Z:IGSG -- Chapter 9

 Chapter 9 - Heartache

Over the next few days, He Lin obediently stayed aboard the starship as instructed, flipping through his holo-computer, shopping, and wandering around the ship. When Grant returned from work, dusty and irritable, He Lin would greet him with kisses and embraces to soothe his mate.

His.

He Lin genuinely believed the Zerg Clan's mental marking was a marvel. On the main world, humans also possessed psychic abilities—strong or weak, no different from the Zerg Clan. Yet on the main world, psychic powers were mostly used for work or combat; possession marking was unheard of.

A month ago, He Lin would never have imagined he'd enter a minor world and mark a female zerg with his psychic power.

As it turned out, Grant desperately needed He Lin's soothing presence. During this inspection, he ignored the “persuasion” left by Governor Bao in the central district and headed straight for the slums near the starport.

What he saw ignited his fury.

Filthy and chaotic barely covered the conditions at Blackstone Starport. Star pirates, mercenaries, and thugs roamed freely, not even bothering to conceal their faces. The constabulary was a mere decoration, imperial law reduced to worthless paper. Emaciated female zergs leaned against walls, waiting to die, while impoverished male zergs were dragged into alleys or seized right off the streets.

And for all this, Governor Bao deserved no small amount of credit. The way he turned a blind eye spoke volumes about the bribes lining his pockets.

The thought that the male zerg had struggled to survive in this cesspool for over a decade filled Grant with an inexplicable rage.

Facing the fury of this Imperial Admiral, Governor Bauer was utterly miserable. A backwater planet like theirs, bordering the wasteland sector, was the kind the Empire wouldn't bother with—let alone send a high-ranking official like an General for an inspection. Yet this year, Grant happened to be on a mission in the nearby star system. The timing was perfect, and since it was on his way, he naturally took on this relatively uncomplicated task.

Fearing that Blackstone's dire conditions might be reported and jeopardize his own position, Governor Bao had specially procured an extremely rare Grade A male zerg to appease the general. As a female zerg himself, he understood that even without formal appeasement, the innate instinct to seek closeness with males remained deep within their nature.

But he never imagined Grant would not only kick that A-class male out the door, but also be successfully appeased by a male from the slums.

And that male, handsome enough to be called the ultimate specimen, had been disguised as a female all along, hiding in the chaotic slums!

Governor Bao waited in dread, racking his brain for persuasive arguments. When Grant finally insisted on heading to the slums, Bao's heart sank completely. He trailed along with a perpetually grim expression on his plump face, hoping for a lighter punishment.

That hope was clearly dashed.

Nearly every day, nobles and garrison commanders were carried away in Grant's fury. The Blackstone Starport's pirates and illegal mercenaries were also purged by the accompanying military forces. For a time, the streets and alleys experienced an unprecedented calm and peace.

Grant's face remained grim as he used his wrist-mounted light brain to contact the home starbase military headquarters, ordering them to swiftly send a replacement for Commander Bao's position and deploy new troops to take over garrison duties.

Just then, Mitchell stepped forward and whispered, “General, Doctor Fio has arrived.”

“Understood. Have him wait,” Grant replied coldly. “I have business to attend to first.”

With that, he strode into the dilapidated bar before him. The sign above the entrance, bearing the words “Windroll Grass,” hung precariously, as if it might shatter into pieces the moment it touched the ground.

Mitchell sent a “stand by” message to Dr. Fio, who had traveled all the way from the home world, then hurried to catch up with Grant. He couldn't help but inwardly scoff: Who would have thought that the only thing capable of making their formidable, uncompromising general walk so hurriedly was a trip to a small bar to retrieve luggage left behind by a male zerg?

--

Grant's starship bore the name “Dairos,” meaning “eye of the storm” in the zerg language. This young, formidable general spent most of his life on the battlefield, living aboard his vessel far more often than in the grand mansions of the home world.

Consequently, despite its military purpose, the ship housed remarkably complete living quarters.

In the study, He Lin sat on the sofa, flipping through a book on zerg history with keen interest. Suddenly, he heard the sound of hurried, forceful footsteps in the corridor. The sheer force of the military boots striking the floor told him Grant had returned.

He Lin closed the book and looked up. Sure enough, the moment he set it down, the furious military female pushed open the study door and strode in.

He rose, walked to Grant's side, and with practiced ease helped the military female remove his deep blue uniform jacket, hanging it on a nearby coat rack. Then he wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed the face etched with irritation.

“Something bothering you?” He Lin smiled. “Come here, let me hold you.”

Usually, the general would simply lean into his embrace, sniffing his scent until he calmed down. Today, however, he was unusually unsettled. Even after the kiss, he still frowned, his expression thick with discontent.

He Lin placed a hand on Grant's forehead, brushing aside the slightly tousled bangs to kiss his brow.

His warm psychic energy flowed like tiny, invisible tentacles into the female's mental sea, soothing his agitated emotions.

Soon, He Lin heard Grant slowly exhale in his embrace, signaling his anger had subsided. He then guided the female zerg toward the sofa.

The study was far more comfortable than Grant's living quarters. Walnut bookshelves held rows of books, while the desk held neatly arranged screens and computers. A soft, spacious sofa was complete with cushions and blankets. Seeing no signs of use here either, He Lin guessed Grant's subordinates had likely arranged it.

At this moment, the comfortable sofa provided a convenient spot for them to lean against each other comfortably.

Grant didn't release He Lin's hand, so He Lin let him hold it, occasionally moving his fingertips to scratch the female's fingertips or palm.

The blonde military female tried several times to grab those elusive fingertips but failed, so he started competing, trying to poke He Lin's palm in return.

He Lin deliberately flipped his wrist. Soon, the military female's deep blue eyes glared at him, brimming with displeasure.

He Lin winked at him, obediently opening his palm before Grant. The smile in his eyes seemed to say: Whatever you desire is yours.

Grant, understanding the implication, lowered his head. Seeing the calluses on those long, pale hands, worn from years of labor, felt like a stab to his heart.

So he withdrew the fingers he had extended.

“Hm?” He Lin asked. “Not playing anymore?”

“Who was playing with you?” Grant glanced at him. “Carry me.”

The handsome young man with dark hair and eyes wrapped his arms around him, and each time He Lin embraced him, a kiss would land on his earlobe or the corner of his lips.

This time was no exception.

After kissing Grant's ear, He Lin said, “Now you can tell me why you're not happy today?”

Grant fell silent for a moment before muttering, “I went to that bar where you work today.”

He Lin didn't speak, simply watching him, waiting for the rest of the story.

But the military female showed no intention of continuing, leaving He Lin feeling somewhat bewildered. After a pause, he tentatively asked, “What were you doing over there?”

Grant replied, “Didn't you leave something there? It was on my way, so I thought I'd grab it for you.”

His recent experiences in Blackstone Star's slums had prepared Grant somewhat as he entered the Windroll Bar and approached He Lin's quarters.

Yet the sight of that filthy, dim storage room still stunned him.

The so-called bed was merely a crude plank bed cobbled together from a few wooden boards in the corner. Moldy patches dotted the walls. There was no light, the air was damp, and the conditions were utterly wretched.

Ironically, the bed itself was clean and tidy. The sheets, washed until slightly faded, even carried a faint scent—one Grant recognized as He Lin's familiar body odor.

He Lin had left very little behind in this storage room—a few notebooks, two pieces of clothing, and nothing else.

No wonder he’d agreed so readily when Grant told him not to come back for his luggage.

How could this scant collection be considered luggage?

Grant had his pride and refused to admit that what he felt in that moment was heartache. He clung to the notion that acknowledging it would mean “losing.”

As for what exactly this victory or defeat entailed—what prize awaited the winner, what punishment the loser, and by what precise standards—Grant himself couldn't articulate it.

He only sensed that if it became known he'd been the first to feel something, then this male zerg before him would cease to cherish and treasure him.

He rose, walked to the coat rack, and pulled the small notebooks from the pocket of his military jacket. Handing them to He Lin, he said, " I only found these few. See if anything's missing?"

He Lin took them, flipping through briefly. The contents were indeed his own notes.

The identities assigned by the Bureau were haphazardly constructed, with details that wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. Presumably, colleagues from the main world had considered this. These notebooks contained He Lin's class notes from when he studied Bureau courses as a teenager.

Language, math, philosophy—those went without saying. But He Lin also found his etiquette class notes. He remembered how utterly dreadful ballroom dancing had been back then. He'd drawn himself a diagram and practiced silently late at night, tiptoeing along the cold metal floor of the hallway.

These were events from over a decade ago. Bringing them out today conveniently resolved the earlier lie He Lin had told about learning on the Light Web.

Closing the notebook, He Lin smiled at Grant: “It's all here. Thank you, General.”

Grant said, “Don't call me General.”

He Lin readily complied: “Grant.”

“And drop the honorifics.”

From these small requests, He Lin keenly discerned the female zerg's yearning for closeness with him.

He smiled, feigning reluctance: “But...”

Grant frowned: “What? You've called me that before.”

“But I feel that during the marking, using the honorific would make you more comfortable,” He Lin said with a smile, his fingertips tracing the intricate zerg patterns on Grant's nape. “So let me use it occasionally, okay?”

Grant met his gaze, his ears flushing crimson as he abruptly turned away. “...That's different, obviously!”

Then he remembered something, glancing at the time displayed on his wrist-mounted light brain. “Right. Get up. The doctor's here. Let him give you a physical exam and retest your level.”

Before He Lin could speak, Grant added, “This checkup isn't because I suspect you. It's...”

The blonde female's explanation carried a hint of urgency, as if he feared being misunderstood—a stark contrast to his unguarded probing just days prior.

Clearly, the tender reassurances beneath the sheets and the intimate entanglements above them over these days had profoundly affected this promising Imperial Admiral.

He Lin said, “I know. You arranged this checkup because you care about my health. I know.” He kissed the female insect's lips. “Thank you.”

This kiss instantly calmed Grant. After a long moment, he gave a muffled “Mm-hmm.”