Arknights: How Did I Actually Become the Doctor? — Chapter 89

Chapter 89: Zero Sanity

The crowds pouring out of the Grand Arena had barely digested the explosive news from within before the city itself began to shift. Along the bustling commercial avenues of the Great Knight Territory, the neon signs of small roadside shops and partner brands flickered, flawlessly swapping their displays. In the blink of an eye, the unmistakable triangular tower logo of Rhodes Island fluttered across every street corner and holographic billboard. It was integrated so smoothly that an outsider might assume Rhodes Island had always been a legitimate, homegrown Kazimierz industry.

The moment the celebratory fireworks faded from the night sky, teams of Rhodes Island logistics operators flooded into the city limits. Within hours, half a dozen temporary branch offices sprang up like mushrooms after a rainstorm, leading an unmatched, sweeping census of Kazimierz.

“Attention! Commencing a six-month initiative to completely overhaul the infrastructure and road systems of Kazimierz Plot 4!”

“Rhodes Island is actively hiring transport crews for a new development project! Long-term contracts available, with a direct pathway to permanent employment for outstanding performance… What? You don’t know who Rhodes Island is? You know the Radiant Knight, right? You’ve heard of the Black Knight? What about the Delivery Knight? They’re all on our payroll!”

This work-for-relief initiative was a masterstroke. It was a policy perfectly tailored to the hardworking, honest underclass of Terra. Backed by the promise of long-term stability and the ironclad reputations of multiple legendary knights, it became an anchor for the public’s peace of mind. It gave the downtrodden the confidence they needed to roll up their sleeves and get to work.

Business negotiations, public sentiment pacification, material research for a theoretical miniature megastructure, and cleaning up the colossal mess left behind by the Commerce Union…

In theory, these monumental tasks didn’t strictly require the Doctor’s personal oversight. But the reality was clear: no one else possessed his terrifying capacity to micromanage. He could dictate the logistical flow of every single construction site and improve the positioning of every individual operator down to the millimeter. The projects he drove forward single-handedly operated at a terrifying efficiency that left entire corporate boards in the dust.

[Swap the A16 construction site transport team with B3. Currently, 4.3% of transport efficiency is being wasted.]

[At the 16 recruitment points I have marked, lower the minimum age limit to 14. The public satisfaction index is dropping, and the populace is panicking. Stabilize them.]

[Reserve Operator Artsey, please transfer to the medical site in Plot 3 immediately. You are currently generating negative efficiency gains!]

[Postscript: Please do not let this transfer affect your mood or work efficiency. You simply are not suited for this specific role; it does not mean I dislike you.]

Somewhere across the city, the drooping ears of an unknown Kuranta suddenly perked up. Reinvigorated by the personalized note, she practically skipped off to her new assignment.

[Operator Mood Index +1]

[Infrastructure Efficiency +3.4%]

[Resource Extraction Speed +15]

The entirety of Kazimierz was currently rotting from the inside out, teetering on the edge of collapse like a crumbling stone. The Doctor’s objective was to squeeze every last drop of oil from that stone through hyper-improved management, forcing that meager yield into a self-sustaining cycle.

Otherwise, trying to use a single pharmaceutical company’s economy to provide a blood transfusion for an entire mobile city was a fool’s errand. Even if he dismantled Mon3tr and sold it for parts, they wouldn’t even make a dent in the deficit.

To cope, PRTS had helpfully switched his terminal interface into a simplified, Stellaris-style management mini-game. Sitting in his chair, he watched the little pixelated icons of dirty, struggling animals wash up under his command, their coats becoming fluffy again, their tails plumping up with proper nutrition. It was immensely fulfilling.

Just… a bit tiring.

Immersed in his grand strategy simulator, the Doctor completely failed to consider a fundamental truth: if playing a mini-game was making him physically exhausted, the physical toll on his actual body was far more severe.

“Do you plan on dying in this room?”

It was the third day of his self-imposed isolation. After locking himself in his office to masochistically micromanage the entire Great Knight Territory, Wis’adel had finally seen enough. The Sarkaz mercenary had scaled the perimeter fence of the Rhodes Island temporary base, effortlessly dismantled the elite guards stationed outside his door, and swaggered right into his sanctum.

Wis’adel kicked the heavy door open with her signature explosive arrogance. But the familiar, exasperated banter she expected to hear in response never came.

Instead, she found a man hunched over a glowing terminal, muttering in a hoarse, hollow voice.

“Conversion efficiency is impossible… The resource conversion rate, even if infinitely close to one, is impossible… The sea has been sealed off…”

“The problem isn’t here, it’s not…”

He was subconsciously repeating fragmented murmurs that had absolutely nothing to do with the logistical documents piled high beside his hand. As the harsh outdoor sunlight spilled into the room, illuminating the scattered papers, the white-haired young man sluggishly raised his head. He rubbed his eyes, wincing.

“Hiss… did Kazimierz just have an earthquake? Why are you here?”

Wis’adel opened her mouth to snap at him, but the words died on the tip of her tongue the moment they made eye contact. Her planned insult instantly morphed into a sharp demand: “How long has it been since you last slept?”

Her cross-shaped pupils naturally contracted and expanded, adjusting to the sudden shift in light like a predatory cat. It allowed her to see his face with terrifying clarity.

His eyes were webbed with dense, angry red blood vessels. In the dim light of the monitors, his usually light gray pupils had dilated until they were almost pitch black.

Wis’adel subconsciously shifted her weight, angling her body to block the doorway so no one outside could see him. The way he was looking at her right now—cold, hollow, and utterly consumed by calculation—was far too reminiscent of the Ghost of Babel. It was a look from a past she preferred to keep buried.

“How many days?” The Doctor blinked slowly, struggling to count on his fingers. His brain felt like it was submerged in molasses. “…I didn’t sleep on the day of Maria’s match. Then I didn’t have time to sleep the day before the match when the Silverash Knights arrived. Then I was up talking business with those small merchants after the match, and then it was the day of Nearl’s match… until now?”

The sheer gravity of the situation finally pierced through his sluggish mind, accompanied by a needle-like spike of fatigue driving straight into his temples.

No, wait, you can’t blame me for this! he thought defensively. This project approval interface is literally a 4X grand strategy simulator! Who wouldn’t get addicted to playing it?! Time genuinely speeds up when you’re in the zone! Why don’t you guys believe in the ‘just one more turn’ curse?!

As his near-dead EQ finally rebooted, he watched Wis’adel’s expression transition from nervous shock to boiling anger. Her fists clenched at her sides, trembling slightly.

Congratulations. After staying awake for six consecutive days, his Sanity had finally hit absolute zero. He no longer had the mental bandwidth to maintain his flawless mastermind facade.

Wis’adel gritted her teeth, making up her mind. No matter what kind of pathetic sob story or silver-tongued coaxing this bastard tried to pull, she absolutely would not soften her heart! As long as he didn’t drop dead on the spot, he deserved whatever beating she was about to dish out. She had seen broken arms, shattered legs, and rivers of blood. She had heard every evasive, manipulative excuse the old him used to spout. She absolutely would not—

Just as she prepared to tear through his web of lies, the prickly, irritable, and fiercely defensive Sarkaz suddenly found herself pulled into a hug.

She froze. Her nose was instantly filled with his unique scent—a faint, cold, metallic aroma mixed with the sterile smell of originium dust and the lingering warmth of his body heat seeping through his coat.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. In the end, he simply stayed silent, gently patting the top of her head in a clumsy attempt at comfort.

It was a very gentle gesture, but it was only comfort.

It was glaringly obvious that his will had been shaken by her sudden appearance, yet his mouth remained clamped shut like a mute’s. He lived entirely within the architecture of his own grand designs, and he would not halt his relentless march forward for anyone’s concern—or anyone’s anger.

Standing there, enveloped in his tired embrace, Wis’adel suddenly felt that all her irritation and worry were utterly meaningless.

This kind of man… a man who was genuinely gentle and considerate in his heart, yet acted with a ruthless, unstoppable momentum that no one could derail… he was simply too exhausting to be around. It only made her feel like a weakling, clinging to his shadow and struggling with her own internal friction all by herself.

It was ridiculous, really. Who would have ever thought that between the two of them, the one who was more sensitive, the one quietly drowning in emotional turmoil… would actually be her, the infamous Sarkaz lunatic?