Chapter 119: Mess

Bunny understood all too well her precarious situation aboard this unfamiliar military warship.

If she pressed the emergency call button now, notification would almost certainly go straight to the high-ranking officers first. And these so-called command executives were hardly about to fetch the Sentinels she knew and trusted to keep her company.

After all, she could clearly tell that the relationship between Alion and Cyrus was thoroughly toxic.

She was completely isolated and helpless right now, unable to gamble on the outcome.

Good grief, why did this have to happen right now?!

This damn heat cycle—it didn’t trigger earlier, it didn’t trigger later, but chose this exact moment to strike!

It was like holding in a desperate urge to use the restroom, only to lose control a split second before reaching a toilet––purely helpless and bitter.

As a Guide who had awakened only recently, Bunny had zero understanding of how often her heat cycle occurred or what pattern it followed. Some Guides experienced it once a month, while others went three months between episodes—there was no rhyme or reason to it.

The Guide Handbook offered sparse details, mentioning only that these heat cycles were a natural genetic phenomenon derived during the course of human evolution.

A Guide’s genetics actively sought out a “compatible” Sentinel; the higher their mutual match rate, the stronger the primal draw between them.

Entering a heat cycle was excruciating for a Guide, feeling no different than being turned on a spit over open flames—with nightfall making the symptoms far more agonizing than during the day.

Only Sentinel pheromones and physical contact with a Sentinel could ease this unbearable torment, locking together like matching joinery.

If left unresolved—forcing oneself to endure it like a stoic warrior—the prolonged strain would trigger a backlash within the Guide’s spiritual domain. Forcing oneself to suppress the body’s raw instincts was fundamentally unsustainable.

Yet not a single Sentinel bound to her was anywhere nearby. Before entering the restoration pod, Bunny had been stripped down to her bare skin.

Furthermore, internal security aboard the warship enforced strict rank privileges. Guides and Sentinels were quartered in completely separate sectors, and a Sentinel required explicit clearance from high command just to cross into the Guide zone.

Bunny knew the nature of her Sentinels all too well: calling them over wouldn’t result in any restraint. They would only complain that they weren’t stripping off their pants fast enough—especially that unfilial brat, Liam.

When all was said and done, she would be the one left suffering the aftermath.

After weighing her options back and forth, Bunny summoned a medical droid to bring her three doses of suppressants to tide her over.

Suppressants couldn’t resolve the underlying heat; they merely used heavy doses of antagonist hormones to force a temporary hold on her system.

Still, Bunny had no alternative—she just needed to endure until they returned to the Sentinel Tower.

While awaiting the droid with her medication, Bunny lay sprawled star-shaped beneath the vent of the central cooling unit, attempting to combat the surging waves of heat through sheer cold air.

Yet even after injecting all three doses of suppressants, her symptoms showed not the slightest hint of easing.

If anything, they grew progressively worse.

She was utterly baffled.

What she didn’t realize was that her body differed fundamentally from other Guides. Modern suppressants were targeted specifically at contemporary gene pools, whereas she carried ancient human DNA and was currently in a critical ovulatory phase.

Her heat cycle triggered at twice the intensity of an ordinary Guide’s.

Her rationality slowly dissolved into dust amidst the searing heat. A shimmering mist clouded her eyes, while every inch of her skin, marrow, and veins burned with a frantic, screaming demand.

She wanted…

Her damp, pale palms crumpled the bedsheet, the silky fabric slipping repeatedly through her fingers. Her throat burned with dry thirst, and an involuntary, soft murmur escaped her lips.

The air inside the room was now thoroughly saturated with the maddening, intoxicating aroma of her Guide pheromones.

She slid her fingertips between her lips, but finding no satisfaction, she pulled back the bedding and reached straight downward.

…

For a brief moment, Bunny felt entirely like a hedonistic mess. Yet this pitifully small self-comfort was nowhere near enough for her—nowhere near enough.

The inner fire only burned hotter and brighter.

In the end, after enduring as much as her body could take, Bunny succumbed to total unconsciousness.

Through the haze of her fading mind, she felt herself being wrapped securely inside a heavy quilt. Immediately after, a surge of formidable spiritual power flowed smoothly into her through her fingertips.

The soothing energy drifted through her frame, thoroughly quenching the undulating waves of heat.

A cool liquid was injected into her skin, possessing a miraculous property that completely settled her burning limbs and bones, like glaciers melting into calm waters.

The searing heat quieted down slightly, though a lingering, bone-deep sensitivity still clung to her system.

Bunny slowly fluttered her eyes open, the dense mist in her pupils yet to fully clear.

“You’re awake?”

A low, smooth voice resonated nearby, sounding like cool jade shattering in a quiet space.

Bunny flinched in surprise, instinctively clutching the heavy quilt tightly around herself, revealing only her wide eyes to look at the man seated beside the bed.

Alion remained clad in his dark, tailored uniform, though he had removed his officer’s cap, allowing her a clear, unobstructed view of his features.

His deep-set eye sockets resembled calm mountain lakes, yet held a chill utterly devoid of warmth—a frostlike coldness. His long, silky silver hair cascaded down near his waist, catching fluid highlights under the overhead lights.

His dark military trousers tapered neatly into polished boots, and his hands, encased in black leather gloves, rested folded over his lap.

How… how on earth was he in her room?!

“Officer, you…”

Bunny hastily checked over her body under the covers, releasing a breath of relief only after verifying she was fully intact with zero suspicious marks.

Facing Bunny’s bewildered and questioning gaze, Alion responded softly:

“The steward system flagged your unconscious state, transmitting an emergency alert directly to my terminal.”

Only then did Bunny notice another woman standing in the room wearing a stark white lab coat. She was neither a Sentinel nor a Guide, carrying zero pheromone scent on her person.

Packing up her medical kit, the female medic offered Alion a crisp military salute before stepping back and exiting the room.

The unspoken implication behind Alion’s words was crystal clear: he had neither looked at nor touched her.

In truth, a man like Alion didn’t deign to lie. He had long declared his total lack of interest in romantic or sexual affairs; as a sterile clone, he had already resigned himself to a life of solitude.