Accidentally Provoked My Archenemy [ABO] - Chapter 14

After calculating carefully, Sang Yu let out a sigh of relief—she really didn’t want to end up being worse than a beast.

Her gaze drifted down to Cheng Yunan’s Starnet account.

After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the search bar, typed in his ID, and pulled up his profile. The interface was clean and minimalist, giving off the same aloof vibe as the person himself.

The profile picture was a vague, backlit silhouette of someone—she couldn’t even tell who it was. The background was one of Starnet’s default themes. No personalized status. No birthday. No zodiac sign. No

personal history or experience. Scroll all the way to the bottom, and the only thing there was a single button: Add Friend.

Far too bare.

Sang Yu stared at Cheng Yunan’s avatar for a while, finally brushing aside her hesitation. With a tap of her finger, she sent a friend request.

One minute passed.

Two minutes.

A long five minutes went by, and there was still no sign that her request had been accepted.

She couldn’t help but start to reflect—had she really been that awful to him?

Probably not… right?

Sang Yu tried to reassure herself, but her thoughts wouldn’t stop spiraling.

Eventually, ears burning red, she numbly got up from bed, pulled open her backpack, and retrieved a neatly packaged metal case. Inside were rows of inhibitor shots.

She took one out with practiced ease, administered it, then sat back down with a blank expression, forcefully pushing down those bizarre, uncontrollable thoughts.

In truth, this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

In fact, it was becoming more and more frequent—hence why she always carried so many inhibitors with her.

Thank goodness she’d brought enough, she thought.

Yesterday, Sang Yu hadn’t been able to buy a direct teleportation ticket. In a rush to get back, she had opted for multiple transfers instead, basically staying up all night.

Now, with the inhibitor calming the restlessness inside her, the exhaustion she’d suppressed finally caught up. Sleepiness swept over her like a tide.

She relaxed, sinking into a deep sleep.

…

Knock knock—

“Sang-jie? Boss?”

Knock knock knock—

“Sang-jie? Sang-jie? Time to eat, Sang-jie! You in there?”

Gu Amo had been calling her for ages, but just like at lunchtime, there was no response. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to knock even harder, when the door suddenly opened.

Sang Yu appeared with a blank expression. The deep creases under her eyes made it very clear she’d just woken up.

“You finally opened the door, Sang-jie. I thought something happened! One more minute and I was about to call a teacher to force the door open.”

“Mm.”

Forced awake, Sang Yu felt a ball of frustration stuck in her chest and had zero desire to deal with him.

After letting him in, she was still incredibly sleepy—but she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and now her stomach was growling. She grabbed a change of clothes and went to take a shower. Only after that did her mind start to clear.

The Imperial Military Academy had two cafeterias—San Shan and Si Shui. The former was primarily for upperclassmen and was farther away. The latter served mainly first- and second-years and was much closer to their dorms.

Gu Amo mentioned he’d already eaten twice at Si Shui and thought it was decent.

By the time the two headed over, they had just missed the dinner rush. Most people were already leaving the cafeteria.

The entire way there, chatter buzzed around them—lively and noisy.

The livelier it got, the sleepier Sang Yu became.

To her, noisy environments lulled people into a false sense of security, lowering their guard. It made them feel safe, even when they shouldn’t.

Even she wasn’t immune to that illusion.

In places like this, if she had nothing to do, she’d get sleepy—very sleepy. She’d let herself drift off. But an alpha didn’t need that much rest, especially one like her, who was an Enigma.

Too little sleep could damage the brain, but too much sleep was just as bad for her.

That’s why she’d always preferred quiet places.

Now, in this clamorous atmosphere, she could barely hold it together. Her mind kept nagging—Why did the school give us two full days off? And why didn’t I time my return better?

Yawning, she didn’t even notice Cheng Yunan passing right by her—much less the way he pursed his lips and gave her a fleeting, quiet glance, filled with curiosity and restraint.

“Sang-jie, did you hear what I said?”

“Mm.”

“So, what do you think about this whole thing? Who’s in the right, who’s in the wrong?”

“I don’t know. Don’t ask me. You’re so annoying.”

Gu Amo, who had patiently explained everything on the way over: “…”

Once they got their food and sat down, Sang Yu noticed that Gu Amo was about to start his daily lovey-dovey chat with Ah Bai again. Without saying a word, she picked up her tray and fluidly moved to another table, turning her back to him.

Gu Amo didn’t care where she sat. He simply raised his voice and happily started recounting his day to his precious omega.

All while sneakily watching Sang Yu.

He did have a motive—he wanted to use his own sweet love story with Ah Bai to show Sang Yu that life was better with someone by your side.

He also hoped his actions would inspire her—showing her what a responsible alpha ought to be like.

Sang Yu had no idea what her underling was scheming, but as his goofy laughter rang constantly in her ears, she thought:

…Regret.

Pure regret.

Why didn’t I bring my earbuds?

Still, thanks to Gu Amo’s loud chatter, she was now fully awake. She suddenly remembered the friend request she had sent that morning.

Opening her smart terminal, she checked her friends list—only to find that Cheng Yunan still hadn’t accepted.

Did Starnet glitch?

Or… did he just not see the request?

She decided to send it again.

…

After returning from the cafeteria, Sang Yu couldn’t shake the frustration burning in her chest. The thought that Cheng Yunan was living right next door yet still hadn’t accepted her friend request only made her angrier.

But the more she fumed, the more her mind involuntarily wandered to the hidden spot beneath the collar at the nape of his neck… to the bruise behind his ear… to the soft feel of his earlobe between her fingers.

And all she could do was—inject herself with another inhibitor.

There were many types of inhibitors. Besides the most commonly circulated interstellar versions—ones designed to help omegas during their emotionally vulnerable heat cycles or alphas during their irritable sensitivity phases—there were plenty of other kinds.

The one Sang Yu was currently using?

—A suppressant for desire.

At first, she thought it was perfectly normal. She considered herself relatively mature at this point, after all.

But after using it so frequently, she started to feel… off.

And to make matters worse?

There was still no word from Gu Amo.

The person researching the secondary differentiation drug hadn’t replied to his messages at all.

She had even looked into the second company herself. Their boss seemed wealthier, tried to persuade her to invest, but made no promises and clearly had no intention of accommodating her minor requests.

Sang Yu rejected them immediately.

Left with no choice, she doubled her offer to the first company—Company A—essentially draining most of her personal savings just to secure a contract.

For the rest of that day, she stayed in her dorm. Gu Amo brought up all her meals, and she didn’t step out even once.

Soon, the day of the verification exam arrived—marking the official start of the semester at the Imperial Military Academy.

They didn’t see any of the senior alphas returning from break, because by 7:00 AM, all new students had been ordered downstairs. They had twenty minutes to eat breakfast, then were to assemble at the farthest northern training field for a unified exam.

The “verification exam,” as the name suggested, served two purposes:

1. To confirm whether any students had hidden their true gender or experienced secondary gender differentiation changes.

2. To ensure their gender and classification matched the data submitted during their entrance exam.

Final class placement would be based on gender and classification levels.

Sang Yu’s 3S Enigma classification was already known to the Central Alliance and the school. The “teacher” who had met with her in the office a few days ago was actually a representative from the Alliance.

From that conversation, it seemed very few people were aware of her true identity. Neither the Alliance nor the academy planned to make her information public.

At most, there were a few vague rumors floating around.

So, today’s verification was just a formality for her.

But of all the things she anticipated, she didn’t expect to be visually assaulted the moment she arrived.

—An A-class Beta was standing with Cheng Yunan, chatting like brothers, happily exchanging Starnet contact info.

It was only then that Sang Yu realized: Cheng Yunan hadn’t ignored her friend request because of a Starnet glitch.

He simply didn’t want to add her.

Not couldn’t—wouldn’t.

Tch.

A flare of anger rushed to her head. Sang Yu turned away with an unreadable expression, opened her terminal, went to the recent contacts page, and quietly retracted her friend request.

A moment later, she added one more step.

Blocked him.

She activated her visual screen blocker, making sure others couldn’t see her terminal activity. But Gu Amo, standing close by, noticed her mood shift immediately.

Her facial expression changed. Her whole aura changed.

He followed her gaze, back and forth between her and the two standing not far away. Then he glanced at Sang Yu, who was now radiating an icy “don’t talk to me” aura.

Gu Amo began to get angry, too.

But there were too many people around. If he started a fight now, Sang Yu would definitely chew him out. So instead, he leaned in close and asked in a sinister whisper:

“Boss, did that Cheng guy piss you off somehow?

“Need me to teach him a lesson?”

Sang Yu shut off her terminal, turned her head slowly, and gave him a quiet but deadly reply:

“You dare?”

Gu Amo: “…Oh.”

That one sentence was all it took to douse his righteous fury like a bucket of cold water.

Though she was clearly upset, Sang Yu didn’t delete the images of houses Gu Amo had sent her earlier. She only blocked Cheng Yunan’s account.

Even with her head turned, pretending not to look at him, her gaze still lingered in that direction.

Because she was certain—Cheng Yunan would be transferred.

It wasn’t uncommon at the Imperial Military Academy.

Some omegas, in order to prove themselves—or to avenge fallen loved ones—went so far as to fake their gender using medication, injections, or other methods.

But the academy’s verification system always detected the truth.

No exceptions.

Sang Yu had already picked out the school Cheng Yunan would transfer to: the same omega-exclusive institution Kong Tan had attended. It was the best and most inclusive school of its kind.

If Cheng Yunan felt unwilling or resentful, he wouldn’t need to worry. He just needed to lay low for now. Once her secondary differentiation drug made progress, he could undergo a second transformation.

Worst case? They’d wait for a natural differentiation to occur later on.

As for the Cheng family… Sang Yu hadn’t worked that part out yet. She’d deal with it one step at a time.

There were a lot of students in their year, and the line moved slowly. But the equipment was efficient, and the queue kept advancing.

Before long, she saw Cheng Yunan standing under the scanner.

Normally, students with no issues would pass right through. The results weren’t announced.

But if a student’s gender or classification didn’t match, they’d be pulled aside for a second scan. If it failed again, the result would be announced immediately.

Sang Yu waited and waited…

Only to watch Cheng Yunan and his roommate calmly walk away together.

Sang Yu: …Huh?