After An Alpha Discovered I Have Pheromone Deficiency Syndrome - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Is Always There

In the office of Pei Yu, director of the Psychiatry Institute, the computer screen displayed news about the “Fox Oiran.”

The young figure had just come of age, with fresh, youthful brows and eyes. Soft pink eyeshadow accentuated his fox-like eyes perfectly. His dull gaze made him resemble a delicate porcelain doll—not exactly beautiful in the traditional sense.

He walked through a shower of rose petals, drawing everyone’s attention and scrutiny.

Speculation about him flooded news outlets and social media, with most comments admiring and obsessing over his appearance, endlessly praising his looks.

The little fox wore a heavy, ornate kimono, nearly overwhelmed by the weight of the luxurious garment.

A knock at the door brought Pei Yu back to reality.

His colleague, Mitsuichi Sawamura, entered, placing a research project proposal on Pei Yu’s desk.

“Please review and sign the final draft, Professor Pei.”

Pei Yu took the document.

Mitsuichi lingered, teasing him with a grin, “Did you sleep well last night, Professor?”

“Let’s keep it professional,” Pei Yu replied.

Lowering his voice, Mitsuichi leaned in, “Did you manage to collect the evidence you needed at Lingguan?”

Pei Yu flipped through the papers, pausing briefly.

On the screen, still visible to Mitsuichi, was the striking image of the “Fox Oiran.”

“Quite impressive,” Pei Yu said.

Mitsuichi’s eyes widened. “Wow, Professor, even someone as stoic as you has a favorite Omega.”

He looked ready to spread the gossip immediately.

“If I hear any rumors about Hua Che here, your funding application will get expedited consideration,” Pei Yu said without denying anything, signing the document and sliding it back.

Mitsuichi took it, frowning. “That was too fast…”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

He bowed dramatically toward his desk.

“Oh, by the way, the school is asking for questions for the online MOOC final exam. Will you handle that yourself?”

“I’ll send it in on time.”

Mitsuichi didn’t understand Pei Yu’s strict work ethic.

“This MOOC is basically an introductory course. It’s supposed to promote academia, but mostly it boosts the school’s public image. College students treat it like a checkbox—no one pays real attention.”

Pei Yu didn’t glance up. He minimized the Fox Oiran news and opened his teacher dashboard.

“What does ‘almost’ mean, and how much is ‘not much’?”

He took every class seriously—preparing lessons carefully, teaching sincerely, answering every student question.

Though the questions weren’t graded and mostly came from casual learners.

Mitsuichi, frustrated with Pei Yu’s old-fashioned ways, quickly apologized and left.

On the teacher’s dashboard, student names and study times were displayed.

One account stood out: “Pink Fox.” This user had spent far more time studying than anyone else—two or three times as much as the next highest.

Normally, Pei Yu would overlook this name.

But after meeting Hua Che, the image of the beautiful pink fox lingered strongly in his mind.

The fox dancing on stage, holding an Alpha’s hand and gasping for breath, struggling with a tiny clip—crying out he was “sick.”

Pei Yu frowned, clicking into Pink Fox’s learning records.

The user repeatedly studied “Chapter 3: Abnormal Mental States, Section 1—The Reincarnation of Heaven and Hell: Mania and Depression,” watching it over and over.

Pei Yu quietly observed the learning activity for a long while.

His thoughts grew tangled—beautiful fox, Omega, and a terminally ill patient desperately trying to save himself—all overlapping.

His instincts were sharp, and he knew the little fox’s tears were not just from being choked.

The course video discussed a clown actor who, despite always smiling, ended his own life due to depression.

“If I bring happiness to others, can I feel happy myself?”

That question, displayed on the course slides, struck Pei Yu deeply.

His heart skipped a beat.

He thought for a moment, lingering on the little fox’s smiling face.

Though the fox’s lips curved sweetly upward, his eyes were empty, and the smile never reached them.

The words “I want to leave” flashed across his mind, along with the tears in the fox’s eyes.

Pei Yu couldn’t tell if last night’s behavior was just poor acting.

He stood up without hesitation and headed for the door.

He wanted to see Hua Che—the little fox.

“Assistant Lin, I need to leave early today. If you have no urgent tasks, feel free to leave early as well.”

Pei Yu told his research assistant, put on his coat, and drove straight to Lingguan.

By late afternoon, Lingguan was mostly empty, with only a few workers preparing to open.

Pei Yu stood at the entrance, the sun still shining brightly.

This impulsive act was rare for him. The urge to see Hua Che overwhelmed him, though he wasn’t sure if it was pity or something else.

“You mean Hua Che?” the store manager asked, eyeing Pei Yu up and down.

“Oh, you’re the guest who paid a high price to spend a night with Hua Che yesterday.”

The manager seemed unfazed by Pei Yu’s visit.

“Many fall for Hua Che at first sight. But can you really meet the Oiran whenever you want?”

“Next time?”

Pei Yu asked quietly.

“Later,” the manager said with a satisfied smile.

“But if you want this chance, be ready to pay. It’s rare, and the price depends on how much you value your little fox.”

The manager didn’t give Pei Yu a chance to bargain and walked back inside.

Hunger marketing was common at Lingguan, with constant bidding and price hikes.

Wealthy patrons spent lavishly, while some ordinary families ended up ruined.

Pei Yu wasn’t the only impatient visitor demanding to see Hua Che.

He lingered at the door, but eventually turned away.

Looking up at the gate, he thought of the pink fox.

Pei Yu took out his phone and checked the teacher dashboard again.

Without any other way to contact Hua Che, except through the Lingguan manager, there was only one option left…

The MOOC app.

Upon opening it, the familiar slogan popped up:

“A good university has no walls.”

Pei Yu gazed out the window above Lingguan.

Maybe Hua Che lived there.

Why are there no walls?

Or are there thick walls separating him and the little fox?

Though it wasn’t appropriate to contact Hua Che via the MOOC backstage, Pei Yu saw no other way.

He posted a question in the private message box only he could view.

Sitting in his car, Pei Yu soon got a reply.

“Will a person give up the idea of suicide because of a special suit? From UserPink Fox.”

Seeing the familiar Chinese characters, Pei Yu felt relief.

He had suspected this Pink Fox was Hua Che, and now he was sure.

Suits. Suicide.

Had this little fox really thought about ending his life? Just after last night?

Pei Yu’s heart sank further.

He replied carefully:

“In psychiatry, this is called an ‘anchor’—something concrete that helps stabilize emotions during extreme mental turmoil, preventing impulsive actions.

An anchor can be a person, an object, a memory, or an unfinished wish.

I’m glad you found something to hold onto, even if just for a little while.

But a suit alone might not carry the weight of your life. You may need more support.

If you want, I’m here for your questions anytime.

From Professor Pei.”

He reviewed his message again and again, making sure it was gentle and professional.

For an Omega possibly struggling with illness, harsh words could be damaging.

After finally sending the message, Pei Yu relaxed and rubbed his forehead.

He soon received another reply.

“Thank you, Professor Pei.

I’m waiting for the day he comes to retrieve my suit.

From UserPink Fox.”