Chapter 330: Grant Me Your Name

Ever since that psychoanalysis session three months ago had confirmed that Miss Anomaly’s human side far outweighed the non-human, Pandora had gradually shifted the way she treated the girl.

No longer did she see her as a mere Anomaly.

More and more, she saw her as a human girl who happened to possess an uncontrollable ability to shape Anomalies.

A human girl who needed guidance, whose character was still immature.

Thus, coming to Dr. Brenner for psychoanalysis—it was less about treatment and more about relaxation, a kind of mental massage. She let Dr. Brenner use his professional expertise and gentle guidance to help the girl build a basic sense of self-worth—

To make her better recognize the part of herself that was human, rather than the Anomaly.

After six sessions over the past three months—one every two weeks—the results were already quite noticeable.

The girl had grown visibly more cheerful. She was no longer perpetually tense, coiled like a small animal ready to bolt at any moment, as she had been in the beginning.

Now, she would occasionally volunteer a few words, smile at Pandora’s jokes. Even during today’s session, when Dr. Brenner performed his habitual gesture of adjusting his glasses, she had pulled a little silly face in Pandora’s direction.

And now, for example...

“Miss Pandora, I have a question.”

Walking down the corridor, the girl suddenly stopped.

She lifted her head, looking up at Pandora.

Moonlight, filtered through the venetian blinds, fell upon her face, dividing her features into alternating bands of light and shadow.

“Hm?”

Pandora halted as well, lowering her gaze to meet the girl’s.

The girl’s fingers curled inward slightly, twisting the fabric of her skirt. She seemed a little nervous.

But her gaze did not waver.

“I... can I have a name of my own?”

Her voice was very soft, as if afraid of waking something slumbering in the corridor.

Yet each word was clearly enunciated.

As though she had rehearsed this sentence many times in her heart.

Silence settled over the corridor for a moment.

In the distance, the bell tower of some building tolled a muffled hour.

Once. Twice.

Pandora looked down into those eyes, which shone especially bright in the moonlight.

She was not surprised.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She had long been prepared for a moment like this.

“Of course,” Pandora said, her tone calm and gentle. “What would you like to be called?”

The girl’s lips parted. She seemed ready to speak the name she had likely been pondering for a long time, but Pandora did not give her the chance.

“However, a word of caution.” Pandora raised a single finger slightly, gently cutting her off.

“As I mentioned to you last time, all signs indicate that you very likely have a past.”

“Among the materials the cleanup squad found in the old campus, we’ve even located several girls who might be past versions of you.

Enrollment records, old photographs, archived class scores... But these materials are simply too old. We can’t yet confirm which of them was you.”

“But perhaps, given a little more time, we will have an answer.”

Pandora paused, her gaze resting seriously on the girl’s face.

The girl shook her head, her hair swaying gently against her shoulders.

Her voice was light.

Yet every word carried the same earnestness with which she had just requested a name.

She lifted her head and gazed intently into Pandora’s eyes.

The crimson moonlight reflected in her pupils, but it no longer seemed cold:

“I am certain.”

“Whichever of them I was—or whichever of them is the me of now...”

“Those are all things of the past.”

“Now, for me, the time spent with you is what matters most.”

“Just as Dr. Brenner said—the past cannot be changed, and the future remains a mystery. Only the present, and the present alone, can be held onto.”

“I only want to hold onto the present.”

The girl tightened her grip on Pandora’s hand.

She had no idea when the habit had started.

When walking, she had to hold Pandora’s hand. When seated, she had to sit beside Pandora. When going to sleep, she could only rest at ease while holding one of Pandora’s fingers.

Her life was no longer lived solely within the confines of fear.

It was a pity...

Pandora had always been somewhat emotionally obtuse.

She responded to the girl’s various actions only on reflex, never truly probing into their meaning.

She seemed never to sense just how much weight her casual gestures carried in the girl’s heart.

“You may.”

Pandora nodded, her tone ordinary, as if this were the simplest of requests.

“It seems you already have something in mind?”

She let the girl hold her hand tightly and looked down to ask.

“Mm.”

The girl said quietly, her gaze dropping slightly to stare at her own hand gripping Pandora’s.

“I want to share your surname.”

“Douglas?”

“Yes. Then... for the given name?”

The girl looked up, her eyes shimmering with anticipation.

“Could you pick it for me?”

Pandora fell into thought for a moment.

Her eyes settled on the girl’s face, on the profile that looked so peaceful under the moonlight.

“Hm...”

She considered.

“How about Phoebe?”

“Phoebe Douglas.”

Phoebe.

A name that sounded bright, buoyant—with a touch of quirky charm.

Nothing to do with Anomalies, nothing to do with fear, nothing to do with gunmen or being hunted.

Rather, it was the sort of name an ordinary girl ought to have.

“Phoebe... Phoebe... Phoebe Douglas...”

The girl murmured it a few times, as if tasting something new.

With each repetition, the corners of her mouth curved a little higher.

Finally, she broke into a radiant smile—the most unguarded smile Pandora had ever seen from her.

“Thank you, Miss Pandora. I love this name.”

“Alright, Phoebe. Let’s go.”

Pandora nodded and said no more.

She took the girl’s hand, turned, and began walking toward the elevator.

“There’s a banquet upstairs that we need to attend.”

“I imagine they’ve all grown rather impatient waiting for us.”

………………

Soon, the elevator doors slid open without a sound.

In stark contrast to the deliberately cultivated tranquility of the clinic downstairs, a warm draft of air rushed in—blending the scents of expensive perfume, spirits, and fine cuisine.

Threaded through that draft were the low murmur of conversation, the crisp clink of wine glasses, and the particular warmth generated by a crowd.

The banquet occupied the top floor of the office building, a space linking the indoor hall with an open-air garden.

A crystal chandelier hung from the high dome, its cascading tiers of lights casting a brilliant yet cold glow. The illumination rendered every flawlessly dressed guest’s face immaculate—while concealing the desires and calculations lurking deep within their eyes.

The men wore impeccably tailored dark suits, corners of pocket squares peeking from their breast pockets. The ladies were attired in floor-length gowns, the jewelry at their necks and wrists refracting crushed-diamond glimmers beneath the lights.

Servers wove through the crowd bearing silver trays laden with champagne and delicate petits fours.