AB Chapter 25: What the Hell—This is an Mpreg Story?!
"Poor little Michel, stupid little mouse. Have you been trembling in fear all day?"
"Haha, that's right. Be afraid of me, fear me... I won't tell you when I’ll appear behind you!"
"I want you to live in fear every single day, constantly on edge!"
"I won't let you live in peace!"
"Never let you live in peace!!!"
A twisted smile flickered faintly in the darkness.
It was as if eyes had grown all around him, watching Michel’s distress, his vigilance.
Then, like a madman or a pervert, that person showed a proud, malicious grin, satisfied with his cruelty, relishing the suffering and shadow he had cast on Michel’s life.
The black-haired youth’s smile froze.
His palm clenched the phone tight. The knuckles bulged and turned pale, and his slender fingers trembled slightly from the pressure.
Even after the screen turned black, the last line of text seemed to linger like some kind of monstrous curse. It exuded rot and malice, making his stomach cramp and his bile rise—he nearly threw up.
This message had gone far beyond a mere prank. It was a death threat.
The sender wanted to intimidate him, threaten him, completely disrupt Michel’s life—wanted him to live in constant fear just to savor the torment he caused.
That psycho!
Michel didn’t know why Eric targeted him like this, but the guy had always been a lunatic. Maybe it was because Simon embarrassed him in front of so many people last time, so now he held a grudge.
Michel’s heart was heavy.
And the flower on his head reflected his mood perfectly. The tiny, emerald-green stem stood stiffly, and the thumb-sized flower flared up in a puffed-out, angry explosion of five fleshy red petals—like a furious bean sprout.
Simon stood beside him, silently watching.
As a top-tier male bee who had memorized the Plant-Type Partner Care Manual backward and forward, he immediately recognized this as a sign of anger in a plant-type being.
Worried, the big bumblebee clutched his chest.
Sigh.
So cute. Want to touch.
"Baby, what’s wrong?"
He resisted the urge to poke Michel and reached out to take his hand.
Michel instinctively stuffed the phone into his pocket. Coming back to his senses, he shook his head. "Nothing. Aren’t we heading to the hospital? Let’s go."
Simon’s gaze drifted from the little flower on Michel’s head to the bulging pocket of his down jacket.
"Okay," he nodded.
They left the school. Since the only Peipei Jia-owned hospital and embassy were in Washington, Simon had booked a hover car this time.
Privately operated hover cars were expensive, with fixed destinations and routes that couldn’t be changed.
The trip from Chicago to Washington took around an hour and forty minutes—nearly two hours.
Usually, these hover cars were government-regulated luxuries, only accessible to the wealthy.
Just like how mechas and machinery are considered the pinnacle of masculine romance, there wasn’t a man alive who didn’t love high-tech gadgets. Michel, taking his first ride in a hover car, was fascinated by the luxurious leather seats and futuristic amenities.
The onboard AI was on standby. After Simon input the destination, he requested a drink. A blue light lit up on the armrest, revealing a mini fridge stocked with chilled drinks and wine, along with two crystal glasses.
"Please make your selection," said a soft, electronic female voice.
Simon took out a bottle of label-free purified water. There was a code sticker on the cap; after scanning it, he handed it to Michel.
"Drink some. Take a nap. If you feel uncomfortable in here or get a headache, be sure to tell me, okay?"
He gently stroked Michel’s face.
Michel nodded. After a stressful day, he was definitely exhausted.
He sipped the water. Gentle, soothing music began to play in the car. The young man, with a faint headache, quickly fell asleep.
Simon waited a moment, then slowed his breathing. Watching his sleeping partner, his amber eyes flickered with hesitation and contemplation. After a moment, he carefully reached toward Michel’s coat pocket…
"Michel…"
"Michel…"
"Wake up, Michel…"
Voices—men and women mixed together—echoed in a surreal blur. Somewhere between dream and reality, one voice became clearer.
Simon’s.
Did I fall asleep?
Michel opened his eyes to see Simon’s face slowly coming into focus.
"It’s time to get off. We’ve arrived."
"Oh…"
Simon stepped aside. Michel rubbed his eyes and sat up, then looked out the hover car window—and froze at what he saw.
It was a stark contrast to the remote city of Chicago—a silver-grey futuristic metropolis.
The most prosperous, oldest capital in the U.S.:
Washington.
Well-dressed humans, blue-skinned Kenoans, sunlight-loving, bald Snaksexians with snail-like antennae, and various other alien species walked down the streets together. No one gave each other a second glance. It was normal.
People were already used to it, rushing down the streets, busy with their lives.
If Chicago was a city still developing—its future yet to unfold—then this was that future, fully realized.
"Do you like it?" Simon said with a touch of nostalgia. "Actually, your Earth civilization isn’t that advanced. Our home planet is even more beautiful—a world where forests and technology coexist, a perfect blend of nature and machines. Among all the planets in the universe, it’s one of the most beautiful."
Michel nodded. After the apocalypse, Earth had come a long way. This wasn’t bad.
He looked at Simon and asked softly, "Do you miss your homeland, Simon?"
"That’s not my homeland—it’s ours, sweetheart," Simon smiled. "I do miss it. When you’re feeling better, we can go back. It won’t take long by starship."
They chatted as they got off the hover car.
Michel replied with a quiet “Mm,” not very enthusiastic.
Maybe… to me, this place still feels more like home. He sighed.
Simon, walking ahead, suddenly added, "Anyway, we have to go back."
Michel: "?"
Without looking back, Simon continued, "When you get pregnant, you’ll need a more suitable environment for plant-types. Earth’s no good."
Michel: "Oh…"
He replied automatically, then suddenly realized something felt off.
Pregnant?
Who?
Plant-types?!
As they walked, Simon suddenly felt resistance and turned around—only to find Michel staring at him like he’d seen the end of the world.
Huh?
"Are you thirsty, baby?"
"You never told me plant-types could get pregnant…"
"What?"
"I said—YOU NEVER TOLD ME PLANT-TYPES COULD GET PREGNANT!!!"
WTF…
Michel stared down at his belly, as if a door to a new world had just opened before him. At that door stood a grinning muscleman, waving:
"Come on in~ Big Daddy’s waiting~"
Michel: …to hell with God’s bullsh*t!
He could accept being an alien. He could even accept dating a giant bee.
But this—this—he absolutely couldn’t accept being able to get pregnant like a woman!
"Ah, I didn’t mention that?" Simon looked sheepish, sensing his adorable little flower was on the verge of a breakdown.
Seeing Michel’s twisted expression, he panicked.
He pressed his lips into a line, furrowed his brow—confused by Michel’s strong reaction.
All Peipeijia plant-types could reproduce, after all.
"You agreed to come to the hospital with me this time," Simon said miserably.
Michel: "And what does that have to do with anything?"
"A lot," Simon said. "If your body’s healed and your flower blooms properly, we can start entering the mating phase—gradually increasing intimacy and considering having a child."
Previously, Michel’s poor health meant his flower, though blossomed, wasn’t developed enough to trigger maturity. So Simon had restrained himself, holding back all this time.
Ace even laughed at him about it!
"Sweetheart, let’s go," Simon urged gently.
"…………"
"Sweetheart?"
"…………"
Michel was thinking: If I run now, is it still too late?
[Author’s Note]:
Only when a plant-type releases a mating signal can the male bee enter rut.
Michel’s flower bloomed, but due to his poor health, it was useless—so Simon had to hold himself back all this time.
That’s what this means.
Ahem.
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