I’m Allergic to Pheromones - Chapter 11

The deity, clad in long robes with arms outstretched, gazed down from on high at the tiny beings below. Children in white robes stood together, eyes closed, and heads bowed in prayer, seeking forgiveness, hope, and rebirth.

Bai Cha was the only one with her eyes open.

She lifted her head, staring fearlessly and defiantly at the compassionate statue before her, devoid of any reverence befitting a believer.

“I will never believe in you.”

If God truly loved the world, why did people like them exist?

They were all abandoned children—products of sin and suffering, weeds growing in desolate fields.

This place was full of contradictions and conflicts. High walls stood tall, sharp edges cut deep, and the deity hid in the shadows, powerless, yet demanding that they all beg it for hope.

Bai Cha believed in neither gods nor men. The gods were helpless against the evils of the world, and the picky adoptive parents were no saviors.

“I will save myself!”

Her gaze was firm, her silent protest loud. Her head, usually hung low, was now held high, revealing a pale but strikingly beautiful face.

Her small face had a straight nose, deep-set eyes with sharp contours, and thin lips pressed tightly together, tinged with a faint flush like rose petals.

She was a budding beauty with great potential.

Everyone else prayed with utmost sincerity, heads bowed and backs bent, unaware that a rebel stood among them.

Only Bai Cha stood straight, arms at her sides, showing no reverence.

She stood there, lonely and stubborn, her spine straight like that Alpha woman she had once seen—the one who was even more beautiful than an Omega. The oversized robe draped over her limbs as the rising sun crept over the walls, casting light into the chapel.

The small child stood in the farthest corner, coldly watching the statue. The light did not touch her face, only casting a slender shadow on the floor.

Breakfast consisted of plain congee, steamed buns, and pickled vegetables. On weekends, each child was given an extra egg—already the best the orphanage could provide in terms of nutrition.

Government funding was insufficient to support every orphanage or relief center, and places like Angel Orphanage, barely scraping by, were far too common.

At least here, every child received a set of “new clothes” upon arrival and three meals a day to fill their stomachs.

Bai Cha sat in the farthest corner, head lowered, discreetly slipping the egg from the table into her pants pocket while no one was looking.

After breakfast, the children were divided by dormitory—some were sent to pull weeds, others to clean the dorms, and the rest assigned various chores.

Everyone was excited because the plump nun had announced good news after breakfast: a group of prospective adoptive parents would visit the orphanage next weekend.

So no one complained about the work. Instead, they scrubbed the floors until they gleamed, hoping the supervising nuns would take notice.

The more outstanding a child was, the more attention they received from the orphanage, increasing their chances of being recommended for adoption.

Everyone changed out of the white robes they wore for morning prayers and into their usual clothes. Bai Cha remained in her oversized shorts and shirt, her canvas shoes tightly laced, standing beside Tang Ou.

Their task was to pull out the tall weeds growing in the yard. The grass was tough to remove, with sharp edges on the leaves that could easily cut their hands. Mo Chuiliu, wearing a small badge issued by the administrator, stood at the dormitory entrance handing out gloves one by one.

Each girl took a pair and left, but when it was Bai Cha’s turn, she received nothing.

Feeling no weight in her hand, the petite girl looked up expressionlessly. “What are you trying to do?”

Mo Chuiliu held a plastic bag containing a pair of already worn-out cotton gloves. Her high ponytail swayed as she moved—her frame was so large it would take two Bai Chas stacked together with several bricks to match her height. She slowly pulled out the last pair of gloves and slipped them onto her own hands, then waved them at Bai Cha with a sharp little canine showing. “None left. If you give me the egg in your pocket, I’ll go find another pair for you.”

She had seen Bai Cha secretly hide an egg in her left pants pocket.

Gloves weren’t expensive, and the orphanage warehouse had plenty. While there might be shortages during group cleaning sessions, the administrator would never short Mo Chuiliu—she was one of the children the orphanage particularly valued.

Bai Cha had no intention of engaging with her. She rolled her eyes and walked away.

Mo Chuiliu was taken aback, stomping her foot in frustration before calling out, “Hey! I know you snuck out last night.”

Bai Cha paused mid-step and turned to look at her. The darkness in her narrow eyes was so intimidating that Mo Chuiliu instinctively retreated a few steps.

What was there to be afraid of?

Scolding herself internally, Mo Chuiliu licked her lips and asked, “What were you doing outside? I’ve noticed for a while—every weekend after lights out, you and Tang Ou disappear for ages.”

Going to the bathroom together at night wasn’t strange, but doing so every single weekend after lights out was suspicious. Mo Chuiliu’s curiosity got the better of her, and last night she forced herself to stay awake, secretly watching. To her surprise, she saw Bai Cha sneaking back in past two in the morning.

She had gone out without anyone knowing!

Mo Chuiliu, thrilled to have uncovered this secret, lowered her voice excitedly. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll report it to the headmistress.”

“Got any proof?”

Bai Cha’s cold stare showed no trace of panic—instead, it was Mo Chuiliu, the one making threats, who faltered first.

“I saw you come back to the dorm after two! You definitely went out!”

“Got lost, didn’t I?” Bai Cha took a few steps forward and, unexpectedly, shoved her taller roommate against the door, her expression fierce. “Go ahead and try reporting me. Forgotten how you got beaten up before?”

Mo Chuiliu…

She had indeed been beaten by Bai Cha as a child—badly. Pinned into a dirt pit and pummeled, the memory still made her bones ache.

Instinctively, she couldn’t meet those eyes, her gaze dropping guiltily to Bai Cha’s sharp, underfed chin.

Her shoulders were narrow and small, her shirt too big—the nuns always gave her ill-fitting clothes. It was downright unfair.

Long after Bai Cha had left, Mo Chuiliu, nursing a sore head and back from the impact, stared blankly, unable to understand why she—now tall and sturdy—still felt overpowered by this tiny runt.

Old grievances and fresh resentment welled up in her heart. Gnashing her teeth, she cursed, “You little bastard! Just wait till I present as an Alpha—I’ll beat you to a pulp!”