I Became the Omega in a Game - Chapter 4

Riche stood by the door, waiting. VIPs were typically fickle and enjoyed being pampered. If the service was slow or responses weren’t quick enough, they were quick to show their displeasure. To avoid this, Riche remained ready to respond at a moment’s notice.

She idly traced the patterns on the wall across from her with a bored gaze and let out a long sigh.

“If I were writing a research journal right now, this time would be much more productive.”

In her original dimension, Riche had always been busy, so letting time slip away like this felt wasteful. Before she was accidentally transported to this world, her life had been consumed by dimensional research. As a researcher, she had been tirelessly recording the traits of new dimensional inhabitants, sometimes filing two reports in a single day.

The one silver lining was that research suited her. She had always found living organisms, especially humans, fascinating. Beyond that, though, she had little attachment to her previous life. It was busy, and there was always something to observe, but that was the extent of her satisfaction.

In comparison, this world was far more colorful. At the very least, it allowed her to bide her time while waiting for a rescue team to come for her. That wait, however, had now stretched beyond a year. Not only had she failed to discover a dimensional rift, but she hadn’t even encountered another dimensional traveler. Her creeping pessimism was beginning to overshadow her dwindling hope.

“If no one’s come yet, this dimension must be incredibly difficult for dimensional travelers to access. At this rate…”

Riche quickly shook her head, scattering her negative thoughts. Drowning in despair wouldn’t improve her situation; it would only sap her motivation. She forced herself to focus on something positive.

“At least the pleasure of sex is one good thing I’ve discovered here.”

As part of her research on human behavior, she had studied and even experienced sex. However, she had rarely enjoyed it. Back in her original dimension, she was almost asexual, with little interest in physical pleasure. But in this world, with its unique dynamic of alphas and omegas, she had finally understood why people obsessed over it. It was a meaningful revelation for her.

Thirty minutes passed, but no sounds came from the room.

Growl.

Riche placed a hand on her stomach.

“I’m hungry.”

The memory of the rich, savory scent from the kitchen floated back to her, and her mouth watered at the thought.

Should she stay at her post? Or not?

Her decision came quickly. She pinned a magic feather onto the pocket of her uniform—a tool that would alert her immediately if someone rang for her—and began making her way toward the stairs.

“Standing outside the door indefinitely, not knowing if they’re passed out drunk or busy having sex, is the height of inefficiency.”

Her steps down the staircase were light, like a butterfly fluttering its wings.

The first floor, where the kitchen was located, was quiet. Most of the staff had either left for personal errands or were resting in the break room.

Riche made her way toward the kitchen. As she did, Elsa emerged, nibbling on a cherry tomato. Upon spotting Riche, Elsa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Riche!”

As Riche entered the kitchen, Elsa quickly trotted over and casually clung to her side.

“Why are you down here? Did Idelli Grace want something else to eat?”

Riche shook her head.

“I’m hungry.”

“Who is? Idelli Grace?”

“No. Me.”

Elsa plucked another cherry tomato and popped it into Riche’s mouth. Instinctively, Riche bit down, and the tomato burst between her teeth with a satisfying pop.

Elsa’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she pressed on with her questions.

“Who was inside? Who’s in there?”

Instead of answering, Riche turned to the head chef, who peeked out to see what was going on.

“Do you have anything I can eat?” she asked.

The chef nodded and said he could whip up something simple. As the scent of oil hitting the pan wafted through the air, Riche’s hunger grew more intense, and she licked her lips in anticipation.

The single cherry tomato she had eaten had only succeeded in whetting her appetite.

“Hey, Riche, come on, who was inside?”

Another cherry tomato was popped into Riche’s mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she replied, “I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t recognize anyone,” she said nonchalantly.

“What? No way.”

“Here you go,” the head chef interrupted, handing Riche a small basket filled with neatly prepared fruit and bacon wraps intended for the guests.

Without hesitation, Riche picked up one of the bacon wraps and popped it into her mouth. The smoky, savory flavor of the bacon spread across her palate, and her face lit up with satisfaction.

Watching her savor the food, Elsa grumbled.

“You’re no fun to gossip with! Oh, wait—was Luceno there? He wasn’t, was he?”

“…”

“You’re going to say you don’t know again, aren’t you? Ugh, seriously. You’d recognize him if you saw him—blond hair, blue eyes, looks just like a prince,” Elsa added dramatically.

“I didn’t see anyone like that. Luceno?” Riche tilted her head, genuinely confused.

Clicking her tongue as if Riche were hopeless, Elsa explained, “I mean His Highness, the Crown Prince! Luceno is part of the imperial family’s second name. Come on, Riche. You’re part of our club now. You need to learn the basics.”

The way Elsa looked at her, as if she were an idiot, stirred an odd feeling of irritation in Riche. To her, titles like “imperial family” and “royalty” were irrelevant. Her interest lay solely in studying fascinating traits, not keeping up with court politics. Still, being dismissed as clueless stung a little.

“He wasn’t there. That’s probably why the mood was so bad,” Riche said flatly.

“Figures. Grace must have been furious, huh?” Elsa giggled.

“If Mikhail hears about this, he’s going to have a field day. Oh, you probably don’t know, but Grace’s latest fling, the Duke of Janice, is one of the Crown Prince’s close aides.”

“Ah, I’ve heard about that,” Riche replied absently.

“Mikhail acts like he’s part of the Crown Prince’s inner circle, so he absolutely hates how shameless Grace is—already treating the Crown Prince like her personal property. It’s outrageous, but honestly, she kind of deserves it. Who does she think she is, the Duke of Janice herself?”

Elsa leaned in closer, whispering into Riche’s ear, and giggled mischievously.

“Tell me more. Grace has plenty of admirers besides His Highness, doesn’t she? Who was there? The blond Viscount Desert? The silver-haired Baron Raycian? Or maybe that unlucky redhead, Sir Strigo?”

Singing out the names like a playful chant, Elsa sighed wistfully.

“If Grace weren’t so picky, I could’ve gotten a good look at everyone who came through the door! But no, Grace insists on only surrounding herself with handsome men. If someone’s ugly, she won’t even let them follow her around. Can you imagine how good-looking all her admirers must be?”

Chewing another bacon wrap, Riche found herself mulling over one particular phrase Elsa had used.

“Unlucky redhead?”

Strigo. That must refer to the man who had been sparring with Idelli earlier—the younger brother of Kairos, the knight commander.

“You don’t know? He came by our club not too long ago.”

Just as Elsa was about to elaborate, her lips snapped shut. Her gaze shifted to the kitchen entrance.

Curious, Riche turned her head, still chewing. Walking in was Mikhail, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular arms.

Elsa, who had been gleefully badmouthing him mere moments ago, now put on an awkward smile.

“Mikhail? How long have you been standing there?”

“Just now,” he replied with a raised eyebrow. “Why so startled? Were you trash-talking me again?”

“What are you talking about? Startled? Me? You must’ve imagined it,” Elsa said with feigned innocence. She thrust the basket of cherry tomatoes toward him as a distraction, but Mikhail simply turned his nose up at it and shifted his attention to Riche.

“Still obsessed with maintaining your figure? What’s the point of life if all you eat is protein?”

Ignoring Elsa’s chatter, Mikhail turned to Riche and asked, “So, Sir Raymond Strigo was there, wasn’t he?”

It wasn’t something worth hiding, so Riche nodded. Whether he had been there or not wasn’t her main concern—she wanted answers to her own questions.

“What does ‘unlucky redhead’ mean?”

Mikhail smirked and replied, “I guess you could call it the tragedy of being a talented man overshadowed by a genius older brother.”

Without hesitation, he reached into Riche’s basket and snatched the last bacon wrap, popping it into his mouth.

That was the last one, Riche thought as she stared at him with faint resentment. She was still hungry, and watching Mikhail chew with a smug grin only made it worse. He always had a way of being infuriating.

“I need protein to maintain my figure,” Mikhail said teasingly.

“If that’s the case, you should stick to chicken breast instead of fatty bacon,” Riche shot back.

“Oh, is that so? You must be watching your figure too. Though, you look so scrawny, it doesn’t seem like you’ve got any muscle to show for it.”

Grinning, Mikhail wiped the grease from his fingers with a tissue. Riche glanced at his muscular arms, then instinctively pinched her own forearm, where her soft, squishy flesh left much to be desired.

“You’ve met Count Kairos Strigo, haven’t you? The knight commander who’s completely obsessed with aristocratic ideals,” Mikhail said, leaning back against the counter.

Arrogant Kairos.

Riche remembered the nickname often whispered about him.

“Of course. Riche was even personally assigned by him once,” Elsa chimed in, her tone laced with a mix of envy and sarcasm, as if to remind Riche she wasn’t the only one who had been recognized by someone so high up.

Mikhail raised an eyebrow, surprised as he looked Riche over again.

“Well, that makes it easier to explain, then.”

“…Explain what?”

“Count Kairos Strigo was born into a prestigious noble family. From the beginning, he had everything going for him. Even as a child, he was arrogant—but polite, right?”

Riche nodded. His impeccable manners were memorable, though they often felt distant, like they were more a performance than genuine warmth.

“Exactly. That’s all there is to him—great manners, but a chilling demeanor. He’s not like my dear Janice, who’s brimming with kindness and warmth,” Mikhail said, taking the opportunity to lavish praise on his lover.

Across the room, Elsa made a gagging motion and rolled her eyes.

“But that’s just it. It’s not just the attitude; his abilities were on a completely different level. While other kids were reading fairy tales, he was reading sword manuals and practicing. Do you think someone like that would even notice ordinary people?”

“And all the omegas he’s been with are aristocrats too, right?” Elsa added, giggling as if to share in the scandal.

Riche’s face took on a peculiar expression as she recalled Kairos. The memories that surfaced weren’t of a cold, distant nobleman but of something more… primal.

That doesn’t seem entirely accurate, she thought.

“At ten years old, he had already mastered infusing his sword with energy, a skill most adults struggle with. And then one day!”

“One day?” Elsa repeated, leaning in as her curiosity grew.

“He became the captain of Prince Yante Luceno’s personal guard.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that!” Elsa exclaimed, fully engrossed now.

“It caused such a stir back then. Everyone thought Count Strigo, the genius swordsman, had wasted his talents on a prince with no prospects.”

“Right. Everyone thought it was a foolish choice. But who could’ve guessed that Yante was an ultra-dominant alpha? Look at the results now: the once-overlooked Prince Yante is now the Crown Prince and an heir to the throne, and Count Kairos Strigo is one of the empire’s most powerful figures. It’s a story straight out of a romance novel,” Mikhail said with a grin.

“Okay, I get it,” Riche interjected. “But what does any of this have to do with Raymond Strigo being the ‘unlucky redhead’?”

Mikhail leaned back and folded his arms. “Raymond is a knight too, and he’s a damn good one—good enough to be called a prodigy in his own right.”

Riche tilted her head, mulling this over. She could imagine how difficult it must be to live in the shadow of such an extraordinary older brother.

“No matter how hard he tries, he can’t surpass his older brother. And as the second son, he doesn’t inherit the title, either. That leaves him with two options: serve under his brother as a knight or find a different master to serve.”

Mikhail clicked his tongue sympathetically, shaking his head.

“Depressed to the point of self-destruction, he’s been causing trouble since he was a kid. And now, it seems he’s given up entirely—just a reckless scoundrel following Idelli Grace around. They say they were childhood friends, but looking at him now, that sounds like complete nonsense,” Mikhail said with a scoff, pausing briefly before continuing.

“Still… Idelli Grace. To fall for someone like that—a brainless omega who cares about nothing but satisfying her lust—it’s pathetic.”

Mikhail, who had been calm while recounting the earlier story, now looked visibly annoyed.

“A respectable alpha or omega should know how to control their desires, like my dear Janice. Acting like Idelli Grace does? What separates her from a beast, really?”

Elsa glanced nervously around the room, making sure no one else was nearby to overhear.

“Watch your mouth, Mikhail. If Idelli Grace hears you, we’ll all be thrown out.”

“Let her try,” Mikhail said with a shrug.

“Well, maybe you’ll be fine since Duke Borcyn would take you in, but I wouldn’t!” Elsa retorted, her frustration apparent.

Ignoring her, Mikhail continued to talk enthusiastically.

“Have you heard the rumors? There isn’t a single nobleman in society who hasn’t rolled in the sheets with Idelli Grace. They even say she doesn’t discriminate against betas.”

“That suits you just fine,” Elsa quipped, her tone sharp.

Mikhail frowned, his brow twitching. “What’s that supposed to mean?”