Accidentally Provoked My Archenemy [ABO] - Chapter 12
It felt like just a second, yet it dragged on endlessly.
By the time Cheng Yunan finally came to his senses, he immediately turned his head, averting his gaze and doing his best not to let any trace of emotion slip.
But then, he heard Sang Yu let out a cold laugh.
“What? You don’t even dare look at me now? Am I some kind of star beast that might eat you?”
“Or… is it because you’ve done something bad and you’re afraid I’ll find out?”
Cheng Yunan: “…No.”
“Oh?” Sang Yu arched an intrigued brow, feigning confusion as she leaned in close, forcing him to look her in the eye.
The distance between them was far too small.
So close that he could see his own reflection in her eyes. So close he could feel the warm breath escaping her lips with every word.
Defeated, he dropped his gaze.
“No?” she echoed mockingly. “Don’t think I didn’t see it. You were downstairs first thing this morning standing awfully close to that guy. What were you two up to?”
“Someone might’ve thought you were on a date.”
Sang Yu shook her head as she said it. After a short pause, she withdrew her gaze from his face.
A flicker of displeasure flashed across her heart—so faint she didn’t even notice it herself.
Without the weight of her sharp, penetrating stare, Cheng Yunan felt an immediate sense of relief. He clenched his fists and, after taking a deep breath, finally responded, voice cold:
“Please refrain from speaking nonsense, Sang-classmate.”
“‘Dating’—that’s your kind of thing, not mine.”
This time, Sang Yu didn’t reply.
She remained silent.
Did that mean… she admitted it?
Somehow, the silence made Cheng Yunan feel even more humiliated.
The image of this person chasing after an ordinary omega across half the galaxy—again and again—brought up all sorts of unpleasant emotions. Feelings he couldn’t suppress began to surge uncontrollably.
His jaw clenched tight as he tried to choke back the bitterness rising in his throat.
“Move. I’m going downstairs.”
His voice was hoarse now, but this time Sang Yu didn’t ignore him. Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp and cold, laced with confusion.
She stared at him for a few seconds before finally looking away.
Just as Cheng Yunan was about to exhale in relief, a warm sensation brushed the back of his ear.
—She had pinched his earlobe.
That sensitive, delicate spot behind the ear was rarely touched. When her warm, slightly calloused fingertips brushed it, he nearly buckled on the spot.
“You—”
“Don’t touch me!”
Sang Yu hadn’t even gotten her question out before her hand was smacked away. Startled, she looked up—only to catch a glimpse of his retreating, unsteady figure.
She stood there watching him disappear down the stairs.
Only when he was completely out of sight did she furrow her brow, lifting the hand he had struck away and staring at the reddening mark on her skin in silence.
Cheng Yunan was long gone when Gu Amo finally returned.
Coming up the stairs, he gave the floor and both walls a thorough glance. Finding everything neat and clean, he gave a thoughtful “hmm,” then turned to Sang Yu with a questioning look.
“Boss, you just let him go like that?”
After chasing off the third wheel, he’d gone to chat with a few of the guys. On the way back, he saw Cheng Yunan staggering down the stairs looking like a ghost. He’d thought Sang Yu had done something dramatic and was all ready to help clean up the ‘crime scene.’
But nothing had happened.
“What else should I have done?” Sang Yu shot him a look, clearly in no mood to talk. She walked straight to her dorm room—601—and began the ID verification.
Gu Amo, naturally, couldn’t help but keep running his mouth.
“Sang-jie, is it just me or are you getting weirder?”
“You used to leave people flat on the ground before you walked away. Sure, sometimes you’d prefer to mess with them behind the scenes, but that Cheng guy? He’s always been close with Dan-ge, and he’s got no real background. You’ve never let him off the hook before.”
“But today…” Gu Amo paused to think, eyeing her face carefully. Seeing that her expression hadn’t changed much, he gave a nod of certainty.
“Not only did you let him go, you even looked pissed.”
He sighed again. “Tsk. What a waste. I came all the way back up to see a show.”
Sang Yu: “…”
Her hand froze mid-air. She tried to swallow her irritation, but failed. Instead, she canceled the ID scan and kicked him—hard.
Then she glared at him and snapped, “Are you a pervert or something?”
“Or are you saying I’m the pervert?”
Sang Yu didn’t think she was as bad as Gu Amo made her sound.
Yes, she liked setting traps. Yes, she liked stirring up fights. But wasn’t that what a proper, normal alpha should do?
And besides, she only fought those who provoked her first—those with no sense of honor, who pretended to be good on the surface but were rotten underneath. She never picked on omegas or unrelated alphas.
As for Cheng Yunan—sure, she’d taunted him, threatened him, and even hit him before.
But!
She hadn’t really gone after him that much. And even when she did, it was never with full force.
Just like now—her kick to Gu Amo looked harsh and precise, but she hadn’t put much strength behind it.
She explained all this to him, then asked, “Am I wrong?”
Gu Amo gave her another sideways glance.
Sang Yu slowly unclenched her fist and said coldly, “Talk.”
“Well… I mean, back then, Wang Zhejia, Lu Zisu, Su Guangjiang—all of them got the same treatment. They were even on our ‘watch list’…”
“You idiot,” Sang Yu scoffed. “When those guys were chasing after Bai, why didn’t you say this crap? You were the one crying and begging me to beat them up.”
“So, you’re saying it was wrong when I went after Kong Tan’s suitors, but right when you beat up Bai’s suitors, huh? Is that it?”
“…I didn’t say that.”
“You haven’t forgotten why I chased after Kong Tan for years, have you? If you have forgotten, I’d be happy to jog your memory—with my fists.”
Gu Amo: “…”
Just as he was debating whether to say anything else, Sang Yu scanned her ID again. With a mechanical click, the dorm room opened to reveal the inside.
It was a standard four-person dorm—but there was only one person living in it.
Not just absent roommates—there was only one set of toiletries in the entire room.
“Ahhh! Sang-jie!”
“You actually got a solo dorm! I heard those were random. No one ever draws this kind of luck. But you—you did!”
“This is insane. I want one too!”
Sang Yu didn’t even bother rolling her eyes. She dropped her bag and quietly took inventory of the room.
Gu Amo, to his credit, got to work cleaning right away. After gushing a bit, he offered to help tidy up.
Naturally, she had no reason to refuse.
While Gu Amo wiped tables and mopped the floor, Sang Yu sat in a chair, replaying what had just happened.
She couldn’t make sense of it. Eventually, she asked aloud, “Do you know in what situation someone would have needle marks behind their neck?”
That spot—right near the gland—was highly sensitive.
“An inhibitor shot?” Gu Amo guessed.
Sang Yu: “…Who injects inhibitors in the back of the neck? And even if they did, do modern inhibitors leave puncture marks?”
“Right… good point.”
Sang Yu: “…”
She couldn’t figure it out, and Gu Amo was clueless as well. So, she tried searching the starnet. Still nothing.
In today’s world, there were many medical uses for needles, but none that left visible punctures like that. The current tech made sure injections left no trace.
Even if a puncture did exist, it would be nearly invisible to the naked eye.
What she saw on Cheng Yunan’s neck was nothing like that.
And it wasn’t just the neck—behind his ear, there had been a small bruise too, like a scrape.
No idea where that came from.
“Oh right,” she added, “did you find anything on those secondary differentiation agents I asked you about?”
Over a month ago, before she’d even thought of running away, she had already tasked him with investigating.
Gu Amo had initially given her the contact info of two researchers. But since she wasn’t confident in her communication skills, she left it to him to handle.
After everything that happened, she hadn’t followed up until now.
Hearing her ask, Gu Amo set down his cloth, peeked out the door, then carefully closed it behind him. He walked over, opened his smart device, and began tapping away.
After a few moments, he pulled up two images and pointed to them with a serious expression.
“These are from two separate labs. Both are working on secondary differentiation agents—but they’re completely different approaches.”
“A Group claims to be focusing on secondary differentiation agents, but in reality, there’s been little meaningful progress.”
“B Group’s main page is a bit more varied. Some time ago, they announced that they’d made significant strides in their research. According to them, a finished product isn’t far off.”
Sang Yu glanced at him. “Go on.”
“A Group’s derivative products have a higher success rate, are more efficient, and overall better in quality. B Group’s products are generally mediocre.”
“Just tell me the conclusion.”
“Go with A Group.”
Sang Yu nodded, eyeing him with confusion. “Then why didn’t you just go ahead and pick them? Did you really need to wait for me to ask?”
She had intended to invest in one of the groups—not to purchase a finished product outright.
Of course, not that any such product existed yet.
So, she transferred a small amount of starcoins from her account to Gu Amo’s and asked him to look into the matter, find the right group, and begin negotiations.
The sum she provided wasn’t large, but it was more than enough to open preliminary discussions.
Who would’ve thought… he hadn’t even gotten started yet.
Faced with the pointed suspicion in Sang Yu’s gaze, Gu Amo knew she was probably thinking he had forgotten all about the task. He frowned, clearly annoyed.
“That’s exactly what I was about to explain.”
“A Group isn’t continuing their research into secondary differentiation agents. Apparently, there are two reasons: First, their lead researcher had an incident recently and is now recovering—out of commission.
Second, they’re strapped for cash.”
“So, they turned me down.”
Sang Yu flipped through A Group’s listed products on Gu Amo’s smart terminal, not even bothering to look up. “First of all, what does a single researcher have to do with the whole project? What, they’ve only got one person? Second, we’re offering them money.”
“Well… A Group really is broke. Their boss is the lead researcher. And also… the only researcher.”
Sang Yu: “…”
“Still going with A Group. Contact them. I’ll send you another round of funds later—combine that with the previous payment and include it all in the contract.”
“Let him rest well. Once he’s recovered, tell him to continue the research.”