God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem - Chapter 881

Chapter 881: Congratulations! You’re A Father!
Kafka blinked, jaw falling open. “Wha—”

“You’re disturbing everything!” She snapped. “If you’re that restless, go disturb someone else! Lyra, for instance—she said earlier she wanted to talk to you!”

“I did not!” Lyra shouted immediately from the far side of the room. “Nurses! Anyone! Guard me! Guard me from that man! I don’t know who he is!”

Several celestial attendants immediately formed a wall of protection in front of her bed.

“Don’t let him come near me!” Lyra begged, clutching the sheets. “Please, anything but him! I’ll face another contraction, I’ll face twins—but not him right now!”

Kafka froze mid-step, staring at the protective formation of divine nurses.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

He then sighed, shoulders slumping, then turned toward Seraphina’s bed instead.

“Seraphina?”

But the moment he took even a single step closer, Seraphina—usually the picture of calm loyalty—snatched up a gleaming scalpel from a nearby tray and pointed it straight at him with trembling determination.

“Please don’t come near me, Master!” She said, her voice still cool and composed but laced with warning. “I may be giving birth right now, but I can still swing this scalpel around if I have to.”

Kafka froze mid-step, blinking. “Wh—what?”

“I’m serious, Master!” Seraphina said, gripping the instrument tighter, sweat trickling down her forehead as another contraction hit. “I want to give a safe birth! But with you around, I feel more scared than safe right now!”

“So if you value your life—or your butt—turn around before I poke you right in it!”

The entire room fell silent.

Everyone stared in disbelief.

The nurses looked like they didn’t know whether to intervene or applaud her bravery.

Even Vanitas blinked, then let out a pitying sigh, her voice soft with motherly concern.

“Oh my poor boy…my poor baby boy.” She said, pressing her hand to her heart. “Look at him, completely broken, pitiful…my sweet, frightened child.”

But Evangeline only chuckled quietly, crossing her arms.

“As hilarious and annoying Kakfa is being right now, I understand his feelings.”

She said as she stared at Kafka with amusement, like she was enjoying this whole thing.

“Honestly, it’s only natural. A man would already be scared out of his wits watching one woman give birth…But eight? At the same time? He’s basically living in a nightmare.”

Meanwhile, Kafka backed away from Seraphina’s bed slowly, hands raised in surrender.

“Okay, okay! I get it! No scalpels!”

He stumbled back toward the next circle of beds and found Abigaille and Olivia together, Abigaille holding Olivia’s hand as both of them tried to breathe through the pain.

Kafka knelt beside them anxiously.

“What about you guys!? How are you doing? Everything all right? D-Do you need anything!?”

“Sweetheart, I can assure you everything’s going perfectly.”

Abigaille, ever the calm voice in the storm, gave him a gentle, reassuring smile despite the sweat beading on her forehead. But then, with a knowing look, she added,

“But right now, the one who needs help isn’t us—it’s you.”

Kafka blinked. “Me? What—”

“Look at yourself.” She said warmly but firmly. “You’re pale as snow, shaking like a leaf, and you look like you’re about to faint any moment. You probably shouldn’t even be standing right now.”

Olivia, gasping through a contraction but still managing a small smile, added between breaths.

“I’d offer you my bed if I could, Kafi. Actually, just push me aside a bit and sit down before you fall down or go outside and wait.”

“…Watching you like this is pitiful.”

“What?! No! I-I can’t just leave you!” He protested, clutching their hands tighter. “My children—our children—are being born right now! I can’t abandon you for even a second!”

But before he could finish, Vanitas appeared behind him with a deep, exasperated sigh.

“Alright, that’s enough.” She said, grabbing him firmly by the shoulders. “I’ve watched this long enough, and honestly, I can’t take it anymore. This sight—it’s too sad, even for me.”

“Wait—wait! Mom, no!” Kafka protested as she began dragging him away. “I’m not done! I’m supposed to be here for emotional support!”

“You’re emotionally destabilizing them.” Vanitas said flatly. “Half of them are more scared of you than of childbirth itself.”

“That’s not true!” Kafka shouted, looking desperately over his shoulder at the women. “Right?! Tell her!”

But all he got in return were tired glares, strained smiles, and one or two weak waves.

“Sorry, Kafi.” Abigaille said kindly. “She’s right.”

“Yeah, good luck out there, you nervous wreck.” Nina let out a painful laugh.

“For heaven’s sake, take him before he passes out again.” Camila groaned.

Even Seraphina commented as she put down the scalpel.

“Thank you, my Lady.” She said to Vanitas. “Please remove the disturbance before I accidentally make him a patient.”

“See?” Vanitas chuckled darkly. “Even your most loyal knight has turned against you. That’s saying something.”

“B-But—!” Kafka tried to dig his feet into the floor as Vanitas pulled him by the collar.

“No buts.” Vanitas said sternly, dragging him toward the door like a prisoner being taken to divine court. “You’ll wait outside until this is over. No arguments.”

“P-Please! Don’t let her do this to me!” He flailed helplessly, calling out. “I’m their father! I’m supposed to be here!”

But before anyone could answer, the heavy doors shut behind him with a decisive thud.

Silence fell for a brief moment inside the room—before June sighed in relief.

“Finally.” June muttered. “Peace.”

“Bless the heavens.” Lyra let out a silent prayer.

“Poor Daddy.” Bella thought before getting distracted by the pain down below again.

Vanitas smiled to herself as she she saw the look of relief on all their faces before saying,

“You’re welcome, ladies.”

—

Meanwhile, outside the delivery room, Kafka was pacing up and down the corridor, muttering to himself under his breath like a man possessed.

His hands ran through his hair every few seconds, his pacing quickened, then slowed, then started again. He looked completely unhinged, his face pale, his clothes disheveled, his eyes wide with raw, frantic energy.

“Oh gods…what if something goes wrong? What if something happens?” He whispered to himself, clutching his head. “They said everything would be fine, but what if it isn’t? What if one of them—no, no, no, stop thinking like that, Kafka, stop it!”

He started pacing faster, his feet echoing against the floor.

“Everything’s fine, everything’s fine…they’re strong, they’re warriors, they can handle it…Oh god! But what if they can’t?”

He looked like a man teetering between collapse and mania, his fear so visible it almost pulsed off him in waves.

Sweat rolled down his temples, his breathing quickened, and every second felt like a century.

He kept glancing at the large golden doors, half-tempted to burst in, half-terrified of what he might see if he did.

That is until—

“Waaaah!”

A cry. A tiny, piercing cry from beyond the door.

Kafka froze mid-step, his breath catching. His heart seemed to stop.

Then, another cry.

“Waaaah!”

And another.

“Waaaah!”

And another.

“Waaaah!”

Until the whole corridor was filled with the chorus of newborn wails—multiple, beautiful cries blending together like the most divine symphony imaginable.

Hearing this, Kafka’s knees buckled. He dropped to the floor, clutching his chest, eyes wide with disbelief.

Then, slowly, tears welled up in his eyes.

“They’re alright…” He whispered, voice trembling. “They’re all…They’re all alright…”

And then, unable to hold it in, he began to cry—openly, shamelessly, tears streaming down his cheeks as his shoulders shook.

“Thank god…thank god…my children…they’re all right…they’re alive…”

The tension that had held him prisoner for hours finally shattered, and in that moment he felt something that could only be described as pure nirvana.

Every worry, every ounce of fear, melted away in that instant, replaced by a euphoric warmth that filled his heart until he could barely breathe from the sheer emotion of it.

He stayed there, kneeling, laughing and crying all at once—a broken man made whole again by the sound of life.

And then, after a few long moments, the grand golden doors opened with a soft, divine hum.

Vanitas stepped out, majestic as ever, her expression the brightest he had ever seen.

“Congratulations, my dear son…” She said warmly, her voice glowing with pride. “You’ve given birth to nine healthy, beautiful daughters—each one glowing like the sun itself. You’ve become a father.”

Kafka’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

“N-Nine?! Nine daughters?!”

Vanitas laughed softly, nodding.

“Indeed. Nine perfect little angels. And…” She smiled wider, her tone playful. “I’ve also become a very proud grandmother.”

He staggered to his feet, still trembling, and rushed toward her, gripping her hands.

“R-Really, Mom?! Everything went well? Everyone’s alright?”

“Of course.” She nodded, squeezing his fingers. “Nothing went wrong. Everything went perfectly smooth and every single one of them, both the mothers and daughters are as healthy as one could possibly be.”

Hearing this, he let out a huge, shaky sigh of relief—but then froze when her expression shifted slightly.

“Although…” She added casually. “After the deliveries, they all…fainted.”

“They WHAT?!” Kafka’s eyes widened.

But hearing what she said, Vanitas chuckled, waving her hand dismissively.

“No, no—not fainted. I mean, they just fell asleep. After giving birth to your children, they were exhausted. They’re all sleeping peacefully now.”

Kafka slumped forward in relief, laughing weakly.

“Don’t do that to me…gods, you scared me for a second…”

But then, suddenly, a thought struck him. His head snapped up again.

“Wait—hold on!”

Vanitas tilted her head innocently. “Yes?”

He pointed toward the door. “There are only eight women inside, right?!”

“Correct.” She said.

“Then how in the world did I end up with nine babies?!” He blurted. “That means—!”

Vanitas’ lips curved into a teasing smile.

“Exactly.” She said sweetly. “One of your wives gave birth to twins.”

That realization hit him like a thunderbolt. His jaw dropped, his face lighting up in pure astonishment and joy.

“Twins…? I…I have twin daughters?!”

Vanitas nodded, smiling fondly.

He blinked once, twice, and then suddenly grinned so wide it nearly split his face.

“OH MY GOD!” He shouted, jumping in excitement. “TWINS! I HAVE TWIN DAUGHTERS! THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!”

He started pacing again, but this time it was out of sheer happiness, laughing uncontrollably as tears streamed down his face again.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT—NINE DAUGHTERS! TEN! I’M A FATHER OF TEN!”

Vanitas laughed quietly, watching him with soft amusement.

Then Kafka stopped, looked at her again, and asked eagerly.

“But—who is it? Who had the twins?!”

Vanitas smirked.

“Well.” She said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the open door. “You can go inside and find out for yourself.”

But before Kafka could take even one step forward, she quickly added,

“But of course, you can’t stay too long. And absolutely no shouting, no loud gasps, no running around, and no jumping up and down. You’ll wake them.”

Kafka froze, halfway through his first stride, and nodded frantically.

“Of course, of course! I’ll be on my best behavior, completely silent, like a statue! I won’t do anything I shouldn’t, I swear!”

Vanitas raised an eyebrow at him.

“You say that now.” She said dryly. “But somehow, I don’t quite believe you. Still…” She sighed and gestured again. “Alright. Come in. But the moment I say it’s time to leave, you leave. No arguments.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He said immediately, nodding like a soldier obeying a general’s command.

She guided him gently into the softly lit room, where the air was filled with a tranquil warmth and a faint glow.

And the moment Kafka stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat.