After An Alpha Discovered I Have Pheromone Deficiency Syndrome - Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Why Not Have a Heart-to-Heart Relationship

Inside the world-renowned psychiatric research lab, various advanced testing devices were meticulously arranged throughout the space.

Hikazu Sawamura, clad in a white lab coat, spotted Hua Che by the doorway immediately.

Removing his medical mask, he greeted the friend standing behind Hua Che.

Koichi Sawamura’s research specialty was in obsessive behaviors and their neurological correlations, including aspects of sexual invisibility. He had been specially invited by Pei Yu to assist.

“I heard Professor Pei plans to join a scientific research competition?” Hikazu remarked.

“Now that he’s a professor, it seems unnecessary to enter such a competition, especially since it’s somewhat outside his usual research focus…” His voice trailed off as he caught the distant look in Pei Yu’s eyes.

Hua Che noticed the tension and his fox ears perked up in confusion. He glanced between Koichi Sawamura and Pei Yu, trying to understand the implication behind not participating and crossing research boundaries.

Without changing his expression, Pei Yu changed into his lab coat and replied calmly, “No matter the competition’s prestige, anyone with a worthy topic and enough time can apply.”

“Research is an endless journey.”

He paused briefly.

Sawamura then took a new lab coat from a cabinet and handed it to Hua Che.

“If your research topic is promising, concluding a project successfully is a plus. The competition organizers offer more funding per project than our university usually does.”

The phrase “research topic” caused Hua Che’s heart to sink. He pursed his lips but accepted the coat.

Pei Yu, who had begun setting up the instruments, paused and began, “It’s not entirely because of…”

Suddenly, Hua Che cut him off, his tail wagging excitedly.

“I’m really motivated!”

Koichi Sawamura smiled at the lively tail movement and stopped pressing the issue, instead explaining the instrument’s usage to Hua Che.

Lying on the examination bed, Hua Che stared at the bright lights above. The glare made his eyes ache, and he became so nervous he held his breath.

When the cold electrode was placed on his forehead, he felt a slight tingling as the machine powered up.

Closing his eyes tightly, his heartbeat raced — the ECG showed 110.

“Let me operate it. I’ll keep you occupied,” Koichi offered, but Pei Yu stopped him.

“This small task doesn’t require Professor Pei.”

Pei Yu patted Koichi on the shoulder.

Caught between them, Koichi stepped back and quietly left the room.

Hua Che, still tense, felt his heart rate climb, and the ECG lines tightened.

“Don’t be scared; it’s okay,” Pei Yu soothed, sitting beside the bed. He controlled the instrument with one hand and gently covered Hua Che’s eyes with the other.

“It may get a bit warm; tell me if it’s uncomfortable.”

Since the temporary marks on Hua Che’s forehead had vanished, Pei Yu couldn’t use Alphisin to calm him and relied on his gentle voice.

As the device started, the warmth between their foreheads grew.

Brainwave patterns appeared on the screen, revealing a level of confusion more complex than many Pei Yu had previously encountered.

The initial scattered high-frequency waves soon shifted into a clear imbalance pattern developing over time.

Pei Yu frowned, holding the printed results.

He knew Hua Che’s symptoms were mental illnesses affecting physiological functions, but the severity surprised him.

From a research perspective, Hua Che was an invaluable case.

When the machine stopped, the only sound was Pei Yu flipping through the printouts.

Hua Che, eyes still covered, felt peace in the darkness, comforted by the familiar touch.

“Am I… seriously ill?” he asked quietly.

Pei Yu snapped out of his focus, removed his hand, and looked into the glowing eyes illuminated by the ceiling light.

“You’re just sick,” he said simply. “And for doctors, treating patients is what we do.”

He handed over the test results.

To Hua Che, the complex charts filled with curves and foreign terms were like an inscrutable code.

“Normally, I’d explain that your brain struggles with feeling ‘happy’—that neurotransmitters like serotonin and dopamine aren’t being secreted properly, causing fluctuations and low levels.”

Seeing Hua Che’s confused, almost blank expression—like many students who couldn’t grasp the details—Pei Yu smiled and said,

“Or, you could just choose to trust me completely.”

Suddenly, an intense throb made Hua Che’s breathing catch.

He still wore the ECG holster on his finger; the screen showed alarmingly erratic heart activity.

“Trust you unconditionally, Professor Pei. Your expertise is reliable,” Hua Che said without hesitation.

“But usually, doctors don’t hide things from patients. Isn’t this unusual?”

Pei Yu’s eyes darkened. “It’s not hiding. If you ask, I’ll explain anything.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

Hua Che sat up, anxious, tearing off some patches from his forehead.

“I mean… let’s be different.”

The little fox was flustered, sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking his legs nervously.

Suddenly, the ECG alarm beeped loudly—heart rate shooting to 140.

Only then did Hua Che realize his nervousness and shyness were fully exposed on the screen, displayed publicly without cover.

His cheeks flushed deeply. He hurriedly removed his finger, but the alarm and high number remained.

Pei Yu smiled softly.

“Don’t look.”

Hua Che hastily covered the monitor, leaning off the bed.

Pei Yu lifted him by the arms and settled him on his lap.

Taking advantage, Hua Che curled closer, wrapping his arms around Pei Yu’s neck.

“Stop laughing.”

Pei Yu patted his back, stroked the wagging fox tail, and rubbed the soft fox ears like a beloved pet.

“Who invented a little fox like you?”

“Stop it…”

Hua Che lay against Pei Yu’s shoulder, feigning sleep. Embarrassment flushed his body with heat.

Still, his fox tail couldn’t stop swaying and flicked Pei Yu’s knees repeatedly.

Just then, a knock came at the lab door.

Hua Che sprang up, startled, and moved aside.

He remembered they were in the lab, wearing experimental gear.

Why had he suddenly been in someone’s arms?

Pei Yu’s expression tightened—something unreadable but a little awkward.

He got up and opened the door.

Koichi Sawamura and his graduate students stood there, waiting.

Seeing Pei Yu’s stern face, they worried.

“Is Hua Che okay?” they asked, suspecting something serious had happened.

“It’s nothing major. The report’s filed. We’ll hold a team meeting after recruiting project staff,” Pei Yu assured.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

Hikaru glanced at the report and recognized the complexity of Hua Che’s case.

“It’s alright, Hanazhe. Our institute is more specialized than Kyoto University School of Medicine. You’ll get excellent care here,” Koichi said kindly.

“Ah, thank you…”

Hua Che’s face showed his inner turmoil clearly.

Seeing this, Hikaru guessed the little fox was intimidated by Pei Yu’s sternness and offered comfort.

“Don’t worry. Though Professor Pei looks serious and old-fashioned, he’s a good person, doesn’t bully, and is down-to-earth.”

Serious and old-fashioned…?

Hua Che blinked, unable to connect that description with the gentle man he’d just known.

Hikaru patted him on the shoulder.

“It’s tough being alone with someone as imposing as Professor Pei.”

“No, he’s very kind,” Hua Che replied, waving off the concern and leaving the lab.

Koichi also found the label “gentle” didn’t quite fit the diligent Pei Yu.

Hua Che followed Pei Yu through several exam rooms. By the time they returned to Pei Yu’s office, a thick dossier rested in Pei Yu’s hands.

Pei Yu labeled a new file box with Hua Che’s name.

This wasn’t part of any official project—it was a personal archive.

The neat Chinese characters on the cover stood out.

Inside lay a large stack of test reports.

Hua Che stared at the box, still trying to process it.

“I’m surprised I’m just a collection of numbers and letters now.”

“That’s modern medicine for you. Visualizing data makes it easier to grasp than vague, overwhelming emotions, doesn’t it?” Pei Yu remarked.

He put the box away on a shelf behind him.

“So I see you as someone who’s sick but deserving of care, not as a moody, negative person who can’t control themselves.”

“Instead of blaming this on your personality or saying your emotional instability is your fault, I recognize it as a temporary illness. You’re a kind and lovable little fox.”

“Professor Pei…”

Hua Che lowered his head, fox ears drooping, eyes stinging.

He often thought these issues were his own failings—lack of focus, emotional control, and cheerfulness.

Until someone told him they weren’t faults.

“So don’t say you’re bad. You’re not.”

Pei Yu recalled the time Hua Che almost lost control in the hospital, shouting, “I feel broken.”

“If anyone’s to blame, blame the illness.”

“But who goes through life without getting sick? Even a cold or fever is normal.”

Pei Yu circled the table, approached Hua Che, gently lifted his chin, and brushed a tear from his eye corner.

“Think of it like an emotional cold. Take your medicine, get treatment, and you’ll slowly get better.”

For psychiatry professors, it was just a condition slightly worse than a cold.

A rare sense of security and warmth enveloped Hua Che, filling his heart with silent comfort.

Perhaps only a specialist like Pei Yu could truly understand him.

He sniffled, trying not to cry.

Changing the topic, Hua Che grabbed Pei Yu’s sleeve.

“I want to visit the institute’s exhibition room—I caught a glimpse before.”

“Let’s go. I’ll accompany you.”

The institute’s exhibition room documented all completed projects since its founding.

Awards and certificates glittered under the lights—evidence of Hua Che’s “Introduction to Psychiatry” studies, far beyond classroom lessons.

What he’d learned was just a tiny step barely scratching the surface.

Behind the door lay a vast, unknown world.

The room had empty spaces and blank walls at the end.

“Professor Pei, if I complete this project as a research subject, will my name be on that wall?”

Hua Che glanced at the blank space, half-joking.

“Would my case be a small milestone for human psychiatry?”

“That would mean my illness wouldn’t be meaningless. Few people experience what I do.”

“Do you really think your suffering contributes to psychiatry?”

Pei Yu put a hand on Hua Che’s shoulder and drew him closer.

“Didn’t I pick you as a research subject for that very reason?”

Hua Che tilted his head, clear eyes reflecting light from the display case.

Pei Yu said nothing.

From the start, he’d only found a reason to keep Hua Che close with peace of mind—not because of guilt over funding.

He hadn’t overthought it.

Hua Che looked down, staring at his toes awkwardly.

“If my illness really helps science, then I’d find it meaningful.”

Having grown sheltered in Lingguan, Hua Che lacked worldly experience or a pure conscience.

Pei Yu observed him kindly.

He rubbed Hua Che’s head, smoothing the soft ears.

Despite the fox’s sadness, his ears always perked back up, twitching lightly from his gentle touch.

“Xiaohua, want to hear the truth?”

Hua Che nodded, surprised.

“If I could choose, I’d rather you never got sick, grew up happily in a loving family.”

“I’d prefer Hua Che be a joyful little fox than a subject of unprecedented suffering.”

Hua Che trembled slightly, ears flattening.

He clenched his fists and tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

“If everyone were happy, there’d be no psychiatry professors—and you’d be out of a job.”

Pei Yu smiled.

“Why not?”