HEO 116

Wolf hurriedly shook his head. After all, among the warriors his age, there wasn’t a single one who wasn’t already a parent. If they found out, they would mock him and scoff at how flustered he was acting. Flailing around wouldn’t solve the problem. He needed a plan.

Besides, there was one thing that weighed on his mind. A Spruce could conceive, but what came next? The process of a man bearing a child couldn’t be the same as a woman’s.

“I understand.”

Wolf’s voice sounded calm, even to his own ears.

“I admit it. I was reckless and made a mistake. How does the pregnancy progress? What about preparations for the birth?”

〔Early abortion recommended.〕

Wolf couldn’t believe his ears. It felt as though he’d been struck in the head with an axe.

Abortion?

“Why?”

〔The physiological structure of Type [stolen content]2 male mutants does not accommodate natural childbirth. The only viable method is surgical extraction through the abdomen.〕

〔There are no recorded cases of the parent surviving the procedure given the current level of human medical technology.〕

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

〔It was common knowledge 150 years ago, when the persecution of mutants began.〕

〔Everyone was aware that natural childbirth was impossible.〕

〔At that time, Type 2 male mutants avoided pregnancy by taking contraceptives regularly.〕

Had knowledge that was once common sense simply been forgotten over time? Wolf’s mind was in a chaotic tangle.

Men who could conceive children– that was how people described Spruces. That simple phrase had actually concealed a terrifying truth.

So, they could conceive, but they couldn’t actually give birth? To the people of Stoll, mutants were treated much like a traveling troupe of performers. They were the sort of topic people gossiped about over drinks, and Wolf had picked up plenty of stories along the way.

Especially tales about female mutants, Birches. Stories like how one impregnated a chieftain’s daughter and fled, or how another masqueraded as a man to marry a wealthy widow and live in high style, or how a handsome man juggling nine lovers was exposed as actually being a Birch all along. People would roar with laughter at these scandals– often of dubious veracity.

But what of the male mutant, Spruce? ​Read on​Come to think of it, Wolf had never heard even a trivial anecdote about a child being born to a Spruce.

Their stories usually ended at a well, a cliff, or the edge of a blade– tales of them carving the life out of themselves with their own hands. The stories Wolf encountered most often were lewd tales regarding their bodies, rumors that, during sex, Spruces would secrete fluid from down there.

〔Type 2 male mutants can relieve their heat through sexual intercourse with ordinary males.〕

〔Therefore, if you intend to continue a sexual relationship with a Type 2 male mutant, contraception is mandatory.〕

Wolf clenched his fists. His heart pounded so fast his chest muscles ached.

“Tell me how to induce an abortion.”

His voice was barely a whisper.

“And the methods of contraception too.”

***

Wolf carried a tray toward the open-air bath. The tray held an assortment of items: a pitcher of wine made from Pirate- Island raspberries, two cups, a wedge of glistening cheese, a knife, and a pitcher of water.

He wiped his body with a towel and wrapped ​stolen content​one around his waist. It was doubtful whether this would actually improve Silver’s impression of him, though.

Damn this wretched knot.

The path leading from the house’s main entrance to the open-air bath curved along the shoulder of the hill. Wolf walked deliberately slowly. He needed time to figure out how to speak to someone he had nearly driven to death out of ignorance.

Let’s call it luck. For both him and Silver.

The plants Flea had recited in the tone of a bureaucrat steeped in boredom: the Bitter-Root Flower, which ripened only as autumn leaves began to rot; the Red Maiden’s Skullcap, blooming in mid-autumn; the Crow’s Milk-Cap mushroom, sprouting from birch trees only as autumn deepened. In any other season, they would have vanished– into the soil, under the snow, or into the belly of a mountain goat. Yet this autumn, the mountains and hills of Pirate Island were teeming with the medicinal herbs that would keep Silver from being shoved into a grave.

With every step, Wolf etched his plan into his mind. He would explain everything to Silver. He would pour a drink and confess that he was an Ash.

There is something you need to know. When dawn breaks, we must climb the mountain. Because…

He would tell the whole truth. That was the duty of someone who took responsibility.

It really was lucky. Had Flea not told him, he might have harbored foolish dreams in his heart. He might have imagined himself as a father. He might have smiled at Silver across the breakfast table every morning, counting the days with a heart full of anticipation. All without realizing that what was growing inside Silver was an executioner. Then, one day there would be blood. Silver’s body would be drained of color and go limp. And Wolf would be left alone, cradling nothing but a corpse…

Wait.

Wolf stopped in his tracks. He stared at the floor for a moment before ​Read on​leaning his back against the wall. Only then did the absurdity of the situation hit him.

Did I… want to be a father?

Since when?

He blinked and gazed up at the night sky. Clusters of shining stars washed the black expanse in silvery-gray hues; it looked like a tapestry studded with shattered glass.

Father. The unfamiliar word had come to mind so easily, as if it had been lodged in his mind all along.

It was a bizarre realization. Wolf had never once wanted children in the past. Nor had he ever desired to start a family.

A lack of sexual desire often equates to a lack of the urge to procreate. During his teenage years– when he hadn’t even experienced a single wet dream –the future Wolf envisioned held only one person: himself. A modest bakery with a white apron and a simple storefront. An oven, flour, and a clean, efficient kitchen. That was all. There was no spouse waiting for a husband upstairs, nor an infant crying in a cradle.

It was the same even after he began his second life, redefined as a prince of Stoll. The future Wolf imagined included himself, Red Eagle– returned to human form –and Red Eagle’s wife and children. If he were to draw a picture of it, it would show Red Eagle’s family smiling happily behind him. In that picture, Wolf was the uncle. Someone who would show up with arms full of gifts for the nieces and nephews, share a meal, and leave before the night grew too late. Someone close, like family.

To any ordinary person, either scenario would have seemed bizarre. Yet to Wolf, that dream felt as natural and inevitable as the arrival of Sunday each week. But now…

Why am I like this?

It’s strange. It really is strange.

Wolf closed his eyes. He pictured a flock of sheep frolicking in a vast field and herded them into the pen, one by one. Once the field was empty, he took a deep breath and asked himself: What kind of future do I want?

The image that immediately came to mind was… a green field beneath a blue sky. A humble farmhouse with smoke curling from its gray-tiled chimney. Against the backdrop of that beautiful nature and the lovely house, Wolf stood hand-in-hand with Silver.

With Silver. Standing side by side, holding hands.

Wolf’s eyes flew open. His legs went weak, and he nearly dropped the tray; the kettle, the cup, and the cheese slid toward the edge.

Was it Silver I wanted all along? Was the idea of a father for the child merely a wrapper concealing my true desire?

Wolf pressed his palm against his forehead. Memories came flooding back: the moment he was startled to realize he secretly wished Silver were a Spruce; the nights spent wide awake, waiting for Silver on that empty hillside; the time he waited for Silver instead of immediately heading for land after taking command of the pirate crew. And now, he even found himself wanting to share a future with Silver.

It was all a mystery. How could he feel this way when he had known Silver for such a short time? Even though these were his own emotions, he couldn’t make heads or tails of them. If it were a music box or a pocket watch, he could simply take it apart, examine the components, and figure out the mechanism, but this was different.

Shit.

Don’t overthink it. This is just… a physical reaction.

He could find plenty of reasons rooted in the body. Logical reasons that fit together [stolen content]as precisely as a flawless ledger, capable of withstanding the pressure of countless questions: pheromones, phase-alignment symptoms, a heat cycle, survival instinct. Scrape these reasons together, and they form a single conclusion– cold and sharp as a surgical instrument.

In short, Wolf and Silver were like a lock and a key. Or the mainspring and gears of a pocket watch. The craving to be with Silver was, ultimately, nothing more than the product of physical compatibility.

Wolf headed back toward the open-air bath. He felt like a beast– a creature that, during mating season, abandons reason entirely to be driven solely by blind instinct.

By now, the corner of the building was right in front of him. White steam swirled in the darkness. The sounds of lapping hot spring water, the wind, and the waves crashing against the shore below drifted through the mist.

Wolf stopped at the corner. He extended just the tray beyond the wall and spoke with a hint of a smile.

“Silver, can I come in? I’ve got wine and cheese. And me, as a bonus. If you don’t like it, just leave me standing outside the door.”