Chapter 48: Baby, I'm sorry, it's not that I don't want you.

Shao Ye had made up his mind.

Once the fourth-generation mecha prototype was complete, he’d take it straight to the frontlines and hunt down Lu Zhanxing himself.

That night, Shao Ye lay stiffly in bed, the room heavy with the scent of calming incense—a custom blend crafted to mimic Lu Zhanxing’s pheromones. The faint sweetness lingered in the air, wrapping him in a deceptive cocoon of security. For once, his ever-taut nerves began to unwind.

Most nights, exhaustion dragged him into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow. But tonight? He was wide awake, flipping and flopping like a man wrestling a ghost.

Images of Lu Zhanxing clawed their way into his brain, refusing to let go. The longing in his eyes, the gentle cadence of his voice—they played on a torturous loop like a movie reel stuck on the sappiest, most gut-wrenching scenes.

Then it happened. A flutter deep in his abdomen—soft, rhythmic, and impossible to ignore.

A kick.

His body jolted upright like he’d been electrocuted, his hand instinctively cradling his belly. “Baby,” he murmured, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You miss Daddy too, don’t you?”

*

A few days later, the first prototype of their fourth-generation mecha finally rolled into the Lu family’s lab.

Shao Ye and his team hovered around the towering metal beast, eyes gleaming with anticipation. This was it—the culmination of sleepless nights and countless sacrifices. All they needed was a successful test run. If this mecha passed, it would be greenlit for mass production, shipped to the frontlines, and delivered to Lu Zhanxing.

But just as the excitement hit its peak, reality sucker-punched them.

There was no damn pilot.

“Where the hell are we supposed to find a qualified pilot?” one researcher hissed, his voice laced with panic. “All the elites are stuck on the frontlines!”

“What about the military academy? Couldn’t we borrow a few seasoned instructors for the test?” another chimed in, grasping at straws.

“Borrow?” A grizzled old researcher snorted. “You want the academy sniffing around our secret project? The second they find out we’re building mechas under the Lu family’s banner, we’ll be dragged into court so fast your head’ll spin. And if you think prison’s the worst of it, let me remind you—those Alpha bastards in the Committee don’t play fair. Permanent psychic imprisonment. That’s what’s waiting for us. And trust me, you’d beg for death long before they were done with you.”

The room turned deathly silent. The mere mention of that punishment sent icy claws down everyone’s spines. Permanent psychic imprisonment—the kind of sentence that made medieval torture look like a spa retreat. No one wanted to be a hollow shell of themselves, trapped in endless mental torment.

“I’ll do it.”

Shao Ye’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing with defiance. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. His gaze was steady, sharp, like the brightest star piercing through a stormy night.

“Absolutely not!”

Alice was the first to erupt. She stormed up to him, fury and fear etched into every line of her face. “Shao Ye, are you out of your mind? You’re pregnant. Have you even thought about the radiation exposure? Or the insane physical strain? You’re not just risking your life—you’re gambling with your baby’s too!”

“Exactly!” another voice chimed in, sharper and colder. “This isn’t some walk in the park. The moment you connect to that mecha’s mental network, your body will be subjected to immense psychic feedback. Do you have any idea what that’ll do to your child? Best case? Brain damage. Worst case? The kid dies before you even step out of the cockpit. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

The words hit like a freight train.

Shao Ye froze. His back went rigid as cold sweat drenched his skin. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He wanted to fight back, to say something, anything, but the weight of their arguments crushed him.

“I…”

He stood there, choking on his words. Nothing came out. How the hell was any parent supposed to swallow this result? No way. Not a chance in hell. But, damn it, what choice did he even have left?

They’d clawed their way to this point through blood, sweat, and sacrifices. If the tests didn’t happen now, all that effort would dissolve into thin air, worth less than dust. Worse, every single day that the new mecha wasn’t sent to the front lines, the body count out there doubled, tripled. Somewhere on one of those growing lists of the dead might be a name he couldn’t bear to see—a name that cut straight to his soul.

Shao Ye still couldn’t entirely kill the thought of testing the damn machine himself. His resolve cracked, but he managed to mutter in front of Alice, “I’ll... think about it. Just give me time.”

Then he bolted, ran like the coward he despised, straight to the sanctuary of his room. He collapsed onto the bed, drowning in the kind of gut-wrenching agony that tore a man apart from the inside out.

Just a few days ago, he’d felt it—tiny, fluttering movements deep in his belly. That miraculous little nudge, a knock from a new life announcing its presence, like, Hey, I’m here. Don’t forget me. And now? Now that beautiful little soul had become the tether chaining him to his worst nightmare.

The images of war never left him. Every death felt like a ghost at his shoulder, whispering, Decide. Choose. Sacrifice or guilt. The carnage—blood, screams, the relentless churn of war machines—played on loop in his head. Save the baby, and those ghosts multiply. Sacrifice the baby, and he might never forgive himself.

Caught in this cruel stalemate, Shao Ye’s heart twisted under the devil’s claws of indecision. He could’ve looked the other way once, pretended those deaths were nothing but numbers, strangers he didn’t owe a damn thing to. But now? Now he knew too well what their lives had bought him: peace, safety, the kind of normal that was a luxury paid for in blood.

The soldiers on the front lines—they weren’t just fighting a war. They were holding up the entire damn world, brick by brick, with their bodies as mortar. Without them? The rebellion’s firepower would rip through everyone and everything. Old folks, kids, pregnant women like him—they’d be butchered, ground into nothing but ashes or bloody scraps.

If they were lucky, they’d die fast. If not? Their remains wouldn’t even fill a coffin.

There was no peace. No quiet, no safety. It was all a lie. Every last bit of it bought with someone else’s pain. Shao Ye knew that now, knew it like a brand seared into his skin. And this war? It had swallowed him whole. There was no opting out, no sitting on the sidelines.

He clutched his belly, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, his hand trembling as it caressed the curve of his unborn child. His voice cracked, raw and soaked with tears he couldn’t stop. “Baby… I’m sorry. I love you. God, I love you so much. But I can’t… I just can’t…” The words shattered into sobs.

He cried, hard and ugly, burying his face in the pillow as if it could smother the guilt. The life inside him stilled, quiet, almost as if it understood his torment and chose to let him grieve in peace.

The next morning, the lab was thick with tension. No one spoke. The silence was suffocating, a deathly stillness that pressed down on every chest in the room.

Then, slow and deliberate, the doors creaked open. Shao Ye walked in.

Red-rimmed eyes stared straight ahead, the swollen evidence of a sleepless, tortured night etched across his face. He looked like hell—a wreck of a man with the shattered wings of someone who’d been torn apart and stitched back together, barely holding on. But there was something else there, too.

Resolve.

The room froze. Everyone stood, eyes locked on Shao Ye, their worry plain as day.

But Shao Ye didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, steady, and cutting through the tension like a blade. “Get the test ready. I’m doing this myself.”

Alice’s gaze was glued to him, her lips trembling as if words were clawing their way out. But nothing came. She shut her eyes slowly, a silent surrender, like she was shouldering a mountain of agony.

The other researchers saw her give up the fight. That was the signal. Shao Ye’s mind was made up; no point in wasting breath trying to change it.

They’d barely slept a wink, turning the problem over and over, hoping for a miracle. But nothing came. All that was left now was respect. Silent, tearful, reverent respect. They stood in a line, eyes glistening, bowing deeply to him. It was their final salute, a wordless endorsement of his reckless, unshakable bravery.

Shao Ye didn’t hesitate. He strode straight toward his creation—the fourth-gen mech he’d spent years perfecting. Towering like a cold, metallic beast, it loomed over the room, radiating menace.

The armor was cutting-edge, built from materials that scoffed at heat and ice alike. Its ion shield was no joke either—laughing in the face of third-gen electromagnetic cannon fire, absorbing attacks and flipping them into raw power. This monster didn’t lose energy; it devoured it and kept going.

Inside, the controls were a damn marvel—full neural integration, assisted by a nano-computer linked to the SkyNet system. It was like a safeguard for the pilot’s life, even if their body or mind hit its breaking point. A deadly weapon, sure, but one designed to babysit its operator through hell.

And the firepower? Ridiculous.

A cosmic laser cannon paired with a hundred micro-ion missiles that could hunt down enemies like rabid dogs. No running, no hiding. This mech wasn’t a machine; it was a one-mech apocalypse. The kind of war-ending weapon dreams—and nightmares—were made of.

Shao Ye reached out, fingers brushing the mech’s cold, unfeeling surface. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Cold as hell…”

For all its brilliance, for all its cutting-edge design, it was still just a killer. No warmth, no soul, no peace. Just death wrapped in steel.

He didn’t feel proud staring at it. All he felt was bitterness, the kind that curdled deep in his gut. If only war wasn’t a thing. If only this monstrosity had never been needed, never existed. But reality? It didn’t give a damn about wishes.

Shao Ye sucked in a sharp breath, shaking off the weight of it all. His voice came out hard. “Suit me up.”

The mech hissed to life, locks clicking open and the cockpit descending like some hungry predator inviting him in. When it sealed around him, the chill crept into his bones.

The mechanical voice kicked in, clinical and detached.

[Mech activation complete.]

[Pilot identity confirmed.]

[Test Operator: Shao Ye.]

[Mech experience: Zero.]

[Total time piloting: Zero hours.]

[Confirm to proceed.]

Shao Ye closed his eyes, forcing down the panic clawing at his chest. His heart was thundering so loud he could barely think. When he spoke, the word came out steady, like a nail driven into steel. “Confirm.”

The system wasn’t done.

[Evaluating pilot’s physical and mental state…]

[Warning!]

[Pilot detected to be over three months pregnant—exceeds safe parameters for operation.]

[Recommendation: Replace pilot immediately.]

[Forced activation poses severe risks to pilot’s life and health.]

Shao Ye’s pulse hammered in his ears. The cold sweat on his skin was nothing compared to the fire burning inside. He bit down on his lip until it hurt.

“Force the damn start.”