I Transmigrated Into The Secret Husband Of The Zerg Marshal - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Having a Child

In my twenty-something years of life, this was the first time I truly understood “physiological fear.” It wasn’t the jump-scare kind of fright from horror movies, but a deep, primal terror of the unknown, bubbling up from the core of my genetic and biological instincts.

My stomach?

This utterly ordinary abdomen, even accumulating a bit of fat from prolonged sitting, had become my core KPI after transmigrating?

I looked down, he looked down. The two of us, one Male Insect and one Female Insect, were studying my belly in an incredibly bizarre posture, as if it contained some earth-shattering secret that would affect the rise and fall of the Federation.

The air was dead silent for three seconds. My brain finally managed to restart, forcefully loading the survival module.

“Wai-wait a minute!” I recoiled sharply, trying to get away from his infuriatingly handsome face. “Great Insect Marshal, I think there might be some… miscommunication between us. Or perhaps a translation bug. When you say ‘offspring,’ do you mean some kind of spiritual reliance? Or a… electronic pet that I need to meticulously care for?”

As I spoke, I was secretly applauding my own quick thinking. Yes, that must be it! The dominant CEO, lonely at the top, wants to adopt a child or an electronic pet but is too proud, so he’s using me, the contracted Male Lord, to ‘have a child’ as a cover. It’s like when a boss asks me to ‘optimize the code’ but really means rewrite it—it’s all jargon; I understand!

Arnold straightened up, and his slightly narrowed gray-blue eyes flared with… a mischievous amusement?

I rubbed my eyes. Had the hallucinations from working overtime not faded yet? Why did Arnold find me novel and amusing?

“Not an electronic pet,” he said, like a cruel hunter admiring the prey’s final futile struggles. “It is a genuine offspring, requiring your genes to be conceived inside my body.”

I: “…”

My recently rebooted brain immediately blue-screened again.

Conceived… inside his body?

So… he gives birth?

My CPU was flirting dangerously with an overload. If he gives birth, then what does he want from me? My F-level physical fitness? My E- spiritual power? My reversed cervical curvature and lumbar disc protrusion? With my weak genes, the offspring would likely be a sickly child who would gasp for air after two steps!

“Why?” The question exploded from me, having been suppressed for too long. “You’re a Marshal; you must be the most outstanding Female Insect in the Federation… You should have countless choices a million times better than me. Why me?”

This question seemed to finally make him drop his amused expression. His gray-blue eyes darkened, as if overshadowed by a gloom. “Because,” he stated, word by word, his voice low as if rising from the earth, “only your genes have the highest compatibility with mine. ‘The Great Insect’ Male Lord I picked up from a desolate star. Are you satisfied with that explanation?”

He dropped another bombshell. Then, without even glancing at my petrified expression, he turned and gave an order to the two white coats.

“Begin the conditioning. I don’t have much patience.”

With that, he took long strides and left the examination room without looking back. The sound of his military boots faded outside the door, and the powerful sense of oppression went with him.

I felt like all the bones had been sucked out of me, and I slumped onto the examination platform.

“Your Excellency, please come with us.”

The two white coats, one on each side, “escorted” me out again, like picking up a little chick.

I tried to struggle, shouting “Arranged marriage is feudal garbage!” “Coercion is illegal!” and “I demand to sue you in the intergalactic court!” but they ignored me. The grip of their hands was unyielding. My strength against them was equivalent to an ant trying to knock over an elephant.

I was brought to a new room.

It was no longer cold white but a soft beige. The room was huge, like a luxury suite, complete with a living room, bedroom, and bathroom, but all the furniture had a minimalist, futuristic feel. There was no superfluous decoration.

The most suffocating thing was that there were also no windows. The entire space felt like a meticulously crafted, comfortable cage.

My personal prison.

One white coat handed me a set of soft white clothes; the other pointed toward the bathroom.

“Your Excellency, please take a shower and clean up. In one standard stellar hour, we will deliver your first-stage nutritional meal.”

After speaking, they bowed and backed out. The metal door closed silently.

I stood in the center of the empty living room, clutching the clothes and looking around. A massive, powerless sense of absurdity washed over me.

I transmigrated, became a rare Male Insect, and was ‘married’ by a dominant Marshal. It sounded like winning some kind of divine lottery, but in reality, I was just a stud… being kept in captivity and prepared for breeding?

No, a stud gets better treatment. They are at least free.

I walked into the bathroom in anger and grief. The facilities were even more luxurious than a five-star hotel. The water stream automatically adjusted its temperature and intensity based on my mood. The toiletries smelled distinctly of “I am expensive.”

I soaked myself in the massaging bathtub, trying to use the steam to numb my exploding nerves.

I started to force myself to calm down, using my programmer’s IQ 150 brain to analyze the situation.

Known conditions: I, now Leonard, am a “rare waste product” with F-level physique. He, Arnold, is a power-overwhelming Marshal, the strongest Female Insect in the Federation.

We have the highest gene compatibility, so we must have a child. The current status is that I’m under a confidential marriage, essentially house arrest, and about to start pre-breeding conditioning.

So, we come to the most critical question: How to survive this screwed-up reality and live with dignity?

Direct resistance is impossible; the power gap is too vast. Escape? In this place without even a window, I probably can’t even open the door.

That leaves only… cooperation?

No, not cooperation. It’s “project management.”

I abruptly sat up in the bathtub, splashing water everywhere.

Yes! He wants to undertake this “Offspring” project, right? Then I am an essential “resource” in this project! As a resource, I cannot be carelessly consumed.

I need to fight for my rights!

I need to transform this from a one-sided “patronage” into a mutual “project” collaboration!

I, Chen Jiuliu, am going to be the project’s… Product Manager!

Having figured this out, the panic and anger in my heart miraculously subsided, replaced by a long-lost surge of fighting spirit—the kind I used to feel when facing complex requirements!

An hour later, I changed into the soft, silk-like white clothes and sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, my stainless steel thermos—which I had skillfully salvaged—in front of me.

The door opened, and a white coat pushed a meal cart in.

On the cart was a porcelain plate covered with a square, clear acrylic lid. “Your Excellency Chen Jiuliu, your nutritional meal.”

He placed the plate on the low table in front of me and lifted the lid.

An indescribable smell wafted into my face.

It was a bowl of… green, viscous, slightly bubbling paste.

Floating in it were some red and black, unidentified small particles.

This stuff looked uglier than the worst bug I had ever written.

My stomach instantly lurched.

“What is this?” I pointed at the bowl, my voice changing.

“This is a Phase One nutritional supplement, tailored for you based on your physical examination report. The main ingredients are high-protein spirulina, complex vitamins, and trace elements to promote cell vitality,” the white coat explained expressionlessly.

I looked at the bowl of green goo, then at him.

“Do you have a… menu?” I asked, clutching the last thread of hope. “Like, Kung Pao Chicken? Fish-Fragrant Shredded Pork? Even a plate of braised chicken and rice would be fine!”

“I apologize, Your Excellency Chen Jiuliu. Until your physical data meets the E-level standard, all your diet will be strictly controlled by the medical team.”

After he spoke, he turned to leave.

“Wait.” I called out to him.

He stopped and looked back at me.

I cleared my throat and straightened my posture, trying to look professional rather than like a prisoner about to be fed slop.

“Regarding this ‘Conditioning’ project, I have a few questions that need clarification.”

The white coat’s eyes seemed to flicker slightly; perhaps it was my imagination.

“Please proceed.”

“First, the ultimate goal of this project, the KPI, is the production of a healthy offspring, correct?”

“…It can be understood that way.”

“Good. Then, to achieve this KPI, my physical fitness needs to be raised from F-level to at least E-level. This is a phase objective, or a milestone, correct?”

The white coat’s expression clearly froze. He seemed to be struggling to process the strange vocabulary I was using.

“…Yes.”

“Very well.” I picked up my thermos and took a sip of goji water to lubricate my throat, feeling my Product Manager aura activating. “Then, I require a detailed document outlining the specific execution plan, timeline, resource allocation, and risk assessment report for this project. As the project’s core resource and key stakeholder, I have the right to know all project details.”

The white coat was completely silent now. His eyes, visible above his mask, were filled with the confusion of, “What the actual X are you talking about?”

I pressed on: “Furthermore, regarding my job content, ‘acting as the Male Lord’ and ‘providing genes,’ I believe a clearer division of responsibilities is needed. The former falls under external public relations, and the latter under bioengineering. What are the performance review standards for these two tasks? What are Marshal Arnold’s needs as the project initiator and final user? Is there a detailed Product Requirements Document (PRD) for me? Verbal requirements are unreliable and easily lead to project delays and rework. As professionals, you should be well aware of this.”

“…”

“Also, regarding the compensation, the agreement only stated ‘room and board provided,’ which is too vague. I demand a specification of the benefits. For example, providing catering that matches my taste preferences (optimized without affecting the conditioning results), providing entertainment facilities, and guaranteeing my personal privacy and mental health. These are all necessary conditions to ensure the stable output of the core resource. A joyful and mentally healthy Male Lord will surely provide higher quality genes than a depressed and anxious one. Is that logic sound?”

The white coat’s mouth slightly opened behind his mask. He looked at me as if I were an alien creature.

I could imagine his internal monologue, probably similar to mine when I first saw the Confidential Marriage Agreement.

Silence. A long silence.

Just when I thought he was going to crash, he finally spoke, his voice dry and carrying a hint of barely concealed… awe?

“Your Excellency Chen Jiuliu, all these points you’ve raised… I need to report to the Marshal.”

“Go ahead,” I waved my hand, adopting the posture of a superior telling a subordinate, “Tell Marshal Arnold that if he wants the project to proceed smoothly, he should bring his requirements document and hold a meeting with me personally.”

The white coat practically fled.

Watching his hasty retreat, I let out a long breath, slumping back again.

Damn it, that scared me. For a moment, I felt like I wasn’t arguing with an alien doctor but with a clueless product manager from my previous life.

I looked down at the bowl of green paste, my stomach churning again.

But, inside, I felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction.

I, Chen Jiuliu, even if I transmigrated as a weakling destined to give birth, I’ll be the most culturally refined weakling there is!

I raised my thermos and, facing the bowl of green goo, took a large, valiant gulp of goji water.

Arnold, you want me to have your child?

Fine.

First, write me a requirements document!