S-Rank Alpha stood at the absolute pinnacle of the food chain in this world, an unmatched powerhouse. Even A-Rank Alpha, who was revered by other Alphas and Omegas on a daily basis, seemed utterly insignificant before an S-Rank.
The sudden surge of pheromones nearly suffocated Du Ziteng.
As his body trembled, he was shocked to discover that He Siheng remained completely unaffected by Tan Jing’s invading pheromones.
There was only one reason—Tan Jing’s pheromones weren’t targeting him.
But clearly, Tan Jing had made He Siheng run laps as punishment earlier that day. How could this be…
“Tonight’s matter—I don’t want a fourth person knowing about it.”
Tan Jing lowered his gaze to look at him, his tone flat as he issued the reminder.
It was less a reminder and more a command.
The teenager’s dark eyes resembled a midnight sea, brimming with bone-chilling danger.
Du Ziteng’s heart tightened. Without time to think, he hurriedly agreed, “I-I’ll keep it absolutely secret!”
Sensing the other’s pheromones ease slightly, he scrambled away on all fours.
He Siheng watched his pathetic retreating figure and clicked his tongue. “He’s running already?”
He turned to Tan Jing. “Why’d you show up?”
Tan Jing picked up the Scent Blocker Du Ziteng had dropped on the ground and handed it to him. “Wang Yizhou said you lost something. I came to watch the fun.”
He Siheng snatched the Scent Blocker from his hand and grumbled inwardly, Is watching me fight that entertaining, bro?
Tan Jing’s gaze swept over the corner of his mouth, and he tugged at his lips. “Fighting, or getting beaten?”
“It’s because—”
He Siheng cut himself off mid-sentence.
Fights inevitably involved some bumps and bruises, but if Tan Jing found out he’d been suppressed by Du Ziteng’s pheromones, it would be too embarrassing.
He Siheng cleared his throat and changed his tune. “I was just careless for a moment.”
He unscrewed the cap of the Scent Blocker spray and madly spritzed several bursts onto his gland before turning to head back to Dorm 224. “I’m out.”
The person behind him suddenly called out, “He Siheng.”
He Siheng paused and looked back. “What?”
Tan Jing eyed him for a long moment before drawling, “I carry Omega Scent Blocker too.”
He Siheng didn’t get it. “What do you mean?”
“It means that hush money project of yours includes keeping this under wraps for you.”
Tan Jing walked up beside him and lightly patted his lean shoulder with slender fingers. “So, if you need anything in the future, you can come to me.”
He dropped that line and left.
He Siheng, on the other hand, stood frozen in place for a few seconds. Coming back to himself, he watched Tan Jing’s back as he returned to Dorm 224 and muttered awkwardly, “Fine, you kept your word.”
The two returned to Dorm 224 one after the other. The moment they stepped through the door, they were met with two pairs of eyes.
The pair of them went straight to their own beds and minded their own business, while Wang Yizhou and Song Lin’s gazes shifted from shock to gossip-hungry glee.
Especially after spotting the wound at the corner of He Siheng’s mouth.
Wang Yizhou and Song Lin exchanged glances, communicating silently.
-What happened? Did these two fight?
-Looks like Young Master He got a beating from Jing Bro!
Wang Yizhou couldn’t be bothered with pushing his tower anymore. He immediately quit the game and opened the group chat he’d specifically created today for settling bets.
-Brothers, the match results are in! Those who bet on Young Master He, come pay up!
-What happened? Didn’t they not finish earlier?
-They had a private rematch tonight! Young Master He got hurt, Jing Bro wins!
-No way! Jing Bro finally made his move?
…
Gossip spread as fast as money flowing to game devs during a skin sale.
In just a few minutes, He Siheng—who was planning to turn in early because he felt off—received a message from Zhou Yu.
Zhou Yu’s text was practically roaring: Heng Bro! Why’d you go pick another fight with Tan Jing!!!
He Siheng: ?
Zhou Yu: The group says Tan Jing beat you up. You okay? Need me to bring medicine?
Zhou Yu: Never mind, better come get it yourself. I don’t dare go over with Tan Jing there.
He Siheng: ???
He Siheng: What group?
He Siheng: Who said I got beat up? By who?
From Zhou Yu, He Siheng finally learned just how terrifying rumors could be.
The initial story was that, unsatisfied with the inconclusive arm-wrestling match at noon, he’d challenged Tan Jing to another fight that evening and hadn’t won.
Passed from one to ten, then ten to a hundred, it morphed into him provoking Tan Jing again, and Tan Jing finally snapping, pinning him down and rubbing his face in the dirt.
He Siheng nearly laughed in fury. He messaged Zhou Yu: Pull me into the group.
Once Zhou Yu added him, He Siheng stayed silent in the chat. If he tried explaining himself, it’d just come off as stubborn denial—no one would believe him.
He opened WeChat and found the other person named in the rumors: You’d better go clarify. The reason I got hurt tonight wasn’t from fighting you. If we really went at it, who wins is anyone’s guess.
Half a day passed after he sent the message, but Tan Jing didn’t reply.
He Siheng glanced at the opposite bunk. The guy wasn’t even looking at his phone. He was on the upper bunk, half-reclining against the wall, holding a book and reading with his head down.
He Siheng coughed pointedly twice. Only then did Tan Jing look up from his book and over at him.
He Siheng tapped his phone, gesturing with his eyes.
Tan Jing raised a brow, picked up his phone from beside him, glanced at it, and replied: What group?
He Siheng ground out a response, practically biting his teeth: The arm-wrestling bet group from today.
He pulled Tan Jing into the group. Tan Jing skimmed the chat history and asked: What do you want me to explain?
He Siheng: Everything!!!
Tan Jing: Okay.
He agreed so readily that He Siheng’s anger eased a bit.
However, dozens of seconds later, he saw Tan Jing’s message in the group.
-We’re on great terms. No fighting.
Someone in the group asked: Who are you?
-Tan Jing.
“…”
The group, which had been buzzing with messages a second ago, fell deathly silent.
Not just the group—Dorm 224 went as quiet as chickens too.
In the group chat, a system notification popped up: Yiye Panzhou transferred group admin to Sanmu.
In the dorm, Song Lin cursed like he’d seen a ghost. “Fuck! Wang Yizhou, can you be any more spineless?!”
At the same time, He Siheng’s even more ghostly voice rang out. “Fuck! Tan Jing, who said we’re on great terms?!”
Perhaps because Tan Jing’s sleazy stunt pissed him off so much, He Siheng barely slept that night. The next morning during military training, he felt groggy and dazed.
During a break, He Siheng sat dozing in the shade under a tree, face buried in his arms. It was obvious he lacked energy.
Zhou Yu saw him like that and asked with concern, “Heng Bro, you okay?”
“I’m fine,” He Siheng mumbled lowly. His fingers, draped over his head, scratched at his hair. He lifted his head and rubbed his face. “Might be a bit heatstruck.”
Zhou Yu looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. “You can get heatstroke?”
He Siheng elbowed him. “Piss off.”
Seeing him perk up a little, Zhou Yu sidled over with a cheeky grin. “Heng Bro, lemme ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Were you out playing hero last night or what?”
Zhou Yu had heard first thing that morning that Du Ziteng had skipped training, claiming illness. But his connections told him Du Ziteng had shown up to request leave with a bruised and swollen face—clearly beaten up. Yet he insisted it was from a fall and refused to spill the truth no matter how the instructor pressed.
Thinking about it, it made sense. Du Ziteng had always been popular at South Middle School as an A-Rank Alpha. The higher his popularity, the heavier his idol image—he’d just had a swollen face a few days ago. Admitting he’d been beaten would mortify him to death.
He Siheng pinched his somewhat numb neck and drawled lazily, “Do I look like someone with time to stir up trouble? He came looking for it.”
Zhou Yu thought to himself, Are you sure you’re not super idle? It’s not like picking fights with Tan Jing is a one-off.
But of course, he couldn’t say that out loud.
Zhou Yu pointed at the corner of He Siheng’s mouth. “So this wasn’t from Tan Jing?”
“Of course not!” He Siheng shed his earlier laziness. “How could that asshole possibly land a hit on me? No way he beats me.”
Not Tan Jing, so it had to be Du Ziteng.
Zhou Yu didn’t quite get the logic of thinking he could take an S-Rank after eating a punch from an A-Rank, but he knew Young Master He’s obsession with who was stronger between him and Tan Jing. Dragging this topic out would mean no end to it.
Luckily, break time was up, and he escaped.
He Siheng’s military training performance was especially poor that day. He lacked energy the whole time and had no appetite.
By evening, his head spun. He hit the sack early but tossed until 2 a.m. without sleeping.
Amid the pounding headache, he felt a faint heat building in the gland at the back of his neck. Finally, He Siheng realized something was wrong.
His Heat Period had arrived.
He Siheng cursed inwardly. Luckily, he’d sprayed a ton of Scent Blocker that morning and hadn’t leaked any scent.
He quickly got up, using the moonlight from the window to quietly rummage through his suitcase for Suppressants. He slipped out of Dorm 224 and headed straight for the bathroom.
Fortunately, it was the wee hours—no one around.
He Siheng ducked into a stall, pulled out the Suppressant, and prepared to inject himself. But he fell silent at the sight of the needle.
Fuck, who designed this injector?
This needle’s so long—stabbing it into your arm won’t kill you from pain?
And he needed two or three shots.
His split lip from Du Ziteng’s punch still throbbed faintly, and injections hurt a hundred—no, a thousand—times worse than fighting.
He Siheng hovered the injector over his arm several times, unable to bring himself to do it.
Meanwhile, the gland at the back of his neck grew hotter and hotter, his breathing quickened, and he could even smell his own pheromones.
Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, He Siheng freed a hand to spray more Scent Blocker—but it came up empty in his pocket.
Fuck, the Scent Blocker’s in my jacket! I’m just in a short sleeve!
Couldn’t go back to the dorm now… had to inject…
His gaze lingered on the sharp, long needle for several seconds. He Siheng clenched his jaw, and with a trembling hand, finally raised the injector again.
Just as he was about to jab it into his arm, a knock sounded on the stall door.
“He Siheng.”
Tan Jing’s voice was unmistakable—low and crisp, carrying a particulate texture diffused in the air, like the first autumn rain, cool-toned.
He Siheng heard him ask from outside, “That you in there?”
