Counterfeit Hero

On November 15th, after doctors repeatedly confirmed that Fatty’s body was as strong as a wild bull, he reluctantly got discharged from the hospital.

The attack left him with dozens of scars concentrated on his back, thighs, and arms. However, after skin repair in the cultivation cabin, these scars will soon disappear.

During the treatment, experts were amazed at Fatty’s physical stats. Such a level of explosion didn’t cause him fatal damage. Data from both his muscles and bones showed Fatty’s body strength was twice that of an average person. It’s truly unbelievable. If Fatty weren’t a Vice Admiral, the experts might have considered using him as a lab rat.

Fatty felt fortunate that his face, crucial for making a living, remained unscathed. The only thing that made him writhing in agony was the injury to his waist, where a large chunk of flesh was torn off. During the repair, doctors took surrounding tissue and did some shaping, making him visibly slimmer than before. Although still fat, the precious flesh nurtured over years being reduced so much made him tremble with heartache.

Before leaving, Fatty sincerely thanked the medical team consisting of Chuckna’s top medical experts and embraced each pretty nurse in the medical group with doubled enthusiasm, tears overflowing. Due to Helen’s fierce glare nearby, Fatty regretfully lost the chance to dive into the bosom of the tallest nurse to express his gratitude and admiration.

On the Flying Car, Helen crossed her long, stockings-clad beautiful legs, turned her head to look outside the window, angrily ignoring Fatty. At Mars Free Port, Fatty had saved her by throwing himself over her when an old-fashioned rocket crashed into the room. From that moment, Helen had placed her heart on Fatty.

But unexpectedly, Fatty got addicted to pouncing!

Helen had just followed the Bandit Army Fleet to Chuckna and hadn’t had the chance to meet him, only to hear that he pounced on another woman in a Flying Car under attack.

Helen didn’t care about how many women Fatty had. It’s an open era indeed; romantic flings between men and women pose no moral obstacle to most people. Even to those with traditional views, in this age of war where one’s life is uncertain tomorrow, no one cares about all the worldly rules.

The latest male-to-female ratio in Leray is 1 to 2.4. It may not seem high, but among unmarried youth aged 18 to 35, the ratio is astonishingly high. Thirty million Leray young warriors have died, over a hundred million people have perished or fled to other countries due to the War Fire. And the war will continue; how many more young people will fall on the battlefield, no one knows.

Humans are extremely adaptable animals. Natural laws always relentlessly crush laws and institutions. At this point, who cares about the monogamy rule? As long as the involved men and women agree, no one can interfere. In fact, someone in Leray has already started proposing to amend the marriage law to meet the needs of reality.

Helen has long accepted that she’ll have to share Fatty with other women for life. After personally witnessing the cruelty of war, she’s seen it as natural. Her anger stems from a kind of loss when a uniquely sweet experience belonging to her was taken away. Although even Helen admits this loss means little for a life, she’s still upset.

This directly led to her and Margaret instantly disliking each other from the first meeting.

Helen has an instinctive sense of vigilance against a woman whose looks match hers, with a better family background, and who’s also been protected by Fatty at the brink of death. More importantly, Helen knows from private discussions that Margaret is likely to become Fatty’s legitimate marital partner, occupying that position which all other women avoid speaking of. The reason is the union between the Hastings family and the Bandit Army!

Sitting in the car, Helen inexplicably felt a wave of grievance.

Dead Fatty, fickle ghost!

Fatty comfortably stretched his two legs on the leather sofa. Such a serene and peaceful life had become too distant from him. Sitting in the Flying Car heading home instead of the Mecha cockpit heading to the frontline feels like dreaming. If this were Leray, in an age of peace, how wonderful that would be.

For a sensitive, sentimental, poetic, and artistic people’s lover like himself, sweet cars, beautiful women, composing poetry—that’s life. Sitting in the Mecha, all sweaty playing death games with rough old men, is too rough and lacks refinement.

He gently placed his hand on Helen’s slender waist, hmm, twisted it, no reaction.

Why is this chick’s face gloomy?

Was it because his hand wasn’t placed in the right spot? Alright, Master Fatty understands women’s minds best, reluctantly followed her intentions, downward slightly, round and elastic, feels impeccable.

Placing it here should be comforting, right?!

"Dead Fatty," Helen’s face turned red, swiftly glanced at the Bandit soldiers in the driver’s seat, turned and glared at Fatty who shamelessly kept touching her butt, "What are you doing?!"

"Hehehehehe." Fatty grinned stupidly.

Helen ground her teeth and took this idiot’s hand off her butt, said fiercely, "Go touch your Margaret."

"Margaret?" Fatty felt melancholic. She’s a blood-sucking little demon; it’s fortunate she doesn’t touch me. Or else, why did Master Fatty spend three more days recovering in the hospital?!