[BL] Transmigrated as the Villain CEO's Mermaid Secretary

Ethan said, complimenting him sincerely. "Most people in your position would have opened with a threat."

"I can do that, too."

Geron’s eyes didn’t leave Ethan’s face, grave expression, and dominant pheromones pressing down on Ethan.

"What. Is. It."

Ethan’s smile widened, amused and completely unaffected.

Geron frowned as he seemed to figure out something in this interaction.

"It is something that could help him," Ethan said lightly.

For a moment, Geron didn’t understand what he meant.

Help him?

What could be something that could help someone if it made them go through this painful and dreadful experience?

Then the thick smell of alpha pheromones hit him.

Every alpha who wasn’t dominant began to feel the strain of facing the pressure of the pheromones of a dominant alpha.

Geron’s dominant pheromones began to fight back for dominance.

Xavier’s pheromones uncontrollably spread. Cloying to his skin as his temperature rises. His combat suit began to darken with blood and sweat, dripping all over his body.

Geron’s fingers reached for Xavier’s wrist, checking for a pulse, but flinched upon contact. His skin was burning hot, scalding Geron’s hand.

He knew what this was. Every alpha and omega above the age of sixteen with human genes knew what this was.

It was a fever that only occurred in the Differentiation Period.

Geron’s blood went cold.

Ancient humans didn’t have secondary genders; it went against human biology.

Therefore, upon mutating into a new kind of human, a secondary gland emerged.

It seemed to be the only way the body could adapt in the new environment, in their new extended lifespan.

It was an organ that determines the secondary gender and their pheromones.

From then on, pheromones became essential to everyone’s lives. But everyone, even the other races, had no way to develop this secondary gland, much less improve it.

Same as every race, at birth, secondary glands weren’t developed. But these days, the offspring could show signs of what they could differentiate into in the future.

As soon as they entered the differentiation period, starting from the age of sixteen, the offspring were being prepared for potentially differentiating into an Alpha or Omega.

The process was violent enough that hospital wards dedicated to managing differentiation crises were among the best-funded departments in the universe.

Because if it went on for too long or without help, it could cause brain damage, organ failure, or even death.

If there were no excruciating and painful fever period of differentiation, the offspring would be considered a beta.

Betas only developed their secondary glands slowly through the years until they matured.

They wouldn’t be able to determine the pheromones of alphas and omegas, but they could perceive their existence.

Then, the next excruciating pain that someone could possibly experience if they came from other races was the full moon transformation.

Regardless, sometimes, some people develop late. It would be much harder for them, but the oldest manifestation of differentiation ever recorded was twenty-one.

Second differentiation was even more rare, but it wasn’t unheard of. But it only occurred within the age of sixteen to twenty-one.

Now, because of what Ethan did, Xavier, a dominant alpha, was undergoing his second differentiation.

Inside a forest, with next to nothing and a body that was rising in temperature, time was running out.

Geron’s mind raced, and he thought: if he let Xavier be with this temperature for too long, it could literally cook his brain from the inside.

Not gene therapy. Not nanite reconstruction. Not even a mermaid’s miracle could save a cooked brain.

Geron’s head snapped toward Ethan. "You knew this would happen."

Ethan just smiled, still had those cold eyes staring back at him.

But he said nothing.

And Geron understood that he had been given a choice.

He could fight this man, Ethan, take him down, or capture him.

Or he could save Xavier.

There wasn’t time for both.

Xavier’s temperature was climbing by the second. Geron could see the veins in the young general’s neck standing out, the muscles contracting.

He may have an hour or less.

That was the current window between "recoverable" and "permanent."

Bastard.

Geron’s hand left his sidearm and dropped to one knee beside Xavier. He began field-stripping the young general’s combat suit.

He pulled the thermal layer away from his chest to allow heat dissipation. He pressed two fingers against the carotid to get a pulse count.

The heartbeat under his fingers—190, maybe 200 beats per minute, the cardiac muscle hammering so hard the pulse was visible in Xavier’s throat.

"Medic!" Geron bellowed over his shoulder.

Two of the soldiers broke from the insectoid cleanup and sprinted toward him with emergency kits already in hand.

"Second differentiation, no suppressants, core temp critical. I need ice packs, saline, and a neural monitor—now."

The soldiers didn’t waste time with questions.

The kits cracked open.

Stabilization protocols kicked in.

Behind Geron, Ethan coldly watched the commotion with his head tilted slightly to one side. Then he moved through the shadows and disappeared.

Geron sensed something a second too late.

A blade came from behind; the soldier who wielded it had red eyes and a rictus grin. He drove the knife forward again, aiming for Geron’s shoulder blades.

Geron twisted.

The blade punched through his muscle and scraped bone. Geron felt the cold shock of steel before the pain arrived.

By the time it did, his right hand had already found the red-eyed soldier’s throat, and his left had stripped the knife away.

The red-eyed soldier hit the ground. Two soldiers took over the red-eyed soldier, pinning his arms and binding his wrists. In the end, they could only tearfully kill their comrade.

Blood poured down Geron’s arm. He pressed his right hand against the wound.

When he looked up, Ethan was gone.

Then, the ground began to tremble.

Geron felt the ground split open not too far away from them.

Another batch of Lowborns emerged.

Geron looked at the fresh wave of Insectoids and then looked at Xavier. Then, he looked at his own arm and his men.

He closed his eyes and made a decision.

"Get them out of here!" he roared at the nearest soldier.

A sergeant with a pulse rifle stared back at him with wide, stunned eyes.

Geron continued, "General Hunter needs to go to the nearest hospital, emergency priority, now! Move!"