It was perfect. Like a fish dying of thirst finally tasting water, like a starved bird finally finding food—but it wasn't enough. Never enough. Su Ling's body burned with an unbearable thirst, a restless, aching emptiness that demanded to be filled, and he found himself reaching for the source of the scent, the source of the warmth, without thinking, without control.
He found it.
Su Ling's lips crashed into the admiral's, soft and warm and slightly chapped, the salty pine scent flooding his senses, and he moaned, a quiet, needy sound, his hands fisting in the admiral's black nightgown, pulling him closer.
It was soft, it was warm, it was the sea and the pine and everything good in the world—and Su Ling couldn't stop. He bit down gently, his tongue slipping past the admiral's closed lips, tasting the faint sweetness of the honey water from that morning, the faint salt of his skin, and he lingered, drunk on the taste, drunk on the warmth, drunk on the feeling of being close to someone, really close.
He lost himself in the kiss, in the warmth, in the scent—until his brain finally caught up to his body, and he froze.
He was sitting on the admiral's chest. He was kissing the admiral. He was making out with the admiral.
Oh no. Oh god. He was going to die.
Su Ling scrambled back, his face burning with shame, his eyes wide with terror, not daring to look at the admiral's face, not daring to see the anger, the hatred, the disgust he was sure to find there. He stumbled off the bed, tripping over his own feet, and screamed for the one person he knew could help—even if it was a metal person. "Brute! The alpha pheromone inhibitor! Hurry! Now!"
What was happening? Was the protagonist alpha's pheromone really this powerful? This irresistible? It was a cheat code, a one-hit KO—he had to be careful, had to be on guard from now on!
Brute rolled over, a small silver canister in its metal hand, and Su Ling snatched it, spraying the admiral's face, his neck, his chest—spraying it everywhere, wild and panicked, the cold mist settling on the admiral's skin. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I swear I didn't! It was an accident!"
He rambled, his voice shaking, his hands shaking, his whole body shaking—completely oblivious to the truth.
Alpha pheromones had no effect on betas. And Pei You hadn't released a single drop of pheromone, not intentionally, not unintentionally.
Su Ling wasn't just a beta. He was an omega—an unbonded, undifferentiated omega, his pheromones still weak, still unformed, hidden deep inside him. And he could smell Pei You's pheromones, could react to them, could be drawn to them like a moth to a flame—because their compatibility was 100%. A perfect match.
A perfect match was a myth, a legend—something the galaxy hadn't seen in thirty years. And when two perfect matches were this close, their pheromones tangled, merged, sang together—spontaneously, no control, no effort, just nature, just fate.
Su Ling could have fought the urge, could have pushed the admiral away—if he'd known what it was, if he'd understood the omegaverse, if he'd had even a little bit of control over his untapped omega pheromones. But he was a transmigrator, a stranger in this world, a kid who'd only read about the omegaverse in a book—he had no idea what was happening, no idea he was an omega, no idea a perfect match even existed. After all, the book had said the admiral and his true protagonist had only a 95% compatibility rate—close, but not perfect.
Su Ling's wild imagination ran wild, inventing a ridiculous explanation: the admiral had a Mary Sue/Gary Stu cheat code, his pheromones could seduce anyone—alpha, beta, omega, droid, even a rock.
He had no idea he was an undifferentiated omega. The original Su Ling had died a beta, after all—so why would Su Ling think anything different?
But the admiral knew.
The second Su Ling's lips touched his, a jolt of electricity shot through his body, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, his heart slamming against his ribs, his blood singing in his veins, the unrelenting pain of the unruly energy fading away, vanishing, like it had never existed.
Perfect match pheromone fusion. It was a feeling like no other—like floating on a cloud, wrapped in soft, warm silk, like coming home, like finding peace for the first time in his life.
And he smelled it—faint, sweet, delicate omega pheromones, slipping through Su Ling's beta mask, unbidden, unplanned. Orange, sweet and bright, almond, nutty and soft, coconut, clean and fresh— a sweet, lively scent that didn't cloy, didn't overwhelm, just felt… right. Like it was meant to be.
Logically, an undifferentiated omega couldn't release pheromones—not this strong, not this clear. Which meant only one thing, in the admiral's mind. Su Ling wasn't a beta. He was an omega, hiding his true identity, pretending to be a beta to get close to him.
Omegas were precious, rare, revered in the galaxy—protected, worshipped, the most sought-after beings in the universe. Why would one hide their identity, pretend to be a lowly beta, to marry a paralyzed, broken war hero?
What did he want? What was he after? The admiral had nothing left—no power, no status, no future, just a broken body and a lifetime of pain. What could an omega possibly want from him?
The admiral let Su Ling spray him with the inhibitor, let the cold mist coat his skin, said nothing, did nothing—his face as blank, as impassive as ever. Su Ling had expected anger, frustration, disgust, hatred—something, anything. But the admiral's gaze was empty, cold, unreadable, like the kiss had meant nothing, like Su Ling was just a fly buzzing around his head, a nuisance, nothing more.
He didn't look like he was going to kill him. Su Ling's heart slowed, his panic fading a little, his hands still shaking but his voice a little steadier. He stopped spraying the inhibitor, the canister slipping from his fingers, clattering to the floor, and stammered, his eyes darting everywhere but the admiral's face. "I-I'll spray you every day! I promise! I'll do it every morning, every night, whenever you want! It'll never happen again! I swear!"
He talked fast, his words tumbling over each other, his skin still burning hot, the warmth of the admiral's body still seared into his back, the taste of his lips still on his tongue.
It was his first kiss. It had to be the admiral's first kiss too, right? He'd been a soldier his whole life, a war hero, always busy fighting, always alone—he'd never had time for love, for kisses, for warmth. So it was a fair trade. They'd both been kissed against their will. They were even.
A kiss was just a kiss! It was an accident! No big deal!
He told himself that over and over, trying to calm his racing heart, trying to erase the shame burning in his chest—but it didn't work. He was so embarrassed he could die. He snuck a quick glance at the admiral, and his face turned even redder—his lips were split, a tiny trickle of blood seeping from the corner, from where Su Ling had bitten him too hard.
He licked his lips unconsciously, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood, and whimpered, turning and fleeing the room, his steps fast, his head down—once again, running away like a coward.
From that day on, Su Ling carried the alpha pheromone inhibitor with him everywhere, a permanent fixture in his pocket. Every morning, the first thing he did when he woke up was burst into the admiral's room and spray him from head to toe, dousing him in the cold mist.
It was a high-end inhibitor, the kind that lasted a week with a single spray—Su Ling was wasting it, spraying it every single day, multiple times a day, but the admiral never stopped him. Never said a word, never made a move, never even looked at him.
It should have been annoying, insulting, a slap in the face—this tiny little beta, spraying him with inhibitor like he was a dangerous animal, like he couldn't control his own pheromones.
But the admiral didn't mind.
It was a little annoying, a little ridiculous… and a little bit interesting.