Three days later, in the school infirmary.
The school doctor lifted the dressing on Peter's back, and the tweezers in his hand stopped.
"That's impossible."
Peter lay facedown on the bed, his head buried in the pillow, and asked in a muffled voice:
"What's impossible? Is the wound too serious, or do I need to be hospitalized immediately? If it's the latter, I think the mattress here is firm enough. The pillow's a little like compressed bread, though-"
"Shut up."
The doctor pressed Peter's back. His shoulders jerked, and he nearly jumped off the bed.
"Ow! Gently! This is a human body, not modeling clay for experiments!"
The doctor ignored him completely. Three days ago, corrosive fluid had burned his back into a bloody mess. Now, only a layer of pale pink new skin remained. It was intact, its texture clear, without a single scar.
The doctor put on his glasses, then took out a magnifying glass and examined it for a full thirty seconds.
"Parker, where did your wounds go?"
"They... they probably realized they weren't welcome and left on their own."
"I'm drawing your blood."
Peter's face fell immediately.
"There's really no need."
"You need testing."
"I don't think my blood has much research value. Red cells, white cells, platelets-they all look pretty much alike. Drawing it would just waste a test tube."
"Parker."
The doctor turned to get the report. Peter immediately sat up, moving far too quickly for someone who had just been complaining of pain. He grabbed the jacket beside him, pulled it on, and rushed barefoot to the door.
When the doctor turned back, all he saw was Peter leaning against the wall, pale and swaying on his feet.
"Parker, where are you going?"
"I... I suddenly feel like the wound's opened again."
"You're