Chapter 23

Chapter 23

That earth-shattering statement made Yor's heart pound like thunder.

He forced himself to keep his composure, even managing a fairly steady reply: "What Broodmother? It's just a failed experiment from the Purification Clan's lab."

Lima looked at him—not moving closer, not rushing to argue—just giving a gentle shake of his head.

He knelt, his knees hitting the sandy soil with a soft rustle. "Though I only have half domain clan blood, no one knows better than the domain clan whether someone is a Broodmother."

With that, before Yor could respond, he prostrated himself fully—forehead to the ground, arms stretched forward—a posture of complete submission.

If any other bug had passed by, they'd have found the scene utterly bizarre: a full-grown male bug kneeling before a frail bug lounging in the sun—in a hierarchy-obsessed bug society, it was nothing short of surreal.

But what Yor saw was something entirely different.

The male bug's body began to shift, his outline blurring, his edges softening. His gray-blue old coat seemed to melt into the earth. His limbs became slender leaves, his spine curving into a smooth arc.

Fine, gray-green blades of grass slowly extended from his body, clump after clump, spreading until they nearly covered the whole yard.

The leaves were broad and soft, with gentle edges—not wild like weeds, but as if carefully tended and trimmed.

A clump of grass.

This male bug had turned into a clump of grass right in front of him.

Yor stared at the grass and suddenly felt drowsy.

*This is my exclusive nest*—his Broodmother instincts told him.

He stood up and walked into the center of the grass clump without hesitation. The blades slowly closed behind him, forming a warm bed just big enough for him to curl up in.

The grass cocoon smelled sweet, even carrying the scent of sunlight.

As his body was cradled by the softness, a gentle caress washed over his mental sea.

Like wave after wave of warm water flowing softly through his mind. The fears, vigilance, grievances, anger, and pain that had been pent up for too long—those stray thoughts—were drawn out strand by strand, smoothed over, and filtered away.

Yor's lips curved involuntarily, as if bathed in holy light, his whole being reduced to nothing but peace and love.

Even more remarkably, through this clump of... grass? ...bug?

Whatever. Bug-grass.

Through this miraculous bug-grass, Yor's mental energy felt like it had been plugged into a local network—his perception range suddenly expanded several times over.

He could "see" the small path at the foot of the slope, "see" Herman's empty yard, sense the clamor of bugs near the harbor in the distance, and even vaguely touch the blockages and pain in the miners' mental seas.

If he wanted to, he could link to the mental seas of every bug nearby.

Yor's eyes snapped open.

"Only a true Broodmother can use domain bugs," Lima's voice sounded in his consciousness, gentle as water seeping into sand. "You don't need to fear. Domain bugs are anchors exclusive to the Broodmother—we are scattered throughout bug society, serving as the medium for you to connect with all. Only when the Broodmother exists do we have purpose."

Yor was silent for a moment, then asked the question he cared about most: "...Even if I don't want to reveal my identity as Broodmother? Don't want to fulfill the duties of a Broodmother?"

"Of course." Lima's voice remained soft. His mental energy guided Yor's toward a single point—a tiny light particle, hidden in the deepest recesses of Lima's consciousness, hovering quietly like a mote of dust.

The instant Yor's mental energy barely touched that point, Lima's entire grass form trembled violently.

Yor yanked his mental energy back in an instant.

He understood what that place was—Lima's mental core. One thought from Yor could destroy him.

And Lima had shown it to him without any concealment—no testing, no bargaining, only pure openness and sincerity.

Such a domain bug—miraculous, and yet... reassuring.

"I might be carrying the War Lord's child. If you help me, you'll make an enemy of the War Department."

This time, Lima paused briefly, but still answered: "With everything I have."

Yor asked his last question: "Even if it means facing a Lord? Can you protect me?"

Lima didn't answer immediately.

The grass blades drew in slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a trace of bitter honesty: "Broodmother, domain bugs... lack combat ability. Even someone like me—a hybrid of domain bug and war bug—has nothing to offer when it comes to fighting strength."

Yor lay in the grass cocoon, watching the fragmented light filter through the gaps between the closed leaves above, and felt oddly relieved.

*That makes sense,* Yor thought as he closed his eyes. Otherwise, with domain bugs as sworn protectors like this, previous Broodmothers wouldn't have been reduced to being locked away just to breed.

And... he got it now. Domain bugs were essentially the Broodmother's exclusive mental physicians.

The kind that came with built-in painkillers, to keep the Broodmother from breaking down early in the endless cycle of childbirth.

The domain clan's grass cocoon was way too comfortable.

Yor slept long and well—no dreams, no startling awake, completely content.

When he woke up, he felt like a different bug.

His mental sea was clear and refreshed, the fatigue in his body much improved. His lower back was still sore, but the heavy, dragging sensation in his abdomen had settled into something calm and steady.

He stretched, and then his stomach started rumbling loudly.

"You're hungry," Lima's voice sounded in his mind. "I'll make you something to eat."

Hungry indeed, but Yor didn't move. The grass cocoon was too comfortable—this was his never-before-met placenta, and he didn't want to get up.

Lima waited a moment, and when Yor didn't stir, he let out a soft laugh, the grass blades trembling along with it.

He didn't urge Yor to get up either, only saying, "Just lie still," before the edges of the grass cocoon began to close gently.

The leaves tightened and lifted on their own, eventually forming a large basket shape open at the top, securely attached to Lima's back as he returned to his bug form.

And Yor was like a vegetable packed into a basket.

Yor: "..."

What a weird bug-grass.

And he was bizarre too—like some kind of parasitic organism...

That said, Yor showed no intention of getting out whatsoever. He let Lima carry him around the kitchen as he worked—chopping vegetables, boiling water, seasoning...

The basket wasn't strapped on separately; it was part of Lima's body. Through all that movement, it barely swayed, not a single jostle.

Yor leaned over the basket's edge, watching, and thought to himself that he was worse than a slave owner...

When the last dish was set on the table, Yor finally crawled out of the basket and sat down in the chair, ready to eat.

Lima set down the spoon he'd been about to feed him with, a hint of regret in his expression.

*Delicious.*

Yor wolfed down an entire bowl, then helped himself to another half bowl, and finally slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

As he cleaned up, Lima asked, "What's wrong?"

Yor shook his head, saying nothing.

Lima was good—a great cook, comfortable grass cage, reliable psychic soothing, and most importantly, trustworthy...

But no matter how good he was, he had one flaw: this bug... lacked pheromones. Just like with Taste, his own mind had been screaming for a while now. Useless!! What a waste!!

Every nerve that detected "no available male pheromones nearby" was shrieking, driving Yor up the wall.

Useless number two.

It was easy to understand, too. Lima was a hybrid of a war bug and a domain bug. Both were of the bug race, so there was no complete reproductive isolation, but it was like... a mule from a horse and a donkey—no reproductive ability...

Yor cleared his throat, banishing that guilty metaphor from his mind, and steered the conversation back to the matter at hand.

"Lima, you're a local bug on Vorna. Do you know where I can find a bar or a place like that?"

Lima looked at him. "A bar? I own one myself. What do you need one for?"

He owns one himself? Jackpot!

Yor perked up for a moment, then let out a long sigh and slumped deeper into his chair. "I need male pheromones. Not just a drop or two—something sustained, stable, but... that won't cling to me."

"The best way is probably to fall back on my old line of work..." Yor murmured.

As for whether the male bugs would buy it... Every male bug he'd encountered since arriving on Vorna had been friendly and never tried to cheat him. Was it because all male bugs were good bugs?

Of course not. It was because even the faintest, almost imperceptible trace of pheromones made male bugs instinctively drawn to Yor.

What Yor needed to do, instead, was manage the distance between himself and the male bugs.

A paid arrangement measured in money was probably the most fitting.

Yor tapped the table. "I'll declare myself a disabled Broodmother, and then... go drink with male bugs!"

Without another word, he quickly connected to Lima's mindscape and poured everything in his head about public relations—Blue Star's nightclubs, lounges, ordering, commissions, the glitz and glamour—straight into Lima's mind.

As half a domain bug, Lima took it all in without a hitch.

He stood by the table, quietly digesting for a few seconds, then looked at Yor.

"...Rather than keeping those bugs company over drinks," Lima said, "I have a better idea."

Yor raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Tomorrow night, come by my bar." Lima stacked the dishes. "I'll set up an auction for you."

Yor opened his mouth to speak.

"A temporary Broodmother," Lima said. "With three-day and seven-day terms, auctioning off temporary rights to you—you provide companionship and comfort as a Broodmother, of course with limits, and they provide pheromones. A fair trade, by mutual consent."

Yor fell silent for a moment.

This was just Blue Star's old trick of "fake girlfriend" and the like... different skin, different planet, but the same old song and dance.

But... it did fit better. He nodded. "You make the arrangements."

Lima smiled. "Then let's get some preparations done."

Driving that old but steady hovercar, Lima brought Yor to the base of Lima's Bar. "There's a temporary rest stop of mine below."

They didn't enter the bar, rather slipping through a back door and down a narrow staircase into an underground space. It wasn't large, but it was plenty for a temporary rest stop.

Yor had expected a rough-and-tumble war-bug den, but instead...

Soft rugs, dim lights, and on a low table, Lima was lighting a stick of incense made from some kind of herb. The smoke rose thin and long, spreading slowly across the ceiling.

Thick cushions were stacked in the corner, their tones soft and gentle on the eyes. The room didn't look like it was meant for living—it looked like it had been specially set up for...

Yor's jaw dropped, completely dumbfounded.

"You... was this bar of yours really on the level before?"

Lima was adjusting the lighting and replied without turning around: "You think it wasn't?"

"I think you're very professional." Yor said, paying him an honest compliment.

Lima chuckled softly and kept tidying up. After finishing the setup, he pulled out a set of floating recording equipment from a cabinet and gestured at Yor. "I need to film some holographic scenes."

"What scenes?"

"Auction preview," Lima said. "No need to show your face—just capture a mood."

Yor was bundled into the pile of cushions and blankets. Lima had him curl up in the bedding, eyes half-open, like he'd just woken up or hadn't quite fallen asleep.

The lights were dimmed, and Yor couldn't tell what the lens was actually capturing, but he could sense Lima's focus—and his professionalism.

"Done." Lima packed up the equipment and reviewed the finished product on his terminal.

Yor climbed out of the bedding and rubbed his lower back.

He'd been running around all day, and now that he was settling down, the ache in his lower back was starting to creep back.

"Let me massage it for you." Lima noticed and immediately set down the terminal, walking over to sit beside him.

Before Yor could react, Lima's hand had already landed on his lower back through his clothes.

The pressure was neither too firm nor too gentle, finding exactly the sore muscles.

Yor's body tensed sharply, then—faster, involuntarily—relaxed.

When he looked back at Lima, his eyes were already moist, carrying a gaze like a hook that made Lima's heart skip, and his hands couldn't help pressing harder.

A faint, nearly inaudible hum escaped Yor's lips before he bit his lip.

Can't blame him.

He'd spent the whole day without a suppressant. His mental sea had been groomed, but the body's thirst remained.

That thirst... like a dried-up riverbed, the moment it touched even a hint of moisture, every crack opened on its own.

Wherever Lima's fingers pressed, something beneath the skin seemed to stir awake, heat spreading from his waist down to his belly, then sinking even deeper.

He'd meant to hide it, but when he glanced back at Lima... the male's expression was focused—no greed, no hunter's thrill.

Yor hesitated, then thought, *Eh, whatever—Lima's just Waste Number Two.* He mentally shrugged and gave up trying to hide his reaction.

The craving rose from deep inside him, spreading through Lima's fingers to every limb. The more he relaxed, the more honestly his body responded right in front of Lima.

The warm light was hazy, incense smoke curling lazily upward. Yor was maybe seduced by the mood, his aching body pressing into Lima's palm without thinking—like a cat in a warm bath, knowing it shouldn't get too close, but the body had already made its choice before the mind caught up.

He bit his lip, letting out faint, broken sounds from his throat every now and then, only to swallow them back down.

Lima stayed quiet. Beneath his fingers, the body was hot, burning, and he felt a fire kindling in his chest.

He bowed his head, serving the Broodmother with total focus, until her sweat-damp neck arched long and tight, and she lost herself in heavy, ragged breaths...

Lima lowered his head, rubbing his fingers that still held lingering warmth, his voice dropping a few notches lower than before: "...For the first time in my life, I'm sorry I'm a hybrid."

He said it softly, almost to himself, but there was no mistaking the resentment in his voice.

He knew full well those words were hurtful... to a bug, but Yor didn't know why a "pfft" laugh slipped out anyway. Still fresh from what had just happened, the laugh even had a nasal edge—soft and short.

Lima looked up at him, his gaze dark and lingering.

"You—" Yor laughed once, then again. "That line was way too pathetic. I couldn't hold it in."

Lima stared at him, shaking his head helplessly, but a faint smile flickered in his eyes.

He pulled Yor into his arms, letting him rest against the crook of his shoulder, both hands settling on his waist, kneading slowly and unhurriedly.

"If it can make you laugh," Lima said, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and amusement, "then I guess this identity... wasn't a total waste."

Yor leaned into him. The night... was still young.

=================

Herman followed his squad to a jump point and stopped near the designated coordinates to wait.

Their mission was to pick up a domain bug hatchling and take it to Vorna.

Domain bugs couldn't live in groups after birth—each one's psychic field had its own coverage area, and clustering together would make them fight and erode each other. So each one had to head to their fated destination.

They seemed to just know where they were supposed to go, as naturally as migratory birds know which way to fly. Because their psychic energy was tempting but their bodies were weak, domain bug hatchlings were prime targets for the Serian clan, so every transfer needed armed escort from local bug forces.

It was a job that was either a cakewalk or a death sentence—and the pay was always high.

Herman sat in the cabin, head bowed, twirling the now-empty vial between his fingers.

His mind wandered, a jumble of random thoughts turning over. Whatever he was thinking about, his grip on the vial tightened a little before he shoved it back into his pocket.

A squadmate leaned over: "Hey, you hear the news?"

Herman looked up: "What?"

"The Lord's starcruiser is nearby," the squadmate said in a low voice, barely hiding his excitement. "If we actually run into the Serians, we fire off a distress signal, and maybe we can call in the big shot to save our asses. We might just get out of this alive."

Another squadmate leaned in: "Word's out, word's out—the Lord's starcruiser already accepted our filing. There's a High-Grade Insect on standby."

Herman listened without saying anything, but his grip on the vial loosened a bit.

Getting back alive—that would be the best outcome, obviously.

On the Lord's starcruiser, Leonius leaned back in his seat, a pile of documents spread out in front of him, but he hadn't read a single word.

He hadn't really slept in days. Even with suppressants, he could only manage an hour or two of light sleep. The surface of his psychic sea was calm as a lake, but underneath, it was all undercurrents.

He idly scrolled through his terminal, swiping past one mission briefing after another without really looking.

Then he stopped abruptly.

"Sixty-fourth War Zone, domain bug hatchling transfer mission. Route goes through active Serian clan territory." The notes section read: "Mission 0896, filed. If a distress signal comes in, recommend dispatching high-tier war bug support as priority."

Leonius stared at that line, his gaze going cold.

Serian clan.

Yor... had died because of a Serian invasion.

That doctor—the bug he couldn't even bear to think about.

Leonius pressed his temples. The irritation kept building.

His body made the decision before his mind could catch up. He sent a command to his personal guard: "Mission 0896. If a confirmed distress signal comes in, I'll go myself."

The guard quickly entered the command into the system.

Leonius shut off the terminal, pressed his hand to his temple, and let his gaze drift over the endless sea of stars outside the viewport—but it found nowhere to land.

==========Author's Note:==========

While writing this chapter, "useless husband, useless husband" kept looping in my head...

The worst part is I don't even know who it's about—it fits every single one of these bugs perfectly (sweating bullets.jpg