Accidentally Provoked My Archenemy [ABO] - Chapter 7

After understanding what the old doctor meant, Sang Yu was both embarrassed and ashamed.

Afraid he might say something even more outrageous, she decided not to respond further. As soon as the door swung open and shut behind her, she finally escaped the barrage of his verbal “assault.”

She thought her temper had really improved lately.

After all, there weren’t many people—past or present—who dared to lecture her like that.

Strangely enough, being scolded actually put her in a better mood. Perhaps it was the relief of knowing Cheng Yunan wasn’t in any real danger. At least, she wouldn’t have to suffer under the weight of her own guilt. Or so she told herself.

Clutching the prescription sheet, Sang Yu hurried off to get the medicine filled. However, this hospital’s layout was unfamiliar to her. It was quite different from the ones she’d known, and in the decade or so since transmigrating, she’d hardly visited any due to her excellent health.

Not wanting to waste time wandering around, she made her way to the service desk for help—only to overhear two hospital staff members chatting nearby.

“Didn’t you say your nephew’s grades weren’t good enough for the Imperial Military Academy?”

“You heard wrong. It’s not about grades. You know my nephew—last name Xia, with that ‘Gui’ character in his given name? He’s proud and stubborn. He didn’t want to go at first, but now the Academy sent someone personally. How could we refuse such an honor?”

Last name Xia, given name with a ‘Gui’?

Sang Yu recalled seeing this name in the notice Gu Amo had sent her earlier.

An A-grade Alpha—barely made the cut, ranking dead last on the list just below Cheng Yunan.

The speaker feigned reluctance, but their pride was impossible to hide.

Sang Yu could understand. Being admitted to the Imperial Military Academy and having the chance to train as a qualified soldier was a massive honor—regardless of wealth or background.

She still remembered the day the results were released. Her own name had been among the top, and her parents were so thrilled they planned to cancel all their work and throw her a grand celebration banquet.

But she’d turned it down—she had a meeting with Kong Tan instead.

Even so, gifts and congratulations poured in. After all, everyone knew the top students at the Imperial Military Academy were essentially future generals in waiting.

Its prestige and power spoke for themselves.

But now… Sang Yu sighed quietly, a tinge of regret surfacing in her heart. She had truly wanted to spend a few years at the Academy. Unfortunately, the word “death” loomed too heavily in the original storyline for her to ignore.

She wasn’t completely lost in thought though. A nurse at the desk waved a hand in front of her face and asked, “Hello, is there something wrong with your gland?”

Seeing her standing there silently, eyes fixed on her own shoulder, the nurse assumed she might be having gland issues and was too embarrassed to speak up.

Sang Yu smiled and shook her head.

After getting directions, she quickly had the prescription filled and rushed back toward the ward. That moment of regret from earlier had already been pushed to the back of her mind.

As for her gland—she had only been checking if her pheromone-suppressing patch was secure. She’d slapped one on in a hurry earlier, grabbing it off the table without checking carefully.

As for that hovercar she arrived in—it had already been sent for emergency disposal the moment she stepped out, along with the AI unit she’d used.

She had plenty of those. Losing one or two—or even a hundred—meant nothing to her. Her only concern was avoiding detection.

If word got out about her current classification, she’d never escape the Alliance’s scrutiny.

And certainly not Cheng Yunan’s revenge.

Shaking off those thoughts, Sang Yu pushed the hospital room door open.

Inside, it was quiet. Cheng Yunan had already fallen asleep after being given a sedative.

He lay there, perfectly still.

Sang Yu walked over quietly, standing beside him without sitting down, just watching.

Her thoughts were tangled.

Once again, Cheng Yunan’s suffering had been caused by her. She hated the original plot and the fate it promised, desperately wanting to escape it—yet she kept being the one to hurt him.

She hadn’t expected Cheng Yunan’s dependency period to be this severe. He’d nearly burned out his glands. He could’ve become disabled.

She was guilty. But in her heart, guilt still didn’t outweigh the value of a life.

Just as she was lost in thought, Cheng Yunan moved.

He had been sleeping peacefully on his back, but now his brows furrowed, and he shifted unconsciously in her direction.

Maybe it was the pheromones. Sang Yu wasn’t sure. She lifted her sleeve and sniffed.

Definitely. Her hyacinth pheromone was still too strong. She had released too much earlier—it had soaked into her clothes and hadn’t faded yet.

As she pulled out a chair to sit, Cheng Yunan’s hand groped toward her, only inches away.

Sang Yu instinctively reached out and held it.

His expression relaxed, and he leaned toward her, rubbing his face gently against her hand before slipping into a deeper sleep.

She couldn’t help but smile, both amused and helpless.

Deep within her, a strange thought began to form—like a seed taking root in her mind.

—

Two hours later, a nurse came by to inform her that Cheng Yunan’s condition had stabilized and he could be discharged. His awareness might remain hazy over the next few days, and he would need rest at home.

And, of course, attentive Alpha care.

Sang Yu nodded immediately and promised to handle everything.

By the time they returned home, it was already deep into the night. After a long day, Sang Yu was too exhausted to even consider dinner.

She downed a nutrition pack and settled Cheng Yunan in the guest room, preparing to help him wash up.

But she had no experience in this area. In the end, she had to back off and call in the housekeeper bot.

Unfortunately, Cheng Yunan resisted fiercely.

The moment she stepped away, waves of fear and unease rolled off him like a tide—engulfing her completely.

Sang Yu was annoyed, nearly to the point of abandoning him.

But she had no choice.

In the end, she gave in, clumsily cleaning him up herself. Then she fetched a clean comforter and lay down beside him—fully dressed—on the same bed.

Just as she was drifting into sleep, a pair of arms slipped around her waist in the dark.

They tightened slowly.

Sang Yu woke at dawn.

And she finally understood why the novel described Cheng Yunan as her destined nemesis.

Even in sleep, he never forgot to take revenge.

She remembered clearly: before falling asleep, she’d left a noticeable gap between them. But somehow, in just one night, Cheng Yunan had broken through two layers of blankets and infiltrated her side of the bed.

He almost strangled her.

At this rate, she figured she might kill him before he even woke up.

Whether she succeeded or not was uncertain. What was clear, however, was that whatever instinctive attachment she felt after the marking wasn’t nearly strong enough to guarantee his survival.

Sang Yu didn’t think her thoughts were unreasonable.

After all, how could years of animosity be erased by a single involuntary mark?

She certainly couldn’t.

Suppressing her irritation, Sang Yu stood before the mirror, examining the angry red mark around her neck.

A mark left by Cheng Yunan.

She leaned against the wall, thoughts in disarray.

She didn’t mind the mark itself—she’d always been a tough Alpha aiming for military school. A little bruise would fade in half a day. No big deal.

What truly disturbed her was her own reaction.

Because to her horror, when she woke up that morning, beneath the anger and frustration…

She also felt something else.

Softness.

When she saw Cheng Yunan leaning against her with his eyes closed, Sang Yu felt that same wave of softness wash over her again.

She splashed some cold water on her face to clear her head, then slowly made her way out of the bathroom.

Yet that soft feeling wouldn’t go away—even now, when all she could see of Cheng Yunan was the top of his black hair poking out from under the blanket, which was haphazardly covered by the coat she had thrown over him in her haste earlier.

Sang Yu: …This is ridiculous.

Again, that strange thought popped into her mind. Her brain was suddenly filled with three words:

—Let’s get married.

She was a woman of action. Once an idea took root, she had a hard time not pursuing it. Like now.

Yes, it was ridiculous. She knew that.

But if she could be swayed by biological instinct in this world, then Cheng Yunan—as an omega—would likely feel it even more strongly.

So, was there a possibility? If she married him and then sincerely tried to make it up to him—emotionally and materially—would that dissolve his hatred and make it hard for him to go through with revenge?

Alternatively, she could skip the marriage, stay by his side, and make it up to him anyway—through money, power, and helping him locate a second-differentiation agent. If there wasn’t one available, she could fund the research herself.

After all, the Sang family had wealth beyond measure. If there was one thing they didn’t lack, it was money.

And worst case? Even if there were no external solutions, Cheng Yunan’s natural predisposition toward second differentiation might be enough.

Whatever path she took, the goal was the same: to help him reach his full potential early, give him more emotional options—and hopefully steer that revenge away from her.

The more Sang Yu thought about it, the more it seemed like a solid plan. Between the two options, she just needed to choose the more effective one.

In the next few days, while caring for Cheng Yunan, Sang Yu made her decision:

Marriage.

Cheng Yunan’s condition hadn’t improved much. His dependency period dragged on, his consciousness remained foggy, and his temporary blindness still hadn’t resolved.

She had to take him back to the hospital several times.

But to her surprise, Cheng Yunan was extremely docile. Aside from his face—hauntingly reminiscent of her grim future—and the fact that he clung to her like glue, he perfectly fit her ideal image of a potential omega spouse.

So, she decided to go with plan A—but with the added bonus of helping him find a second-differentiation agent.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Decision made, Sang Yu took the opportunity to call Gu Amo while heading downstairs to get Cheng Yunan’s medication.

After quickly checking on Ah Bai and learning that she was recovering, she cut short Gu Amo’s emotional outburst and got straight to the point:

“Do you know where I can buy a second-differentiation agent?”

Every time Ah Bai had an incident, she would call to check in—and every single time, Gu Amo would burst into tears, repent dramatically, and declare his eternal gratitude and willingness to die for her.

He could go on for a good thirty minutes.

At first, Sang Yu had tried to console him, but soon realized he was just wasting her time. Since then, she’d adopted a new strategy: ask and hang up. No extra chances to ramble.

But this time was different. She needed something. She had to be direct.

Not that she wanted to be. But among everyone she knew, Gu Amo was the only one who could give her information on contraband items from the Alliance without turning her in.

He was reliable.

Gu Amo, unaware of her inner reasoning, was still wiping his eyes when Sang Yu dropped the equivalent of a felony in his lap.

He immediately shut down his AI display, lowered his voice, and scurried to a deserted corner to speak in a whisper.

“Sang-jie, I know you’re not on good terms with those people chasing after Brother Tan, but… fighting is one thing. What you’re talking about is totally different.”

“If you really want to change someone’s gender out of spite, no matter how rich your family is, you won’t get out of jail.”

Sang Yu: ………?

Who said she wanted to use it on those trash?

What a waste of a perfectly good item.

“Relax. I’m not using it on them.”

Gu Amo: …Isn’t that the wrong thing to be clarifying?

Before he could fully process that, Sang Yu’s voice cut in again, this time a little more urgent, yanking him out of his thoughts:

“Can you hurry up? Cheng Yunan’s meds are still waiting upstairs.”

“Oh.” Gu Amo, groggy from days of hospital shifts and sleepless nights, wasn’t thinking clearly. He obediently replied, “There are two researchers on the central planet studying it, but from what I’ve heard, they haven’t had much success yet—it’s all still in the early stages. I’ll send you their contact info so you can look into it.”

Just as she was about to end the call, Sang Yu hesitated—then added, a little awkwardly:

“I need a favor.”

“Just say the word, Sang-jie.”

“I’ve got an omega friend going through delayed differentiation. Help me find a suitable school for him. Also, look for a house nearby—something close to the Imperial Military Academy would be ideal.”

“Find a few options. I’ll pick.”

At first, she felt a bit awkward. But the more she said, the more natural—and self-assured—she sounded.

She’d never been in a relationship before, so she didn’t realize how strange her tone had become. She only noticed that Gu Amo hadn’t responded for several seconds.

“Can you hear me?”

“Ah—yeah, I can,” Gu Amo finally replied. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Sang-jie… what exactly is your relationship with him? Do I need to start calling someone else ‘brother’ now?”

After hearing everything she’d said, Gu Amo’s brain short-circuited. First he thought the omega was a friend. Then he thought maybe it was Brother Tan. But now? It didn’t add up.

He could tell—Sang Yu’s tone had changed. She was clearly smitten. But in his memory, there had only ever been one person worthy of that—Kong Tan.

Sang Yu had no intention of answering such a bold question. She muttered a vague reply and hung up.

Medication and water in hand, she started walking back upstairs.

All the while, she was already strategizing: how to explain the situation to her family, and more importantly—how to help Cheng Yunan accept that he was now an omega, and how to convince him to agree to marry her.

She walked slowly, both because the glass was full and because her mind was heavy.

Just as she reached the bedroom door, she heard a voice from inside.

“…I’m going to kill her…”

Sang Yu, who had been about to propose marriage: …

Her? Who?

Was that “her” referring to her, Sang Yu?

She hadn’t caught the whole conversation, but one thing was loud and clear: the words “I’m going to kill her” were spoken through gritted teeth.

And not just going to. He said: “I must.”

She glanced down at her left hand holding water, her right hand holding medicine. A chill ran down her spine—and then fury surged up like a firestorm.

Wonderful.

The plan died before it even began.

Time to run. Time to run.