Hero’s Child C30

Chapter 30

“Hey, hey… don’t cry.”

Uichan gathered the two tiger cubs into his arms, patting them softly. Their damp tongues brushed against his skin, warm and tender—it was strange, how their touch felt comforting. He lay back on the wide, sunlit grass, the scent of dry sunlight clinging to the air. The cubs curled up against his sides, round and snug, as if seeking his heartbeat.

One had a small spot on its nose, the other just beneath its eye.

“Don’t fight, okay? You’ll only hurt yourselves.”

The little ones buried their noses into his side, rumbling softly, like tiny purrs. A faint laugh slipped from between his lips. He stroked their fur, smooth and silken, until drowsiness began to creep in.

Overhead, a bird traced a single white arc across the clear, cloudless sky. Sunlight fell like threads of gold, and Uichan blinked lazily against its warmth.

He didn’t notice.

Not the shallow hollow in the grass where the cubs had been fighting—
nor the fragile sprout growing there, withering as though it had been dying for a long time.

A chill woke him. Uichan shivered and blinked his eyes open. The first thing he saw was a white ceiling. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was, then panic made him sit up too fast. A steady hand pressed his shoulder down.

When he turned, Park Rion was there.

“Why are you getting up? Stay down, seriously. You’re not alone anymore—how could you not tell me? Was it because I’m some useless nerd? You shouldn’t have had to deal with this by yourself…”

“…And why are you crying? You look like a rabbit. Stop that.”

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now? I almost died of stress because of you! What the hell were you doing, getting hurt like this when you’re pregnant?! You— you absolute idiot! Hopeless, reckless idiot!”

Rion’s voice cracked as he threw every curse he knew. His eyes were puffy, red-rimmed and swollen like dumplings. Uichan almost smiled; Rion must’ve been so frantic he hadn’t even noticed his mismatched shoes.

Rion blew his nose loudly just as the curtain drew back and a man entered.

“Patient, you’re awake?”

It was Dr. Oh Juhyuk.

Uichan nodded awkwardly, and the doctor pulled the curtain aside completely. Beyond the bed stood a desk and a glowing computer monitor. Holding a chart, Juhyuk sat beside him.

“How are you feeling? We treated the burns on your leg and hand and gave you painkillers since you were in considerable pain. Are you feeling any discomfort?”

“No… I’m all right now.”

When Uichan touched his stomach, the sharp ache had dulled to a faint throb. Strangely, the little ones inside him were calm—quiet, almost peaceful. Juhyuk exhaled through his nose, a complicated sound, and adjusted the ultrasound monitor so it faced Uichan.

“All right, all the tests are finished for now. Your friend explained the situation, so I’m caught up. As for the babies… you don’t need to worry at the moment.”

Uichan’s shoulders, which had tensed instantly, eased at those words. On the monitor, two tiny forms were nestled together, like black beans pressed close in sleep. Or perhaps not sleeping—something about their tangled positions looked more like a scuffle than a nap.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, Mr. Ha,” Juhyuk said, tone measured. “But I’ll need you to answer truthfully—no omissions or half-truths. It’s the only way I can help you.”

“……”

“The pain you felt today—has this been happening often?”

Uichan thought back to the days after his diagnosis. The pain had no fixed pattern, but it tended to worsen at night.

“Yes. It’s usually worse at night.”

“How frequent are the episodes? And was today’s pain worse than usual?”

“It started mildly about three days after I was diagnosed. Lately, it’s been getting stronger. Sometimes it lasts an hour… sometimes five. But it’s never been as bad as today.”

“I see. One last question.”

Rion, still hovering nervously beside him, squeezed Uichan’s hand and stared at the doctor.

“Mr. Ha,” Juhyuk said quietly, “do you, by any chance, possess a restoration or time-type ability?”

The question froze both men instantly. Silence thickened, heavy and cold. Juhyuk waited patiently, watching Uichan’s face.

“…Yes,” Uichan admitted at last. “Something similar.”

“I thought so.”

Juhyuk ran a tired hand through his hair, exhaling softly before removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. When he put them back on, his eyes were sharp again. He pointed to the monitor.

“You probably didn’t notice, but the babies’ gestational age has decreased. They’re smaller than they should be. That shouldn’t be possible—fetuses don’t shrink once they’ve grown.”

“Then… it’s related to my pain?”

“In my opinion, yes. When fetuses fail to grow properly—or stop entirely—that’s usually a red flag. If we can’t detect a heartbeat by the eighth week, or if it’s weak, we perform a therapeutic curettage. It means… we end the pregnancy.”

Uichan listened in silence, forcing himself to stay calm. Don’t assume the worst, he told himself. The babies looked active on the screen—healthy, even playful.

“The other possibility,” Juhyuk continued, “is a missed miscarriage. In that case, the fetus stops developing altogether and the heartbeat disappears. But that’s not your case.”

“……”

“When you first came here, you were seven weeks along. It’s been two weeks since then. By all logic, they should be bigger now. But they’re slightly smaller than they were before. And yet—their heartbeats are strong. Very strong. Healthier than ever, actually.”

Rion shot the doctor a skeptical look, silently mouthing Is this guy even qualified?

But Juhyuk only adjusted his glasses and kept talking.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? You told me yourself—these are heroes’ children.”

Rion’s eyes went wide as coins. He turned to Uichan, trembling, his lips working soundlessly. Uichan couldn’t meet his gaze.

The doctor’s reasoning wasn’t unfounded. In this world, only 12% of espers became active heroes—the elite among the gifted. Heroes possessed superior genes, traits that distinguished them from ordinary ability users. Even in a world where 70% of humanity carried powers, heroes were exceptional—chosen by strength, intellect, and will.

So of course, their children were extraordinary.

Heroic blood begot prodigious offspring. It was said that a tiger begets a tiger, and a dog begets a dog. It was nature.

Many of the hero-children Juhyuk had treated over the years had gone on to become renowned in their own right. So when he saw such strong heartbeats and no medical cause for their size reduction, he’d drawn another conclusion:

Something external was affecting them.

“The babies’ fathers,” Juhyuk said, glancing up at him. “You said they’re active heroes, correct?”

“…Yes. As far as I know.”

“Then it makes sense. Healthy fetuses, shrinking in size—it suggests an external factor. Possibly your own ability, Mr. Ha. Or perhaps something connected to their fathers.”

And indeed, as the doctor suspected, the problem lay with Uichan.

But the number of times he’d used Reversal recently could be counted on one hand. Three, at most. Each instance had been brief—only rewinding a few minutes. Yet the fetuses had somehow regressed by two weeks.

It made no sense.

“Abilities often influence fetuses,” Juhyuk said gently. “So it’s not entirely unexpected. The good news is that now we know the cause—it’s manageable. You just need to avoid using your ability until after the babies are born. Then their growth should stabilize.”

He paused, expression darkening. “However… there are two other concerns.”

He hesitated, searching for words, then decided to speak plainly.

“While you were unconscious, I used my ability to examine you closely—without your permission. I should have asked first, and I apologize.”

Juhyuk’s power was Extreme Clairvoyance—he could perform a living scan of any body part, up to three times a day. It was a gift that had made him an exceptional physician.

While reviewing the ultrasound, he’d sensed something wrong and activated his ability. What he discovered left him shaken.

“First,” he said quietly, “you were right. My ability confirmed that the two babies have different fathers. Their genetic signatures—and their energy patterns—are distinct. So, if you’ve been avoiding telling the fathers because you’re unsure… there’s no need. Tell them both.”

Rion, by this point, looked like he wanted to turn into a wall and disappear. Twins… with different fathers? His jaw dropped. His brain refused to process it.

“…But there’s one more thing.”