"Tomorrow, the owner of that semen sample might be coming in."
That's what my superior, Usada Kusuri, told me.
"Huh? That was actually real?"
My head snapped up at those words.
"He's scheduled for a health checkup. Also, make sure the extraction room is ready."
"Wait, if he's coming tomorrow, then what about this sample from today?"
I glanced at the semen sample I had been examining. Judging by its motility and survival rate, it was clearly freshly extracted today.
Under proper conditions, sperm can survive for about a week. But over time, some inevitably die.
The average man can only ejaculate once every three days at most, and even then, the concentration is lower than this. If this sample was stored in his testicles for a week without release, that might explain the volume, but…
Simply put, there's no way he could release again so soon after yesterday.
"The director says he probably can, though."
"Even if he can, should he? If he gets completely drained, I don't want to hear anyone complaining that he's out of commission."
A poorly handled extraction can shorten a man's lifespan. There was even a notorious case where a group forcibly extracted sperm by stimulating the prostate from behind just to meet their quotas. That was ruled a severe violation of male rights, and the punishment was… brutal.
The men who were rescued from that situation? Many ended up deeply distrustful of women—or worse, completely broken, unable to function anymore.
For those of us who work with male patients, strict ethical guidelines are drilled into us from day one to ensure such tragedies never happen again.
By the way, semen that's forcibly extracted under high-stress conditions shows a noticeable drop in quality. Those familiar with the field can spot it immediately. If such a sample is ever submitted, it's flagged as a red flag case. The authorities—including public security and the male welfare department—will step in to investigate.
"Ultimately, it's up to the individual's consent. If he agrees, we'll proceed with the extraction and testing."
"I refuse to be complicit in something unethical. I won't do it if it's forced."
"That's fine. Just prepare the room. If he decides not to go through with it, then so be it."
"Understood."
"Oh, and if you're chosen as the extraction specialist, make sure you're properly prepared. Is your grooming in order? Any unnecessary hair taken care of?"
"You really think I've had time for that?"
I shot back. My official role is semen analysis, but in reality, I barely get to do that. Since men rarely leave their homes, the semen we analyze usually comes from wives who extract it and bring it in themselves.
Which means my sperm extraction specialist certification? Pretty much just for show.
During training, I practiced on artificial models, but real-life experience? Almost nonexistent.
The only time I've actually touched a real one was for a few fleeting seconds—just enough to get a feel. I didn't even have time to get used to it before I had to let go. Honestly, I don't have much confidence in my skills.
Still, in this hospital, the only certified extraction specialists are me, Kusuri, and the director. So statistically speaking, I do have a chance of being chosen.
With that tiny sliver of hope in mind, I shaved, trimmed my eyebrows, neatened my bangs, and picked out a matching lingerie set.
By the time I was done, I was in such a good mood that I was practically humming.
...But then reality hit me.
Most men hate women.
So all this effort will probably be for nothing.
I swallowed back that bitter thought.
The infamous "owner of the semen sample" turned out to be surprisingly... cute.
He was shorter than me. Since I'm 155 cm, that must mean he's under 150 cm? Isn't that a little too adorable?
And despite everything, he showed no signs of hating women.
No fear, no disgust. Just calm, direct eye contact.
Every time a test finished, he politely nodded and said, "Thank you," with a small bow.
Is he an angel or something?
Are we even allowed to look at him with impure thoughts?
His medical gown had no undershirt, exposing his collarbones, the slight rise of his Adam's apple, and the faint definition of his arms.
And every single one of those details was way too cute.
I found myself completely drawn in.
A few staff members made some offhand remarks, but his bodyguard quickly shut them down with a sharp glare. The man himself, however, seemed completely unbothered.
Then came the final stage of testing—semen collection.
My actual job.
I was certain he'd hate me after this, but I still did my duty and explained the procedure.
"Option one: You use this yourself and extract your own sample."
He looked at the collection device but didn't seem too enthusiastic.
Most men don't like doing it themselves, but it's the least invasive method.
"Option two: A medical professional assists with the extraction."
For a split second, his eyes gleamed.
Wait, does this mean…?
"If possible, I'd be honored if you chose me."
That was the best I could do.
Any approach that a man finds uncomfortable or unwanted is considered a violation of his rights.
For those of us still clinging to our virginity, making a move is like stepping into a minefield.
Even so—
Even if I could only touch him briefly—
Even if it was just for a moment—
I wanted to be the one