Reincarnated In a Cthulhu World And Everyone Is Obsessed With Me - Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Anchor – An apocalyptic wage slave can’t be a refined Base socialite.

Xia Mingyu was sent back to the top floor of the Sanctuary. The floor-to-ceiling window was wide enough for a person to pass through. He ducked his head and, unexpectedly, stepped onto a soft, plush carpet.

Pulling off the colorful ribbon, his sweat-soaked long hair clung to his back. Only back within the safety of the Base did he realize his body was ice-cold.

A Sanctuary avatar stood before him, bowing respectfully. “Mr. Xia Mingyu, please follow me.”

Looking at the plain-faced avatar, Xia Mingyu asked abruptly, “Since you can change your voice, can you turn into a Pokémon?”

The avatar stiffened for a moment. “…It is possible, Mr. Xia Mingyu.”

What human-like body language, Xia Mingyu thought with a faint smile.

He followed the avatar to a bathroom. Looking at the high-tech automated machinery, he asked, “How do you start this?” He had never used the high-end facilities inside the Base.

The avatar dissolved back into a stream of electricity. “Please undress and stand on the platform. The device will handle the rest.”

Xia Mingyu stared at the blue current until it conscientiously flowed out of the room, then he slid the door shut. He frowned, sniffing his clothes. Thanks to the protective gear, he wasn’t covered in filth, but the nauseating scent of monsters still clung to him like a shadow.

Leaning against the wall, he pulled his shirt over his head. His fair skin, usually hidden by layers of clothing, was revealed; a tiny mole sat on the small of his back. His lean waist flowed into his hips, disappearing into his belted trousers.

Xia Mingyu’s body was undoubtedly an attractive asset, but his ambition and power made his beauty a sharp weapon. Resting a hand on his belt buckle, he glanced coldly at the crack in the door and smiled tenderly. “If you peek again, I’ll kill you.”

The blue current recoiled sharply and vanished.

…

He had expected a simple shower, but after the device’s green light flashed three times, sticky, unknown material extended from both sides, wrapping him in a capsule-like, airtight space. A slight stinging sensation on his skin told him the “capsule” was dissolving surface impurities.

For a moment, he felt like he was back in a womb—dark, damp, and chaotic. A sense of unknown danger from the depths of his soul made his heart race. Just before he felt he might suffocate, the capsule dissolved completely. Warm water washed over him, leaving him perfectly clean.

In the mirror, his eyes were clear again.

He stepped out wearing a white bathrobe, damp hair draped over his shoulders, looking ethereal yet sharp. The Sanctuary’s childish voice chirped, “Mr. Xia Mingyu, the ball begins at 5:00 PM. Please prepare immediately.”

“A ball?” Xia Mingyu wasn’t interested. To him, it was just a glorified matchmaking corner wrapped in fancy decorations. Besides, he had to work at the bar tonight.

“I’m not going.”

“It is mandatory, Mr. Xia Mingyu.”

“Mandatory?” He smiled thinly.

The Sanctuary adjusted its tactic. “If you attend, the Base will deposit a significant stipend into your Star-Network account.”

In just a few days, the AI had learned the key to negotiating with Xia Mingyu: money.

Xia Mingyu sank into a soft sofa. “Can I leave early?”

“If you find a suitable partner, yes.”

He ignored the bit about a partner and agreed.

“Also, as an S-class, I suggest you find a partner soon to help stabilize your mental power,” the AI added.

“But not all S-classes have partners, do they?” Xia Mingyu mused. Ruan Congyun never bound himself deeply, and Sheikh… even ten years into the apocalypse, Sheikh had never had a partner. It was hard enough for people to see Sheikh as a human rather than a “statue” or a god, let alone feel desire for him.

Who could Sheikh even love? It was hard to imagine.

The Sanctuary persisted. “You could use this chance to contact Mr. Ruan or Chief Sheikh.”

Xia Mingyu maintained a polite smile while thinking: You might as well suggest I jump into a river. One had cornered him in an alley; the other had literally ended his previous life.

The AI, oblivious to his thoughts, continued, “If you have a grudge with Mr. Ruan, the Chief is quite suitable for you.”

Xia Mingyu actually laughed, shaking his head. That was way too much credit; he couldn’t handle that kind of “suitability.”

The wardrobe wall slid open, revealing formal wear the Sanctuary had purchased for him. To the AI, Xia Mingyu’s most expensive outfit was his bartender uniform; his casual clothes were “atrociously cheap”—an insult to an S-class beauty.

Xia Mingyu picked a low-key black suit, but the Sanctuary interjected. “I suggest you wear this one.”

It was a white suit with a lace-collared shirt and gold embroidery. It looked like court dress from the old world—the kind of thing one wore to a royal wedding. Xia Mingyu moved to put it back.

“Mr. Xia Mingyu, I will add an extra bonus to your payment.”

Xia Mingyu took it back immediately. He was a practical man.

…

The venue was a masterpiece of artificial greenery and classical music. Xia Mingyu found it ironic; it was as if these people actually cared about art and nature. To him, these were just props for the night’s main event: matchmaking.

He walked through the corridor, nodding to strangers. Everyone wore masks. Xia Mingyu interpreted the rules simply: wearing a mask meant you were still “hunting”; taking it off meant you had found a partner for the night. He intended to keep his mask on.

The center of the ball was pure decadence—fountains, marble floors, and golden-lit pavilions. He could hear laughter from a distance. He hadn’t known the Base had such a place. Resources were monopolized here, creating a dreamscape that contrasted sharply with the monsters he had been butchering just hours ago.

To survive the apocalypse, one needed an “anchor”—something to believe in. Xia Mingyu’s anchor tonight was the free food.

He was starving. His body craved nourishment to match his surging mental power. Since this was a high-end party, there was no spicy stir-fry, only delicate pastries and fruit soufflés.

He carried a porcelain plate, weaving through the crowd. Guides and Sentinels tried to strike up conversations, but he simply smiled and walked away. Selling smiles at Paradise earned him tips; here, it was a liability.

He eventually found a bench in a quiet corner and tucked into a small cake. The cream was sweet and light—a taste he hadn’t experienced in a long time. It reminded him of Tang Yaopeng. The kid had messaged him once in the afternoon but had been unreachable since. I wonder if I’ll run into him here with someone else? An A-class Sentinel like him would be popular.

As he ate, a few strands of his long hair stuck to the cream at the corner of his mouth. He paused, using his pinky to hook the hair away.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, accompanied by an aggressive, masculine cologne.

“Wipe yourself.” A long-fingered hand held out a tissue embossed with elegant lettering.