SGT CH25: Irreplaceable

◎Only if both he and Aix died by each other’s hand could they find release◎

“You, you, you… how could this be?”

The scene before him was so shocking that Mousse was almost at a loss for words.

“Perhaps your spiritual power was such a strong stimulus that it triggered all kinds of hormones in my body.”

Aix awkwardly pulled his shirt closed, but it only made things more conspicuous.

Mousse hadn’t expected that venting his emotions would result in this kind of outcome.

He never regretted what he did.
But sometimes, you had to remedy the consequences.

Mousse stepped closer, pulled open Aix’s half-closed shirt and checked, finding distinct finger marks on his muscles.

“You did it yourself?” he asked.

“Yes.” Aix felt the skin under the Prince’s gaze burning, as if even his muscles were tinged with red.

“Did you clean up?”

Mousse leaned in, his gaze filled with probing curiosity.

“Not—not yet.”

The Prince’s breath fell on his skin, sending tingling sparks across it.

Aix tried to back away, but there was a wardrobe behind him; there was nowhere to retreat.

Now this was troublesome.

Mousse found himself a mix of troubled and expectant.

“You can’t go out in this state, and we’re about to arrive at the palace…”

As he spoke, Mousse opened his terminal and connected to the aircraft’s control system.

He canceled the planned route and let the vessel, already above Capital Star, circle aimlessly in the sky.

Having done all this, he looked up at Aix and said seriously, “There’s no time—I have to suck it out for you. It’s the fastest method.”

Aix opened his mouth, wanting to refuse. But as the Prince touched him, the words died silently.

He could never truly refuse the Prince.

Part of it was the gap in their status, his own predicament; he could only obey the Prince.

But it was also because, at so many inopportune times, he found the Prince adorable.

He couldn’t help wanting to indulge any of the Prince’s wishes.

Like right now—the Prince, head buried in his chest like a spoiled Zergling—made Aix feel both tender and helpless.

A male Zerg who hadn’t even been awakened for half a year could indeed be called a youngling.

Older females always indulged younger males more.

And once you started indulging… you could get your soul sucked away.

Aix leaned against the wardrobe for support, unconsciously hugging the Prince’s head, his fingers buried in the soft, slightly wavy silver-gold hair.

His mind was hazy. He could feel nothing, could think of nothing, except the male in front of him.

Mousse looked up, licking away the traces on his lips, the lingering sweetness refusing to dissipate.

The taste was a little faint—but fragrant and warm, containing Aix’s pheromones, a kind of cool, icy note.

Blended together, it was like a warm milk drink with a cooling aftertaste.

A special taste. He liked it.

Liked it very much, but as an adult, he couldn’t show how much he really craved this “youngling” food.

So Mousse only pursed his lips modestly, helped Aix close his shirt, and said lightly:

“Both sides are clean now. Go tidy yourself up and change clothes… Good thing we brought enough spare gowns.”

It had only been a short trip and he’d already ruined two sets of formalwear—an impressive rate of destruction even by Zerg standards.

Grumbling to himself, Mousse prepared to leave, but looking up, caught the dazed look in Aix’s eyes and the slight parting of his lips.

He couldn’t help but move closer and pressed a kiss to Aix’s lips.

“Taste yourself.”

Startled by the sweet scent in his mouth, Aix turned his head away in a hurry.

He’d just thought the Prince nestled against his chest was like a juvenile, and now—kissed so abruptly—it was too much to take; guilt and shame washed over him.

“Your Highness, there’s not much time left.”

Aix dared not meet the Prince’s eyes, half lowering his gaze.

“…Male master.”

The title reminded Aix of their relationship.

This was the Zerg who possessed him. Not a youngling.

The guilt lessened a bit, but he still couldn’t face the Prince calmly.

He’d probably need some time alone to forget the image of the Prince’s head buried in his chest.

Satisfied, Mousse finally spared him and returned to wait on the sofa in the outer cabin.

Only when Aix finished tidying and came back out did Mousse reset the destination and let the ship dock at the palace.

They couldn’t go in directly; outside, the official media were waiting to document their arrival.

“Stay with me; you don’t need to say or do anything except what I tell you.”

When the craft’s doors opened, Mousse led Aix down, hand in hand, into the media’s view.

The royal family’s status was supreme—facing the newly adult Prince, no media dared break ranks for a reckless close-up.

All waited at their designated positions for distant shots.

The Prince was graceful and elegant, and his hand linked so closely with his consort’s looked wholly loving.

Anyone who saw the scene would think: what a harmonious, loving pair.

Especially since every Zerg present could smell General Aix’s pheromones on the Prince.

A female who carried her male’s pheromones was pitied—she was so closely kept.

But a male with a female’s scent all over him—now that was a warning, a signal that this female had staked her claim on her male for all to see.

It was a beautiful misunderstanding.

In truth, it was just that Aix had cleaned up in the lounge, weakening the Prince’s pheromones on himself.

But Mousse, after “helping” Aix, hadn’t washed; so he was completely covered in Aix’s clean, idiosyncratic pheromones.

No matter what the facts, this would be hyped up by the press.

A public show of love benefitted the royal image; neither the court nor the government would object.

In the palace,
a black-haired female in military dress greeted them:

“Elder brother is always punctual. Why are you late today?”

Second Prince Mulian—black hair and purple eyes like the Emperor, features more like the Marshal, a candid, straightforward military female.

“I’m not late,” said Mousse. “The swearing-in is from 8:00 to 8:30. See, there’s still time left.”

True, there were still ten minutes.
But only his big brother could interpret time like this.

The Marshal looked strict, but he spoiled young Zerglings rotten.

Especially his eldest, who suffered so much in childhood—he felt ever more guilty and protective.

Even the aloof Emperor, when facing his first son, was a little softer.

The Second Prince was born while his brother was still lost; he knew “I have a brother” but had no real sense of it.

When his brother came home, fragile and ill, taking all his parent’s attention, at first, he was jealous.

Until one night, the Prince disappeared and the palace was in an uproar.

The Second Prince found him in the garden:
a tiny Zergling curled up on the swing, looking pitiful in the moonlight.

Though he was his elder brother, delayed development made Mousse look even younger.

He could pick him up with ease.

He saw his big brother, half-opening blurry eyes, mumble, “gege” (“big brother”).

The Second Prince’s straightforward heart was struck; suddenly he understood why his parents loved the frail, soft little males so much.

From then on, the “younger-brother-complex” awoke. He followed the Prince everywhere, protecting and fussing over him—as if he was the younger one.

Until the exasperated Prince took him to the mech bay and, with a neural link, gave him a brutal lesson—reminding him who was elder.

The Prince’s underdeveloped state lasted several years.

The Second Prince grew up, became an adult, served in the army, while his brother stayed in an adolescent state until finally waking.

At the Second Prince’s promotion celebration,
the Prince attended.
The Prince didn’t like crowded, pheromone-filled parties—after dropping off a gift and congratulations, he left quickly.

Later the Second Prince learned his brother left with someone from the party—his commanding officer’s commanding officer, the Blood Blade Forces’ General Aix.

What followed was even more wild:
The Prince, always unresponsive to any female’s pheromones and forever without signs of awakening, awakened overnight and became an adult.

Forced match with General Aix as his female consort.

Wounded by the consort—wings shorn, locked in the punishment chamber.

The Second Prince knew only what Mousse let him know.
The rest was a mystery.

Later, the Prince got better, released Aix from the punishment chamber, let him back to the army.

Then—General Aix got pregnant???

The Second Prince was left full of question marks.

His memory of his brother was a teenaged Zerg; now, he had a child?

He still didn’t know what to make of Aix—was Aix an awakener, a culprit, a forced match, a consort, a parent?
So many contradictory roles, yet all one Zerg.

He glanced at Aix, unsure how to act.

Mousse, seeing his struggle, introduced:
“This is my consort, Aix.”

Just “consort”—a hint to treat Aix only as such, nothing more.

The single-track-minded Prince relaxed.

He stepped forward and held out a hand to Aix:
“We’re one family now, General Aix.”

Aix didn’t dare answer like that, but Mousse pinched his palm, gesturing for him to shake.

He obeyed, shaking hands with the Second Prince.

The Prince held Aix’s other hand, smiling at them—the official photographer catching a scene of warmth and harmony.

No one knew that Mousse had pinched Aix’s palm so hard his nails nearly broke. Female Zerg hands were thick!

After these minor episodes, the real drama started.

Mousse led Aix, hand-in-hand up the new red carpet, to the Emperor’s office.

His female parent, Marshal Shen, awaited at the door.

At their approach, he nodded slightly. “Only one can go in.”

Mousse released Aix’s hand and said,
“Wait here for me. Without my order, you can’t go anywhere.”

He turned to his parent, his mismatched eyes shining with sincerity:

“Please, keep an eye on him for me.”

The Marshal sighed. “You worry too much…”

Clearly afraid they’d try to take Aix away.

“Go. I guarantee, when you come back, your consort will be fine.”

He reached to pat Mousse’s head, then hesitated, remembering his son was now an adult, unsure if it’d be welcome.

But Mousse leaned in, nuzzling his head into the Marshal’s palm.

Then he smoothed his smile into a serious line and went into the Emperor’s office.

His male parent, a standard workaholic, surrounded by a hundred floating screens and spiritual feelers, managing a mountain of tasks at once.

As Mousse approached, the Emperor put away the screens and tentacles.

“Sit.” The Emperor gestured; a couch instantly took shape behind Mousse—spirit made manifest. So convenient.

Mousse sat obediently, posture perfect, the image of a good Zergling.
And yet, he was the most troublesome child of all.

The Emperor thought with a sigh.
He could smell the lingering scent of a female’s pheromones from Mousse.

Once, his son was utterly unresponsive to any female pheromones—hence, no awakening for so long.

But now, he permitted a female’s mark to cover his entire person.

“Is it only him for you?” the Emperor asked.

Mousse understood what was being asked.

If left to his own reasoning, he could list a hundred arguments—reasons why Aix wasn’t unique, why Aix didn’t matter.

But faced with the Emperor’s calm, deep, purple gaze, he couldn’t run away.

“Yes. It has to be him,” Mousse said quietly.

He would keep Aix by his side forever—bind him, torment him, make him drown, force him never to look away, never to leave.

If not Aix, if there were no Aix—Mousse didn’t know what he would become.

Probably like he was after being brought back from the Dark Star zone:
unable to bear sunlight, haunted by nightmares, waking with wet pillows, lost, like a ghost.

Maybe even worse.

The wounds were too deep to ever let go.

Perhaps only if he and Aix both died by each other’s hand, could they finally be free.

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