Hero Hunter is on Parental Leave C4

Chapter 4

Damn hormones. Insane hormones. God-forsaken hormones!

“Take responsibility,” I said.

What a reckless, senseless thing to blurt out.

I’d always prided myself on my patience—on my ability to keep my cool—but that one sentence? Even I had to admit, it was absurdly hasty.

What was I supposed to do now? March up to a man with amnesia and tell him I was pregnant with his child?

Still burning with the embarrassment of my own impulsiveness, Yeongung groaned inwardly, stewing in frustration, when a baffled voice cut through his thoughts.

“Why would I take responsibility for you, Hunter Yeongung?”

“⋯⋯.”

Well. That… was a fair question.

If he flipped the situation around, he’d think the same. To Iheun, Yeongung was nothing more than a sudden, inconvenient stranger barging in with no explanation. Someone demanding responsibility out of nowhere—it would be shocking for anyone.

“There’s nothing in the report saying you’ve lost your mind, though.”

“⋯⋯.”

“Ah, perhaps it’s a lingering symptom of the End War.”

As if he were a detective piecing together a mystery, Iheun muttered to himself and nodded, seemingly pleased with his own conclusion.

Even in this impossible situation, that self-satisfied face—soft and infuriatingly endearing—made Yeongung’s heart tighten and tingle.

He really was a lunatic. A man hopelessly insane for Won Iheun.

Shaking his head, Yeongung forced down the smile that kept threatening to rise and carefully began to speak.

“Won Iheun… What I meant by responsibility is—”

But the words died in his throat.

Up close, he could see things that distance had hidden before—the dullness of Iheun’s once-glowing skin, the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

The signs of frailty pricked at Yeongung’s conscience. He didn’t want to cause more strain to someone who was clearly still recovering.

On the table beside the bed sat a stack of documents—probably Hamgyeol’s report. There was no way their private life would be recorded in there.

The truth of their relationship—two of the world’s top Hunters secretly sharing a bed—had always been a secret known only to them.

Now, that secret belonged to Yeongung alone.

It hadn’t been hidden for any special reason. After all, Yeongung was publicly known as an Alpha, and since they’d never been in a romantic relationship—merely partners in body—there had never been any reason to make it public.

But now… the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Even if he told the truth, it was doubtful Iheun would believe him.

So Yeongung chose to retreat a step.

“Forget it. That came out wrong.”

“⋯.”

“You’re right—it must be a post-End War symptom. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m thinking these days. Just… try to understand.”

He chewed at his lip, silently sorting his thoughts into order. Iheun’s gaze lingered briefly on the movement of his slender fingers brushing across his red mouth. Lost in thought, Yeongung didn’t notice the stare.

First: focus on his physical recovery.

Next: identify and treat the cause of his partial memory loss.

And finally—when his memories of me return—tell him about the pregnancy, and ask for his consent to the birth.

With that plan, the turbulence in his chest gradually settled.

“⋯Fucking system,” he muttered.

Two-thirds of Iheun’s organs had been destroyed. Even for a man with monstrous regenerative ability, the injuries had been fatal. The fact that he was standing here now—speaking, breathing—was nothing short of a miracle.

The scene from that day was still vivid in Yeongung’s mind: the system’s merciless strike tearing through Iheun’s torso, the gaping hole in his abdomen. The memory constricted his chest until breathing hurt.

“What did the doctor say? With your body, Hunter work’s out of the question for now, right? Are you eating properly? Digestion working fine?”

He fired off question after question, hands wandering over Iheun’s body as if to check himself—only for Iheun to suddenly catch his wrist.

“Are you always this touchy?”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t realize it. That would be even worse.”

“⋯?”

“How many Alphas have you seduced like this?”

Ah, right. He’d forgotten for a moment—this man possessed a tongue sharper than any blade.

They said a single word could repay a debt; well, one word from Won Iheun could create one.

“Lost your voice?”

“⋯.”

“When it’s not in your favor, you go silent. And your hands—bad habit.”

“⋯Fucking bastard.”

“What was that?”

Yeongung pressed his lips together, swallowing his irritation.

“Haa… fine. I’m sorry. For touching you without permission.”

Iheun had always hated physical contact, loathing it to a near-phobic degree.

Yeongung had been the only exception. Touching him had become second nature.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Yeongung admitted, “but don’t you think you owe me an apology too?”

“I don’t apologize to harassers.”

“That’s not the point.”

Yeongung’s glare sharpened.

“Why the hell do you keep treating me like some kind of slut?”

“Because you acted like one, Hunter Yeongung.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Won Iheun,” Yeongung growled, “people think I’m an Alpha. No one knows I’m an Omega. Even in Hamgyeol’s report, it says Alpha, doesn’t it?”

“⋯.”

His silence confirmed it.

“And for fuck’s sake, I’m hyper-reactive! I barely even have heats! What pheromones? What nonsense—!”

Especially now—pregnant, his body incapable of heat—it was maddening not to be able to say so.

Iheun stepped closer, the towering man pinning Yeongung against the wall with one arm. His voice dropped, soft and dangerous.

“Hyper-reactive? Then why does this entire room reek of your pheromones?”

“Ugh—!”

Yeongung flinched, a sound escaping his lips.

“Even if we ignore that,” Iheun continued, “what should we do about those wandering hands of yours?”

Wandering hands?

He suddenly remembered the way Iheun’s eyes had followed him earlier—when he’d patted Hamgyeol’s head.

“Wait… are you serious? You’re jealous—of Hamgyeol? I just ruffled his hair—”

The moment Hamgyeol’s name left his mouth, an overwhelming wave of Alpha pheromones crashed down on him—so thick it was suffocating. His knees gave out, and he barely caught himself against the wall, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed.

“⋯Stop it, while I’m asking nicely.”

Iheun said nothing.

“Goddammit, Won Iheun—who do you think you are? My boyfriend? My husband? What gives you the right—!”

He shouted, voice breaking.

A pheromone shower—it was something lovers or bonded pairs did, coating each other in scent as a display of love and possession. Crude, maybe, but intimate, deeply personal.

Before losing his memory, Iheun had never once done that to Yeongung.

Not even during the rare moments when Yeongung had gone into heat.

And now, after erasing Yeongung from his mind, he was suddenly acting jealous?

“This is ridiculous… Ha, my apologies.”

“⋯.”

“I mean it. That was inappropriate. You could report me to the Hunter Rights Committee for harassment.”

Iheun finally stepped back, releasing him. His voice was formal again, but his expression—confused, uneasy—betrayed him. Maybe it had been an unconscious act.

Maybe it was the first pheromone shower of his life, Yeongung thought bitterly.

“I’m normally a very controlled person,” Iheun said, glancing downward, “but whenever I see you…”

He paused, looking straight at Yeongung with infuriating bluntness.

“…It reacts. You and I—what were we, exactly? Master and deputy? Colleagues? Somehow, that doesn’t feel right.”

Maybe the body truly was more honest than the mind.

Yeongung pretended not to notice the unmistakable bulge under the thin hospital gown and muttered, almost to himself,

“Well, we were… uh…”

Iheun leaned forward slightly. “We were what?”

Sex partners. Thousands of times over.

But that indecent truth wasn’t something he could reveal now. So Yeongung borrowed one of Iheun’s own lessons:

The easiest way to lie is to mix truth with falsehood.

“What do you think? You’re the Master of Tako Guild. I’m your deputy. Pretty simple, right?”

If Iheun’s memories never came back, then their secret—everything they’d shared—would live on only in Yeongung’s heart.

But he’d never been a good liar. The bitterness in his eyes gave him away.

Iheun noticed; his sharp gaze glinted, though Yeongung, head bowed, didn’t see it.

He pushed lightly at Iheun’s shoulder. “For now, focus on recovery.”

They both needed time. Time to heal.

Slowly, he told himself. Don’t rush. Follow the plan.

“When you’re fully back to your old self, Master,” Yeongung said softly, “then we’ll finish this conversation.”