I Became the Omega in a Game - Chapter 5

“You’ve slept with betas, alphas, and omegas, haven’t you? You don’t discriminate either,” Elsa shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“When have I ever?” Mikhail protested.

“Oh, don’t act innocent now. Should I spill everything for Riche here to hear?” Elsa said with a sly grin, gesturing toward Riche, who was silently observing the escalating argument.

“…I don’t do that anymore! It’s just me and Janice now!” Mikhail declared indignantly.

“Sure, sure. I’ll give you credit—you somehow managed to charm Janice Borcyn into putting up with you. I wonder how they cope with your… energetic libido. I was trying to stay quiet, but you acting like some noble, devoted alpha is too funny to ignore!”

“Hey, watch your mouth before I sew it shut,” Mikhail growled, his face reddening as he glared at Elsa.

Just as the tension reached a boiling point, the feather pinned to Riche’s chest began to tremble.

“Riche!” Elsa, sensing an escape from the heated atmosphere, lightly tapped Riche’s shoulder.

Riche blinked, confused, before glancing down at the feather. It was shaking, signaling a summons.

Elsa smirked and gestured at her. “You’ve been called.”

Realizing she had been too preoccupied to notice the feather’s movement, Riche quickly grabbed it. She had been so caught up in imagining the odd pairing of Mikhail and Janice that she had almost missed the call.

“Riche, you’d better hurry up. Grace has a nasty temper—she won’t take it kindly if you’re slow,” Mikhail advised, surprisingly serious for once.

Riche wasted no time and left the kitchen, heading back upstairs.

When she entered the room, she found the guests sprawled drunkenly across the sofas and even the dining table. None of them paid any attention to her arrival.

Idelli, seated slightly off-kilter with her left hand loosely gripping a bell, turned her head sluggishly at the sound of Riche approaching. Her sharp gaze swept over Riche from head to toe as if seeing her for the first time.

“And who are you?” Idelli asked, her tone cutting.

Her beautiful eyes narrowed as she appraised Riche like she was inspecting something beneath her notice. Despite the hostility, Riche maintained her composure and gave a polite bow.

“I was summoned,” Riche answered evenly.

Idelli’s brows furrowed slightly. “So, you’re the one who came in earlier?”

Did that mean she hadn’t even remembered the face of the staff member who had served her?

Though a bit dumbfounded by this, Riche simply nodded, her tone remaining polite as she confirmed it.

Idelli, still holding her precariously tilting glass, wrinkled her nose in irritation.

“This won’t do. I told the manager very clearly—omegas are not to appear in front of me.”

Her voice was laced with annoyance, and her words made it clear: she thought Riche was an omega.

When Riche had first encountered her, Idelli’s dismissive attitude was likely because she assumed Riche was a beta. But with her pheromones suppressed, why had she now decided Riche was an omega? Especially when there wasn’t a trace of pheromones detectable in the air?

Riche calmly replied, “I’m a beta, ma’am.”

She lied effortlessly, her expression unreadable. It wasn’t a stretch; even though she had manifested as an omega, her pheromone levels were so low that it was easy to pass as a beta, especially with her suppression skills.

Aside from Kairos Strigo—who only knew because of a certain quest—no one else in this world knew she was an omega.

Fortunately, Idelli tilted her head to the side, studying her with narrowed eyes, then let out a short laugh.

“Oh, you’re a beta?”

Her tone dripped with condescension, and it was clear she had lost interest in Riche entirely. With a dismissive wave, she gestured to the table.

“Clean this up. The smell is giving me a headache.”

Riche glanced at the table. A wine glass had tipped over, and a handful of grapes were scattered across the surface and onto the floor. Had they been playing some sort of drunken grape-throwing game? The room was a mess, with spilled wine and snacks littering the ground.

Good thing I always keep a cloth stocked on the serving cart for situations like this.

Riche grabbed the cloth and began tidying the table first. Then she crouched down to crawl under it, picking up the fruit that had rolled onto the floor.

It was then that she caught it—the sudden shift in the air.

A thick, tantalizing scent spread through the room like a slow-moving cloud. Lemonade, sweet and potent, pierced her senses. Her nose twitched instinctively, and she frowned in confusion.

Why now?

Her question was quickly answered. She heard it: the heavy, uneven sound of labored breathing. Damp, almost desperate. It clung to her ears like a sticky mist.

“Idelli… You’re driving me crazy… Hngh…”

The man’s whimpering voice drifted from above her.

Curiosity got the better of her, and Riche shifted slightly, peering out from beneath the table. Her eyes darted upward.

The man she saw had always struck her as the most composed and gentle among Idelli’s entourage, but now his face was flushed red, and his breathing was ragged. Clearly aroused, he gripped Idelli’s shoulders with trembling hands, his body quivering.

Riche, realizing she’d been spotted, quickly pulled herself back under the table and held her breath. Her heart pounded loudly, betraying her calm exterior as she strained to hear the rest of their exchange.

“You’ve done this to me… Please… Touch me,” the man begged, his voice trembling with desperation.

“Do it yourself first,” Idelli purred in a languid, teasing tone. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

“Ah, Idelli… Idelli…”

The man’s voice cracked with helplessness, and then the rhythmic sound of movement began. A slick, wet noise echoed through the room, gradually growing faster and more erratic.

Chop, chop, chop, chop.

“Ahh!”

A short, sharp moan escaped him. The sweet scent in the air intensified, turning thick and syrupy. It was an unmistakable pheromone—one so decadent and heady it would make any alpha or omega weak-kneed.

Riche, a researcher first and foremost, was normally indifferent to things like this. But the dense, cloying atmosphere was overwhelming, her heart hammering in her chest as if her body was betraying her own rationality.

It was a sharp reminder that this world operated on rules far different from her own.

“Haah… Ngh… Ahhh…”

The man’s moans came in broken gasps, interspersed with the slick sound of flesh rubbing against flesh. It was primal, raw, and intensely charged. The sound of something wet sliding and stroking, mixed with the faint noise of licking, sent sharp tingles through Riche’s nerves.

Instinctively, she brought her hand to her cheek. Her skin felt hot, like she was running a fever.

“Idelli! Haaah! It feels so good… More! Touch me more!”

Chop, chop, chop.

Smack, smack!

“Ahhhh, Idelli! Ahhh!”

Riche pressed her thighs together tightly, the unrelenting stimulation of the situation igniting an embarrassing heat within her. Even though no one could see her, her face flushed deeply.

Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop!

The wet, slick sound of the man’s hurried movements grew more frantic, like the desperate footsteps of an escaped convict being chased.

“Idelli! Ahhh!”

With one final groan, thick with desperation and climax, his voice climbed sharply, filling the room.

Riche, startled, looked up—and watched as white fluid splattered down in front of her.

Plop. Drip.

The sticky substance hit the clean, illuminated floor outside the table’s shadow, leaving glistening streaks. Riche’s gaze, which had been directed upward, slowly lowered to the mess on the ground.

The hand that had been dutifully wiping the spilled wine froze mid-motion.

Riche blinked, her mind momentarily blank. Then, cautiously, she extended her hand, using her cloth to wipe up the fluid. It clung thickly to the pink cloth, stretching into viscous threads as she lifted it.

Even though this wasn’t her first time encountering such a thing, seeing it like this made it feel oddly unfamiliar, almost alien. She grimaced instinctively.

“Idelli.”

A new voice rang out, completely different from the man who had just finished. This voice was lower, steadier, and carried a quiet intensity beneath its calm surface.

“Idelli.”

There was no response. Annoyance seeped into the man’s tone.

“Are you so enamored with his dick that you’ve lost your mind?”

Riche tossed the cloth onto her serving cart and listened intently.

“What is it, Ray?”

Finally, Idelli’s voice responded, light and teasing, accompanied by a faint chuckle. Riche couldn’t help but suspect that Idelli was deliberately provoking the man—letting him stew for her own amusement.

“Is it making you itch to just sit there watching?”

“Oh, I’m itching, alright. I’m dying to do it,” Raymond said, his earlier sharp tone now softened into something sultry, like wine-soaked velvet. If an innocent maiden had been present, she might have mistaken him for a sweet-talking gentleman—unless she caught the hunger simmering beneath his words.

“Now? Here?” Idelli’s voice was playfully incredulous.

“Since when have you cared about where? That’s never mattered to you.”

Riche inhaled quietly through her nose, catching the distinct, earthy scent that suddenly filled the room.

‘…The smell of mud.’

The heavy, intoxicating pheromone of an alpha was spreading—thick, primal, and undeniably seductive.

When alphas and omegas released pheromones to entice one another, it was their most dangerous and alluring state. Raymond’s voice, rich and smooth like a luxurious mud mask being lathered over one’s skin, wrapped around Idelli like a provocative caress.

“Look at it—it’s standing tall. Doesn’t it look delicious? I bet it’s better than that other guy’s,” Raymond taunted, his words a shameless mix of confidence and challenge.

“…”

“No answer? What’s wrong? Afraid to cross the line with me after all?”

“You’re drunk, Ray,” Idelli replied, her voice laced with playful exasperation.