The Tyrant's Happy Ending - Chapter 18.3 Side Story Part 2

Laile, who had been pressing his hand against Yernen’s brow and cheeks repeatedly, moved to adjust his position, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help.

“Agh!” Yernen screamed, instinctively trying to push Laile away, but instead, he collapsed against him with a low moan.

“Yernen…!”

“Stop…” Yernen whispered, his voice strained. Laile, eyes wide with alarm, bent down to catch his muffled words, the urgency clear.

“What did you say?” he asked, panic lacing his tone.

Yernen clutched Laile’s clothes tightly, crumpling the pristine fabric. “I feel like I’m going to die…”

Only then did the full gravity of the situation hit Laile. His face darkened as he called out, “Summon Illiana immediately!”

When Illiana arrived, hurried and breathless, Laile’s eyes locked onto hers, pressing her for answers. “Why is this happening?”

Illiana took a deep breath, glancing between Laile and Yernen. “I have some suspicions, but to be certain, I’ll need you to remove some clothing for an examination, Your Majesty.”

“No. Don’t touch me…!” Yernen’s voice cut through the room like a knife, his refusal sharp and defensive. It was as if he were a wounded animal baring its claws to protect itself.

Laile frowned as he pieced together the odd behavior. Lately, Yernen had been rejecting any attempt at touch. That in itself wasn’t entirely new, but something else stood out—Yernen hadn’t bathed or allowed anyone to help him since the morning. That was unheard of unless something was seriously wrong. A warning bell went off in Laile’s head as he reached for the buttons on Yernen’s robe.

“What are you doing?!” Yernen’s pale hands, trembling and thin, shot up to stop Laile, but when they brushed against his sides, he flinched, shivering with pain. Laile’s hands froze for only a second before continuing, determined, until he unfastened the middle buttons of Yernen’s outer and inner garments.

What lay beneath made both Laile and Illiana go silent.

Since the pregnancy began, Yernen’s chest, once flat and pale, had gradually changed. The areolas, which had turned a soft pink, darkened and grew, and now, his entire chest had swelled. It was visibly engorged, flushed an angry red, and thin, blue veins traced beneath the skin.

“Your Majesty, you endured this without saying anything?” Illiana’s voice was a mixture of disbelief and sympathy as she placed a hand near Yernen’s chest, prompting a strangled gasp from him.

“It’s mastitis. I suspected it might develop, but the severity is worse than I anticipated,” Illiana said, her face shadowed with concern.

Laile’s brows knit in frustration as he shot her a questioning look. “You knew this might happen? Then you know why, don’t you? Explain.”

“Yes. It’s because of the fruit His Majesty has been consuming daily,” Illiana said without hesitation.

Yernen’s eyes widened, confusion etched into his features. “Is there poison in it?”

He struggled to make sense of it. He had eaten the fruit every spring during the eight years on the island, yet his body had never reacted like this before.

“No, not poison. If anything, you could call it a remedy,” Illiana clarified.

“A remedy?”

“The fruit you’ve been eating is known to help nursing mothers produce milk. While male Omegas typically don’t develop milk ducts, pregnancy can trigger their growth to prepare for feeding a child. Sometimes, this can result in mastitis during pregnancy, and considering you’ve eaten an entire basket of the fruit daily for over a month, your milk ducts have developed significantly. They’ve become clogged, causing this severe case.

In simple terms, it’s an ailment caused by the milk not being expelled.”

“What…?”

Yernen’s face twisted with disbelief. After days of agony, the answer was absurdly simple and unexpected.

Laile, who had been observing with a mix of worry and realization, nodded as Illiana’s explanation sank in. “Then use divine power immediately.”

At least they knew the cause, and divine healing could usually solve such ailments. But Illiana shook her head, her expression regretful.

“Unfortunately, divine power isn’t a cure-all. This isn’t an illness that can be healed that way. It’s a natural condition, not a true disease.”

Yernen’s face fell, frustration warping into silent despair.

“So… what are we supposed to do? Endure this until the baby comes?”

It seemed impossible. The pain of just a few days was enough to break him, and now he was expected to live with it?

“No. Leaving it untreated will only worsen your condition. I’ll prepare some medicine to help with the fever, but the main solution is to massage the ducts to unblock them and express the milk that isn’t coming out.”

“W-what?” Yernen’s voice trembled, the color draining from his face.

“Isn’t there another way?” The idea of touching his chest was unbearable. It had taken him long moments alone in the bathroom just to gather the nerve to graze it lightly, only to confirm the unyielding knots beneath his skin. But massage? The thought was unthinkable.

Illiana looked apologetic, shaking her head. “I’m afraid there isn’t.”

She ordered the prepared medicine to be brought in, and Yernen, cradled in Laile’s arms, drank it down. When Illiana placed a cool, herbal-infused linen over his chest, she turned to instruct Laile on how to massage the inflamed tissue.

As Yernen watched, his heart pounded, a sudden urge to flee coursing through him.

“Even if it eases today, Your Majesty needs to continue with the massages regularly, or else the symptoms will return. And try to reduce the fruit intake,” Illiana added.

“I understand,” Laile said, brushing a stray lock of hair from Yernen’s damp forehead with gentle fingers.

“One more thing—I strongly recommend physical intimacy,” Illiana said before leaving, her voice calm but firm.

The room fell silent as the door closed behind her, leaving only Yernen and Laile.

Despite being aware of Laile’s presence, Yernen kept his hand over his eyes, unwilling to face what was next. Removing his hand meant acknowledging the painful, humiliating process he was about to endure.

“Yernen…”

“…”

Laile’s voice held a soft sympathy. “We have to do this. The pain won’t go away otherwise.”

“…Ha.”

Despair pooled in Yernen’s chest, making breathing difficult. The idea was worse than death itself. To think of untying the stone-hard knots with touch—it was unfathomable.

“Just close your eyes and bear it,” Laile said gently.
Yernen’s voice trembled as he spoke, eyes glistening and barely holding back tears. The intensity of his expression caught Laile off guard, making him hesitate for a moment before responding.

“Yernen,” Laile said softly, his voice as gentle as the touch of his hand on Yernen’s cheek. “It’s not that simple.”

“But why?!” The words came out louder than he intended, echoing in the stillness of the room. His frustration, his pain—all of it bled into that question, raw and unfiltered. “You used to… we used to… but now you won’t even touch me. Is it because of what you saw? Because I disgust you now?”

The last sentence cracked at the end, like brittle glass shattering. The tears that had been gathering finally broke free, trailing down his face.