THE REAL PROTEGE-Chapter 480: I’M NOT SICK

The Encounter

When Sisu finally emerged twenty minutes later, steam trailing behind him in wisps, he stopped short in the doorway, body tensing as if encountering an invisible barrier. His eyes widened, and he swayed slightly, throat suddenly dry despite the lingering humidity. Mushu sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread in a relaxed posture, dressed only in loose black trousers and a fitted sleeveless undershirt that clung to his torso, revealing muscles honed by years of training. Mushu's physical presence dominated the room, commanding Sisu's reluctant attention.

Sisu swallowed hard, his gaze locked.

"Oh, you're done. You rest first. I already changed the beddings with fresh linens," Mushu said, not looking up from his phone.

Sisu's heart skipped. Mushu had said his bed. Did that mean they would share it? The memory of childhood nights with Mushu replayed in his mind — a fragile, private ache.

Mushu finally looked up, his sharp eyes catching Sisu's frozen stance.

"What's wrong?"

Sisu blinked rapidly, his mind scrambling desperately for words, for any coherent thought that might explain his bizarre behavior.

"Ah… Big Brother," he managed, voice higher than intended. "I... I can sleep on the sofa. Really, it's fine. I'm very unruly when I sleep — I toss and turn and kick. I wouldn't want to disturb you."

Mushu chuckled, the sound a low, rich rumble that seemed to vibrate through the air and settle directly in Sisu's chest.

"So you do remember you sleep like a windmill," he said with fond amusement dancing in his eyes. "You never outgrew it. It's alright — the bed is king-sized, practically an ocean. Even if you flip over completely, there's plenty of room. We won't even touch."

Sisu's face burned with such intensity that he worried it might actually combust as he silently thought, his heart twisting painfully:

'Big Brother remembers… those nights we shared a bed, when I would curl close, needing him desperately. He remembers, but he can't know what those memories mean to me—how I've carried them for years, unable to let go.'

The Breaking Point

The moment Mushu disappeared into the bathroom for his turn, the door clicking shut behind him, Sisu thumped his burning cheeks with both palms repeatedly, as if physical pain might shock him back to sanity. He whispered frantically to himself, his voice barely audible.

"Calm down! Calm down, you idiot!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Get yourself together! He's your brother. Your brother!"

He stared at the massive king-size bed as if it were an instrument of exquisite torture, his entire body trembling with a volatile mixture of anticipation and dread.

"This can't be happening! This cannot be happening!" His voice rose in pitch. "Good Lord, Buddha, every deity in heaven — you are testing my limits, pushing me to the absolute breaking point!"

He climbed onto the bed with exaggerated caution, as if it might explode, then wrapped himself tightly in the blanket like a cocoon, swaddling himself from neck to toe in multiple layers of protective fabric armor.

When Mushu returned fifteen minutes later, droplets of water still glistening on his bare shoulders and dampening his hair, making it fall roguishly across his forehead, he stopped short at the sight before him and nearly laughed out loud.

"Aren't you afraid you'll suffocate in there?" he asked, genuine bewilderment coloring his tone as he approached the bed. "It's not even cold."

Sisu peeked out from his fabric fortress, and his eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets, his brain short-circuiting completely. Mushu stood before him like some ancient warrior god, towel draped casually around his neck, low-slung gray sweatpants clinging to his narrow hips in a way that should be illegal, abs glistening with residual moisture, each muscle defined with almost painful clarity. The perfect V-line of his lower abdomen disappeared tantalizingly beneath the waistband, a roadmap to perdition.

Sisu's heart thundered so violently he could hear nothing else, his face aflame with heat that had nothing to do with the blankets. His body betrayed him utterly — blood rushing south, arousal hardening between his legs despite every desperate mental command to stop. Shame crashed over him in suffocating waves, followed immediately by panic.

Mushu's expression shifted from amusement to concern, his brow furrowing as he stepped closer to the bed.

"You! Your face is burning hot again!" His voice sharpened with alarm. "Come out of that blanket right now!"

Without waiting for compliance, Mushu yanked the covers away with one swift motion and grabbed Sisu's wrist in an iron grip, his fingers finding the pulse point with the practiced precision of someone trained in both healing and killing.

"Why is your heart racing like this? This isn't normal!" His grip tightened, his other hand reaching for Sisu's forehead. "Did you develop a heart condition while I was away? Tell me the truth! And you're burning up like you have a fever!"

Sisu panicked completely, his composure shattering. He struggled against Mushu's iron grip like a trapped animal, desperate to escape before his brother noticed the damning evidence of his arousal.

"Big Brother, I… I… I'm not sick!" The words came out strangled, desperate. "Please, please, just let go of my hand first! I'm fine! I promise I'm fine!"

Mushu released him, startled by his desperation. Sisu bolted like lightning, fleeing back into the bathroom and locking the door.

Mushu's Helplessness

Mushu stood frozen, staring at the closed bathroom door as if it might hold answers. His brows furrowed deeply, creating harsh lines across his forehead. His usually sharp, analytical mind felt clouded, sluggish, unable to process the puzzle before him.

"What in the seven hells is happening?" he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "How do I solve a problem when I don't even understand what the problem is? How do I answer a question mark without a question?"

He sat heavily at his desk, rubbing his temple. He had mastered blades, guns, strategy, and war. Yet here, with his own brother, he was utterly helpless.