I Transmigrated Into The Secret Husband Of The Zerg Marshal - Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I followed Arnold through several metal corridors that were similar in style to my room but noticeably more upscale, finally stopping in front of a pair of frosted double doors.

The doors silently slid open to reveal… a dining room.

If my room was a luxury prison suite, this was a Michelin three-star VIP room. A long black table, big enough for a dozen people, stood in the center. The table’s surface was warm like jade, reflecting the soft ceiling lights. The silverware was already set; silver knives and forks glinted coldly under the lamps.

At the far end of the long table, only two place settings were laid out.

Arnold walked straight to the head of the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, his movements as elegant as if attending a state banquet. He tilted his chin toward the seat across from him, gesturing for me to sit.

My heart was pounding slightly. I cautiously sat down, only daring to perch on the edge of the chair.

This was my first time being alone with this Marshal Worm in a non-confrontational, non-interrogation setting. The atmosphere was strange; there was no imminent danger, but an invisible pressure permeated the air. I subconsciously felt my pocket—it was empty. I’d left my stainless-steel thermos in the previous room.

Without my spiritual pillar, I felt like a knight without a sword, completely ill at ease.

“Eat,” Arnold said, breaking the silence.

Only then did I shift my attention to the plate in front of me.

My eyes widened at the sight. A drumstick sizzling with oil, golden and crispy fried fish fillets, a small mountain of creamy pasta, and a colorful vegetable salad on the side, drizzled with a glistening dressing.

The presentation, the aroma… This was real food! Not that spirulina disguised as steak!

My negotiation had succeeded! I, Chen Jiuliu, had used my intelligence and eloquence to win the most fundamental human right for myself—the right to eat!

A massive wave of joy and accomplishment surged through me. I was almost moved to tears. I picked up the knife and fork, my hands trembling slightly with excitement, and couldn’t wait to cut a large piece of chicken and shove it into my mouth.

The tenderness of the chicken, the richness of the fat, the savory taste of the barbecue sauce… Wait.

My chewing slowed down.

The texture… why was it somewhat soft? The taste… was also too bland; aside from the surface sauce, the flavor of the meat itself was almost non-existent. I concentrated, trying to distinguish even a single hint of poultry fiber, but there was none. It was more like some kind of very tightly pressed bean product.

My heart sank, and an ominous feeling arose. I picked up another piece of the fish fillet that looked succulent and juicy.

Upon entering my mouth, it had the same softness, the same blandness, and even a faint, elusive… spirulina fishiness.

My smile froze on my face.

I abruptly looked up at Arnold across the table.

He was slowly and methodically cutting a steak on his own plate. Seeing me look at him, he raised his eyes. In those gray-blue eyes, there was a trace of a faint, almost “amused-spectator” smile.

“How is it?” he asked. “Has the ‘user experience’ been optimized?”

I: “…”

I understood. This guy was playing mind games with me!

This whole table of food was half show, half reality. He was operating a random blind box, making me guess which was the real food.

“Marshal Worm,” I put down my knife and fork, looking at him expressionlessly, “Is this some new type of stress test? Or is this also part of ‘project management,’ called ‘Core Resource Taste Bud Sensitivity A/B Testing’?”

Arnold seemed amused by the new terms popping out of my mouth, and the slight smile at the corner of his lips became clearer. “You could interpret it that way.” He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, his posture impeccable. “As an excellent male worm, keen perception is an essential quality. You need to be able to distinguish between what is genuine energy-replenishing food and what is merely a false flavor additive.”

I was almost driven to laughter by his twisted logic.

To hell with essential quality! I was a former code monkey who had transmigrated less than seventy-two hours ago, and you expect me to unlock the Gourmand skill point? Why don’t you just ask me to manually code an operating system right here and now?

“Fine,” I took a deep breath, my fighting spirit ignited.

So what if I have to guess the dishes? Do you think I’m easily intimidated? In my past life, to save money, I ate from every takeout place within a three-mile radius of my company. I could taste which restaurant used gutter oil with my eyes closed!

I stared at the plates in front of me, activating my IQ 150 brain, and began logical deduction and data analysis.

The core ingredient of these fake foods is spirulina paste. The advantage is its strong malleability; the disadvantage is its inability to mimic the fibrous structure and fat distribution of real meat. Therefore, those that look overly perfect and are too regularly shaped, like that drumstick, are probably fake.

Real food, during cooking, will inevitably have uneven browning and natural changes in shape.

My gaze locked onto the creamy pasta dish. The noodles were distinct, but the sauce coverage wasn’t perfectly uniform—thicker in some places, thinner in others. A few slices of bacon were tucked in haphazardly, their edges showing a natural char.

That’s the one!

I speared a curl of pasta and elegantly brought it to my mouth under Arnold’s scrutiny.

A rich creamy flavor instantly exploded in my mouth, mixing with the chewiness of the noodles and the savory bacon… It was real! It was carbs! It was the light of human civilization!

I was so happy I almost hummed out loud.

I looked up and proudly raised an eyebrow at Arnold.

A flicker of unnoticed surprise crossed his eyes. He hadn’t expected me to find the breakthrough so quickly. The amused-spectator smile faded, replaced by one of serious contemplation.

The rest of the dinner became a silent game between the two of us.

I used my corporate survivor’s instinct to outwit his Zerg elite theory. He watched as I bypassed all the traps, successfully consuming the vegetable salad, creamy pasta, and a small piece of real roasted cod. As for the fake drumstick, fish fillet, and steak, I didn’t touch them at all.

When I finished the last bite of the vegetable salad, I saw Arnold put down his knife and fork and wipe his hands with a napkin.

“It seems your perceptual ability is not as poor as your physical fitness,” his tone was ambiguous, neither praise nor sarcasm.

“Naturally.” Full and satisfied, my courage had grown. I leaned back in the chair and said lazily, “We have a saying where I come from: ‘The better the brain, the lazier the limbs.’ I put all my skill points into intelligence.”

Arnold didn’t respond to my remark. He just stood up. “Come with me.”

He dropped that sentence again and turned to leave.

I quickly followed, pondering where he was taking me next. Was it post-dinner entertainment? A movie? Or maybe, could I get online? My longing for my own world was about to break the dam.

However, the place he led me to shattered all my fantasies.

It was a bedroom.

A very, very large bedroom, twice the size of my previous luxury prison. The decor was still minimalist black, white, and gray, but the details hinted at understated luxury.

Most importantly, in the center of the room, stood a bed.

A… gigantic bed. Conservatively estimated, one could roll across it ten times.

My feet instantly froze in place, and the alarm bells in my head rang louder than an air-raid drill.

“W-wait,” my tongue was getting tangled. “Marshal Worm, this… is this step progressing a bit too fast? Our project… hasn’t reached this stage, has it?”

Arnold turned to look at me, his handsome face expressionless, but his eyes were like he was looking at an overreacting idiot. “The latest solution from the medical team,” he said in a factual, emotionless tone. “To ensure the smooth progress of the ‘project’s’ first phase, we need preliminary mutual adaptation of pheromones. Co-habitation is the most efficient way.”

Pheromone… mutual adaptation?

This sounded even more fantastical than men giving birth.

“What do you mean?” I pressed.

“Simply put,” Arnold seemed a little impatient, “we need to sleep together.”

I: “…”

My CPU, the one that was just running at high speed from guessing the correct food, let out a sizzle and completely burnt out upon hearing this sentence.

Sleep… sleep together?

Just him and me? On this bed?

In my past life, I was busy studying and coding endlessly in my dorm. I hadn’t even properly held a girl’s hand. In this life, I’m skipping all the steps and immediately co-sleeping with a man… oh no, a male… oh no, a female worm… in short, a creature of the same external gender?

Is this project moving too fast! The requirements document hasn’t been finalized! We don’t even have a prototype sketch, and we’re already jumping into the UAT (User Acceptance Testing) phase!

“No!” I blurted out, my voice cracking. “This is a major project change! I need to re-evaluate the risk! Besides, this bed is so huge, we could totally… add a divider? Or, you sleep on the bed, and I can sleep on the carpet. I’m not picky!”

“You sleeping on the carpet would interfere with the pheromone mutual adaptation process,” Arnold coldly dismissed my suggestion with a reason so powerful I couldn’t refute it.

He then turned his back to me, stripped off his clothes until he was only in his underwear, and walked into the bathroom. Soon, the sound of rushing water could be heard from inside.

I stood alone in the huge bedroom, my hands and feet cold, feeling like a hamster thrown into an unfamiliar environment, utterly at a loss.

What was this?

Forced submission?

No, he just wants to sleep in the same bed as me.

But this is even more terrifying than forced submission! That would be a one-time deal, a moment of pain and then it’s over. This is long-term cooperation, a slow and steady torture!

The water stopped; the shower was over as quickly as it began.

A few minutes later, Arnold emerged from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Water droplets slid down his defined abs, disappearing at the edge of the towel. He looked at me with those gray-blue eyes while drying his damp black hair with a towel.

“Your turn.”

I didn’t know where to look for a moment, and I swallowed hard, feeling my face flush.

I, Chen Jiuliu, an older, single, well-behaved young man, simply could not withstand this visual shock.

I practically fled into the bathroom, locked the door, leaned my back against the door panel, and my heart hammered wildly.

I’m doomed.

Tonight, I’m going to lose my virginity… no, I’m going to lose sleep.