"Call 110, call 120, get an ambulance!"
After subduing the assailant, Ken rushed over to check on the stabbed young couple. Both were bloodstained, with multiple stab wounds on their torsos and limbs.
Having read numerous medical articles recently and learned some first aid, Ken performed a quick examination. Confirming neither had a punctured artery, he instructed them to apply pressure to their wounds, stay still, and wait for the ambulance.
The police and ambulance arrived swiftly. The assailant, knocked unconscious by Ken's punch, remained out cold but had been securely bound with rope by the grocery store owner and neighbors who came to help, trussed up like a zongzi.
Soon, everyone was taken away by ambulances, including the attacker. According to the paramedics on scene, while the young couple had suffered several stab wounds, none were life-threatening as vital areas were avoided. As for the assailant, his nasal bone was certainly broken, and he likely had a concussion, but he too was not in mortal danger.
Ken let out a sigh of relief. After that first punch landed, he had been genuinely startled—he had underestimated the force of his own fist. The assailant's face seemed to crumple, and his body instantly went limp. Ken's first thought was that he might have killed the man.
Logically, even if he hadkilled him with that punch, it would undoubtedly be considered justifiable self-defense. The assailant's immediate reaction after being knocked down had been to reach for the knife, a fact corroborated by both the grocery store owner and the surveillance footage at the store entrance.
However, if he hadactually killed someone, a slew of complications would have been inevitable, potentially exposing his secret.
Ken and the grocery store owner both went to the police station to give their statements as eyewitnesses. Ken, in particular, as the one who directly incapacitated the attacker.
In the police car, the officer in the passenger seat reassured Ken, telling him to relax. They had reviewed the surveillance footage; his actions were clearly Justifiable defense, and he wouldn't be in trouble. After giving his statement, he could go home. The officer even asked if Ken was injured and needed to go to the hospital first.
Ken naturally declined. He wasn't hurt at all; a flying kick and one punch downstairs had been enough to end the confrontation. The officer asked because Ken was covered in blood—not just his hands, but also his cheeks and the corner of his mouth. At a glance, he looked worse off than the three people taken away by ambulance.
The grocery store owner, sitting beside Ken in the back seat, hadn't stopped talking since they got in the car. He narrated the attack to the officers upfront one moment and praised Ken's impressive skills the next, asking if he had prior training.
From his chatter, Ken learned that the assailant was the ex-boyfriend of the girl living downstairs from Ken. He had caused a scene last month too, nearly getting into a fight. It was only because the girl's current boyfriend had friends present who intervened that nothing happened then. No one expected the guy to return today with a knife intending to kill.
Ken responded sporadically to the officer and the shop owner, only speaking when directly questioned, his attention focused inward.
During the altercation and while checking the couple's injuries, Ken had gotten a lot of blood on himself. The sight of blood still triggered an urge to drink it. However, perhaps because he had just awakened from his post-feeding slumber the night before, the craving wasn't strong, and he could easily control the impulse.
Moreover, when no one was looking, Ken had pretended to wipe sweat, smearing some blood from his arm into his mouth. That tentative taste eased his mind a little—compared to rabbit blood, human blood didn't evoke any particularly different sensation.
This had been a lingering worry: that over time, he might become like vampires in folklore, dependent on human blood for survival—a prospect he found deeply unsettling.
After quickly giving their statements at the precinct, the officer who brought them arranged for a ride home. It was past 11 p.m. when Ken got back. He went straight to the bathroom, retrieved the rabbit he had bought just that morning from its cage, slaughtered it, drained its blood, and drank precisely 50ml measured in a graduated cylinder.
Sensing his body's response, he confirmed once more: human blood and rabbit blood were no different for him.
Although the sight of blood still stirred a certain hunger, Ken didn't drink the remaining blood from the rabbit. Instead, he disposed of both the carcass and the leftover blood. First, he didn't want to plunge into another 25-hour sleep. Second, he refused to indulge his blood thirst, consciously choosing restraint.
Sitting at his computer, Ken pondered for a while, then recorded the insights gained today in his document.
This unexpected incident highlighted another point for Ken: from witnessing the attack to rushing downstairs, delivering the flying kick, and throwing the punch, his entire thought process had been remarkably lucid and rational. That's why he could stop himself in time after the first, overly forceful punch.
This, he felt, was not normal for him.
Ken was not a particularly brave person. He had witnessed a similar situation in university: two young men from outside the campus chased and hacked a student from his school with knives at the gate. The student didn't escape, was slashed multiple times, reportedly hospitalized for half a year. Luckily, he wasn't permanently disabled, though left with several gruesome scars.
At the time, Ken was about twenty or thirty meters away, walking with a large group of students from his department. He only remembered his limbs turning cold, instinctively moving aside with the crowd. The thought of intervening never even crossed his mind. Even after the assailants were subdued by campus security and the student taken by ambulance, his hands were still trembling.
Ken was almost certain that his former self, before the physical changes, upon seeing the events from upstairs, would have at most called the police. He would never have dared to run down and intervene.
But earlier, when facing the knife-wielding assailant, Ken felt no fear or worry whatsoever. He was utterly certain the man posed no threat to him. It was an instinctive, physical reaction.
Ken examined his fist. The punch that had smashed the assailant's face undoubtedly carried immense force, yet his knuckles and hand showed no damage, not even a scratch.
A sudden thought struck him. He picked up the knife he used specifically for dispatching rabbits, cleaned it with alcohol, and made a light cut on the pad of his finger.