The Cubs Can’t Possibly Be This Well-Behaved! – CH43

Chapter 43

The cubs in the nursery facility were the children of criminals.

Although their direct relatives were no longer alive, when the Star Alliance initially decided to send them to the Prison Star, they must have considered the necessity of their ideological and moral education.

Reality, however, often proved to be far less ideal.

In the beginning, the nursery facility’s conditions were not as basic as they are now. Each unit of caregiver robots was supported by five or six auxiliary units, and the caretakers hired were reputed professionals with excellent track records in child-rearing.

These caregivers not only had extensive experience raising children but were also accomplished educators, making them well-rounded and highly qualified for the role.

However, the situation in the nursery facility soon deteriorated. Caregiver robots were repeatedly destroyed by the berserk cubs, and one after another, the professional caregivers were seriously injured.

Initially, some caregivers chose to stay out of a sense of professional responsibility, returning to work after recovering from their injuries to continue looking after and educating the cubs. But over time, their numbers dwindled.

When the early wave of professional caregivers all resigned and left the Prison Star, it became increasingly difficult to recruit such talent.

After all, the Prison Star not only had harsh conditions, but its cubs were violent and difficult to manage. Even with attractive salaries, caregivers could earn comparable or even better pay working in preschools on capital planets without enduring such hardships.

Although the Prison Star offered state-of-the-art medical pods to fully heal injuries, the pain experienced during those incidents was very real.

Caregivers weren’t masochists, nor were they hardened soldiers with unyielding willpower. Some developed severe psychological trauma after being attacked and were unable to continue working in the field at all.

With recruitment proving futile, Base 24 had no choice but to lower their standards. They stopped prioritizing extensive childcare experience or impressive credentials. Instead, they sought caretakers who were physically robust and capable of subduing berserk cubs.

This strategy worked for a time.

The cubs were still young, and with the assistance of caregiver robots, a physically capable caretaker could just about manage them.

Meanwhile, the research institute developed a sedative specifically tailored for cubs.

Compared to commercially available sedatives, those developed by the Prison Star’s research institute were undoubtedly safer and faster-acting. Once introduced, these sedatives not only proved effective in the nursery facility but were also welcomed across the interstellar community.

Many cubs across the galaxy struggled with bloodline power-related outbursts, and while they typically received better care, their destructive capabilities during these episodes were no less severe than those of the Prison Star cubs.

When a cub went berserk and their relatives couldn’t arrive in time to calm them, sedatives became a vital means of control. However, previous products often had strong side effects or delayed efficacy, creating significant challenges.

The Prison Star’s sedatives effectively addressed these issues, becoming a highly valued tool in childcare. They have since been widely adopted throughout the galaxy.

That said, the environment in the nursery facility remained drastically different from that of other cubs’ homes.

Whether due to exposure to pollutants, the absence of familial care, or a combination of both, the cubs on the Prison Star grew increasingly volatile and irritable as they aged.

Their destructive capabilities also intensified over time. With the number of cubs in the facility growing each year, the burden on caretakers increased exponentially. Eventually, even the newly recruited caretakers began resigning frequently.

The number of willing caretakers dwindled to the point where dozens of replacements failed to complete their probationary periods.

Under such circumstances, it was impossible for the nursery facility to address the cubs’ educational needs. Getting them to remain quiet and avoid causing chaos had already become the highest achievable goal.

After listening to Gu Qingchen’s explanation, Su Ci nodded. “So, the nursery facility has no plans to hire teachers?”

Gu Qingchen shrugged. “I’m not in the HR department, so I can’t say for sure. But given the facility’s current state, it seems unlikely in the short term.”

If they struggled to recruit caretakers, expecting to hire professional educators was even more unrealistic.

“Alright, I understand.”

Su Ci thanked him and then inquired about the procurement process for toys for the cubs.

Gu Qingchen was slightly surprised by the question but tried to provide an answer. “I believe you’d need to submit a request to the Procurement Department. For specifics, you could consult the AI brain.”

“The AI brain?”

“Yes, you can just call for it,” Gu Qingchen explained. “The base’s AI brain is omnipresent.”

“…Got it,” Su Ci replied, understanding the implications.

With his questions answered, Su Ci was ready to end the call, but Gu Qingchen quickly added, “Don’t forget to check on Number Eight. He probably needs something from you. As a caretaker, it’s important to respond promptly to the cubs’ needs.”

“Understood,” Su Ci replied casually, then promptly disconnected the call without further ado.

Gu Qingchen stared at the darkened screen, baffled.

How could someone like caretaker Su, with his indifferent attitude, earn the wolf cub’s affection?

Shaking his head, he glanced at the communicator’s directory. At the top was a pinned chat. Gu Qingchen’s brows furrowed, and his expression turned serious and somber.

Pressing the icon, he opened the chat and typed a message:
[Dr. Ren, when will Number Four be able to return to the nursery facility?]

Meanwhile, Su Ci was oblivious to Gu Qingchen’s thoughts.

Of course, even if he had known, he likely wouldn’t have cared. After all, wasn’t it normal for beings nurtured by the earth to feel a natural affinity for the Earth Spirit?

He didn’t immediately go to check on the wolf cub either.

After using his spiritual senses to confirm that the cub wasn’t in urgent need of attention, Su Ci turned and walked into the bedroom. His eyes fell on the wall-embedded manual that had been emitting waves of angry energy earlier but was now eerily silent.

A-Yan noticed Su Ci’s actions, carefully set down his glass, and followed him into the bedroom with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

As expected, the caretaker headed straight for the manual.

A-Yan watched as Su Ci studied the book with a serious expression. Thinking back to the platinum-colored orb he had taken from the book, A-Yan felt a pang of guilt and instinctively hid his hands behind his back.

Should he confess?

But the caretaker had told him not to meddle with the book, and he hadn’t listened… Would the caretaker stop liking him if he found out?

Lowering his gaze, A-Yan’s mood sank.

Su Ci, unaware of A-Yan’s internal turmoil, examined the weakened form of the proto-book spirit embedded in the wall. His brows furrowed, and his eyes flicked to a toppled chair on the floor nearby.

When he had left that morning, there hadn’t been a chair there.

Turning back, Su Ci looked at the child, who was avoiding his gaze with obvious guilt.

A-Yan’s heart pounded under Su Ci’s scrutiny. He didn’t mean to…

Finally, A-Yan bit his lip, brought his hands out from behind his back, and extended them toward the caretaker with an apprehensive expression.

In the wall, the proto-book spirit, which had been dormant, seemed to sense the interaction. It stirred again, emitting waves of energy that were no longer purely angry but tinged with a strange, twisted satisfaction. The mixture of emotions was perplexing.

Su Ci ignored the manual.

He crouched down and gently took A-Yan’s small hands in his own. As he carefully sensed the child’s condition, his brows shot up in surprise.

Initially, he hadn’t considered this possibility, so he hadn’t noticed. But now that he focused, even Su Ci couldn’t hide his astonishment.

“You absorbed its rule power?” Su Ci asked.

A-Yan blinked in confusion, his anxious expression giving way to a blank stare.

Rule power? Was he talking about the platinum-colored orb?

Su Ci didn’t elaborate. Letting go of the boy’s hands, he stood up, deep in thought.

In principle, the mutual devouring of power between spirits was entirely natural. It was the law of the jungle, the survival of the fittest—a universal truth in nature. Spirits, as living entities, were also bound by this law.

Yes, by the rules.

The very nature of rule power highlighted its profound mystery and formidable strength. This wasn’t a force that any random spirit could wield or absorb.

Take his own soul power, for instance. A-Yan could freely absorb and process it because Su Ci was the Earth Spirit, with inherent earth attributes.

The earth nurtures all things, possessing the greatest inclusivity in existence. His soul power was akin to a universal elixir for spirits, capable of healing injuries, strengthening vitality, and even performing feats akin to raising the dead.

Rule power, however, was entirely different.

Rules govern everything, both the living and the nonliving. This nature gave them extreme exclusivity and an inherently aggressive quality, making them far from harmless.

Recklessly absorbing rule power could harm a spirit’s essence at best or result in complete annihilation at worst. Yet, A-Yan had absorbed it with ease.

Could it be because of his training in Heavenly Script? Su Ci couldn’t help but speculate. Was A-Yan’s exceptional talent allowing him to comprehend the method of absorbing rule power from the very first heavenly glyph?

Su Ci carefully re-examined the boy standing before him. While A-Yan’s aura remained weak, it was notably stronger than it had been the previous day.

When Su Ci had infused soul power into him earlier in the kitchen, he’d already noticed some improvement. At the time, he’d assumed it was a result of A-Yan’s progress in his spiritual training. But now it seemed there was more to it.

This confirmed that A-Yan had not only absorbed the proto-book spirit’s rule power but had also benefited from it.

So perhaps, rather than deciphering a method for absorbing rule power from the Divine Script, there was another possibility—one that seemed even more plausible.

Su Ci gazed at A-Yan and asked, “A-Yan, are you also a rule-based spirit?”

A rule-based spirit?

A-Yan blinked, his gaze full of confusion. He didn’t understand what Su Ci meant, but… the caretaker didn’t seem angry! A wave of relief washed over him.

As for being a “rule-based spirit”…

If the caretaker said he was, then he was. As long as Su Ci wasn’t upset and didn’t dislike him, that was all that mattered. A-Yan’s lips curved into a cheerful, innocent smile.

Su Ci, of course, wouldn’t be angry over such a trivial matter.

On the contrary, his assessment of A-Yan’s potential rose even higher. After all, a rule-based spirit, once fully matured, could not possibly be weak.

He naturally hoped for A-Yan to grow as strong as possible—such strength would make him an invaluable ally in restoring the earth.

With that thought, Su Ci’s face softened into a smile. He reached out, gently placing his hand atop A-Yan’s head and ruffling his soft hair.

“Good. That’s very promising,” he said.

A-Yan’s grin widened, taking on a hint of silly glee.

In the wall, the proto-book spirit froze as if stunned, its essence trembling violently.

Then, as if triggered, it erupted into a fit of furious, almost hysterical vibrations. The physical book itself began to quiver weakly, a reflection of its immense indignation.

Su Ci glanced back at the wall, his gaze calm and faintly dismissive.

The proto-book spirit visibly flinched, its quivering subsiding into stillness.

“Let’s go. Don’t mind it,” Su Ci said, standing and taking A-Yan’s small hand to lead him out of the bedroom.

When it came to something as volatile as this proto-book spirit—on the verge of becoming a malevolent entity—Su Ci felt no inclination for mercy.

Even if A-Yan absorbed all of its rule power, Su Ci wouldn’t feel the least bit regretful.

A-Yan had left it a small fragment of power—that was simply a testament to A-Yan’s kind nature.

Now, Su Ci found himself slightly concerned. Spending too much time near this proto-book spirit might end up influencing A-Yan negatively.

Su Ci had previously attempted to store the manual in his space button, but once it had awakened to sentience, even in its nascent form, it could no longer be classified as a non-living object.

And space buttons were incapable of storing living beings.

Perhaps in the future, Su Ci would need to gather materials to craft spirit pouches, specifically designed to carry sentient entities.

For now, the only option was to leave the book in the dormitory, confining it to the wall where it was embedded.

Fortunately, Su Ci had set up a spiritual barrier around the dormitory. The barrier would prevent external pollutants from entering and would also suppress the proto-book spirit’s development into a malevolent entity.

For the moment, all he needed to do was keep A-Yan away from it.

*

Room 503 of the Nursery Facility.

After Gu Qingchen left, Number Eight stopped folding paper. He sat in his room, glancing anxiously at the door every few seconds, only to find it still firmly closed.

The wait was excruciatingly long and tedious.

He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret.

If only he’d been quicker when sneaking out earlier. Two guards were nothing—if he’d timed it right, they wouldn’t have caught him at all.

His big wolf tail drooped onto the floor as he sat there, fiddling with the “paper flute” he’d made. He carefully blew into the small holes he’d punched in it, fearful of damaging the fragile paper tube.

But no matter how he tried, it refused to make a sound. In his frustration, he accidentally blew too hard, tearing the already delicate flute apart.

“Useless piece of junk!” Number Eight growled angrily, throwing the broken flute to the ground before slumping over his desk, utterly bored.

“I wish I could go out and play…”

Even if it meant fighting Number Six, it would be better than being stuck in this stuffy room with no windows. If only he could be like the shepherd boy he’d seen earlier—running free, exploring the world, and even having a big yellow ox to ride!

Number Eight’s mind wandered back to the vivid images that had appeared in his mind while he was in the activity room that morning.

The scenes were so clear and lifelike that even now, he could recall every detail. Just thinking about them made it feel as if a warm breeze were brushing against his face. It was such a comforting sensation.

How had he managed to imagine such a vibrant and colorful world?

He couldn’t help but admire himself for his vivid imagination.

Number Eight chuckled, then stood up and began stretching. It was time for today’s training. Someday, not even seven or eight guards at once would be able to catch him!

If someone had been monitoring the room’s security footage at that moment, they would have seen a wolf-eared, wolf-tailed boy darting around the small space like a blur.

He wasn’t content to merely run across the floor; he leapt from wall to wall, even scaling them to reach the ceiling. His movements left faint footprints on the metal walls and ceiling panels.

Of course, his speed and erratic movements inevitably led to frequent collisions and tumbles.

Each time he fell, often landing with a thud that left him bruised and battered, the boy merely bared his teeth in a grimace, refusing to cry or complain. Dusting himself off, he would get right back up to continue his “training.”

When Su Ci opened the door with A-Yan in tow, they were greeted by the sight of—

The wolf-eared boy crashing down from the ceiling, breaking the desk that 4586 had replaced for him that morning into a mangled mess. His drinking cup had already rolled into a corner, miraculously unscathed, thanks to its metal construction.

Number Eight scrambled to his feet with remarkable speed, panting heavily. When he turned and saw the previously shut metal door now open, with the caretaker standing in the doorway, his eyes lit up.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the boy dashed past Su Ci and into the hallway, moving like a gust of wind.

“Oh yeah!” he cheered.

Number Eight skipped down the hallway unimpeded, bouncing joyfully and showing off with every step.

“I got away! You can’t catch me!” The little boy’s excitement was through the roof as he shouted with a triumphant grin. Even the small tuft of hair on his head seemed to dance with glee.

A-Yan, who had been walking beside Su Ci, withdrew his gaze from the fluffy ears that had previously caught his attention. His brow furrowed slightly.

It wasn’t playtime. According to the nursery’s rules, cubs weren’t allowed to wander freely. Should they capture Number Eight and return him to his room?

He tilted his small head up to look at the caretaker.

The caretaker’s expression was calm, utterly indifferent to Number Eight’s antics. Seeing this, A-Yan blinked and decided to maintain the same nonchalance.

Su Ci didn’t acknowledge Number Eight, much less make any move to capture him. With a brief glance in his direction, he stepped directly into Room 503.

Number Eight’s room was no different from the others, though the chaotic aftermath of yesterday’s rampage left behind broken furniture. Despite the recent replacements, the tables and chairs were once again in disarray.

Apart from the mess, crumpled paper littered the floor.

Su Ci walked to the desk and picked up a relatively intact “paper flute” from the floor. It was clear that Number Eight had taken a liking to this makeshift instrument, continuing to fold paper and play after returning to his room.

The metal door, which had closed automatically behind Su Ci, slowly reopened.

The little wolf cub who had so jubilantly escaped just moments ago was now peeking cautiously from the doorway.

Seeing that the caretaker ignored him entirely, Number Eight felt a pang of hurt worse than getting scolded.

“Aren’t you a caretaker? Why didn’t you come after me!” The boy puffed his cheeks and complained angrily, “You… you’re no fun at all!”

Su Ci finally turned his gaze on him, though only briefly, before casually flipping the “paper flute” in his hand.

Number Eight’s attention was immediately drawn to the movement. He watched on instinct and then—

When the caretaker finished the simple motion, the so-called “paper flute” in his hand was no longer made of paper but a real bamboo flute.

The bamboo flute was a rich brown, with a straight and compact design. Its rustic charm carried a touch of whimsy, reminiscent of something a shepherd boy might play.

Number Eight’s green eyes widened in disbelief, and even A-Yan, standing nearby, stared in wonder. The sight stirred a faint sense of familiarity.

After rubbing his eyes several times and confirming that the flute hadn’t vanished, Number Eight dashed into the room and reached out to grab it.

“Where did you get this flute? Let me see!”

But Su Ci had no intention of letting him succeed.

With a slight lift of his arm and a sidestep, he easily avoided the wolf cub’s grasp.

Number Eight stumbled past.

Failing on his first attempt didn’t deter him. He crouched slightly, raising his head to fixate on the flute with scrutiny and calculation. Its height was no challenge for him, but…

The young boy met Su Ci’s calm gaze.

The fluffy tail that had been wagging furiously with anticipation froze mid-sway, then drooped to the floor. His two perked wolf ears also wilted, half-flopping downward in defeat.

He shuffled closer to Su Ci with an ingratiating smile.

Su Ci continued to look at him quietly.

The wolf-eared boy softened his tone and pleaded, “Su Ci, Caretaker Su… I promise I won’t sneak out again. Could you let me play with the flute, please?”

“Or… or I’ll let you touch my ears? You can pet them as much as you want!”

Number Eight had never begged anyone like this before, but he realized it wasn’t so bad after all, because—

The caretaker, who had been holding the flute high above, finally lowered his arm in response to the boy’s plea. Though Su Ci’s face remained as impassive as ever, which was still a little intimidating, he actually handed the flute over!

Staring at the bamboo flute extended toward him, Number Eight blinked in disbelief.

For someone as carefree and rough-edged as him, it was surprising to get what he wanted so easily. He was momentarily stunned.

In the lessons he’d learned growing up, getting what you wanted always meant taking it by force. Sometimes, it involved fights that left you battered and bloodied, and even then, success wasn’t guaranteed.

That’s why Number Eight never relied on others. He refused to beg or ask for help, believing it to be the behavior of the weak.

Yet, this caretaker had made him break that rule more than once. And oddly enough… Su Ci never seemed to let him down.

Number Eight glanced at Su Ci, then back at the bamboo flute.

Finally, he hesitantly reached out and took it.

The flute was slightly cool to the touch, with a texture he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t like metal or plastic. There was even a faint, refreshing scent he couldn’t identify but found oddly pleasant.

“You’re really giving this to me?”

He looked up uncertainly at the caretaker.

The young man nodded lightly, then placed his hand on Number Eight’s head, giving it a firm, ruffling pat.

Although his ears got mussed again, Number Eight didn’t mind at all. He even broke into a wide grin, wagging his big fluffy tail behind him like a puppy receiving a bone.

Watching Su Ci rub Number Eight’s ears, A-Yan couldn’t help but clench his small hands.

He kind of wanted to touch them too… Number Eight’s furry wolf ears looked really soft.

Then, the boy reached up to feel his own head, a puzzled expression crossing his face. Why did all the other cubs in the nursery have ears and tails, but he didn’t?