Delicate, Yet Shamelessly Freeloading [Quick Transmigration] Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Alpha with Pheromone Disorder (5)

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[Block him! Block him!]

 

The screen of System 77 displayed a giant crossroads symbol—just like the angry characters in the webcomic Shui Que had been following.

 

Obediently, Shui Que deleted the contact.

 

“Why did he send that kind of photo?” Shui Que was puzzled. “Was he trying to show off his physique?”

 

He pinched his own arm. Due to a lack of exercise, his muscles were covered in a thin layer of softness. The contours were delicate with subtle undulations, but in a relaxed state, the texture was light and pliant—a barely matured young man’s skin.

 

It was a stark contrast to the muscular Alpha in the photo.

 

Shui Que was certain of his own masculinity. He didn’t have those distinctly feminine, alluring curves.

 

So, for one man to send another man a body-revealing photo like that? Was it a provocation? Because he had said, “Show me your strength?” But wasn’t the phrase “V me 50 to see your strength” an online hint for people to send money?

 

This was confusing.

 

Shui Que’s thoughts drifted far away.

 

System 77, on the other hand, was fuming: “This—this is harassment! Sending photos like that to seduce people, it’s obvious he’s a sleazy guy!”

 

A lightbulb went off in Shui Que’s head.

 

He had subconsciously overlooked the fact that, in his livestreams, he presented himself as an Omega.

 

So, an Alpha man sending such a picture to an Omega man—was that his way of flaunting his superior genetics in an attempt to court him?

 

The thought left Shui Que speechless.

 

He didn’t understand, but he respected it.

 

For the first time, Shui Que finally felt the weight of his mission to “seduce” as a disguised Omega. If this were an anime, a glowing exclamation mark would have appeared above his head.

 

So his character setting was actually that of a scheming Alpha pretending to be an O?

 

His worldview crumbled and reshaped in real-time.

 

Yet, his focus remained on the mission. “But isn’t our goal to ‘hook a rich guy’? This one didn’t even need bait.”

 

System 77 hesitated. “…That… actually makes sense.”

 

A notification popped up on his phone.

 

Xiang Xun had sent another friend request.

 

Xiang Xun: “I’m sorry, I misunderstood your meaning. Can I send a small red packet as an apology?”

 

Shui Que read the message, put his phone down on the desk, and buried his head in his bag, rummaging for paper and a pen.

 

Just moments ago, he had realized he was an Alpha pretending to be an Omega. His muffled voice came from inside the bag.

 

“Should I accept it?”

 

System 77 hesitated. “…Maybe? For the money—no, I mean, for his sincere apology.”

 

Shui Que: “Alright then.”

 

Thanks to inheriting some of the original character’s memories, he could roughly guess Song Shui Que’s mindset.

 

During puberty, tests had revealed that his gland was defective—it couldn’t produce enough Alpha pheromones. Worse yet, it secreted an unstable mix, sometimes mistakenly releasing Omega pheromones instead.

 

This had made him the target of severe bullying in middle school, mostly by other Alphas who mocked him for “smelling like an Omega.”

 

His family couldn’t afford medical pheromone injections, and as a result, his body remained frail and slim—lacking the muscular build and solid strength that Alphas took pride in.

 

Song Shui Que had always been sensitive and insecure. When he finally decided to fake being an Omega to take advantage of the perks that came with the identity, there had likely been an element of self-destruction in that choice.

 

And so, he had continued further and further down the path of deception for love and money.

 

Lost in thought, Shui Que absentmindedly tapped his phone screen, accepting Xie Xiang Xun’s friend request.

 

A transfer notification popped up. Shui Que counted the digits, his eyes slightly blurry. There were four zeroes after the one.

 

This was a “small red envelope”?

 

He might have really hooked a big spender… but this boss wasn’t very polite, sending inappropriate photos right off the bat.

 

Shui Que clicked accept and slowly typed a reply.

 

“Thanks, boss.”

 

This was far colder than the affectionate “Brother Xiang Xun” he used during streams.

 

Xie Xiang Xun chuckled.

 

He could practically picture the little streamer with a serious face, carefully typing out each word.

 

So, he had misunderstood.

 

The kid probably had no ulterior motives—just needed money and was chatting online to earn some pocket change.

 

If the streamer had played along and fawned over him, he might have lost interest instead.

 

In that sense, Xie Xiang Xun had to admit he was a bit of a masochist. Instead of receiving easily obtainable affection, he preferred to be strung along, like a dog chasing after a bone its owner dangled just out of reach.

 

Xiang Xun: “Are you still in school?”

 

Shui Que was unfolding a letterhead and uncapping a pen as he casually used voice input to reply.

 

“Yeah, I’m in my third year of high school.”

 

He hadn’t eaten dinner yet, so his voice was already weak. When he leaned closer to the mic, the soft, breathy quality made it sound almost like he was sweetly whining to a lover.

 

By the time Xie Xiang Xun snapped out of it, he had already played the voice message three times.

 

Still a student. He decided to rein himself in a little—for the sake of his conscience.

 

Xiang Xun: “You must have a lot of homework, huh?”


”Focus on your studies. I won’t disturb you.”

 

There was no reply for five minutes. The kid was probably actually doing his homework. Just as Xie Xiang Xun was about to close the chat window, a picture popped up.

 

At the top of the letterhead were the words “Self-Reflection Essay,” but the writing was wild and unrestrained, as if it were an award acceptance speech rather than a formal reflection.

 

Shui Shui: “Do you know how to write a self-reflection essay, Brother Xiang Xun?”

 

Xie Xiang Xun slowly sent a question mark.

 

Not to brag, but this was one of his specialties.

 

Since childhood, he had loathed the rigid structure of school life. Or rather, he had been born rebellious and untamed.

 

Every Monday, during the school assembly, he stood in line behind the principal. After the principal finished speaking, he would take the stage for his weekly self-reflection. His speeches were often so impassioned and defiant that they earned thunderous applause—while making the faculty’s faces turn dark.

 

Sleeping in class, skipping school, getting into fights—he never missed out on anything.

 

His elite school had strict rules, but his family had money. They weren’t about to reject a donor willing to fund a new building. Eventually, they gave up on disciplining him. He scraped through high school, got sent abroad to study finance, then dropped out to play professional esports.

 

It wasn’t until after winning a Grand Slam and retiring that he finally completed his degree.

 

Xie Xiang Xun dug through his cloud storage and found a premium collection of “100 Self-Reflection Essay Templates.” He shared the link with Shui Que.

 

Then, out of curiosity, he asked, “What did you do wrong?”

 

Shui Que found a suitable template from the ones he had and began copying while replying, “I kicked a classmate to the ground. The teacher said I was fighting.”

 

In a way, he wasn’t wrong.

 

Xie Xiangxun raised an eyebrow in disbelief. With those thin arms and legs, he was more concerned that Shui Que might have injured himself instead.

 

“Brother Xiang Xun, go to bed early. I’ll finish copying soon. Goodnight,” came the voice message from Shui Que.

 

So obedient—he really didn’t seem like the type to get into fights. But then, looking at his handwriting, fluid and bold like a dragon soaring through the clouds, Xie Xiang Xun hesitated. People often said handwriting reflected personality, and now, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

 

Xiang Xun: “Goodnight.”

 

*

 

The moon had risen high into the sky.

 

The moonlight, clear as flowing water, bathed the silent villa. It had likely rained earlier in the day, as the night sky was now cloudless, though the wind was strong. It rustled through the branches, sweeping through the leaves with a whispering howl. The poplar leaves trembled, their shifting shadows casting chaotic patterns on the kitchen window.

 

Shui Que moved stealthily, like a cat sneaking around for food.

 

Where…. Where was the fridge?

 

Not wanting to wake anyone, he relied on the moonlight to guide him, carefully feeling his way forward. His stomach ached dully from irregular eating habits.

 

The late autumn night was cold, yet Shui Que was still wearing a short summer pajama set, with pants barely reaching above his knees. A gust of wind rushed in from the window, clinging to his exposed legs like a stubborn patch of cold plaster.

 

His knee slammed into the kitchen island.

 

“Hiss—”

 

Instinctively, he reached out to steady himself, but in his clumsy panic, he knocked over the pull-out basket by the sink.

 

Clang! Clatter—!

 

A dull “thud” followed as a wooden cane struck the floor. A tall man turned on the light, his expression blank. The glow stretched his shadow long across the floor.

 

The culprit crouched on the ground with his hands over his head, surrounded by scattered jars and bottles of condiments littering the tiled floor.

 

It was quite a mess.

 

The moment Shui Que saw who it was, he got up, patted off his clothes, and muttered in defiance, “Why didn’t you turn the light on sooner? You made me knock over the basket—”

 

…Who was it that didn’t turn on the light?

 

Song Qin stared at the shamelessly blaming Shui Que, his gaze settling on the reddened knee.

 

His legs were slender with little flesh, though his knees had a bit more padding—enough that when they took a hit, the bruising stood out prominently.

 

His lips moved slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped forward and crouched down to clean up the mess.

 

Since the afternoon, Shui Que had decided unilaterally that the two of them were in a cold war. He stayed silent as well. This was an accident—if he spoke again, he’d be the one breaking the stalemate, and that would mean he lost.

 

Without a word, they tidied up the floor. Shui Que opened the fridge. A wave of cold air hit him, making him shiver. There wasn’t much inside—no cooked food wrapped in plastic wrap, no leftovers. It was neat and spotless, with a box of coffee grounds in the corner to absorb odors.

 

“Leftovers don’t stay overnight in this house. It’s unhealthy. Aunt Wu takes them away in the evening. Fresh ingredients are delivered every morning,” Song Qin explained, sounding like a nobleman lecturing a clueless country boy.

 

Shui Que wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if Song Qin’s expression seemed softer without his glasses on at this late hour. Though still unreadable, his gaze wasn’t as sharp—it had a hint of warmth when it landed on Shui Que.

 

Although he had no experience raising children, since their father had entrusted his younger brother to him, Song Qin had to take responsibility. At the very least, he couldn’t let him starve.

 

He couldn’t understand how young people could be so stubborn that they’d skip dinner just to prove a point. It was childish, reckless, and utterly irresponsible toward their own health.

 

Watching Shui Que clutch his stomach, Song Qin furrowed his brows. “You just know to be hungry now?”

 

His tone was lofty, as if standing on a pedestal. But Shui Que stuck to his character—he refused to back down. “It’s none of your business.”

 

He planned to brush past Song Qin with a dramatic shoulder check and swagger back to his room.

 

But he had miscalculated their height difference. Instead of hitting Song Qin’s shoulder, he slammed into his chest. His opponent stood as steady as a mountain, while he stumbled backward.

 

Song Qin caught him by the arm, keeping him from falling.

 

What was this? Song Qin looked down, his gaze landing on Shui Que’s fluffy black hair and the small cowlick at the top of his head. He seemed to have hurt himself—his hand rubbed at his nose, which was red from the impact.

 

Pitiful. And kind of cute.

 

Was he… acting spoiled?

 

Song Qin had little experience dealing with younger people. The Song family’s direct bloodline was small, and ever since he had been taken in from a branch family, his mother had discouraged him from associating with them. Most of the branch family members relied on the main house to get by, so during New Year gatherings, the younger ones were always cautious around him, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

 

“Go sit down.” Song Qin gestured toward the dining table outside the kitchen. “It’s too late to wake Aunt Wu. I’ll make you some noodles.”

 

Ever since coming to this world, Shui Que had been surfing the internet at lightning speed. The moment he heard that sentence, his eyes widened.

 

What kind of indecent words were those?! Is that something I’m supposed to be hearing?

 

Seeing Shui Que’s round eyes staring at him, Song Qin felt, for the first time, a bit of amusement at being an older brother.

 

“I don’t cook often, but I can at least boil noodles.”

 

“…Oh.” Shui Que listlessly rubbed his nose.

 

This was all Xiang Xun’s fault. That stupid photo he sent made him look up a bunch of weird things, and now his mind was completely impure.

 

He sat at the dining table outside.

 

The Song family’s kitchen was semi-open. From the design, it was obvious that it had been built according to Song Qin’s preferences—black, white, and gray. A vertical folding door separated it from the rest of the house to keep oil and smoke from drifting into the dining area.

 

Song Qin returned soon after with a bowl of scallion noodles, topped with a few thin slices of beef.

 

He had probably added too much salt—the taste was a bit strong. But Shui Que ate happily. He even whispered to System 77, “Can I just keep taking jobs like this? Even if I throw a tantrum, someone will still cook for me.”

 

To be honest, in his previous world, the research institute he belonged to was under the central academy. In the apocalypse, that meant decent meals—at least for the staff. Experimental subjects had to earn their meals by performing well.

 

Sometimes, Shui Que got so hungry that he thought about biting into his own flesh. After all, he healed quickly—as long as it wasn’t a fatal wound, the meat would grow back.

But that wasn’t allowed. The researchers said he couldn’t waste his own body. His blood and flesh had to be used for the greater good of humanity.

 

If Shui Que wanted to eat, he had to give blood. A tube of blood in exchange for a meal—but after eating, he often felt even weaker, falling into yet another cycle of hunger.

 

Shui Que had once encountered a mutated octopus, an enormous creature that completely filled his dormitory. No one knew how it had managed to sneak into the research institute.


By the time it left, however, it had become a six-tentacled octopus. It claimed it wanted to repay Shui Que for not exposing its presence, so it cut off two of its own tentacles and made fresh marinated sashimi for him. Shui Que felt a little guilty about it, but it was the fullest he had ever been.

 

System 77 only knew Shui Que’s basic information; it had no knowledge of his past experiences.


[Of course! Living off others is exactly what our system was designed for! These good times are only just beginning!]

 


Its voice gradually lost confidence as it spoke, though. In reality, it was the only system of its kind in the entire world, and Shui Que was the first host it had ever managed to snatch up. After all, its setup didn’t align with the grand theme of ambition and hard work that defined the era. The promotion path was extremely limited, veteran employees had no interest in joining, and newcomers were unwilling to try—it had been sitting on the sidelines for far too long.

 

So, System 77 quickly adjusted its statement, afraid of setting its host’s expectations too high.


[But, well… there aren’t many roles like that, they don’t get much screen time, and their endings usually aren’t too great.] It put it as tactfully as possible.

 

“That’s okay. This is already good enough,” Shui Que lowered his gaze, puffing his cheeks slightly as he blew on his noodles. Steam curled upward, warm and hazy, while his long lashes quivered against the thin skin of his eyelids, like a butterfly caught in mist, fluttering its delicate wings.

 

Song Qin couldn’t quite make out what Shui Que was mumbling, but before long, the bowl was empty. Along with it came a quiet sense of satisfaction rising within him.

 


So this is what it feels like to take care of a child…

 

He cleared his throat and straightened up, putting on the stern authority of an elder brother. “Finished eating? If you’re done, go to bed. You’re not allowed to be late for school tomorrow.”

 

A meal owed was a favor held over him—Shui Que didn’t feel right continuing to give Song Qin the cold shoulder. He obediently responded with an “Oh,” then hesitated before asking expectantly, “Can I have this again for breakfast tomorrow?”

 

Song Qin: “Aunt Wu will make breakfast in the morning.”


 

The unspoken meaning was clear—he wouldn’t be cooking for him again.

 

Even though the hallway lights were on the whole way, Song Qin still walked Shui Que to his room on the second floor, likely worried he’d clumsily bump into the furniture again.

 

Just before closing the door, Song Qin extended a hand, his gaze deep and unreadable.


His palm was large and calloused, roughened by years of relying on a cane for support.

 

His original intent had been to check Shui Que’s written reflection.

 


But to his surprise, the boy stood frozen for two seconds before leaning in, pressing his face against Song Qin’s palm—just like a small animal without any wariness.

 

It was only then that Song Qin noticed how light Shui Que’s eyes were, a soft, clear shade of tea. They carried a warmth and gentleness that felt entirely out of place in the Song family.

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Huge shoutout to @candycorns2 on Discord for commissioning this! The chapter will be posted regularly, show your support for Ciacia at Kofi.

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