you, they will never be cold or hungry again. I will take care of it."
Xiao Ya beamed, throwing her frail arms around Mame's neck in a desperate, grateful hug. "Thank you! Thank you, big brother... um... what is your name?"
Mame hesitated for a fraction of a second. He couldn't give her his real name, nor the names of his shadowy personas. But looking into the pure, innocent eyes of the child he had just saved, he decided to lock in the identity of the Untouchable Aristocrat forever.
"Bai," Mame said gently, pulling back and giving her a warm smile. "You can call me Brother Bai."
The Birth of a Legend
Outside the VIP suite, the waiting room was buzzing like a disturbed beehive.
The wealthy patrons hadn't left. They had been whispering furiously, trying to piece together the identity of the terrifying boy who used solid gold as a blunt weapon. When one of the nurses slipped out of the trauma room to fetch fresh linens, the nobles immediately swarmed her, pressing coins into her hand for information.
"What did he say? Who is he?" a merchant demanded in a hushed whisper.
"I only heard a fraction," the nurse whispered back, her eyes wide. "He told the child his name. He called himself... Bai."
The name rippled through the waiting room like a shockwave.
Bai. White. Silver.
"Bai?" an older noble gasped, his face draining of color. "With that level of absurd wealth, that silver-white silk, and that terrifying, beast-like arrogance... could he be a hidden scion of the Star Luo Empire's White Tiger Clan?"
"No, impossible," another countered, shaking his head rapidly. "The White Tigers are brutes! They don't have that kind of refined, untouchable aura. He moves like ancient nobility. Could he be from a hidden sect? The Silver Dragon Valley? Or perhaps... a direct disciple of the Supreme Pontiff's inner circle?"
By noon, the story had escaped the clinic.
It spread through the teahouses, the merchant guilds, and the noble estates of Suotou City like wildfire. The tale of "Young Master Bai"—the breathtakingly wealthy, terrifyingly powerful, silver-robed aristocrat who would brutally humiliate the elite to save a starving street rat.
In a single morning, Mame hadn't just saved a life. He had accidentally birthed a legend that had the highest powers in the city completely terrified of a fourteen-year-old boy.