NLFSD Chapter 84

Chapter 84

“Could you describe your symptoms in more detail?”

“I’ve had about three episodes of pain in my lower abdomen. It feels dull but also like something inside is swelling… or being yanked downward. I’ve never felt anything like it before. My body temperature also spikes up and down once a day without any pattern. My stomach’s been queasy since two days ago — just looking at food makes me nauseous. Honestly, I haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday.”

The doctor tilted his head, fiddling with his glasses.

“…Mr. Lee, are you certain you were properly diagnosed with that disease?”

“Yes. They even showed me the blood test results.”

“…I see. Well, we should run another blood test here to confirm. Nurse, please guide the patient to the phlebotomy room.”

The nurse helped Jiwoon up. So complicated — I just wanted some medicine, not another mountain of tests. He grew disheartened.

In the lab, a nurse brought out a large syringe.

“Make a fist. Just a prick.”

She filled the syringe with his blood, then told him to wait outside.

After some time in the waiting area, the nurse re‑appeared.

“Mr. Lee, please go to the Genetic & Trait Medicine Department for an ultrasound.”

“…Me?”

“Yes. The professor is waiting.”

Because of my abdominal pain? I only wanted some medicine, not all this… over‑testing. Suspicion nagged, but he followed anyway to the ultrasound suite.

“Let’s go over explanations first.” The nurse seated him at a desk beside the bed.

“Hello, you were referred from Internal, correct?” said a new doctor.

“Yes… but why am I here?”

“There’s something our department needs to explain.”

“…I see.”

Weird. This doctor looks oddly pleased. Almost thrilled? Why…? Jiwoon was about to ask when the doctor spoke first.

“…You’re pregnant. Congratulations.”

“…What?!”

Jiwoon’s hand clapped over his mouth. Preg—what?! He froze, stunned. Couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.

The doctor displayed unfamiliar charts.

“You don’t have an incurable illness. These are side effects recessive Omegas face during pregnancy. Your pheromone levels are extremely unstable right now.”

“…Wait. You’re saying I’m not terminally ill?”

Is this a hidden camera show? Am I mishearing? His world spun.

“Yes. Based on today’s blood tests, it’s clearly pregnancy. Looks like the previous hospital misdiagnosed you.”

“No—impossible. That was just the other day. They told me I was dying. They never mentioned pregnancy!”

“Your pheromone levels are outside the normal range, yes. But otherwise, you’re physically healthy. Let’s confirm with ultrasound.”

Still reeling, he let the nurse guide him onto the bed. Cold gel smeared on his stomach, the probe pressed against his abdomen. Black‑and‑white shapes flickered on the screen — just as he’d seen in dramas.

“Let me zoom in here… That’s the gestational sac.”

“WHAT?!”

Jiwoon nearly screamed.

“As the sac grows, it can cause abdominal pain. Recessive Omegas often experience this more than dominant ones.”

On the screen, a tiny dot. A baby. Our baby… Taecheon’s child is in me? Impossible.

He remembered: their heat cycle nights, unprotected, again and again — but never truly expecting conception.

“But… I was in heat, yes, but my partner wasn’t in rut. Isn’t pregnancy impossible for a recessive in that situation?”

“Normally, yes — the odds are virtually zero. Many conditions must align perfectly.”

“Exactly!”

“However, note something unusual — your Omega pheromone levels are highly disrupted. That suggests you ingested something that interfered, skewing your body so conception became exponentially more possible.”

“…Ingested?”

“For example, Alpha‑targeted supplements. Some couples secretly use them when desperately trying for pregnancy. Not a method I recommend, but it circulates underground.”

“…Supplements.”

Jiwoon racked his memory.

“Have you ever mistakenly taken your partner’s medication? From blood analysis, this looks like an overload of Alpha pheromones entering your system, forcing your body’s Omega pheromones into overdrive.”

BLAM. The thought hit like a bat to the skull. Jiwoon never took supplements. The only “medicine” he’d had these past months… was the herbal tonic Taecheon’s mother had given. A gift for her son, but Jiwoon had secretly taken it all.

That tonic… always made my body flush hot, gave me energy… Could it have triggered… pregnancy?

“…God. I did drink something. My husband’s herbal medicine.”

“I see. That explains it. In any case, you’re not otherwise ill, so rest assured. I’ll prescribe anti‑nausea and antispasmodic medicine. If problems persist, return.”

Jiwoon left the department heavy‑footed, face pale, expression vacant.

“Mr. Lee! Don’t forget your prescription.”

“A—ah, right.”

My head is empty. Almost forgot the important part.

“The ultrasound image, did you take it?”

“Yes, it’s in my pocket.”

“Good. Take care.”

Clutching his slip, Jiwoon staggered outside, then collapsed to the pavement. Passersby stared.

“…They said it’s not terminal.”

His voice trembled. Relief at not being marked for death surged. Gratitude that it was a new life, not illness, inside him. In any normal circumstance, this would be nothing but joy. But… his own rash actions ruined everything.

He had already stormed the office with a dramatic resignation, left Taecheon a farewell message on the AI doll, claiming he never loved him.

God. How embarrassing!

What the hell performance did I stage? Declaring my days numbered, resigning, calling off marriage, running away… And now I’m healthy?

All his solemn declarations — now worthless. He had thrown a dramatic tantrum at work, spat cruel words to his husband, fled their home. And all because of… misdiagnosis.

If only that first doctor had gotten it right! None of this would have happened. That quack — I’ll never forgive him.

Blood boiled as he banged his fist on the ground. Then his phone rang. Hanging suspicion told him it was Taecheon. But — no, caller ID showed the original hospital.

“Hello?”

—“Mr. Lee, this is the internal medicine clinic you visited a few days ago.”

“I was about to call you. I’m not terminal, am I?”

—“…Ah, so you found out. Please, accept our deepest apologies. While filing paperwork today for rare‑disease coverage, we discovered the error. Another patient with the same birthdate — we accidentally pulled their blood report instead of yours. We are truly sorry.”

“…Heh… huhuhu….”

—“Mr. Lee? Are you alright?”