Top-Tier Arranged Marriage, but the Dom-Husband Has Amnesia - Chapter 1

Stellar Era, Year 5000.

Federal Parliament Hall, at the scene of the Joint Session of the Two Houses.

Twenty-eight-year-old Noah Veroria sat high on the dais, coldly looking down at the swarm of insects below.

In front of him, one hundred seats were arranged in a circle, yet they were cleverly divided into two distinct groups, each occupying one side like motionless pieces on a chessboard. They were cold, hard, and clearly defined in black and white.

But he did not look at any of them.

This young man, holding immense power and the only S-rank psychic in the entire Federation this Saint simply lowered his head to flip through the meeting minutes before looking up with indifference.

His gaze passed through the long rows of “white pieces” and skipped over the many “black pieces,” finally landing on the female insect sitting at the same level as him, behind the black group.

Noticing his gaze, the Head of the Parliament, Igris Orwell, slightly raised his eyelashes. His pupils were filled with a smile as he locked eyes with the male insect.

At his feet, two corpses seemed to still retain a faint warmth, though both were decapitated. Blood seeped silently across the floor, tracing the path of the gruesome wounds.

“…The last item.”

The Saint’s expression remained cold, seemingly unmoved. He lifted his chin slightly and said in a calm tone: “Regarding the dating quotas allocated by the [Holy Land] to the high-ranking lords of the Federation for next year, Councilor Orwell, do you have any suggestions?”

“The birth rate of new insect cubs in the Federation this year seems less than ideal.”

Igris let out a laugh and said casually: “For next year, how about we increase the overall dating quota by 30% on top of this year’s?”

A 30% increase.

This number was 5% higher than what Noah had in mind. However, considering that the birth rate of high-ranking insect cubs had hit a new low last year, and the high-ranking males of the Holy Land were indeed living too comfortably and lacked pressure from the outside world, Noah pondered for a moment before picking up his pen and writing down 30% in his notes.

Out of courtesy, he asked one more thing: “Anything else?”

“I want them to be smart, have a good temper, and be a bit prettier.”

…？

The movement of his hand paused.

Noah raised his eyes slightly, looking at the female insect opposite him with indifference.

“Oh right, they need to have better psychological resilience; the ability to handle pressure is best. A few days ago, the legion complained to me, saying that several of them got so scared last year that they became overly stressed.”

This time, Noah simply stopped writing.

The young Saint looked surprised, but remained polite as he asked: “Councilor, if I may ask, is today your birthday?”

“No.”

The male insect smiled. “Then what kind of wishes are you making here?”

The white pieces erupted in supportive laughter.

Being mocked so bluntly, the Councilor did not get angry.

Igris rested his chin on one hand, tilted his head, and said with a smile: “Speaking of which, I actually have a very lucrative idea that might significantly improve the Federation’s birth rate. Would you like to hear it, Lord Noah?”

Noah’s brows twitched. He looked up at him, listening intently.

The Councilor chuckled and kindly suggested: “If you ask me, the low birth rate in the Federation is ultimately a problem with our publicity policies. Why don’t you, Lord Noah, set an example yourself? If you go home and honestly focus on raising little insect cubs, the male lords who view you as an idol will surely follow suit, and wouldn’t that solve the problem?”

Noah: “………………”

He took a deep breath, calmly set down his pen, tore the paper, raised his hand, and then crumpled the notes into a ball, hurling it squarely at the female insect’s face!

The parliament hall fell deathly silent.

Even the black pieces seated under the Councilor did not dare to chime in with laughter.

The insect race has always had more females than males. Almost every male cub, upon birth, is sent to the floating archipelago at the core of the origin planet—[Holy Land] Uranus—to be raised and educated by the entire race.

It is only after coming of age that the male lords descend to the mortal world, entering new families through marriage to fulfill their obligation of procreating for the insect race.

It is true that their status is noble and they are cherished; but it is also true that they are placed on a pedestal, distanced from the true center of worldly power.

Even for a high-ranking male like the Saint, who is young and holds real power, being told by a female especially one with conflicting political views to go home and have children in the middle of a parliament hall is a devastating insult.

It was a very nasty thing to say.

…But the fact that male insects lack the biological function to reproduce made it even more absurd.

Thinking back on the special relationship between these two, the black and white pieces looked at each other, momentarily unsure of how to react.

Seeing the stalemate and the increasingly awkward atmosphere, a senior councilor stepped in at the right time: “It is almost twelve o’clock. Why don’t we end today’s meeting here? The remaining controversial proposals can be discussed privately, right?”

He smiled: “Perhaps a short break will make it easier for us to find a beautiful spark of consensus.”

The meeting concluded.

The councilors in white or black walked out of the door one after another, distinct and separated. Between the white and black, a one-meter distance was maintained from start to finish. The looks of disdain on their faces were unconcealed, physically embodying the meaning of mutual loathing.

The leaders on both sides, however, were the complete opposite.

Almost the moment Noah Veroria and Igris Orwell stepped out of the hall, the bored expressions on both their faces vanished.

The wind blew through the corridor, bringing the faint chill of early winter.

The Councilor loosened his tie and naturally took off his overcoat, draping it over the Saint’s shoulders. He then lowered his eyes, meticulously adjusting the slightly wrinkled collar for the other.

“Would you like to have afternoon tea later?” he asked. “My husband?”

The coat clung perfectly to his body, and the warm scent of the female insect washed over him, surrounding the male in layers.

Noah tugged at the corner of the coat to prevent it from sliding off while recalling his schedule for the day. Confirming there was nothing that could take precedence over “having afternoon tea with my spouse,” he gave an almost imperceptible nod and said quietly: “Okay.”

There was not a trace of the hatred or annoyance from three minutes ago.

“See you later.”

“See you later.”

They nodded at each other, then split off, walking in two completely different directions.

As the pinnacle of the Federation’s power pyramid, this annual joint legislative meeting held by the Upper and Lower Houses was, in reality, only a part of their daily schedule; outside of this, there were countless government affairs still waiting for them to handle.

Watching the interactions between their superiors, who acted affectionately and then departed with such indifference, the old councilors were accustomed to it and dispersed.

The new councilors, however, looked at the empty end of the corridor with complex expressions.

“Although I have long known that Lord Noah and Councilor Orwell established marriage terms—separating public business from private life—before they even got married, but… seeing Lord Noah and the Councilor clash in parliament, I really…”

The female insect who spoke hesitated, finally choosing a vague yet unique description:

“It is hard not to feel a sense of awe.”

Is this the political marriage of the privileged?

The rural insects do not understand, but they are deeply shocked.

The veteran councilors did not have so many thoughts.

One of them raised his eyelids, glanced at the conflicted councilor, chuckled, and said slowly: “New here?”

The new councilor touched his nose, feeling a bit embarrassed: “Is it that obvious?”

“Too obvious—yes, that is exactly the look you have right now.”

The old councilor nodded repeatedly, showing an expression of falling into memory: “It is that pair of clear, foolish eyes the look of someone who has not been beaten up by the combined power of the Saint and the Councilor. When I first joined the parliament, I was just as naive, and I would have helped them count the money after being sold by this vicious couple.”

…？

The new councilor could not respond, so he had to bring the topic back, hesitatingly: “…Are the Saint and the Councilor really a proper married couple?”

The old councilor laughed: “Properly married, through and through.”

Then how could they be hurling insults at each other in the parliament hall just now? Aren’t they afraid of tearing their relationship apart or hurting their feelings?

The young councilor hesitated, wanting to speak but holding back.

Seeming to see the confusion in the other’s eyes, the old councilor chuckled. Like an experienced peer, he patted the other’s shoulder and said sincerely:

“You have to know that the Saint and the Councilor are recognized by the Federal Marriage Law as a true couple. Internal struggles between them, whether one wins or the other, it is all within one family. Their interests are all kept in their own pot. Those of us who get hung up and played by this couple every few days should not worry about them; it looks pretty stupid.”

“Besides,” he shook his head, earnestly: “The premise of hurting feelings is that there have to be feelings in the first place.”

“As far as the current situation goes, the pure and sincere political alliance and comradeship between our Saint and the Councilor—let alone being unbreakable, it is truly eternal!”

…

At the same time.

Noah boarded his spacecraft.

The room was heated. He unbuttoned his overcoat, threw the clothes—still carrying the female insect’s warmth—onto the sofa, and walked around the coffee table to sit at the other end, closing his eyes to rest.

The waiting attendants moved immediately.

Some covered him with a blanket, some massaged his head to help him relax, while the head attendant had long been prepared, wearing special gloves to avoid contaminating the scent. He bowed slightly and cautiously picked up the overcoat belonging to the Councilor from the corner of the sofa.

Lord Noah could carelessly throw his spouse’s clothes aside, but the attendants beneath him dared not be negligent.

Dirtying or damaging them would be a minor issue, but female insects have keen senses. If, due to their careless handling, this coat which the Councilor had personally draped over his husband, now infused with Lord Noah’s scent picked up the scent of another insect.

Hiss.

The scene was too horrifying; no insect dared to imagine it.

The head attendant carefully lifted the coat, preparing to place it in an unused wardrobe to seal it separately. Halfway through the action, he was stopped by the butler’s almost invisible shake of the head.

“The clothes do not need to be put away.”

“But the temperature this afternoon…”

The butler reminded him: “After his nap, Lord Noah will have afternoon tea with the Councilor.”

Since they had agreed to see each other in the afternoon, even if the temperature suddenly soared to 40°C this afternoon, their Lord Noah would still be wearing this coat, personally draped on him by his spouse, and appear on time, safe and sound, in front of the other.

“Just place it properly; do not fully store it away.”

“Yes.”

The clothing matter was just a small interlude.

After arranging the attendants, the butler stepped lightly and stood still behind his master.

After a morning of meetings, the male insect’s exhaustion was inevitably revealed. His expression was calm as he rested quietly against the back of the sofa, his silver hair falling silently. The sunlight shone on him, making him look like some kind of plant growing in the snow.

Silent, independent, and quiet.

The fatigue on the male insect’s face was too obvious. The butler felt sorry for him and whispered a suggestion: “My Lord, for the meeting with Mr. Orwell this afternoon, why don’t you…”

He wanted to suggest changing the time, or simply canceling it. After all, they were family; missing one afternoon tea would not be a big deal.

But Noah shook his head slightly, saying plainly: “No need.”

The afternoon tea was likely just a pretext. Based on his understanding of his spouse, the other party probably intended to use this private time to discuss or probe something with him.

Since he had promised, there was no reason to break the appointment.

However…

Thinking about the scene he would have to face in a little while, even Noah could not help but feel a slight headache.

In the eyes of other insects, this seemed like nothing more than an ordinary afternoon rest between a married couple.

But Noah knew in his heart that this afternoon tea invitation from his spouse was the real hard battle he had to face today as the Chief of the Holy Land.

Politics is about winning with more against less, winning over the majority, and dealing with the minority.

As a high-ranking privileged male, Noah was well-versed in this; that was why he had overcome opposition to marry Igris Orwell.

Noah did not regret this political marriage; he could even be said to be quite satisfied with it.

Even though it was mentally exhausting to return home and engage in duplicity and power plays with his spouse after a busy day of work, the benefits of their political alliance and the cost of being enemies made such trivial troubles negligible.

But…

Before his brain gradually shut down and he fell into a deep sleep, Noah thought with some distress:

If only there were a way to make his spouse behave a little more obediently.

Such a thought was only for a split second.

The next second, accompanied by a shrill alarm and the violent roar of the spacecraft colliding and metal interlocking, his ear canals were filled with buzzing. Dizziness came in waves like a rising tide.

As everything spun,

Twenty-eight-year-old Noah Veroria completely lost consciousness.

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