A little stray with no sense of boundaries

The words had barely faded when Yu Chen staggered a step forward.

His thick, wavy golden hair obscured his profile. He let out a pained hiss, tilting his head back to draw a sharp breath. Through the play of light and shadow in his hair, the tendons in his neck could be seen tensing and thickening, and at the edge of his collar, a sinister blue, scaly light flickered.

That was the ankle shackle’s effect.

The moment the wearer entertained an improper thought, they would be brutally punished with an electric shock.

Hearing his suddenly harsh breathing, Bai Ling reacted without thinking, starting to get off the bed. “Did you twist your ankle—”

Clack. The handcuff stopped him short.

Like a bird attempting to fly to a person’s hand, only to be yanked back by its wing.

Yu Chen turned his head slightly. The sharp tip of a canine glinted between his full lips. He felt a long-forgotten hunger fermenting in his stomach—souring, tightening, rising like acid to corrode his throat.

Such an unguarded young man.

If it weren’t for that handcuff, would the bird have flown right into his mouth, becoming a disposable container for him to eat?

Yu Chen couldn’t help but slow his breathing. As his tongue ground against his teeth, he tasted a faint sourness in the air.

It seemed to be the first trace of pheromones released by an omega during their growth… the exquisite reward only a legal guardian was meant to enjoy, the subtle, astringent sweetness of a first taste…

For an alpha in his rut period, it was like poison.

No alpha could leave such a delicacy at his fingertips and ignore it.

But Yu Chen kept his back to Bai Ling, his voice steady. “It’s nothing. It’s late. You should rest.”

Bai Ling stared at the merman’s back. He felt the words were a flimsy excuse. As he scrutinized the man again, his pupils contracted and it was if his eyes were stung by a fluorescent glow shining through the fabric of his suit trousers.

A light-cursor ankle shackle.

The very thing that had, in countless viscous nights, tormented him to the point of a fatal breakdown…

“Who chained you?” In an instant, countless details from his past twisted in his mind like a painful, spinning lantern. A brutal red flooded his cold, gray eyes. “It must have been that bastard Kaide, that alpha son of a bitch—”

Yu Chen turned, leaning on his cane. He raised an eyebrow slightly at the omega’s abnormal emotional reaction.

Before he could investigate, his ears were filled with the devastating sound of scraping. Screech, groan. It was so loud the entire room seemed to vibrate.

Amid the stunning cacophony, a repressed, panting voice called out:

“…You… come here…”

The prosthesis twisted, bracing against the floor, dragging. “…I’ll help you take it off, or it will necrotize…”

He struggled forward, lurching with every step.

The AI reported, dumbfounded: “Master, he is dragging the entire bed toward you.”

No one knew how that emaciated body had suddenly exploded with such powerful willpower. They only knew his voice was growing more and more tragic:

“It will rot… and then the leg will be gone…”

From the moment Yu Chen heard the word “necrotize,” his hands had begun to tighten. With a sharp crack, the incredibly hard gemstone at the head of his cane was crushed.

He opened his palm. Broken gem shards, streaked with his blood, trickled from between his fingers.

Yu Chen strode back. The other immediately reached out a trembling, spasming hand and latched onto the hem of his robe.

Yu Chen used the grip to find his position. His palm slid along the bony shoulder, down to the slender wrist. With a sharp tug, the entire bedpost nearly ripped free.

The handcuff clattered onto the carpet.

Two voices spoke at almost the same time—

“It’s alright, it’s alright, don’t be afraid…”

“I’ll break those shackles for you!”

Yu Chen’s expression froze. The little bird frantically crouched down, yanking up his pant leg, and murmuring chaotically, “…Let me see what model it is… I can probably destroy the circuit board… I need a crowbar…”

He had no idea that, in Yu Chen’s mind, he was the one who was about to be violently broken.

It’s fascinating.

What kind of absolute despair and integrity is this? That it could support a broken body, ignoring its own suffering, so as to stubbornly show compassion for another.

For the first time, Yu Chen felt the desire to take Bai Ling apart and find out.

The electric shackle, the psychological trauma, “rot,” and an amputated leg… Everything seemed to point to one possible truth.

The shackle, a moral restraint for alphas, was a relic of the last century.

However, after the dynasty changed, this product, which had originally been strictly controlled by the government, did not disappear. Instead, its purpose shifted from self-restraint to controlling others.

Or rather, controlling omegas.

This planet was home to a large population of Avian hybrids. They soared on their wings, with beautiful forms. When the Marine species looked up, the innate curiosity for the sky, seeded deep in their genes, would often breed a dark desire.

Catch the little bird. Break its wings. Conquer it.

This was especially true for the three major raptor divisions: eagles, falcons, and owls. They resided at the top of the aerial food chain. They were the apex hunters, the darlings of the wind.

This fierce, savage nature, rather than deterring, only excited a primal, adrenaline-fueled desire to conquer, fulfilling the filthiest, most depraved fantasies of many alphas.

They would chain the female raptor’s ankle with an electric shackle, lock them in a cage with no blind spots, and cruelly violate their safe territory until they were utterly submissive.

The Marine aristocracy mockingly called this: “Boiling the eagle.”

Yu Chen knew just how rampant those undisciplined alphas were.

It was entirely plausible that this little bird had been played with until he broke, suffered a lifelong disability, and had then crawled into the palace with his talons ground down and bloody, seeking revenge.

Yu Chen grasped the wrist, rubbing the indentation left by the handcuff, as if stroking a newly acquired collector’s item.

More than pity, he felt an appreciation for this bloody-mindedness.

Cultivating a flower on a dead, withered branch… what a rare amusement.

Especially for a bored old man like himself.

The panicked little bird was half-kneeling on the floor. He was pulled over and pressed down onto the man’s lap. The merman’s voice was gentle and generous:

“I can consider your request. Whether it’s begging for food or seeking revenge, whatever goal you wish to use me to achieve, I can grant it.”

“In exchange, I have only one requirement of you.”

Bai Ling looked up, dazed. In his wavering vision, the man’s magnificent face, caught between light and shadow, made it impossible to tell if this was a dream or reality.

“…Wh-what?”

A powerful hand suddenly seized his jaw. A thumb and forefinger dug into the thin flesh of his cheeks, the ivory-white knuckles taking on a cruel tint.

“Be absolutely honest with me.”

Show me your loyalty.

Perhaps it was because that voice had been too alluring, or perhaps it was the craving for close contact that came with sickness, but Bai Ling, with a hazy mind, lowered his head slightly and his lips brushed against the man’s palm.

At that time, he still did not know that he had unintentionally forged a pact with the devil.

“Good boy…” Yu Chen’s expression softened as he released his hand. He bent down, lifted the burning, feverish body, and carried it to the bed.

The moment his severed thigh touched the mattress, Bai Ling unconsciously struggled, panting in pain in the man’s arms.

“Shh… it’s alright, you can relax,” Yu Chen soothed in a low voice, gently combing his fingers through the hair soaked with cold sweat. “You are safe here with me. Nothing will happen.”

The AI quickly checked; its master’s high-grade pheromones were starting to wildly surge again.

Under Yu Chen’s continuous comfort, Bai Ling finally fell into an unsettled sleep.

Yu Chen covered Bai Ling with the soft, small downy quilt. He tucked in the corners, wrapping him into a safe little nest. Bai Ling, however, unconsciously turned over to face him, gently breathing in the alpha pheromones that filled the air.

A little stray with no sense of boundaries…

This naturally revealed trust unintentionally stirred a long-buried memory within Yu Chen.

He lowered his gaze. Like an ancient, timeless guardian, he bent down and placed a light, restrained kiss on Bai Ling’s forehead.

“Goodnight, darling…”

Sweet dreams.

---

Bai Ling had a dream. He dreamed of the only truly warm period in his entire life.

Back then, he was still just a little gray, fluffy fledgling.

He had lived in the large, open dormitory of an orphan relief shelter and attended a refugee primary school. Sometime before, a passenger ship smuggling refugees into the Empire had malfunctioned. Asteroid radiation had killed almost everyone and he had been one of the few survivors.

The shelter’s environment wasn’t good. It was hot and stuffy in the summer, cold and damp in the winter. The caretakers and the director often fought over small scraps of profit. The little magpie in the next bed was always crying, wanting his parents to feed him.

Bai Ling wasn’t that high-maintenance. Back when his mother had pushed him onto the smuggling ship, she had told him, “When you get there, no one will feed you. You aren’t allowed to miss Mommy, promise me?”

The fledgling had linked pinkies with her and obediently promised.

He had always been a low-maintenance child. As long as he could lessen his mother’s burden, he was willing to do anything.

The fledgling worked hard to adapt to his new environment.

While the other little birds were still wiping away tears and missing home, he was chasing pigeons in the square, swimming in the fountains, and fighting other young birds in the alleys over a piece of bread. If he won, he would pick up the other’s feather and stuff it in his pocket, coldly wipe away his bloody nose, and become the most ferocious kid in the square, with bread in his mouth.

He also learned how to “mug” someone.

His method was to wait in the square at 6 PM every day. When he heard the ding-dong of the milk truck in the distance, he would rush over to stop it, be the first to shove his chipped cup through the window, and say viciously, “Whole milk, fill it up!”

He had learned the term “whole milk” from the others in line. He also learned a phrase, “plucking the fish’s scales,” which basically meant this milk truck was sponsored by some “old fish.” It was free, so it was a waste not to drink it. It was best if every household brought a bucket to collect it.

There was a milk-dispensing robot in the truck. It specialized in measuring the container openings with a ruler, and it wouldn’t let them put handles on buckets to trick the AI into thinking they were just large mugs.

The fledgling had struck up a conversation with it once. “What if I want a second cup?”

“Allowed,” the robot had said. “Fledglings are allowed.”

The fledgling had asked, confused, “Why only fledglings?”

The robot suddenly switched its tone and begun to repeatedly recite the slogan on the truck: “[Strong children are the future hope of the motherland].”

The fledgling had poked its steel chest, telling it to stop reciting. “Who taught you to say that?”

“It is an order,” the robot replied.

The fledgling guessed that this must be an order from that “old fish.”

He was always hearing people talk about that fish. Some said, “He has four arms and six legs.” Others said, “He’s formless. He drills through the network cables to monitor us.” The rumors were wild and varied, but there wasn’t a single consistent description.

The fledgling decided to uncover this secret. He chose a simple and crude method: tailing the milk truck.

Every time day turned to night, when the sky faded into a blend of gray-blue and orange-red, the old-fashioned, tracked milk truck would come chugging along, its colorful lights flashing as it followed its fixed track. Like an old grandfather, it huffed and puffed, starting and stopping, slowly climbing hills and descending them.

Through the gaps between the buildings, he could see the light pink clouds floating over the sea. The trolley lines crisscrossed, dividing the sky into irregular triangles.

The fledgling chased the milk truck down the hill. He ran so fast that the sea breeze brushed past his white, dandelion-like fluff. The sea rushed toward him in his widening field of vision, as if it would embrace him in the next second.

Finally, the milk truck stopped at the terminus.

There was no three-headed, six-armed merman here. There were only countless identical trolleys. Following a clear whistle, they lit up and entered the milk factory in an orderly line, like a school of migrating lanternfish, swimming their tails back to their deep-sea nest.

In Bai Ling’s memory, this was a scene that was almost magical.

And the fledgling at that time firmly believed that this was the Merfolk’s magic.

In his civics class, the teacher asked everyone what they wanted to be when they grew up. A group of little birds and little sea-creatures all said they wanted to be dancers, singers, or scientists. Only the fledgling stood up and said loudly, “I want to be a milkman.” He was met with roars of laughter.

Everyone laughed and said that only the low-class poor went there to get free milk.

The fledgling said, “I am poor.”

Everyone else secretly told him that it was the Emperor’s spy truck. They said the Emperor was monitoring everyone through the milk-dispensing robot and that he put drugs and chips in the milk with the goal of controlling everyone.

The fledgling said, “Monitoring that many people… he must have been really tired.”

They also said the Emperor was a totalitarian, and that his famous quote was: “The state will guarantee omegas every right, except for their freedom.”

The fledgling said, “That’s great. I want to be an omega.”

But everyone said, “You don’t understand at all. Freedom is the most precious thing!”

The fledgling was unconcerned. He didn’t want freedom. He knew the Federation was always promoting “democracy and freedom” to the Empire, but he had milk to drink, and the kids in the Federation didn’t.

After that, the rumors spread wider and became more and more outrageous.

Whenever the milk truck slowly chugged up the hill, the adults would rush out of their homes and throw eggs and vegetable scraps at it. The elderly would hold their children’s hands tightly, their faces bunched up in wrinkles. “Don’t go! That milk is poisoned!”

Even the echoing “ding-dong” jingle was cursed as the Devil’s decadent music.

But the fledgling felt it was the most beautiful song in the world. He would hum along with the tune, “Milk fountain~ the source that helps me grow tall~”

His classmates were all convinced he had been tamed by the Devil.

The fledgling retorted, “You don’t understand. Winter is coming. I have to eat until I’m full.”

The other little birds tried to persuade him: “If you get fat, the Old Emperor will eat you.”

The fledgling was completely unconcerned. “Then let him eat me. I haven’t even seen what the Devil looks like yet.”

The other little birds gave him a nickname: “Izsu Paraiso’s Little Slave.”

The fledgling thought that if he could be the milk truck’s slave for his whole life, that wouldn’t be so bad.

---

Author has something to say:

(Merman quickly snatches away the dandelion fluff fledgling, rubs the baby)

[Regarding the background setting]: The Old Merman has a bad reputation for many reasons. On one hand, enemy nations (the Federation) were slandering him, and on the other, domestic noble families were opposing him. Another reason is that he himself really is quite paranoid/perverted… This is just the fledgling’s perspective (he has a 10-meter filter, the filter will break later). I will explain in detail later.