AB Chapter 27: First Update
After a series of tests, there was one final check left.
It was to record the developmental status of the flower on top of the plant-type’s head.
“You hold him down,” said the doctor.
Michel thought the doctor was talking to Simon and smiled bitterly. “I’m not going to run.”
“Not you.” The doctor pointed at Simon. “I’m telling you to hold down this male bee. Male bees go berserk when they see someone touching their plant-type’s flower.”
Michel turned to look at the usually calm and honest-looking man, struggling to imagine him flipping out in the next second.
But—
“…Alright.” Michel placed both hands on Simon’s arms, just in case.
The doctor nodded, put on a finger glove, stood up, and approached. He stretched out his hand, planning to peel back the flower on top of the dark-haired young man’s head to examine the core inside and see if it was mature.
This needed to be judged by the doctor’s naked eye, based on medical experience—not complex instruments.
Michel cooperated and lowered his head. As the petals were pried open, he felt a tingling sensation at the back of his neck, like someone breathing against his skin. Goosebumps broke out all over, and he had the urge to shiver hard!
At the same time, the skin behind him and the arms he was holding down felt noticeably wrong.
Michel suspiciously tilted his body a little, his eyes darting to look at the male bee behind him.
What he saw startled him.
Simon—who usually looked handsome but always wore a silly, honest smile—now had an incredibly cold expression. The bottom of his amber-colored pupils glowed red.
The doctor moved carefully, clearly wary of something, while Simon stared at his hand like a predator. The intensity of that gaze was like invisible knives, already chopping the doctor’s hand into pieces and placing them neatly on a plate.
Simon’s honey-colored skin stretched taut, and the muscles beneath Michel’s palm bulged and hardened.
Simon’s pupils shrank little by little, his mouth forming a downward curve. His face, once gentle, now turned ferocious and terrifying—right before Michel’s eyes, he transformed, instantly growing insect armor and becoming the very same monstrous being Michel had first seen.
As the doctor continued examining the red flower—no bigger than a thumbnail—Simon began to emit a low growl from his throat.
His wings behind his back started to buzz like cicadas, a sharp, urgent sound that clearly carried a message of threat and expulsion. Anyone who heard it would feel tense and irritable.
Sweat dripped from the doctor’s forehead.
To Michel, the doctor now looked like someone trying to take the last bite of meat from a tiger’s mouth—while the tiger had already issued its death warning. The growling was like an engine revving, its back arched, eyes filled with killing intent, ready to tear off the intruder’s hand at any second.
Kill him.
Kill him!
Michel felt as if someone were screaming in his ears.
The armored limbs under his hands trembled, and sensing that something was about to go very wrong, Michel gasped and tightened his grip. His throat tightened as he shouted Simon’s name, panicked: “Simon! What are you doing?!”
The fierce, dangerously handsome expression on Simon’s face twitched. Though the sharp look between his brows faded, and his twisted features relaxed slightly, he didn’t answer Michel.
His amber eyes continued to lock onto the doctor’s hand.
“Simon?!”
Michel pressed harder on Simon’s arms, not daring to ease up.
He understood that many animals had sensitive spots, and some people also had emotional triggers. But this was the first time he had seen someone go from rational to "no one is family" in a second—
Except for fierce mother beasts protecting their young.
The growling continued in Simon’s throat, sounding more and more like a wild animal out of control.
Fearful and frustrated, Michel suddenly became angry and shouted, “Enough! Stop it! What are you doing?!”
Simon’s growling paused for a few seconds. Michel barely had time to feel relieved before the doctor touched the flower’s core again—and the growling resumed.
This guy was relentless.
Michel was racking his brain on how to stop him before someone got hurt. Thankfully, the doctor finished the exam at that moment, letting go of the little flower.
“All done.”
He removed his glove and quickly stepped back, clearing space for the "wild beast" to regain clarity.
As the doctor backed away, the buzzing and growling gradually died down.
Simon wrapped his arms tightly around Michel’s waist, resting his chin on Michel’s head. He roughly sniffed at the flower on top, his movements still forceful, but the killing intent had fortunately disappeared.
Michel let out a huge sigh of relief.
Noticing Michel’s fear, the doctor gently explained:
“This is actually quite normal. You don’t need to be afraid. He’s your male bee—he would never hurt you.”
Michel frowned. “But this behavior…”
Honestly, he wanted to give Simon a rabies shot.
The doctor smiled. “You grew up on Earth, so it’s understandable to lack certain knowledge. Male bees… well, think of Earth’s bees. Bees are united and hardworking, not particularly aggressive. They’ll even let people steal their honey. If they’re far from the hive, they won’t chase intruders. But if someone takes their queen? They’ll go insane. They’ll stop at nothing—risking death to get her back. Unless the queen dies, they won’t stop.”
“The male bees of our planet, Peipeijia, see plant-types as both flowers and queens.”
“Plant-types are their spiritual sustenance. Without you, male bees starve to death. You are their queen, their reason for living, their soulmate. Without you, they have no direction.”
“Likewise, without a male bee’s care and protection, plant-types can hardly survive the sprouting phase. As for blooming? I’ve only seen one—that’s you.”
Symbiotic relationship.
Michel immediately thought of this term.
Two species coexisting, relying on each other.
One is often stronger, while the other fills in their weaknesses. The weaker survives with the stronger’s protection. Without either, neither can live long.
“Looks like you get it now.”
The doctor pulled out a manual from his folder and handed it to Michel.
“Take a look. It’s a basic illustrated handbook for pediatrics. I think you’ll need it.”
Michel took it and stared silently at the title: Twenty Questions About Young Bees.
The doctor said, “No male bee can tolerate another male touching their plant-type’s flower—especially the flower, which is the core of their being. It’s like… no husband would be okay with a doctor touching his wife’s, uh, lower area—even if it’s for a medical exam.”
He shrugged.
Michel felt awkward and a bit embarrassed.
“Really, trust me.” The doctor winked. “Don’t be fooled by male bees. We always act honest, gentle, affectionate, cute, well-behaved—anything to please our plant-types. But in reality, male bees are jealous, violent, cold, and utterly ruthless. We’re infamous across the galaxy.”
Michel: “…”
The doctor smiled. “Otherwise, Earth wouldn’t have waited so long to form diplomatic ties with us.”
Michel hesitated. “But you, doctor, seem…”
…pretty normal.
The doctor grinned. “Ah, that? All an act.”
Michel: “…”
Doctor: “We have professional training. If you fail, you can’t work in diplomacy or other fields.”
Michel: “…”
Doctor: “Hee hee.”
Michel: …So male bees from Peipeijia are basically psychotic, with national-level dissociative disorders?
Comments
Post a Comment