"Sir, we need to discuss your... medical situation."
Marcus knelt beside the hospital bed like a condemned man awaiting execution, dark circles under his eyes betraying a sleepless night of crisis management. The VIP suite at Star Harbor General gleamed with sterile perfection, but no amount of medical luxury could wash away the humiliation clinging to Lucien like a second skin.
For the first time in fifteen years, the constant static in Lucien's head had gone silent. The chronic pain that had shadowed him since childhood had vanished completely. His body felt stronger, sharper, more alive than it had in decades. But none of that mattered when the door opened to reveal his worst nightmare.
A parade of the world's most renowned urologists filed in, each wearing expressions of professional sympathy reserved for hopeless cases. Their collective expertise was worth more than most nations' GDP, and they were all here to discuss his penis.
*This cannot be happening.*
"Mr. Pei," the lead specialist began, his voice dripping with clinical compassion. "Based on the eyewitness testimony from last night's... encounter... we've conducted a preliminary assessment of your condition."
Marcus handed over a thick medical file with trembling fingers. The cover made Lucien's vision blur with rage: **"Pathological Analysis: Severe Reproductive Dysfunction."**
"According to Ms. Ning's detailed account," the doctor continued, consulting his notes like he was reading a death sentence, "your performance duration was approximately ninety seconds, followed by immediate loss of consciousness due to overwhelming stimulation."
The clinical terminology hit like sledgehammer blows to his solar plexus.
"Our diagnosis is acute premature ejaculation complicated by stress-induced syncope. In layman's terms, Mr. Pei, you suffer from severe sexual inadequacy that renders you unconscious during intimate encounters."
*Sexual inadequacy.*
The phrase detonated in Lucien's brain like a tactical nuke. Every humiliating second of Vivian's mockery came flooding back—her casual dismissal of his stamina, her comparison to nursing home residents, the way she'd announced his "two-minute" performance to his entire security team like breaking news.
The crystal water glass in his hand exploded into a thousand glittering fragments.
"GET OUT!" His roar shattered the medical equipment's electronic beeping. "ALL OF YOU! GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I HAVE YOU KILLED!"
The room emptied faster than a sinking ship, leaving only Marcus cowering by the door like a beaten dog.
Lucien rose slowly, bare feet crunching on broken glass as he walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. His reflection stared back—a man who'd built a financial empire, commanded respect from world leaders, and struck terror into the hearts of his enemies. Now reduced to a medical case study in masculine failure.
"Find her." His voice carried the kind of arctic calm that preceded mass graves. "Get my money back. Bring her to me alive."
"Sir, perhaps if she just issued a public apology—"
"No." Lucien's smile could have frozen hellfire. "I want to conduct my own performance evaluation. See if her claims about my... limitations... are accurate."
The promise of violence in his tone made Marcus's blood turn to ice water.
***
Twenty minutes later, the Pei Corporation's emergency protocols activated with military precision.
**OPERATION: MANHUNT**
Every security camera in Star Harbor City. Every traffic light. Every digital billboard. All commandeered for a single purpose: Find Vivian Ning.
The bounty appeared simultaneously across every screen in the metropolitan area: **$100 MILLION REWARD - CAPTURE ALIVE ONLY.**
Lucien sat in his armored Maybach, methodically crushing the delicate hair clip Vivian had left behind. Each fragment that crumbled to dust represented a promise—she would pay for the theft, the humiliation, and the systematic destruction of his reputation.
*Two minutes, she said. We'll see about that when I get my hands on her.*
***
Meanwhile, Vivian sat in a cramped noodle shop, calmly slurping spicy ramen like she didn't have the most dangerous man in the city hunting her with military resources. The restaurant's ancient television flickered with breaking news alerts, but she was more interested in achieving the perfect balance of chili oil and beef broth.
**[MAXIMUM THREAT LEVEL DETECTED]**
**[SUBJECT HAS INITIATED CITYWIDE MANHUNT PROTOCOL]**
**[HOSTILITY RATING: 1000% - LETHAL INTENT CONFIRMED]**
**[ESTIMATED INTERCEPT TIME: 09 MINUTES 23 SECONDS]**
*Nine minutes? Impressive response time for someone who can't last two minutes in bed.*
Her phone buzzed with news notifications. The bounty amount made her whistle appreciatively—$100 million was serious money, even for someone who'd just extorted $2 million from the source.
"Not bad for a two-minute man," she murmured, taking another bite of noodles. "At least his wallet's more impressive than his bedroom skills."
**[CRITICAL WARNING: RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION]**
**[SUBJECT POSSESSES MILITARY-GRADE SURVEILLANCE CAPABILITIES]**
**[ESCAPE PROBABILITY DECREASING BY 12% PER MINUTE]**
Vivian paid her bill with cash, leaving a generous tip for the elderly owner who'd served her without questions. As she stepped into the crowded afternoon street, blending seamlessly into the human river of commuters and tourists, her lips curved in a smile that promised chaos.
The game had officially begun.
*Let's see what you've got, Mr. Ninety-Seconds. Hope your hunting skills are better than your performance in bed.*
Behind her, a convoy of black SUVs rounded the corner like mechanical predators, their occupants armed with everything except the one thing that mattered most—their target's current location.
Vivian melted into the crowd like smoke, leaving only the faint scent of chili oil and the promise of beautiful destruction in her wake.