After delivering those words in a calm, indifferent tone, Ruan Zhao ignored Cheng Li’s sudden change in expression and walked straight toward the classmate who had been speaking ill of him.
He tapped his knuckle lightly against the table. The delicate-looking Omega flinched at his sudden approach, a flicker of panic flashing through his eyes. Still, he forced himself to stay composed, pressing his lips together before asking, “What do you want?”
Ruan Zhao’s tone remained gentle, even polite. “Just now, you said I was shameless, that I had no self-respect—that an Omega like me is a disgrace to all Omegas, didn’t you?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if lost in thought. “I wonder… what kind of legal charges those words might warrant?”
The Omega’s face drained of color. His fingers curled into fists, and he raised his voice, almost shouting, “W-Who said that? Do you have proof? If you accuse me without evidence, I could sue you for defamation!”
“I can testify.”
A voice rang out. The girl who had been browsing the forum with Ruan Zhao earlier raised her hand high. The moment all eyes turned to her, she hesitated, her lashes trembling slightly. But in the next second, she steadied herself, her voice firm.
“I can testify for Ruan Zhao. Ji Songyue did say those slanderous words.”
“Hear that?” Ruan Zhao’s lips curved into a smile, his tone turning even softer, a hint of playful satisfaction lacing his words. “I have a witness.”
Then, as if savoring the moment, he repeated the words verbatim, his voice light yet piercing. “You said that an Omega like me is a disgrace to all Omegas…”
He tilted his head slightly. “Surely, you’re aware that making such broad, defamatory remarks can have serious consequences?”
His voice was still gentle, but his words cut deep. “If I were just a little more emotionally fragile, I might even develop depression because of this… And then, of course, we’d have to factor in emotional damages, wouldn’t we?”
Ruan Zhao let out a flat, emotionless “Wow.”
“In that case, your offense just got even more serious. The school might even consider expelling you.”
Ji Songyue’s face grew increasingly pale. His usually delicate features were now completely drained of color. Clearly, Ruan Zhao’s exaggerated words had rattled him, making him believe his actions could actually lead to expulsion.
He was never the sharpest person, to begin with. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so easily swayed by a few misleading photos and manipulative posts on the forum. He had jumped to the moral high ground, convinced that from up there, he could freely judge Ruan Zhao.
“S-sorry…” His voice trembled, a hint of a sob creeping in. “I apologize.”
He had come from a remote star system and worked his way into Imperial Academy. His entire family had pinned their hopes on him, expecting him to secure a powerful Alpha in the capital and lift them out of their station in life.
If he got expelled, he’d be forced to return to that backwater home planet. If luck was on his side, maybe he could marry into a wealthy Alpha family. If luck wasn’t, then the local Omega Association would simply assign him to an Alpha with a high compatibility match—someone whose family background and character were complete unknowns. And if he ended up with a bad one… his life would be over.
The more he thought about it, the lower his head drooped. His apology grew more sincere, his voice earnest. “I shouldn’t have believed baseless rumors, and I shouldn’t have judged you without knowing the truth. It was my mistake.” His sniffles became stronger, his voice quivering. “I hope you can forgive me.”
Tears splashed onto the desk, one after another, pooling into a tiny puddle, as if someone had left a faucet running.
Ruan Zhao was at a loss for words as he watched Ji Songyue break down in tears. He hadn’t expected him to crumble this easily—just a few words, and he was sobbing uncontrollably.
Since Ji Songyue had admitted his mistake, Ruan Zhao saw no reason to press the issue. With today’s lesson, he’d probably think twice before blindly believing baseless rumors again—or letting himself be used as a pawn.
Taking a small step back, Ruan Zhao subtly avoided getting teardrops on himself.
The demonstration had worked well. Just moments ago, the classroom had been buzzing with whispered gossip about him. Now? Dead silence.
Everyone who met his gaze instantly tensed up, as if terrified he’d turn his attention to them next, pinning them with some kind of accusation.
Classic case of bullies fearing strength. When they assumed he was just a soft-spoken, easy-to-bully Omega, they had felt no hesitation in mocking him, humiliating him, using him as a joke—as if putting him down could somehow elevate themselves.
But the moment he pushed back, the moment they realized he wasn’t as helpless as they thought, that their words could have consequences, they immediately shrank away. Tucking their heads back into their shells, hiding like cowards.
Ruan Zhao lost interest and looked away.
Right on cue, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. He returned to his seat, pulled out his textbook, and flipped it open.
Today’s lesson was classical music appreciation. Too bad he had absolutely no artistic sense.
The soft, soothing background music made his eyelids heavy. He was getting sleepy.
Just then, his wristband vibrated. A message from his brother, Ruan Ci. Just two simple words:
[Come out.]
Ruan Zhao glanced at the teacher, who was writing on the board, and quickly typed back a reply.
[But I’m still in class.]
A beat.
[?]
Not long after—a knock on the classroom door.
The teacher paused, setting down the chalk, and said, surprised, “Come in.”
The tightly shut door swung open. A tall Alpha stood at the entrance, dressed in a sleek black suit. He must have hurried, because his shirt cuffs were still slightly rolled up, as if he hadn’t noticed.
He had a strikingly handsome face, though the sharp angles of his brows and eyes gave him a distant, almost unapproachable air.
“Good afternoon, professor. I’m Ruan Zhao’s older brother, Ruan Ci.” The Alpha nodded politely, his voice smooth and composed. “I need to speak with him.”
His gaze swept the room before easily landing on his younger brother. In an instant, the cold, distant look in his eyes melted away, replaced by a warmth like sunlight on water. He gestured slightly.
“Zhaozhao, come here.”
The two of them stood in the hallway.
Online, Ruan Zhao could call his brother all sorts of names, using different tones and playful variations. But now—with Ruan Ci standing right in front of him—he suddenly felt awkward.
Lowering his head, he murmured in a voice barely audible, “Brother.” Then, he stole a glance at his brother—only to quickly look away again.
Ruan Ci frowned. “Come here.”
Ruan Zhao dragged his feet, moving slowly. His brother gave him a once-over, checking for visible injuries. When he found none, he let out a quiet breath of relief.
“I’ll find out who posted those lies about you. And those who blindly followed along, spreading rumors? I won’t let them off either. As for the mastermind behind it all—” Ruan Ci’s voice turned icy. “I’ll hire the best lawyers and make sure they end up in prison.”
……
Before coming to find his brother, Ruan Ci had visited the principal’s office. With his face frequently appearing in financial news, anyone with even a little power and influence knew him. The principal and board members were completely baffled as to why someone of his status would show up unannounced.
But when he explained his reason, the principal nervously wiped his sweat and immediately ordered all posts about Ruan Zhao to be deleted from the forum.
Even so—Ruan Ci wasn’t satisfied. His tone sharpened as he applied pressure.
“If another post slandering my brother appears on your forum—if another student jumps to conclusions and spreads baseless accusations—then I’ll make sure every single one of you is held accountable.”
“Including this entire academy.”
“You can all prepare to receive my court summons.”
If any other Alpha had said those words, everyone would have laughed it off.
“Pfft—does he think he’s in a drama?”
“Bro really thinks he’s some mafia boss, huh?”
“What a joke.”
But the thing was—
This wasn’t just anyone. This was Ruan Ci.The youngest Minister of Finance in history. A man in his twenties, yet already controlling some of the most powerful financial institutions. With a fraction of his wealth, he could buy out this century-old academy. With a bit of strategic maneuvering, he could crush them all, ensuring they never recovered.
The principal and board members were already sweating bullets. They rushed to serve him tea, offer reassurance, make promises:
“We swear, sir—this will never spread.”
“We guarantee, sir—your brother will never be mistreated.”
“Give us three days, sir—we’ll handle this to your satisfaction.”
Ruan Ci didn’t waste time. He barely glanced at them, gave a cold nod, and left without another word—his mind preoccupied with something far more important. Finding his brother.
……
Now, his gaze drifted across Ruan Zhao’s face.
Eyes—clear. So, he hadn’t cried.
Gaze—shifting. So, he was avoiding eye contact.
Expression—steady. So, he was hiding his emotions.
Ruan Ci analyzed every tiny shift in his brother’s expression, his usual calm, rational mind piecing it together like a puzzle.
But then—Ruan Zhao murmured, barely above a whisper, “Brother.”
And just like that—every last bit of his composure shattered.
Ruan Ci took a step forward—closing the distance between them. His sharp, narrow eyes locked onto Ruan Zhao.
“You were suffering. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ruan Zhao hesitated. “…I did. I sent you a message.”
“You mean those forum screenshots?” Ruan Ci’s tone sharpened. “Why didn’t you call me directly? What if I was too busy with work and never saw them? Were you planning to just endure it?”
Ruan Zhao faltered. “I… I didn’t think it was that bad.”
He wasn’t lying. Sure, the rumors were ugly, but he didn’t feel it was some unbearable injustice. He had only sent those screenshots because he wanted Ruan Ci to be his support system—his reliable backing. If Ruan Ci hadn’t noticed them right away, that was fine. He could handle it himself.
But… the moment he said those words, his brother’s expression darkened. Like he had said the wrong thing.
Ruan Ci had dropped everything—his workload, his meetings, his responsibilities—just to rush here. Not to investigate what happened. But to stand by his brother’s side.
Yet, Ruan Zhao’s response felt like he was pushing Ruan Ci away.
He realized his mistake. So—Ruan Zhao tugged at Ruan Ci’s sleeve, his voice suddenly soft and pitiful.
“Brother, don’t scold me anymore… I already feel so sad about everything…”
“If you keep lecturing me, I’ll start crying right here—wu wu wu wu…”
(Even though, in reality, he couldn’t squeeze out a single tear.)
But—Ruan Ci actually believed him.
A warm, slightly unpracticed hand landed on his head, gently ruffling his hair twice.
Then—Ruan Ci lowered himself slightly, leaning in close until their eyes met. His voice was low, steady—like a solemn promise.
“Zhaozhao. No matter what happens, you can always come to me first.”
There was a faint smile in Ruan Ci’s eyes, softening his usual cool demeanor. And when he spoke again—his voice was impossibly gentle.
“Because brother will always help you. No conditions. No exceptions.”
Ruan Ci rarely said things like this. So when he did—he meant every word. Words that would never change. Ever.
Ruan Zhao froze.
And just like that—his eyes turned red.
This time—for real.
It was that feeling—like a child who falls down but doesn’t cry because no one is around. But the moment someone shows concern—the tears immediately spill over.
……
So this is what it feels like… to have an older brother.
Ruan Zhao buried himself into Ruan Ci’s arms, pressing his face against the fine, expensive fabric of his suit. Tears soaking into it—uncaring.
Even though classes were still in session, the hallway wasn’t completely empty. A few students passed, slowing down, sneaking curious glances. Mostly at Ruan Ci.
Because—an Alpha like him was far too striking. Alphas were already rare in this school—let alone one this tall, sharp, and commanding. Naturally, he became the center of attention.
But Ruan Zhao didn’t care. He only cried for a short while before quickly regaining control of his emotions.
Ruan Ci, without a word, pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away his tears.
“Crying like this… you look just like you did when you were little.”
Ruan Zhao’s voice was still a little nasally from crying. “Do I look ugly now?”
Ruan Ci raised a brow. “Have you ever looked good?”
Ruan Zhao: “…”
……
So that whole warm, brotherly moment just now?
Yeah. Completely fake.
Clearly, this was their real dynamic. Banter. Roasting. No mercy.
Ruan Ci patted his shoulder, then got straight to the point. “Alright. Tell me—who in school do you have problems with? Anyone secretly making trouble for you?”
Ruan Zhao didn’t even hesitate. “Cheng Li.”
Ruan Ci frowned slightly. “Cheng Li?”
The name sounded familiar. Right—Ruan Zhao had mentioned him before. From what he remembered, their relationship wasn’t bad.
Ruan Zhao sniffled. “It’s definitely him.”
Ruan Ci didn’t ask why. Didn’t demand evidence. Didn’t question how he was so sure. He just responded—instantly. “Alright. I’ll look into him for you.” Simple as that. And yet—reassuring.
Ruan Zhao hesitated, then told him everything he’d learned from the system. “He likes Qin Ge. He sees me as competition. That’s why he did this.”
The moment Qin Ge’s name was mentioned—Ruan Ci’s eyebrows started furrowing. Bit by bit. Then—a low curse escaped his lips.
“Why the hell is Qin Ge everywhere? Like some damn ghost—refusing to go away.”
The Qin family’s status was a level lower than theirs. But still—acceptable. Their families had been acquainted for decades. So much so—that the elders had once considered arranging a marriage between Ruan Zhao and Qin Ge. Back when they were in middle school.
And the loudest, most rebellious opponent to that idea? Ruan Ci. He was the first to vote no.
Qin Ge. That guy was inferior in every way.
Fighting? Lost to him.
Grades? Always second place.
Personality? Arrogant as hell.
And yet—back when Ruan Zhao had excitedly gone to play with him as a kid, Qin Ge had dared to give him attitude. Like he had any right.
Ruan Ci scoffed. As if someone like that could ever deserve his little brother. The engagement their families had once planned? Cancelled—thanks to him.
And yet, Qin Ge still lingered—always finding ways to stay in Ruan Zhao’s life. Now? Now, because of him, his little brother had been targeted and slandered.
……
The more Ruan Ci thought about it, the angrier he got. If this were back then, he’d have already beaten him up. He clenched his fists. Just wait. Once he dealt with the main culprit, he was coming for Qin Ge next. Neither of them were getting away.
Ruan Ci let out a slow breath, tugging his rolled-up sleeves back into place—a small movement that helped suppress the rising fire in his chest. Then, his voice dropped into something cool and firm.
“Stay away from Qin Ge. Delete his number. From now on, don’t meet with him. At all.”
A pause.
Then—
“…Okay.”
Ruan Ci blinked. That—was too easy. “…You used to like him, didn’t you? You’re not just saying this to make me happy, right?”
Ruan Zhao blinked innocently back at him. Then—he shrugged. “My feelings for him are no different from how I feel about those Alpha streamers. I follow, like, ten of them. Losing one? Not a big deal.”
……
Ruan Ci stared at him. That was—cold. Like he’d divided his heart into ten pieces, and losing one meant nothing. It sounded heartless. Like a total player move.
Ruan Ci’s expression shifted several times. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or concerned. On one hand—his little brother’s feelings weren’t deep. That was great. On the other… did he raise a heartbreaker?
Ten. No—more than ten. Those words flashed in Ruan Ci’s mind. Bold. Emphasized. Enlarged. And deeply irritating…
His jaw clenched.
His expression? Complicated.
In the end—he sighed. Like an overindulgent parent who just couldn’t bring himself to be strict. With a cold face, he compromised. “…Fine. You can mess around online. But don’t bring it into real life.” And especially— “Don’t bring it in front of me.”
Because if he ever had to see it—he might actually commit murder.
To Ruan Ci, his little brother wasn’t at fault. The real problem? Those Alphas online—all those attention-seeking, shameless, honey-tongued guys who seduced and tricked innocent people. His brother was too naive to see through their cheap tricks. So of course—he’d fallen for their sweet words and wasted money on them.
Ruan Ci’s gaze darkened. He needed to find an excuse—to shut them all down. Coldly, he thought—I’ll get every single one of them banned.
Exhaling, he reset his focus. “I’ve got work to do.”
Before leaving, he fixed Ruan Zhao’s slightly uneven collar, then zipped up his jacket all the way to the top. “Be good. Call me if you need anything.”
Ruan Zhao nodded obediently. He even waved cutely—and in the sweetest voice, said—“Bye-bye, Brother~”
Ruan Ci’s face stayed cool and indifferent. Expressionless. Just a short, cold—“Mn.” Then he turned away.
And the moment his little brother couldn’t see his face—his lips curved up. Just slightly.
Damn it. His little brother was too cute.
……
A class period passed just like that. As soon as the bell rang, students flooded out of the classroom—and immediately flocked to Ruan Zhao.
“That Alpha just now—was that your brother?!”
“He looked kinda familiar… I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
“Pfft, please. You say that about every hot Alpha.”
“Shut up! That’s not what I meant—”
……
The small swarm of Omega students surrounded Ruan Zhao, their chattering like a flock of birds. His head hurt. So—he threw out a couple of half-hearted answers and escaped.
The school’s curriculum? Mostly arts-focused. If it wasn’t singing and dancing, it was flower arranging or painting. And today’s last class? Painting.
Ruan Zhao wasn’t great at drawing…
But—he did have a talent. Stick figures. Not only could he draw them with perfect precision—he could even create elaborate storylines for them.
The teacher, upon seeing his… groundbreaking masterpiece, was silent for a full minute. Then, after an excruciating pause—“Very… very imaginative.” And then—he handed Ruan Zhao a completely average score.
Ruan Zhao, unbothered, snuck a glance at what everyone else was drawing.
To his left—a student was skillfully sketching a charcoal portrait.
To his right—someone was using watercolors to bring a landscape to life.
And in front of him—another student was expertly mixing paints on a palette, blending shades with practiced ease.
So competitive. This school was no joke. Compared to them… he might as well be a first-grader who just learned how to hold a pencil.
Feeling utterly inadequate, Ruan Zhao flipped his drawing over, not wanting a single soul to see it.
But just then—someone sat down beside him. A soft voice called his name. It was the girl who had helped him before—a girl with a beautifully poetic name. Lin Lanyue.
Ruan Zhao assumed she wanted to see his drawing. After a moment of mental preparation, he hesitantly lifted a corner of the paper—only to hear her ask, in a voice barely above a whisper: “Are you coming to the mixer tonight?”
Mixer?
What mixer?
The system quickly provided an explanation: [Every month, on the last day, the Omega Academy holds a social event with the nearby military school.]
[It’s basically a matchmaking event for single AOs.]
[If two people hit it off, they exchange contact info—and if things go well, they might even start dating.]
Ruan Zhao had zero interest. He was just about to decline when the system dropped another piece of information—
[Qi Xingchen will probably be there.]
……
Oh.
Now that was interesting.
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