After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan - Chapter 6

Samuel was entirely unaware of the collision that had occurred between Xiao Su, a small robot, and a patient whose mental stability was still precarious.

As he pushed open the front door carrying a basket of strawberries, a shrill alarm was sounding. The little robot was spinning in circles around Suter’s feet like a headless fly, its metallic casing glowing with an abnormal red light. Meanwhile, Suter, wrapped tightly in a blanket, showed only a pair of watery eyes.

“Warning! Core temperature has exceeded the threshold!” Xiao Su’s mechanical arms twitched and flailed wildly.

Samuel knelt on one knee to check the overheating robot, his expression confused. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the blanket roll wiggle slightly. Suter poked half of his face out from the fleece, his nose tinged with a slight redness from the stuffiness.

“Is it broken? How scary.” Suter then looked toward the strawberry basket, his eyes shining like a cat staring at dried fish.

“You have to finish dinner before you can have snacks.” Samuel could not help but tap the reddened tip of Suter’s nose; it felt like touching a freshly steamed glutinous rice cake.

At that moment, the little robot let out a final moan under his palm, and the electronic screen went completely dark. Samuel hurriedly tapped the robot’s casing, but it seemed to have completely crashed.

Suter watched the screen go dark and stay that way. The corners of his mouth curled into a successful arc, and a hint of triumph flickered in his green eyes hidden in the shadows. Competing for favor was the first and most important lesson every cub raised in an orphanage learned. He stared at the unconscious Xiao Su, a predatory glint appearing in his eyes after a successful hunt.

Samuel was clumsily trying to disassemble the robot’s back cover. Suter inappropriately found himself thinking of how Samuel looked while fastening the strawberry pendant; perhaps his fingertips were just as careful then.

“Could it be because the things it carried earlier were too many and too heavy?” Samuel’s self-muttering drifted into his ears.

Suter let out a silent sneer, burying his face deeper into the blanket that carried Samuel’s scent. Xiao Su… He had not expected Samuel to love the juvenile forms of living things so much that he would not even spare a foolish robot, even giving it such a cloying name.

A mocking smile touched his lips. Suter used the blanket to hide the movement of his wrists, the joints letting out a faint click. He stared at Samuel’s busy back, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth. Only one pampered cub was needed in this house; everything else had to step aside.

Samuel did not notice Suter’s expression. He was currently holding the manual, trying to figure out the cause of Xiao Su’s sudden malfunction. After checking for a while, he could not find the problem.

Scratching his head, he said, “Sigh, maybe the quality just wasn’t up to par. I’ll call someone to come and repair it tomorrow.”

Samuel finally gave up and closed the manual. He placed the dark robot in a prominent spot in the living room to remind himself not to forget the repair. Next to it sat a ceramic Maneki-neko, staring at the black-screened robot and creating an odd, comedic effect.

Suter jumped up from the sofa, wiggling restlessly like a little larva, clutching the blanket as he moved closer to Samuel. Well, he technically was an insect. Samuel let out a quiet laugh, seeing Suter’s silver hair sticking up messily, with a piece of lint stuck to the ends.

Guessing that Suter was hungry, Samuel prepared to head to the kitchen for a simple dinner. Suter trailed behind him like a little tail. In the kitchen, the food had already been sorted by Xiao Su, with all necessary utensils and seasonings in their proper places.

“Anything you want to eat?” Samuel asked.

Suter shook his head but offered to cook instead. Samuel refused again, though his tone was not as firm as before, stating Suter could watch from a slight distance.

Samuel’s knife work was smooth and rhythmic, the sharp blade clicking against the cutting board. Golden pineapple flew between his fingers, turning into neat little cubes with a sweet fragrance. The chicken was cut into perfect cubes, coated in snowy starch like round little snowballs, and lined up neatly on the plate.

“Try some.” Samuel pinched a piece of translucent pineapple and held it to Suter’s lips, his fingertips still damp with fresh juice.

Suter paused, instinctively looking up to confirm before cautiously opening his mouth. His teeth grazed the fruit, and his tongue accidentally brushed against Samuel’s fingertip. He froze instantly, as if hit by an electric shock. That small patch of flesh felt as if it had been branded by a hot iron, a numbing sensation shooting up his spine to the back of his head.

“Is it sour?” Samuel, entirely oblivious, naturally popped the remaining half into his own mouth to taste. It seemed okay. Perhaps he just preferred strawberries—the sweet kind. Samuel gained a new understanding of the Zerg’s natural craving for sweets.

Suter watched his pale lips move, his own Adam’s apple bobbing unconsciously. The aroma of fried chicken filled the air as golden chunks tumbled happily in the oil, their skin gradually turning an inviting caramel color.

When the Pineapple Chicken with honey sauce was served, the sweet and sour aroma permeated the room. Suter stared at the lines of Samuel’s forearm beneath his rolled-up sleeves, where a bit of flour clung, flickering under the light as he moved. Samuel did not have much of an appetite but, fearing Suter would not be full, he cooked a pot of spinach and tofu soup.

He watched Suter at the dining table, head down, taking small bites of rice, making sure every mouthful was soaked in sauce with a large piece of meat on top. Samuel stopped after a few bites, propping his chin up to watch him, like watching a purring kitten eating.

The last piece of chicken disappeared, and Suter finally stopped.

“Full?” “Mm…”

Samuel reached out and naturally wiped a grain of rice from the corner of Suter’s mouth with a tissue, as if such intimacy had been repeated a thousand times. Suter paused, his long, thick lashes hiding a flash of darkness in his eyes. Samuel noticed nothing; he was simply acting out of habit. Before transmigrating, he often took care of his three-year-old niece this way.

“What are we eating tomorrow?” When the question left Suter’s mouth, he startled even himself. He stared at the remaining sauce in the bowl, thinking a bun dipped in the leftover gravy would be delicious.

Samuel saw Suter’s fingertips turning slightly white as they gripped the edge of the bowl, those emerald eyes filled with cautious anticipation. He thought of the cookie jar on his office desk that was always empty; his niece would sneakily fill it with snacks every time she visited, then wink at him triumphantly. It made him feel valued by his family. Perhaps Suter felt the same way—wanting someone to fill his candy jar for tomorrow.

“What do you want to eat?” Samuel did not have high demands for food. Before transmigrating, he would grab a sandwich and coffee from a convenience store when work got busy. Dinner without family was usually a simple “white person meal” for him.

Suter’s eyes lit up instantly. “Can I have whatever I want?” “I’ll try my best, if I know how to make it.”

Suter licked his lips, his voice so soft it was almost inaudible. “I want to eat strawberry cake…”

Samuel had already bought eggs and flour at the supermarket, so fulfilling this request was easy. He had originally planned to make large portions of meat, like sweet Braised Pork, to “store some fat” for the upcoming winter.

“Strawberry cake is very fragrant and delicious. Sweet cream is the best. I once found a piece in a trash can by accident.” Suter’s eyes were bright, and his tongue instinctively licked the corner of his mouth. “It was soft and fragrant. The white, milk-like stuff on top is my favorite.”

Suter blinked, trying to play the role of his eight-year-old self to gain sympathy. But he was not lying; at eight years old, he had indeed crouched in the shadows of an alley behind the orphanage, his dirty hands holding a half-molded piece of cake found in the trash, the cream turned a suspicious grayish-pink.

Fearing Samuel might refuse, he hurriedly added, “A small piece is fine. I just want to taste it… to taste what cake is like again.”

By the final words, his fingers were clutching his collar. The fabric was like Samuel’s heart, crumpled and squeezed. “Is cake very expensive?”

Samuel reached out and ruffled the soft silver hair, the strands tangling around his fingers. He suddenly regretted asking.

“It’s not expensive,” Samuel said. “Tomorrow, we’ll eat strawberry cake.”

He kept his tone light, as if discussing the weather. He saw Suter’s eyes widen into round circles, his lips parting slightly to reveal a glimpse of snowy white teeth. He knew what the cub was worried about and could piece together a tragic childhood from those disjointed words. Those childhood traumas had long since integrated into Suter’s blood and bone, shaping his resilient character.

Samuel would not desecrate that resilience with cheap pity, just as one does not wrap a healed scar in gauze. Instead, he would use fresh cream, the largest and sweetest hand-picked strawberries, and the perfect amount of sugar to bake a long-overdue sweetness for this battle-scarred soul.

The trauma would never truly vanish, and the grown cub was still anxiously asking for candy. Even though Suter’s memory would soon return and these small moments of warmth might be washed away by time, Samuel was stubbornly determined to do something for him.

Suter might no longer care about those forgotten pains hidden in his memory, but now, Samuel saw them. He would care. He would mind.

Support After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan