Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The workroom that was usually so tidy was now a total mess.

Shuji's mental sea was all sorted out, meaning Yor's morning work was done. Dexter scooped Yor up, his elytra snapping open with a sharp *shing* to shield Yor completely as he carried him out of the swarm.

Meanwhile, the Lord's guard unit got new orders: set up a separate office next to the mental sea repair pod, increase sentry posts, and have three untreated high-tier bugs take turns standing guard around the clock.

Yor had no idea he had a new office. He'd just gotten back to the monitoring bay when his terminal buzzed.

He looked down and saw a payment notification.

Payday!

Yor gleefully tapped the notification, but the number that popped up made him let out an involuntary gasp.

He'd certainly been looking forward to his salary, and he'd even run some estimates with Dexter and the others beforehand.

Based on the military medic system Leonius had mentioned—even factoring in severe cases, cutting-edge treatments for special conditions, and minimal side effects—their estimate was solid, but nowhere near this number.

Yor's gasp made Dexter look over, and Taste, never one for boundaries, shoved his way right up to the terminal, letting out an even louder "Whoa!" than Yor had.

The amount displayed on the terminal... let's put it this way: Yor could buy a top-of-the-line starship after treating a thousand war bugs.

Top-of-the-line! A starship!

Taste stared at the number three times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, then looked up at Dexter. "Bro, with what we've got, we can't even pretend we're supporting Yor."

He was so shocked he'd even pulled out the "bro."

Dexter glanced at the number too, then his face went blank. "Is this... for a month, or per bug treated?"

Yor was silent for a moment, then stood up. "I think I need to go ask your Lord."

At the top of the starship, in front of the monitoring screen, Leonius watched Yor's "am I dreaming?" expression and a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Knowing Yor was confused, he pulled up the billing details, intending to send them over—but his finger hovered over the send button, paused, and withdrew.

Instead, he sent a different message: "The treatment went well. Join me for lunch to discuss your compensation."

Yor looked at the message on his terminal, feeling reluctant. If you've got something to say, just say it—who wants to eat with their boss for no reason...

But Leonius was the War Lord after all, always busy, no doubt. It made sense that he'd take time out of his meal to handle Yor's little issue.

He replied: "Sure, my Lord. What time works for you? Where should I find you?"

Leonius tapped the desk, summoned his guard captain, and finalized the menu before replying to Yor with a time thirty minutes out.

Lunch was at the top of the starship, in Leonius's own office—where he usually ate. Nothing fancy, but it was quiet.

When Dexter dropped Yor off, the meal trays were already set out. Yor glanced over and got a weird sense of déjà vu.

Roast meat, vegetables, sweet milk—the sugar and ice ratios were exactly how he liked it.

"Made according to the orders Dexter placed before," Leonius said from across the table, his tone flat.

Yor opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You war bugs and your habit of reverse-engineering preferences from supply data—it really runs in the species.

He grumbled to himself while keeping a straight face, sitting down and taking a small sip of the sweet milk.

Though, to be fair, he wasn't stressed right now, so he didn't particularly crave the syrup.

Leonius didn't seem to pay attention to his eating, nor did he make small talk. As always, he cut straight to business, pulling out several documents from beside him and sliding them to Yor.

The top file was Dexter's physical exam report.

Yor opened it curiously. The front pages were endless strings of data he couldn't make sense of—waveform charts, comparison curves, dense annotations.

He couldn't understand any of it, so he skipped ahead and flipped straight to the last page. There, sure enough, was a system summary, including a line in big, bold, red text:

Physical assessment upgraded from A-rank to A+, fluctuations stable, no signs of rejection.

Below that was a doctor's note, written in scrawled handwriting, but every word dripping with the disbelief of someone who'd never seen anything like it:

Physical assessment result suspect.

This individual underwent seven tests over the past three years, all A-rank. The magnitude of this increase is too large and does not conform to natural evolutionary patterns. Re-test has been requested.

Re-test result: A+.

Second re-test: A+.

Third re-test: A+.

Based on other bugs' test results, the instruments were confirmed to be calibrated correctly.

Conclusion: This war bug's physical condition has indeed undergone an unexplained elevation. Long-term observation recommended.

Yor's hand stilled.

Going from A to A+ wasn't something cleansing the mental sea could do—at least not entirely.

It had to be the first honey.

That single drop he'd squeezed out in agonizing pain, which he'd thought might be useless or even toxic, hadn't just healed Dexter's years of blockage in his mental sea—it had forcibly pushed his physical condition up an entire rank.

Yor's fingers unconsciously tightened on the edge of the report. The two glands on his chest began to throb with a dull ache again. He lowered his eyes and slid the report under the rest of the pile, not letting Leonius see his expression.

The second file was Shuji's report.

This one was a lot more "normal." His mental sea had gone from "severely clogged" to "extremely healthy," and thanks to the cleansing, his reflexes and perception had improved significantly, so his overall assessment rose a bit—but at least there was no ridiculous rank jump.

As for the third file, Yor opened it and froze.

This wasn't a report—it was a gift document. Shuji had transferred all his savings, plus a large portion of his advance on his retirement pay, entirely to Yor. At the end was Shuji's signature and thumbprint, the handwriting was shaky and crooked, as if written with trembling hands.

"This isn't right." Yor closed the document and pushed it back. "This needs to be returned."

Leonius looked at him but didn't reach for it.

"And I won't accept this kind of thing in the future either," Yor said again, his tone firmer now. "Treatment fees follow the military medic system, that's all. Nothing extra."

Leonius was silent for a moment.

"No harm in taking it," he said.

Yor wasn't truly a bug, so he couldn't relate to the agony of a clogged mental sea. The species-wide mental link that should have been maintained by the Broodmother was no longer possible after her disappearance. Every bug faced mental stress, especially the war bugs fighting on the front lines.

What Yor had pulled off was the equivalent of a Broodmother's soothing.

For bugs who'd lost their Broodmother, getting treatment like this—they'd hand over not just their property, but their lives, and do it gladly.

Yor, though, didn't catch Leonius's meaning. He just figured it was the Broodmother's pheromones messing with their heads again. He nudged the document back toward Leonius. "Shuji's not in his right mind right now. Once he snaps out of it in a few days, he'll see this gift doesn't make sense. I don't want any trouble."

Leonius stared at the document shoved back at him, silent for a beat. Then he reached over, picked it up, and set it aside.

"...Alright," he said.

Yor let out a relieved breath, but there was another problem. Eyeing the physical enhancement reward on the itemized list, he muttered, "Dexter... his case is pretty special. The mental sea cleansing effect probably only works like it did for Shuji."

Clearly, the number had genuinely rattled Yor. Leonius tapped a few times on his terminal, face unreadable, then turned it around to show a shopping screen.

"This is what the Purification Clan charges for body-enhancement drugs." The number was just as insane. Leonius waited for Yor to count the zeros before going on, "Originally, because of Dexter's sample, we'd planned to set aside some funds as your research budget, to see if we could replicate that miracle."

Before Yor could come up with an excuse to refuse, Leonius said casually, "Since that was just a one-off, consider that plan scrapped."

Yor finally relaxed for real. "Yes, thank you for your understanding."

Leonius nodded, didn't push Yor any further, and quietly picked up his utensils, gesturing for Yor to dig in.

He raised a hand, and a logistics bug came in, setting a row of cups by Yor's hand—plain water, light pick-me-ups, fruit wine, juice... all the way to thick dairy drinks. The works.

So he'd picked up on Yor not wanting sweet milk?

Yor snuck a glance at Leonius. This bug, all towering and imposing, was surprisingly sharp. But then again, with details like the pay structure and the monitoring cabin setup, he was probably just used to looking after the War Department's young bugs.

From now on, I'm calling him the War Department's den mother.

Yor sipped his drink, feeling pretty pleased with himself.

As lunch was winding down, just as Yor was about to head out, he saw Leonius pull a box from under the table and slide it over.

Another box. But this one was only palm-sized, plain on the surface, same style as the urn from last time.

Even though it was way smaller... Yor still felt a little weird about it.

A mini urn, dude?

Yor couldn't help glancing up at Leonius.

Whether he caught Yor's look or not, Leonius leaned back and said, all casual, "I saw your request to the medical room. The standard palliative for regular war bugs isn't quite right for you."

Yor couldn't stay seated. He opened the box.

Inside were five clear syringes, the liquid a pale amber that caught the light with a faint golden shimmer.

Next to them sat a small portable tester, with a manual tucked beside it. On top, in no-nonsense print: Palliative (for experimental subjects only).

Yor picked up one syringe, turned it over in his hands, and his heart picked up a beat.

He knew what this was. He'd seen it mentioned on the forums.

It was a custom job, made for escaped lab subjects who'd managed to get in touch with the Purification Department.

The Purification Department didn't give a damn about them escaping—instead, some researchers were happy to cash in. It wasn't sold out in the open, but over the years, the product had gotten pretty reliable.

On top of the drug, they even threw in a portable tester, so you could check your pheromones at home, then follow the manual to figure out the right dose.

"You..." Yor looked at Leonius. He knew about this stuff, but he'd never have reached out to the Purification Department himself.

At least, not yet.

"Sourced it from the Purification Department. It'll go on the medical room's standard supply list from now on," Leonius said. "You're not just a dependent bug of the War Department anymore—you're a military doctor now. No more applications; just buy it directly with credit points."

Yor stared at the syringe, a warmth spreading in his chest.

"Thank you." Yor's voice came out a little thick. He closed the box, tucked it away carefully, his lashes lowered to hide the emotion in his eyes.

Leonius didn't say "you're welcome" or anything else. He just picked up his cup and took a slow sip.

That was the cue to see the guest out.

Yor stood up. When he got to the door, he said quietly, "...I'll take good care of the war bugs."

If the den mother cared most about the war bugs, then he'd give it his all.

Then he pushed open the door and walked out.

His steps were light, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Leonius set down his cup, his gaze lingering on the doorway for a long while.

Yor was already gone. He turned his attention to the monitors.

On the screen, Yor walked down the hall holding the box, a small smile on his lips. He said something to Dexter, and Dexter nodded happily back.

Leonius leaned back, tapping his fingers slowly on the armrest twice.

Yor's ability to cleanse mental seas was way too valuable to the War Department, which fought year-round.

If they could get in touch with a domain clan that specialized in mental strength, maybe they could push his ability further—ten, twenty, even a hundred bugs a day.

But remembering that fleeting, subtle aura he'd sensed before, he squashed the thought again.

A treasure like this should stay hidden, not be known to other clans. Besides, Yor was one of the war bugs now.

As the War Lord, protecting every war bug was his duty.

Leonius's gaze drifted back from the distance. A row of monitors hummed on the desk—some showing interstellar storm forecasts, some mineral data, some frontline footage.

And in the middle, one screen kept tracking Yor—from the corridor to the elevator, then into the monitoring cabin.

Leonius pulled up Yor's treatment schedule, studied it for a bit, then opened the booking system and dragged his own name to the front.

Aside from the severe cases who'd collapse without immediate treatment, spending a few credit points to cut the line shouldn't be a big deal.

After using his authority to jump the line, Leonius got to work on the mountain of paperwork, but his gaze kept drifting to the center screen without him meaning to.

Yor napping, zoning out, scrolling his terminal, frowning now and then, pursing his lips, swiping across the screen—all of it kept Leonius's attention a few beats longer.

After finishing the paperwork in front of him, Leonius glanced at the screen again.

Yor was drinking water, throat bobbing as he swallowed.

Leonius's fingertips twitched. He looked away and went back to the paperwork.