I Marked My Arch-Nemesis Omega - Chapter 45

Sheng Yu hung up the phone and let out a long sigh.

Honestly, even she thought she was being a bit ridiculous. She couldn’t quite figure out what she was doing either.

Song Qing could probably handle this matter alone…

Sheng Yu rubbed her temples.

The student council president really was a troublesome person.

Leaning against the railing, Sheng Yu called Song Liye next.

Song Liye took a while to answer. His face looked exhausted on the screen, as if he hadn’t rested in a long time. “Miss, what instructions do you have now?”

“Have you heard about the high school conscription?”

“I have. A lot of people have called me about it. This time, even Alphas are getting dragged into it. Many high-ranking Alphas are unhappy, but all their objections have been dismissed. I don’t know what’s gotten into the Empire’s higher-ups.” Song Liye propped his chin on his hand. “Alright, if you want to vent or complain, go ahead.”

“Who’s leading this initiative?”

“Let me think…” Song Liye frowned. “The Zhou, Qi, and Chen families. Most of the major families are staying neutral. The opposition mainly comes from civilian Alphas and Betas. But in times like these, staying neutral is practically the same as voting in favor. I suspect there’s more to it, but that’s beyond my paygrade.”

“Got it. I’ll hang up now.”

“So decisive today?” Song Liye sounded surprised.

“Yeah.”

Sheng Yu ended the call and didn’t linger on the rooftop, heading straight back to class.

The class was still buzzing about the conscription.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a bad deal. It’s so hard for us Betas to get into military academies. In the end, we’d have to go through the general selection process anyway, and even then, we might not get benefits like these.”

“I agree. If we miss this chance, there might not be another one. I really want to pilot a mech. If we join the military, everyone should get their own, right? Just thinking about it is exciting.”

“But I still feel like something’s off… The benefits are too good. If every high school recruits like this, with so many people, I doubt they can afford it. It just feels weird.”

“How could they not afford it? The Empire’s loaded.”

“Exactly. This is our shot at turning our lives around. I’m definitely signing up.”

“They can afford it, sure—because most of you might end up dead in one go,” Sheng Yu interjected. “Dead people don’t need pay.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” someone shouted.

“Use your brains for a second. War costs money. At a time like this, they’re offering such generous benefits to recruit people… Why do you think that is? Is there really a need to rush military training like this?” Sheng Yu said. “The only explanation is that they need bodies for war.”

“How many of you here can pilot a mech proficiently? Raise your hands. Do you really think anyone will have the time to train you properly when war breaks out?” Sheng Yu scanned the room.

“See? None. Right now, anyone who can’t pilot a mech well is just dead weight on the battlefield. Xitaya might be much smaller than us, but their mech technology rivals the Alliance’s… They won’t be easy to deal with. And Xitaya has strong ties with neighboring countries. If war breaks out…”

“Do you even realize what you’re saying, Sheng Yu?” Another person frowned and interrupted her.

“I know exactly what I’m saying. It’s the truth, and I don’t want to watch my classmates throw themselves into certain death with nothing but passion,” Sheng Yu replied. Honestly, she didn’t want to interfere, but seeing how worked up everyone was… If they ended up sending over 500 people without even meeting the quota, she would have wasted her intel for nothing, and Song Qing would probably be even more frustrated.

“The Empire has a lot of decommissioned mechs from recent years—perfect for drawing enemy fire. And for those who haven’t been rigorously trained, who are easily swayed by empty promises and lack real-world experience, piloting those mechs is ideal. As long as they can get them off the ground, that’s all that matters.”

The class fell silent.

“These are just your speculations, all based on the assumption that we’ll be sent to the front lines. I think we should trust the Empire. Sheng Yu, where did you even hear this stuff? Sounds like brainwashing to me.”

“Exactly. This isn’t a war for the entire Empire—just the region near Hitaya. Stop fearmongering. They don’t even need that many people.”

Sheng Yu wanted to say she had seen it with her own eyes. She took a deep breath. Questioning her own country was painful; no normal person would willingly do it.

“Come on, Sheng Yu. For people like us, commoners, this is the best chance we’ll ever get to climb up.”

Suddenly, Sheng Yu understood the helplessness Song Qing had described. Some things just couldn’t be explained clearly.

She looked around the classroom and smiled. “One region? The goal this time is probably to take all of Hitaya. Why do you think this is just a regional conflict? Fine, do whatever you want. I’ve said my piece.”

Sheng Yu sat back down in her seat.

“Oh, so just because you’ve caught the eye of some noble Alpha, you want to stop the rest of us from moving up? If you’re too scared to go, just say so… Can’t stand seeing others succeed, huh?”

Sheng Yu clenched her fists.

“I don’t think Sheng Yu meant it like that,” Zhang Yunsu stood up and said, glaring at the person who had spoken ill of Sheng Yu. “Song Qing clearly argued with that person on the broadcast too. Everyone knows her personality—if this were really a good opportunity, I doubt she’d have reacted that way.”

“So you’re saying the Empire would harm us?” the other shot back.

“I’m just refuting what you said about Sheng Yu. If you want to go, then go. That’s your choice. They can only advise you and make sure you understand the risks.” Zhang Yunsu replied. She really couldn’t answer that question.

“Actually, I think Sheng Yu makes sense,” Bai Ying whispered. “Look at what that person said—the requirements are way lower than usual, but the benefits are so high. If the Empire hadn’t been the one telling you this, would you even believe it?” She lowered her voice further. “And if you look closely, the recruitment notice is mainly targeting Betas. For Alphas, whether they go now or after graduation, it’s not that different—even if this one’s slightly better…”

“Probably only Alphas who desperately need money would sign up. Why would they want Betas who don’t know anything?” Bai Ying murmured.

“If you don’t dare, just say so. Stop making excuses,” another person chimed in. “People like you are the worst, always coming up with endless reasons.”

Sheng Yu exhaled sharply and kicked the table hard. They weren’t wrong—their reasons were valid—but she was still irritated. “Fine, go ahead then. It’s hilarious. Whether you go or not, live or die, what does it have to do with me? I advised you, but if you don’t end up going, can I still get the money? No, I can’t.”

“And that one who said I can’t stand to see you succeed—what a joke. Who do you think you are? I don’t even know your name. Stop acting like you’re some big shot. Just because you’re petty doesn’t mean the whole world is.”

Sheng Yu clenched her fists, too angry to hold back, and slammed the desk, startling Fu Lian. Sure enough, her fiery temper was impossible to hide.

During the break, the hallway outside the classroom was lively, but inside, it was eerily quiet because of Sheng Yu’s outburst. A crowd had gathered outside to watch the drama unfold.

“Let’s all try to get along,” Ren Jin stepped in to mediate. “In the end, it’s everyone’s personal choice, isn’t it? Come on, no more arguing.”

Sheng Yu scoffed and didn’t bother responding.

Meanwhile, Song Qing was also making efforts. Originally, the school had planned to have students sign the agreement without informing their parents—after all, once signed, backing out would carry legal consequences. But Song Qing, along with the student council, forcibly distributed the communication devices, requiring students to discuss it with their parents. She also sent the notice to the parents in advance. Students might act impulsively, but adults who’ve weathered life’s storms are harder to fool. Besides, most people at that age still listen to their parents.

As expected, the majority of parents disagreed. The Empire was frequently at war with other nations, and no parent wanted their child taking such risks. Maybe they’d end up on the battlefield someday, but certainly not now.

Sheng Yu held her device, surprised to see a message from her mother—a rare occurrence, even if it was just three words.

Mom: Don’t go.

Sheng Yu: Wasn’t planning to.

Mom: Good.

She glanced at Fu Lian, who also hadn’t contacted his parents. Though he hadn’t spoken, it was clear he wasn’t going either.

“Only someone with a broken brain would go,” Fu Lian muttered.

“Absolutely,” Sheng Yu agreed with a smirk.

Song Qing made numerous calls after getting the devices. Eventually, she offered to donate five million under her own name to waive the quota requirement. But after sending the money, it was refunded—the recipients didn’t accept it.

Song Qing found it odd. Those people had wanted the money, but considering Sheng Yu’s relationship with Song Qing and her notorious temper, they decided against it. Similarly, Song Qing couldn’t resolve the Omega issue either. She asked around, but no one knew what the Omegas were supposed to do.

The sign-up forms had to be submitted to the student council by Thursday, with supervisors present to ensure Song Qing wouldn’t just throw them all away.

Sitting in the student council office, Song Qing felt her heart sink with each submission.

By the Thursday deadline, 178 forms had been turned in—not a single Alpha among them. All 178 were Betas. As for the Omegas, Song Qing only found out who had left when some submitted withdrawal applications.

Song Qing watched as someone took away the registration forms, his entire demeanor turning gloomy. The person who took them seemed afraid Song Qing might snatch them back, hastily stuffing the papers away before leaving. These 178 individuals would have a separate meeting on Friday morning to undergo testing, and those who met the requirements would sign the agreement on the spot.

During dinner on Thursday, Sheng Yu noticed that group had posted notices in the cafeteria and near the stairwell, stating that students who hadn’t filled out the application forms could still attend the meeting as observers. Additionally, there would be an entire day on Friday to sign the agreement.

Ten minutes later, Song Qing made another announcement over the school’s PA system, informing everyone that the school would be undergoing a full-scale disinfection on Friday, so classes were canceled. Students not attending the meeting were instructed to go home right after dinner and not linger on campus.

Those who stayed for the meeting would have to remain in the dormitory after the session ended on Friday, waiting until the disinfection was complete before they could leave.

A day off versus staying for the meeting and then being cooped up in the dorms.

Among those who hadn’t filled out the forms—aside from those who genuinely didn’t want to participate—were students whose parents had forbidden them from signing up. Most of these students had already exhausted their courage to defy their parents during arguments. If they truly wanted to go, they could’ve just filled out the form anyway—after all, their parents weren’t around to physically stop them. The choice was ultimately theirs.

But they hadn’t. Their impulsive desire had been suppressed by parental authority and persuasion, leaving them psychologically inclined to retreat. Now, with the added temptation of a three-day break… Who wouldn’t choose a holiday over another fight with their parents? What student doesn’t love a day off?

Some might have considered attending the meeting out of curiosity, but now even that seemed pointless. Why waste precious holiday time on something they might not even follow through with?

As the majority chose not to stay for the meeting, herd mentality would likely sway even those on the fence. After all, their friends might invite them out, and after a bit of persuasion, they’d leave too.

Song Qing was playing mind games. As long as students didn’t attend that meeting, they wouldn’t be tricked into signing anything. Signing relied on impulsive energy and the meeting’s atmosphere.

Sheng Yu nearly laughed out loud on the spot. Song Qing had wielded his authority as student council president to its fullest extent. The people who’d posted the notices looked furious, and the students were stunned. After the announcement ended, most of them cheered, already making plans for where to go that night and the next day—after all, it was an unexpected bonus holiday.

After retrieving his tablet, Sheng Yu slung his bag over his shoulder and headed to the student council office. Sure enough, Song Qing was in the middle of an argument with the person in charge.

“You’re obstructing our work!”

“How am I obstructing anything? I’m not stopping anyone who wants to stay. If anything, I think you’re the one interfering with the student council’s normal operations.” Song Qing’s expression remained blank. “Besides, I’ve already negotiated with the higher-ups. There’s no quota requirement anymore—you should’ve received the notice by now, right?”

“President, ready to go?” Sheng Yu leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re really going too far—”

“Enough, enough. The students are all gone, so save your breath,” Sheng Yu cut in. “We know your bonuses shrink if you recruit fewer people, but scamming fewer kids counts as doing a good deed. Build up some karma for yourself.”

The person pressed their lips together, clearly caught out by Sheng Yu’s words. Yes, every person was money to them.

“Trading lives for cash—how’s that for morality?”

“I’m telling you, don’t talk nonsense,” that person glared at Sheng Yu.

“Are you going or not? I’m just asking—if it were you, would you go?” Sheng Yu retorted irritably.

The person hesitated for a moment. “I would.”

“If it’s really that great, why hesitate? Don’t you know the reason for your hesitation deep down?” Sheng Yu waved at Song Qing. “Let’s go, let’s go pet something fluffy.”

The person’s expression flickered with embarrassment, but as a seasoned veteran, they quickly regained composure. This time, they didn’t stop Sheng Yu and Song Qing as they left.

By the time Song Qing and Sheng Yu stepped outside, most of the students had already dispersed. When it came to holidays, everyone was eager to leave.

“It’s just a shame for that Omega. Who knows what they’ll really do with them?” Song Qing sighed.

Sheng Yu had a rough idea but couldn’t voice it.

“I looked into the ones who left—their family situations were all pretty average. The whole thing feels… really off. Every school has to provide ten Omegas. What do they need so many for? And why this method?”

“I used the Song family’s connections to dig around. The last time something like this happened was twenty years ago. And it seems like roughly every twenty years, they gather a batch of Omegas. Again, no one knows what happens to them. I tried finding the list of names from back then, but… nothing.”

Song Qing glanced at Sheng Yu. “Why do you look so weird right now?”

“Because I also think it’s really bad.” Hearing Song Qing’s words, Sheng Yu felt her suspicions were almost confirmed. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, staring at the ground as she kicked a pebble aside. “Don’t overthink it.”

“Feels like you’re hiding something from me.”

“Don’t overthink it, and I’d advise you not to dig any further. Some secrets—if you uncover too much, even the Song family might not be able to protect you,” Sheng Yu said.

“You’re exhausting to talk to. Just say it plainly.”

“I’m telling you to stop investigating. Wait until you’re capable enough to uncover the truth behind it all.” Sheng Yu met Song Qing’s gaze. “My words mean exactly what they say. You know me—I’m a pessimist. Even if you find out, what can you do if the situation is beyond control? You’ll just be adding unnecessary worry.”

Song Qing: “…”

“This question is stuck in my head. It’s frustrating—I can’t stop thinking about it. That kind of thing… The military has virtual simulation systems, 100% realistic experience. They don’t need real people. And it’s obvious the military has no idea about the Omega situation. It’s two separate departments making demands.”

Sheng Yu looked at Song Qing. “You’re pretty well-informed?”

“It’s common knowledge. Usually written at the bottom of recruitment ads,” Song Qing snapped.

Sheng Yu: “…”

“Analyze this—why would they want high school Omegas?”

“Do those people have anything else in common?” Sheng Yu asked, though she didn’t actually want to discuss this. But if she shut Song Qing down outright, it’d just make her overthink more. Might as well steer her toward a more optimistic angle.

“I don’t feel like petting fluffy things anymore. I’ll pull up the records—you take a look.”

“Fine.” Sheng Yu rubbed her temples, already feeling a headache coming on.

Arriving home, the cat clearly didn’t expect anyone to be there on a Thursday and dashed to the door. As soon as Sheng Yu opened it, he was greeted by a mess—evidently, 827 hadn’t had time to clean up the aftermath. Spotting the two of them, 827 froze for a moment.

Sheng Yu: “…”

“Cats wrecking the house is normal. Should I transfer you some money?”

“Song Qing, I told you it understands what we say. Don’t spoil it like this,” Sheng Yu said, then looked down at the cat. “No canned food for you today or tomorrow.”

Song Qing hesitated, glancing at Sheng Yu several times.

“Let’s go to the study.”

“Okay.” Song Qing spared one last sympathetic look at the cat, unable to bear its pitiful gaze.

Once in the study, Song Qing pulled up the complete profiles of all ten individuals, while Sheng Yu turned on the projector.

The records were comprehensive, covering everything from differentiation timelines, home addresses, ancestral origins, family details, household income, and more.

“These ten families all have annual incomes under 100,000 yuan, and the Omegas come from households with multiple children,” Song Qing noted.

“Most people have siblings these days, don’t they?”

“True.” Song Qing sighed.

“These individuals all have excellent academic records,” Sheng Yu remarked, leaning against the desk. “I’ll take it from here. Just wait a moment.”

“Alright.” Song Qing stepped back.

Sheng Yu accessed the Omega database of No. 13 High School, and soon a spreadsheet appeared on the large screen. “Based on the ten individuals’ information, I’ve filtered for people with similar family backgrounds. It’s obvious they’re targeting those without connections.”

“Next, this is sorted by academic performance. Most are ranked within the top 50 in written exam scores. The ones who weren’t selected come from slightly better-off families.”

“So the screening criteria is academic performance?” Song Qing frowned. Society didn’t place much value on an Omega’s grades, which was why she hadn’t paid much attention to them initially. “Why grades?”

Sheng Yu thought for two seconds. “Maybe there’s some tedious clerical work involved? Omegas tend to be more meticulous and patient. Plus, those from poorer families are more resilient. Noble-born Omegas are usually more delicate.”

“You really think that?” Song Qing found the analysis highly unlikely. “But they wouldn’t need high school students for that. Government clerical jobs usually require passing exams.”

“I suspect there are other screening criteria we don’t know about,” Song Qing said, staring at the projection. But the information she could access ended there.

Sheng Yu leaned against the desk. “So, stop overthinking it.”

“Mm.”

“Honestly, if you think about it, my reasoning makes sense—as long as you ignore certain details…”

“Right. It just doesn’t sound like something you’d say.”

Sheng Yu: “…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stop thinking about it.” Song Qing packed up her things. There was no point dwelling on it further—she truly couldn’t do anything about it.

“Good.” Sheng Yu nodded, relieved. “What’s for dinner tonight?”

“Anything’s fine.” Song Qing wasn’t particularly hungry, but seeing Sheng Yu’s enthusiasm, she agreed.

“Alright, let’s eat out then. I’ll go change.”

Song Qing looked at Sheng Yu. “Your school uniform from last time is still in my dorm.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. I’ll return your uniform on Monday and pick mine up then,” Sheng Yu said.

“Sure.”

The two of them went to a highly-rated hot pot restaurant.

“When you’re feeling down, you should eat more. I’ve already planned our itinerary for later—after hot pot, we’re hitting the snack street,” Sheng Yu said.

Song Qing was stunned. “You ordered so much, and you’re still not full?”

“Won’t it all digest after just a few steps?” Sheng Yu asked, confused.

Song Qing: “…”

Song Qing had never felt so full before. She could barely take two steps, yet Sheng Yu beside her was already starting on her second ice cream.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting diarrhea?”

“Not at all,” Sheng Yu said confidently.

“Binge eating like this is bad for your health,” Song Qing advised.

“Actually, I don’t feel like I’ve eaten that much.”

Song Qing: …

She decided it was better to stay silent.