Twenty Fifth Day of Pretending to Be an Alpha

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Xie Songchen’s first instinct was: Impossible.

Whether it was Chu Mo’s appearance, personality, or combat skills, none of it fit the profile of an omega. And more than that, Xie Songchen couldn’t imagine anyone pretending to be an alpha from the moment they differentiated—all the way until they were twenty-seven. Nine whole years. It was simply unimaginable.

Yet, the scene before him made it hard to shake the idea. His gaze lingered on Chu Mo. Somehow, he looked even paler than usual today, and there was an almost imperceptible air of restraint about him.

If Chu Mo were an omega…

It didn’t seem all that out of place?

Startled by his own thoughts, Xie Songchen swallowed, throat dry.

Chu Mo, unaware of what was going through his mind, felt the weight of his gaze. It made him inexplicably uneasy. Still, he kept his voice calm. “What? You don’t believe me?”

Xie Songchen didn’t respond.

With each passing second of silence, Chu Mo’s tension increased. Just when he thought Xie Songchen might drop the subject, he heard him speak.

“Are you an omega?”

The question came low and cautious—serious, yet tinged with hesitation.

The simple question nearly made Chu Mo’s heart stop. Xie Songchen’s eyes were intense, filled with tension. And behind that tension… was there a trace of hope?

But Chu Mo’s next words shattered it.

“What kind of joke is that?” he snapped, frowning. “What about me looks like an omega? You can’t even get my gender right?”

He looked genuinely offended. His tone sharp. Angry.

Xie Songchen continued watching him, eyes narrowed with lingering doubt.

“I asked Chu Yun. He’s never needed anyone to carry his inhibitors,” Xie Songchen said slowly. “And his last heat period just ended not long ago.”

Chu Mo’s heart skipped a beat. How well does he know Chu Yun? He even knew about his heat period?

Main character, don’t love too much, Chu Mo muttered inwardly.

Feigning annoyance, he said, “Why are you so interested in my brother’s heat period? Xie Songchen, are you even a proper alpha? Don’t have any inappropriate thoughts about my brother!”

He was trying to shift the topic. But instead of backing down, Xie Songchen met his gaze and said coldly:

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

Chu Mo knew he couldn’t dodge it any longer. His mind raced. Then he said, “Of course I’m not an omega.” His tone was clipped, indifferent. “And as for the inhibitors, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

His performance was flawless.

Xie Songchen searched his face for a crack, but found nothing. After a pause, he finally stopped pressing and handed the bag of inhibitors back to Chu Mo.

Chu Mo quietly exhaled. His palms were sweaty, but his voice remained steady.

“Xie Songchen, stop saying such stupid things. Don’t mistake me for an omega again.”

Xie Songchen gave a low “hmm” in response.

Chu Mo couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. He could only assume his act had passed.

Their relationship had hit rock bottom lately. Outside of work, they barely spoke. Today had been the longest conversation they’d had in a while. And unbeknownst to either of them, the icy wall between them had begun to thaw.

“Earlier…” Xie Songchen suddenly asked, “Are you hurt?”

Chu Mo hadn’t expected him to show concern. “How could I be hurt?” he said with disdain. “Even if you hadn’t shown up, those alpha punks wouldn’t have been a match for me.”

“That’s good,” Xie Songchen replied coolly.

Chu Mo looked at him and asked, half curious, “So… you’re not mad about the ticket anymore?”

Xie Songchen shot him a sidelong glance, his voice carrying a trace of sarcasm. “Why would I be mad over something so trivial?”

Chu Mo blinked, caught off guard.

He was about to say something else when he noticed Xie Songchen’s Adam’s apple bob slightly. His next words came in a lower, rougher voice.

“I’m used to it.”

Chu Mo frowned. “Used to what?”

“Being ‘absent’ from other people’s lives,” Xie Songchen said, his voice a little hoarse. “Sports meets. Parent-teacher conferences. All the same.”

Chu Mo was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Xie Songchen to bring up his past.

For some reason, a memory of Chu Yun’s high school parent-teacher conference flashed through his mind. In the classroom, all the students had parents sitting beside them. The atmosphere was warm and harmonious.

All except for the seat next to Chu Yun.

A lone, thin boy sat there—no parents by his side. His expression was blank, as if none of it mattered.

That boy had been Xie Songchen.

Thinking of this scene, Chu Mo felt a sudden pang in his chest. Rationally, he knew he had no reason to feel guilty toward Xie Songchen. Yet, in that moment, he couldn’t help but clench his fists, his nails digging into his palm.

“…Missing your game was indeed my fault,” Chu Mo said after a pause, his voice tight.

Xie Songchen froze. It was the first time he’d ever heard Chu Mo admit fault. Coming from someone as high and mighty as Chu Mo, it was like something out of a sci-fi movie. For a moment, he even wondered if he’d misheard.

Chu Mo awkwardly turned his head away. His tone stiff, he added, “I’m not feeling guilty toward you.”

Xie Songchen said nothing.

“It’s just… since you helped out today,” Chu Mo continued, “I’m giving you an explanation for what I did wrong in the past.”

His tone was still lofty, still condescending—but for the first time, Xie Songchen felt that Chu Mo wasn’t completely unreachable.

A soft chuckle escaped from Xie Songchen’s nose.

Chu Mo frowned, clearly offended. “What are you laughing at?”

Xie Songchen lifted his gaze. “Can’t I laugh at you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Chu Mo snapped through gritted teeth.

I must be crazy, Chu Mo thought. Why did I just break character and apologize to him? All because of a fleeting pang of guilt?

Despite the tension, Xie Songchen’s mood had clearly improved. Even though Chu Mo had missed the game, his awkward but sincere apology had caught him off guard.

In that moment, Xie Songchen realized something—Chu Mo offering to reimburse him for the ticket hadn’t been an insult. It might’ve been the only form of apology he could think of.

His gaze toward Chu Mo softened, layered with complicated emotion.

Of course, if he ever found out that Chu Mo only did it to maintain his “domineering CEO” persona, he’d probably want to strangle him.

Just when Chu Mo thought Xie Songchen wasn’t going to respond, Xie Songchen suddenly said, “Actually… when you showed up at the game, I wasn’t that mad anymore.”

Chu Mo blinked, surprised. His eyes flickered with confusion—he didn’t quite understand what Xie Songchen meant by that.

Growing up, people had always let Xie Songchen down. Disappointment was familiar. So even though Chu Mo had been late, the fact that he showed up at all meant something.

Seeing him there, even if only at the end, had been enough for Xie Songchen to quietly forgive him. The only lingering bitterness was from knowing Chu Mo had missed his best performance.

Chu Mo frowned and said in a deliberately domineering tone, “Then why have you been sulking these past two days?”

Unconsciously, Xie Songchen slipped his hand into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the box of inhibitors.

For the past two days, he’d assumed Chu Mo had an omega he cared about. That had affected him far more than the missed game.

After a moment of silence, Xie Songchen turned away, pursed his lips, and muttered, “None of your business.”

His voice was low and a little awkward.

With that, he added, “You should hurry home now,” and turned to leave. Chu Mo didn’t even get a proper look at his expression before he walked away.

Chu Mo stood there, dumbfounded. “This guy’s mood swings are way too much. Why the sudden change?”

Still, he had to admit—he’d performed well just now. He’d managed to keep his true identity hidden. Xie Songchen had probably dropped the suspicion that he was an omega.

⸻

The next day, after officially becoming the new president of Xiangyang Entertainment, Chu Mo’s schedule became significantly busier.

Some of the tasks were part of his duties.

Others, like personally inspecting the trainees’ classes, were tasks he added himself.

In the original book, Chu Mo was friends with the owner who acquired Xiangyang Entertainment. He’d occasionally run into Zhou Jingyan during classes and would deliberately mock him, saying things like:

“You won’t be popular even after debuting,”

“No matter how much you practice, you won’t surpass your teammates,”

“You should just be a low-profile idol.”

But Zhou Jingyan was steadfast in his dreams. Faced with Chu Mo’s cold sarcasm, he only practiced harder. Eventually, he won over a loyal fanbase with his talent and shot to fame upon debut—delivering a satisfying slap to Chu Mo’s face.

Now, standing inside Xiangyang Entertainment’s building after taking over, Chu Mo hadn’t fired anyone—including the trainees. This put everyone at ease.

But it also gave rise to quiet concern.

“President Chu seems like a good person, but it’s a shame… our company might make him lose money.”

“Yeah, it’s been ages since we had a breakout star.”

“It’s just not that easy these days…”

Zhou Jingyan, overhearing the murmurs, couldn’t help but worry too. What if I don’t become popular even after debuting?

With that thought weighing on him, he threw himself even harder into dance practice.

When Chu Mo arrived at the company and saw Zhou Jingyan diligently attending class, he watched with satisfaction. As expected of a future superstar. Zhou Jingyan’s debut would bring a rare wave of fame, pushing Xiangyang Entertainment into the industry’s top ten. Calling him the company’s cash cow wasn’t an exaggeration.

As soon as Chu Mo appeared, the trainees stopped what they were doing to greet him. Chu Mo nodded indifferently.

Zhou Jingyan, upon seeing Chu Mo, felt like he was looking at a savior—but quickly restrained his excitement, afraid of seeming too eager.

“I watched you all in class earlier,” Chu Mo said coolly. “You still need to work harder. Especially—”

His eyes locked on a fair, handsome alpha.

“Zhou Jingyan, your dancing is terrible. No wonder you haven’t debuted.”

His tone was sharp and mocking. The dance studio fell silent. Everyone exchanged looks. He’s letting Zhou Jingyan debut… but also humiliating him?

Zhou Jingyan’s fingers clenched. His long lashes hid his expression under the brim of his cap. “…I’ll work hard.”

“If hard work alone were enough, everyone would stay up late practicing, and everyone would be a superstar, wouldn’t they?” Chu Mo’s sarcasm bit deep—but it wasn’t wrong. In the entertainment industry, hard work wasn’t enough. Talent, resources, timing… all of it mattered.

Zhou Jingyan’s face fell. His confidence, hard-won and fragile, cracked slightly.

Just then, several new dance and vocal instructors entered the studio.

Chu Mo sneered, “Zhou Jingyan, I know you lack talent and hard work is futile. So I’ve brought in some instructors for you to train with—though honestly, I doubt even they can make you famous.”

Gasps filled the room. These instructors were some of the best in the industry. A single session with them could cost five figures. And Chu Mo had hired several at once!

It was no exaggeration to say Chu Mo had thrown money at the problem.

Of course, he had. He was trying to fulfill the plot. He needed Zhou Jingyan to quickly become a breakout idol.

Zhou Jingyan was stunned. Disbelief flashed in his eyes.

“What, a few insults and you’re speechless now?” Chu Mo continued. “Then maybe you’re not cut out for the entertainment industry. Better to give up early.”

The room went still.

If this is what getting humiliated looks like, the other trainees thought, we’d all like a turn.

Zhou Jingyan swallowed, suppressing his nervousness, anticipation, and gratitude. Then he looked at Chu Mo and said, slow but firm, “I won’t give up.”

Chu Mo was secretly pleased. As expected of the third male lead. He’s got the backbone to match the plotline.

“Though I doubt you’ll become famous,” Chu Mo scoffed coldly, “you’d better train hard. Otherwise, what are you doing in this company?”

Despite the harsh tone, Zhou Jingyan felt… motivated. Encouraged, even.

His eyes grew even more determined.

Satisfied, Chu Mo turned and walked out of the studio. Good. Get knocked down, get back up, and make this storyline work.

He planned to continue inspecting Xiangyang Entertainment’s various departments. But before he could, his phone rang.

It was Xie Songchen, calling from Chu Group’s office, where he was handling project paperwork.

Chu Mo picked up.

“Chi Cheng is at the company looking for you,” Xie Songchen said, his voice clearly displeased.

In the background, Chu Mo could hear Chi Cheng’s voice:

“Hey, you’re just a secretary. Why won’t you tell me where Chu Mo is?”

Ignoring him, Xie Songchen asked calmly, “Do you want to see him?”

His tone was cold and formal, completely unwilling to assist Chi Cheng—understandable, since they were rivals who never saw eye to eye. Chu Mo found it all very normal.

“Is it something urgent?” Chu Mo asked.

Before Xie Songchen could answer, Chi Cheng shouted into the phone, “Can’t I just come see you for no reason? We’ve known each other for years. Do I need an appointment now?”

He sounded annoyed, maybe even a little hurt.

Unfazed, Xie Songchen cut him off. “Everyone needs an appointment to see President Chu. Including you.”

Even over the phone, Chu Mo could feel the tension between them. Chi Cheng gritted his teeth. “I’m Chu Mo’s partner. He invested in my project. I’m seeing him today, no matter what.”

The word partner came out with deliberate pride.

Ever since Chu Mo invested in his startup, Chi Cheng had been walking on air. He wasn’t just the clingy younger friend anymore—he was Chu Mo’s partner. That was status. Prestige. And in his mind, it meant he didn’t need to take Xie Songchen, the “lowly” secretary, seriously.

Chu Mo sighed. His ears were starting to ache from the noise.

“Fine,” he said. “Tell him I’m at Xiangyang Entertainment. If it’s urgent, he can come find me here. If not, don’t bother.”

Hearing this, Xie Songchen fell silent.

Chi Cheng, on the other hand, was elated. “Wait for me—I’m coming over right now.”

He didn’t forget to gloat. “See? My relationship with Chu Mo is extraordinary.”

His tone dripped with smugness.

Chu Mo poured cold water on him. “Who’s extraordinary with you?”

Chi Cheng wanted to respond, but the silent Xie Songchen suddenly spoke. “There’s a document that needs your signature. I’m coming over to see you.”

Chu Mo blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Why was Xie Songchen suddenly deciding to come too?

After hanging up, Chu Mo resumed touring Xiangyang Entertainment, handling business across departments. The staff were grateful to him and Chu Group, their spirits visibly uplifted.

While talking to an executive, Chu Mo suddenly felt something strange stir in his body. The sensation made him tense up.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, forcing a calm expression. “I need to use the restroom.”

He slipped out of the meeting room.

The feeling was both unfamiliar and familiar—subtle at first, but unmistakable. His pheromones were flaring. This isn’t good.

Chu Mo had already realized that his box of strong inhibitors was missing. He’d contacted Xu Yi, who promised to send a replacement. Before leaving that morning, Chu Mo had injected 1.5 times the usual dose of regular inhibitors just in case. That much was already a heavy burden on an omega’s body. He had gritted his teeth to finish the injection. By all accounts, there shouldn’t have been a problem.

Chu Mo made his way to the least populated corner of the first floor and entered an empty alpha restroom. In the farthest stall, he locked the door, took a deep breath, and tried to calm down. Then he pulled a fresh injectable inhibitor from his pocket and began preparing it.

But just as he unwrapped the syringe, he caught a faint whiff of mint.

His own scent.

Pheromones?!

Panicked, Chu Mo quickly pressed a hand to his scent gland. How is this happening?! He’d taken so many inhibitors—how could they already be failing?

Xu Yi’s warning echoed in his mind:

[At this rate, your inhibitors might stop working.]

He hadn’t expected it to happen this fast.

Thankfully, they hadn’t completely failed. His body wasn’t overheating yet, and he could still maintain composure. But his fingers were cold, and his hands trembled.

⸻

Meanwhile, Chi Cheng had rushed over in his luxury sports car. Just as he pulled up in front of Xiangyang Entertainment, another car arrived behind him—the company’s business car, borrowed by none other than Xie Songchen.

They stepped out at nearly the same time.

Chi Cheng couldn’t resist taunting. “You’re an alpha, yet you’re always hanging around Chu Mo. Are you addicted or something? Can’t find something better to do? Need me to recommend a job?”

His voice was mocking, barbed—accusing Xie Songchen of using his position to cozy up to Chu Mo.

“It was President Chu who made me his secretary,” Xie Songchen replied calmly. “I don’t need a new job right now, because President Chu is… quite satisfied with me.”

The words quite satisfied hit a nerve.

Chi Cheng’s smile stiffened. “You’d better cherish this job,” he said through gritted teeth. “Don’t get fired for doing something shady.”

“If Young Master Chi has nothing else to do, wait at the entrance,” Xie Songchen said flatly. “I’m going to get his signature.”

“I’m sure Chu Mo would rather talk to me right now,” Chi Cheng sneered.

The two entered the building at the same time, shoulder to shoulder—but neither of them saw Chu Mo anywhere in the lobby.

Frowning, Xie Songchen pulled out his phone and tried calling him. The line was busy.

Chi Cheng, annoyed, grabbed a passing staff member. “Where’s President Chu?”

The employee, startled, hesitated before answering, “I think… he went to the restroom.”

Xie Songchen stepped forward. “Which restroom?”

Chi Cheng also locked eyes on the staff member.

Caught between two powerful alphas, the beta staff member shivered. Under their oppressive stares, he pointed shakily. “Th-that way…”

The moment he pointed, both men moved—rushing in the same direction.

⸻

Inside the restroom stall, Chu Mo was breathing hard, trying to steady his trembling hands. The idea of Chi Cheng or Xie Songchen walking in made his anxiety spike.

I need to inject it. Now.

He bit his lip hard, using the pain to ground himself. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. With all the strength he could muster, he pushed the needle into his scent gland.

As the inhibitor entered his body, a muffled groan escaped him—low and strained. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent restroom.

The medication began to take effect, but slowly.

His fingers were still trembling.

As he pushed the last of the dose in, he let out a shaky breath of relief.

Just then—footsteps echoed outside.

Chu Mo’s hand jerked.

The injector slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

His heart lurched. He quickly bent down to retrieve it—but the syringe had already rolled under the stall door.

Eyes wide, Chu Mo froze.

The footsteps stopped.

Then—moved toward his stall.

Crouching, Chu Mo peered under the gap in the door. He spotted the injector—it hadn’t rolled far.

He reached out.

Just before his fingers could touch it, another hand reached down and picked it up first.

It was a long, slender hand, with distinct knuckles and prominent veins.

Chu Mo froze in place.