After The Mission Failed, The Scumbag Alpha Ran Away - Chapter 52

52: Braving the Storm of Life and Death Together

Jiang Youbai sat on her bed, arms crossed, watching Chi Ruo energetically wave her hands and gesture wildly, stirring up a commotion in the prison.

Jiang Youbai felt that if Chi Ruo weren’t a death row inmate, given her current level of rowdiness, she’d probably be thrown into solitary confinement within a couple of days.

The few words Chi Ruo had spoken while being escorted into the courtroom had spread like wildfire across the internet, sparking countless voices of support from Omegas and Betas under the video.

“So, is this the first time Alphas have realized Omegas are oppressed? The first time they’ve seen how the anger of the oppressed can be so glaring and undignified?”

“These high-and-mighty Alphas are scared. They’ve discovered that Chi Ruo hasn’t bowed to their expectations in any way. Everything they’ve done to her is laughable in her eyes—they’re terrified.”

“Demanding the oppressed to maintain an elegant demeanor—Alphas don’t realize that her fury is the most elegant stance of all. Chi Ruo dances gracefully even in shackles.”

But compared to dancing gracefully in shackles, Chi Ruo seemed more like someone who had never worn those invisible chains to begin with.

So now, she was vibrant and full of life, standing in the prison in a way that shocked and unnerved every Alpha.

Alphas weren’t afraid of an oppressed Omega harboring resentment and hatred. But they were terrified of an Omega who had never once regarded the rules they’d set with any seriousness.

They had tried to impose what they believed to be the ultimate humiliation upon her—a shame they themselves had defined. Yet Chi Ruo treated it like stepping over a stretch of road littered with trash and slops. She frowned, walked past, rinsed the soles of her shoes in a public restroom, and just like that, the humiliation and stigma were washed away.

The Alphas stared at her, and she met their gaze head-on. She didn’t retaliate in the way they expected but instead stared back at them with even greater arrogance.

They felt a deep, instinctive fear of this Omega, and their disgust for her grew. They tried to intimidate her with even fiercer threats.

“Quiet!”

One of the Alpha guards finally couldn’t take it anymore. As he passed the cell, he lowered his voice and warned Chi Ruo, “Careful, or I’ll record how you’re acting now and post it online.”

Chi Ruo treated their threats as a game: “Is that all? What other scare tactics do you Alphas have? I don’t even care that I was raped. Right now, between the two of us, one is throwing a tantrum—guess who it is?”

The Alpha guard was left speechless. He muttered a few more curses under his breath, his words crude and venomous.

Chi Ruo leaned against the wall, watching him with calm, composed eyes.

When oppressors realized the chains they’d forged couldn’t bind someone, they’d spiral into anxious rage and panic.

How could an Omega be like this?

After being raped, even if she endured the pain and sorrow, even if she survived with resilience, shouldn’t she do so with a fragile, pitiable demeanor?

How could an Omega be so indifferent to the implications of what happened, completely dismantling the sexual humiliation tied to power?

She should be trembling with fear, forcing composure, doubting herself, struggling desperately. Her aggression should be laced with vulnerable suffering.

That way, the Alphas’ sympathy could remain a condescending act of charity and pity—a way to admire a beautiful, fragile ornament.

Look, even after suffering such an ordeal, I don’t scorn you. I embrace you, I pity you. How noble I am, how compassionate.

Even though the very premise of this was that Alphas had established the hierarchy and defined the shame.

Chi Ruo, as an Omega, shouldn’t be like this. She couldn’t act like a person—she was supposed to act like an Omega.

Otherwise, even if her attitude and resistance didn’t truly threaten the Alphas, they’d still feel an unprecedented level of provocation.

Chi Ruo toyed with the Alpha guards like they were dogs. Once she’d had her fun, she turned to chat with Jiang Youbai, walking away without a care, leaving the fuming guards behind.

Chi Ruo gripped the bars of the cell and beckoned to Jiang Youbai: “Come here, come here.”

Jiang Youbai found Chi Ruo’s tone oddly familiar and asked, “Are you calling me over the same way you did those guards just now?”

“Maybe a little, but it’s fine.” Chi Ruo laughed. “Doesn’t matter. Having a rebellious attitude alone is useless. If I don’t actually slap the Empire’s Alphas in the face, my resistance is just self-comforting rebellion.”

She tapped the iron bars idly, her fingers drumming without rhythm or pattern.

Chi Ruo rambled, “By the way, don’t you think that Alpha in the front row, far left, is kinda good-looking?”

Her fingers continued tapping the bars as she asked Jiang Youbai, “So, what’s the plan now?”

Jiang Youbai pressed lightly on the skin of her right wrist. A tiny machine the size of a grain of rice, coated in stealth paint, emerged from beneath her skin. It transformed into the shape of a spider and quickly crawled onto Chi Ruo’s wrist.

“Didn’t notice. Not my type anyway.”

Chi Ruo didn’t see the tiny machine at first. When Jiang Youbai didn’t respond, she kept rambling.

As she spoke, she felt something crawl onto the inside of her wrist. Glancing down, she saw a tiny spherical machine the size of a grain of rice.

Before she could react, the machine burrowed into her skin.

A moment later, a holographic screen appeared before her, detailing how to use the personal terminal from the Human Federation.

Chi Ruo, who had been trying to communicate via primitive coded messages: “Damn, that’s impressive.”

The Alpha guards had been watching the two closely but noticed nothing amiss. After a brief exchange, both women returned to their beds, silent and motionless.

The guards relaxed slightly and stopped paying them extra attention.

Chi Ruo spent her time learning how to use the Human Federation’s personal terminal.

The Federation’s technology was far more advanced than the Empire’s, and the learning curve was steeper. Jiang Youbai herself had taken two or three days to grasp the basics.

While Chi Ruo familiarized herself with the terminal, Jiang Youbai updated Lou Huaiche on their progress and exchanged a few words.

“Chi Ruo’s in good spirits. Extraction won’t be an issue. I just need to study the patrol patterns in this prison block.”

Lou Huaiche replied, “This mission is high-risk. Be prepared for the possibility that any one of us could die.”

Jiang Youbai sighed, picking up on something in Lou Huaiche’s tone. “Has the operation plan changed?”

“The Empire’s defenses are still tight. The Human Federation’s resources are limited—self-sufficiency is already a struggle. Plus, the asteroid belt between Pandora and Faron restricts their support.”

“Mm. So what’s the current plan?”

“First, we’ll head to Pandora’s moon, then relocate. Since we’ll be stuck in the Empire’s territory for a while, it’s extremely dangerous.”

Jiang Youbai asked, “Are we ready?”

“Mostly. Just waiting for Chi Ruo’s execution day.” After discussing business, Lou Huaiche added softly, “Be careful. Stay safe.”

Those last words weren’t just from one comrade to another—they carried an unspoken weight of personal fear and care.

Lou Huaiche was terrified Jiang Youbai might actually die.

Jiang Youbai easily sensed Lou Huaiche’s anxiety through those words. “Lou Huaiche, what’s wrong? Why the sudden concern?”

Lou Huaiche was with Lou Chuxue at the time. They hadn’t stayed in the Upper District but had returned to the Lower District.

Lou Huaiche had experience fighting the Empire multiple times. Early in forming her militia, she’d set up two bases—one as a front, a mercenary group with a few deliberately exposed suspicious figures, while the real militia operated from the other location.

This time, she’d used this decoy tactic, leaving the Empire with an empty shell while the real militia stood ready for action.

Lou Chuxue sat beside Lou Huaiche. Petite, her feet dangling off the chair, she sighed worriedly. “Ah, I’m so worried about Chi Ruo.”

Noticing Lou Huaiche’s own anxious expression, she comforted her, “Boss, don’t worry about Jiang Youbai! Her skills are top-notch—she’ll be fine.”

Lou Huaiche hummed vaguely, but the unease lingered.

Her fear wasn’t about the mission itself but about Jiang Youbai, the so-called “Child of Destiny,” and the original worldline where she faced mortal danger.

This wasn’t Jiang Youbai’s worldline…

Lou Huaiche clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

When forced to choose between Jiang Youbai’s safety and the revolution, she hadn’t hesitated—she’d chosen the revolution.

But the thought of Jiang Youbai dying again in front of her was unbearable.

If that day came, Lou Huaiche would lose her mind entirely, her own life collapsing into ruin.

She didn’t struggle with balancing these two choices. Even if Jiang Youbai’s death was inevitable, even if the revolution was doomed to fail, Lou Huaiche would still choose the revolution without hesitation.

When circumstances didn’t allow otherwise, she could suppress her feelings. But now, with the capital in chaos and Chi Ruo securing a massive energy supply for the militia, the timing was perfect.

Lou Huaiche simply couldn’t bear the thought of Jiang Youbai’s possible death.

She didn’t know how to explain this to Jiang Youbai. In the end, she could only lower her eyes, exhale shakily, and send a message:

“Just… be careful.”

After a pause, Jiang Youbai replied, “Lou Huaiche, are you worried about the worldline?”

Lou Huaiche froze. Jiang Youbai was too sharp—she’d guessed her fears instantly. “Yes. I’m afraid if we follow the original worldline, you might die.”

Jiang Youbai chuckled softly at the message.

She found Lou Huaiche’s worry at this moment somewhat endearingly pitiable.

Jiang Youbai replied, “Did you think you were the only one who considered this? Chi Ruo and I didn’t?”

Lou Huaiche: “I know. But I’m still worried.”

“Lou Huaiche, don’t be. If I feared death so much that I refused to resist this oppressive Empire, what difference would there be between living and dying as the so-called Child of Destiny? My worldline would be so boring.”

Jiang Youbai thought for a moment, then added, “Look, if I die, Chi Ruo probably won’t survive either. But she still chose this possible worldline. It’s not that she doesn’t care about my life—she cares more than anyone. But we all understand, whether it’s the situation or personal feelings, this is the right choice.”

“Besides, Chi Ruo knows me well. If I had to swallow this bitter pill, I’d rather die now. This isn’t you abandoning me—it’s a decision we’ve made together.”

After a long silence, Lou Huaiche said, “If you die, and we lose any chance of turning things around… I’ll die with you.”

Jiang Youbai replied, “Okay.”

This wasn’t about abandoning the seemingly safer, more peaceful path.

Jiang Youbai closed her eyes, murmuring in her heart:

“My love, don’t blame yourself for this. If you love me as I love you, then you should know—the version of me who would choose to inherit the throne isn’t someone worth loving.”

“Together, we’ve chosen to brave the storm of life and death.”