Accidentally Provoked My Archenemy [ABO] - Chapter 13
Gu Amo nodded.
“By the way, Sang-jie, there’s one more thing.” He didn’t put his terminal away. Instead, he swiped a few more times and pulled up a new set of files.
—Photos of homes in various interior design styles.
“What’s this?” After more than a month, Sang Yu had completely forgotten about her earlier request and didn’t recall it immediately.
Seeing her blank expression, Gu Amo looked at her in disbelief. “It’s the houses, Sang-jie. The ones you asked me to find.”
“Come on, you even said it was for an omega! Don’t tell me you forgot?”
He’d already told the other guys there’d be a new “bro” joining their circle. They’d even said Sang Yu should bring the person around to meet everyone.
Now… that dream didn’t seem likely to come true.
“So, what if I found a house?” Sang Yu finally remembered and couldn’t understand why he was reacting so strongly. “I did say it was just for a friend. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”
As she flipped through the pictures, a thought occurred to her. She raised her eyes slowly, voice suspicious: “…You didn’t go around spreading nonsense again, did you?”
Gu Amo: “…”
In the end, he got kicked out of the room. The reason? Too nosy. Too talkative.
Standing in front of the now-shut door, Gu Amo rubbed his leg—which didn’t really hurt—and muttered:
“She never asked me to do this kind of stuff before. Won’t explain anything. Won’t even bring the person out to meet us. And now she’s totally forgotten about it.”
“Not open about it. Doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t keep her promises. Could it be…”
“She played with the omega and just ran off?”
The more he thought about it—recalling all of Sang Yu’s odd behavior over the break—the more convinced he became that his theory was right.
Casting one last look over his shoulder like he’d stumbled upon some forbidden truth, he took off running, afraid she might silence him.
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Back inside, Sang Yu had no idea she’d just been declared a “scumbag alpha.”
She had copied the images from Gu Amo’s device and was still scrolling through them.
Too hard to choose.
She had no idea what kind of style Cheng Yunan liked—or whether he’d even accept the gesture.
Ever since finding out that Cheng Yunan still wanted to “eliminate” her, she had pushed this matter out of her mind. She’d never imagined she would return to the Imperial Military Academy, much less dare to provoke him again as if nothing had happened.
It was borderline suicidal.
But she also knew—deep down—she had truly done something wrong.
In the original storyline, after Cheng Yunan was last bullied by “her,” he vanished completely from their lives, never once reappearing at the academy.
The next time he showed up to the public—and to “her”—he had transformed from the insignificant illegitimate son of the Cheng family into its powerful heir, doubling the size of the family’s commercial empire.
His alpha rating had gone from B-class to SS-class in a second differentiation.
And without hesitation, he had KO’d “her.”
But now, during her unstable secondary differentiation, she had impulsively marked him, turning him into an omega through a temporary bond.
That outcome… was wildly different from the original script.
Even if the plot didn’t matter, marking an omega—especially without consent—was fundamentally wrong.
This sharp, overwhelming guilt often jolted her awake from nightmares.
Now that she was back, Sang Yu could no longer lie to herself.
She was the one who had bullied him all this time—not Cheng Yunan.
She couldn’t keep using “unwritten plot points” as an excuse to justify hurting him.
She had to do something to make it up to him.
With a long sigh, Sang Yu shut off her terminal and flopped onto the bed, wrestling with her thoughts.
Eventually, she sat up and went back to browsing houses.
Whether he wanted it or not—that was his decision.
But whether she gave it or not—that was hers.
If he didn’t want it, he could just say so.
She tapped and swiped through listings for what felt like forever but still couldn’t decide. In the end, she gave up—at least for now—and decided to try another approach.
Pulling up the old acceptance notification, she quickly scrolled to the bottom and opened Cheng Yunan’s profile.
It didn’t contain a lot of detail, but for her current needs, it was enough.
“Cheng Yunan…”
“Birthdate: November 11. Year: Han Calendar 984… Wait—he’s younger than me?”
“Was he… still a minor at the time?”
A sudden thud of dread hit her.
She herself had only just turned nineteen.
If she really had… marked him while he was still underage…
Then yeah, maybe she deserved to die.
Maybe she should have just died out there in exile.