Chapter Text
It’s final days. The golden period where college kids scramble to finish their projects and students pack into the campus library for last minute cramming. It’s no different for Phainon. In fact, it might be worse. As an aerospace engineering major, he’s dealing with double the projects, triple the tests, and enough stress to make a grown man tear his hair out one by one.
He’s been surviving on nothing but energy drinks and pure spite for the last week, it’s a miracle he’s even alive at this point. All-nighters and the loss of social life just for a barely passing grade has become his norm. And of course, with his shitty schedule, he’s among the last to leave the prison they call a university. Horrible situation, really. Practically begging for him to drop out.
But Phainon is no quitter.
If he has to scrape by the finals week by his teeth, fueled by nothing but rage and an unhealthy diet of takeouts and caffeine, then goddamnit he will. No poorly written exam and harsh-grading professor’s going to take him down. And thus, through grit and determination, Phainon welcomes the last exam of his Junior year.
The harsh winter light blinds him when he finally walks out of that auditorium for the last time. He squints slightly at the light assaulting his eyes, his body finally adjusting a life without the impending doom of exams. The air has never been crisper, and the world never better.
The cold bites his skin, the campus is blanketed in snow, all because he decided to enroll in a university in the frozen North. But even the desolation of an empty campus can’t dim Phainon’s mood, it’s over.
He’s free at last.
There’s finally nothing for him here, Phainon can enjoy his hard earned two months of rest back in his house, with his parents and sister. He never wants to see a number ever again.
The drive back to Aedes Elysiae was a blur, a mix of miracles and sheer will. He almost crashes a couple of times due to exhaustion, drifting into adjacent lanes and nearly rear-ending someone on another occasion. It earned him a few honks and some less than polite gestures from the other drivers. So, pretty normal stuff.
But then he finally pulls into the driveway of his family home, with his lovely sister welcoming him on the front doorsteps as he parked in front of the driveway. Cyrene slams into him as soon as the engine cuts and pulls him into a deep hug that nearly topples them both.
“You look awful!” She giggles while grabbing one of his bags.
“Thanks. Missed you too.”
Oh, how he missed home. A kind sister to help carry his bags, parents that’d make meals he grew up eating, and most importantly, a nice, comfy bed for him to crash in.
Cyrene chatters all the way inside, she rambles about her classes, something about a long philosophy reading and an awful group project. Phainon answers on and off, with the appropriate “mhmms” and “uh-huhs”. Not because he doesn’t want to talk to his sister, but his brain has already checked out somewhere during the second hour of the drive.
He doesn’t remember how he got to his room. His parents appear at some point, and Phainon probably gave them a good hug before climbing up into his room. Everything was kept more or less the same. The same posters on the wall, same basketball hoop over his closet, same gaming set-up. Not that Phainon’s going to appreciate any of it, nope. He dives straight into his bed and lets oblivion take him.
—
Something is shaking him.
Phainon groans and tries to ignore it by burrowing deeper into the pillow. Bad idea, because that something just opts to grab him by the hair and yanks, hard.
“What the hell!” He swats the hand away, he already knows it’s Cyrene. Only she has the audacity to yank his hair. Sure enough, his sister looms over him in the darkness, only illuminated by the hallway light. The room’s completely dark, it’s probably late hours in the night.
He feels bad. He feels awful. His throat’s dry, he’s sweaty and his heart is still pounding. The weird dream he had is coming back in fragments, one of those weird abstract dreams where nothing substantial really happens.
Those caffeinated drinks finally got to him.
“Water.” He croaks.
Cyrene opens a bottle she brought and helps him sit up on his bed. “You passed out for like half a day. Mom’s worried you might die.” She shoves the opened water bottle at him.
Phainon rubs his eyes and sits up reluctantly. His throat still feels like sandpaper and his hands are now clammy with cold sweat. The cold water slips down his throat, it helps, and eventually the world stops tilting
“There’s food leftover, I’ll go heat some up for you mmkay?” His sister strokes his hair gently, like she always did. He nods eagerly through his headache.
They navigate the house through memory and darkness, his eyes are still too sensitive to the lights so Cyrene just lights up a small lamp in the kitchen. The dim lights cast a familiar and homey vibe onto the furniture.
The food is simple. Reheated porridge and chicken but they look good nonetheless compared to the awful selection he’s had for the past few months. He digs into the food, the familiar taste of his parents’ cooking almost brings him to tears.
Across from the table, Cyrene sits with her chin resting upon her crossed hands, looking at him with a sort of cheeky expression and barely contained amusement.
“You were drooling by the way. In your sleep.” She mentions offhandedly
“Uh-huh,” He doesn’t look up from the bowl. “Any other observations you wanna tell me?”
“Mmm, your hair’s all tangled.” Cyrene says, swirling her peach juice. “Looks like a nest up there.”
He chuckles a little. “This coming from you? We used to be late to school all the time because of how long it takes Mom to untangle your hair.”
Cyrene concedes and takes a drink from her peach juice. She looks as good as ever, the hammer of college clearly hasn’t beaten her as hard as it had pounded him. They used to facetime all the time during the school year, but recently he’s been far too busy to even do that this semester. When’s the last time they really talked?
There’s a lot for them to catch up on.
“Well aren’t you curious about what your sister’s been up to?” Cyrene mentions, as if reading his mind. “I’ve been gaming.”
“Oh yeah?” He snorts.
“Yeah! Really.”
“Last time you tried to play something, you installed a virus onto my computer.”
Cyrene pouts a little, her cheeks puffing up like a hamster. “Okay, I got one installer wrong, but it’s different this time—”
Her eyes light up as if she remembers something and she stands up out of her chair. “You know what, wait here.”
She returns quickly with a thin booklet, skipping and jumping, practically vibrating with excitement. Phainon looks at it, there’s some sort of anime-looking man on the cover. What are those called? Otome games?
“What am I even looking at?” He asks.
His sister grins knowingly, before snapping the book up to his face. Phainon can see the cover better now, with it right up in his personal space. The man is half-naked. Red tattoos, blonde hair, piercing golden eyes, he’s got the whole schtick.
“Thanks for the closeup.”
Cyrene clutches the book back to her chest dramatically. “Since you want to know sooooo badly. I’ll tell you.” She looks quite proud of herself. “This right here, is the official guidebook to ‘The Tyrannical CEO is in love with me!’ and before you judge the name—”
Phainon’s not impressed.
“You need to rethink your choices in media consumption.” He tells her bluntly.
“ —it’s actually a really well made game.” Cyrene puffs up her chest. “Castorice told me so.”
“You’re playing this just because Cassie likes it.”
“Untrue! There’s a lot of gameplay mechanics and even resource management and—”
“Give me that.” He snatches the booklet from her hands, ignoring her protests.
Phainon flips through the book as he finishes his meal. The game is actually…fairly detailed, as much as he hates to admit it. The player plays as a young woman who just moved to a big city for a corporate office job. The goal of the game is to climb up the ranks in the firm, and of course, establish a relationship with the intimidating CEO on the cover, Mydeimos.
It’s also way too realistic in all the wrong places. You get paid minimum wage and have to budget between groceries, rent, and essentials. There’s even world events such as transit breakdowns and power outages, all sorts of real life problems people would rather avoid in a video game.
If you eat the same things too many times in a row, the game gives you a debuff, and there’s a genuine risk of food poisoning if you use cheap groceries. Any little thing will send you to the hospital, where you can argue with your insurance company about the cost of the ambulance.
“This is insane.” He mutters.
“It’s realistic isn’t it?”
“No self-respecting adult will get home from a 9 to 5 and play this!” Phainon turns the book around and jabs a finger at the texts. “If you underperform 2 days in a row you get fired? And if you don’t pay the cleaning service every month, rats will infect your house?! Where the hell does the protagonist live?”
“She’s just a poor country girl, trying to make it big in the city.” Cyrene sighs and shakes her head in sympathy.
“Why doesn't she just clean her own house???”
“Game balance?” Cyrene shrugs. “To give you that authenticity.”
What authenticity? He’s perplexed, confused, astounded even. That anyone will possibly find this overly detailed orientated game remotely entertaining. It sounds like torture.
Phainon shakes his head and reads through the character page. Mydeimos apparently is the CEO of a major firm, but the protagonist doesn’t work for him. She works under his rival, a man named Khaslana. The two are archenemies, and business competitors.
“So the goal is to date your boss’s enemy while trying not to die from rat infestation?” He asks.
“Well they weren’t always enemies…they used to be friends in college.”
“Why is everyone here a CEO?”
“It’s popular.”
“Why are they both blonde?”
“It’s popular."
Ok. Whatever.
Seems like his sister’s not great at explaining. That’s fine, he can let it go. There’s just one more thing from the character page that Phainon still doesn't understand.
“What’s omegaverse?”
Cyrene spits out the juice she’s drinking. She coughs and pounds her chest, her face is completely red from either choking or embarrassment. “I-it’s part of the setting, don’t think too much about it.”
Phainon shoots her a suspicious look.
“It’s just something to spice things up.”
This is the worst game he’s ever seen in his life.
“Anyways, I was hoping to play it with you!” Cyrene insists. “Apparently there’s like a plot twist at the end, I’m not there yet.”
“...Yeah.” He closes the book.
“Oh please, it’ll be fun!” She practically begs. “You can just sit in the back when I play, I just want to talk to someone about it!”
Phainon looks at his sister’s face, her eyes a little tired from staying up with him. It’s really not his cup of tea, but something’s got his sister super invested in the game. Why not? It can be a good way to pass the time and something nice for them to bond over. He’s got all summer.
“Alright.” He concedes, earning him a cheer from his sister.
They talk for another hour, hushed whispers about future plans after graduation, love life, and hobbies, the single dim light being their only light source. He tells her about his time. The engineering fraternity, the horrible professor, his trauma-bonded study group.
Eventually it got too late for them, Cyrene’s eager response turns into barely visible nods and her dramatic hand gestures fades into lazy waves. Phainon glances at the clock, it’s almost 5 AM, any longer and sunlight’s going to pour into the room.
“C’mon Rene, bedtime.” He ushers, hearing a half groan response and a mumble from his little sister. Phainon sighs in exasperation and walks over to lift her into a piggyback carry.
In the past he’d carry her on his back just like this and run around in the fields of Aedes Elysiae. His sister would jump right on his back and urge him onward. The memory still brings a smile to his face, when did they stop doing it?
He tucks her into her bed the best he can and pulls the blanket up to her chin. She’s already snoring.
Phainon walks back to his own room and stares at the bed. He’s not particularly tired—but a short little nap to set his sleep schedule straight can’t hurt anyone.
No, of course not. He convinces himself and slides right into his childhood bed.
—
The light is wrong.
Phainon can feel the bright light in his room without opening his eyes. The light’s too bright, pulling him out of the state of half-sleep he’s desperate trying to stay in. His curtains should be thicker than this, he bought them specifically so he can sleep in.
He tosses and turns, trying to get away from the bright light assaulting his eyes, the bed’s too firm, the sheets are too smooth. It smells sterile.
He forces his eyes open.
It’s not his room.
The image before him is foreign, he’s in a completely different bedroom. The drowsiness instantly vanishes from Phainon’s mind as he sits up immediately to look around him. The bed is much bigger than his own, it’s big, modern, sterile. Completely devoid of personalities. The furniture are all designed with a minimalist style and looks like they came out of a colorless printer.
Slowly, Phainon crawls out of the bed. His mind finally begins to process the scene in front of him. Possibilities race through his mind, coming up with possible explanations to his predicament.
It’s familiar. Where has he seen this before?
His mind halts. A sudden recognition grabs him.
Oh shit.
He knows this room. This is the exact replica of Khaslana’s room shown in the booklet.
“Fuck, oh fuck.” Curses spill out from his lips as he rushes into the bathroom and nearly trips over himself on the way. He grabs onto the cold marble counter and glares into the mirror to pick apart his own reflection.
His own face reflects back at him. Snow white hair, light blue eyes. He looks exactly the same as before, still Phainon. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself for the absurd idea that crossed his mind just a moment ago.
“Good morning!” A cheerful voice rings inside his skull. It sounded oddly like Cyrene.
He whips around. “Cyrene? Where are you? What is this?”
“Here! Up in your head, I don’t really have a body.” The voice answers. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Cyrene?” He repeats. “It’s not funny.”
“Oh, I’m also not Cyrene! I am an AI assistant, here to help you through the events of ‘The Tyrannical CEO is in love with me!’ You may call me Demiurge.”
“My capabilities mimic the UI of the original game, you’ll be able to unlock new abilities such as seeing friendship bars and character relations as you progress.” Demiurge continues, ignoring Phainon’s obvious panic.
“I’m hallucinating.” Phainon says flatly. “Engineering finally got me, I’m already institutionalized.”
“Oh gosh no! You are actually in the world of the game ‘The Tyrannical CEO is in Love with Me!’ It’s called transmigration, isn’t that exciting?”
“Stop saying that awful title.” He pleads. “This can’t be real.”
This is wrong. There must be a mistake. Transmigration’s not real, and even if it is real, it wouldn’t happen to Phainon. It happens to those “otaku” shut-ins that don't go outside. Only people with no social life get transmigrated, and Phainon’s not one of them! He’s got plenty of friends, great future prospects, and he’s even in a fraternity!
Granted, it’s a professional engineering frat so it might not count, but still! He’s got plenty to live for! People to go back to!
“Oh but it is real!” Demiurge chirps. “You’ve replaced Khaslana, as far as this world’s concerned, you’ve always been him. The ever handsome CEO, cold-hearted to the core, sharp as a knife, and totally essential to the plot!”
Phainon slides down to the cold tiles of the bathroom. It’s real. He wants to deny it, but the back of his mind already accepted it. The tiles below him are cold to the touch, the pinches on his cheeks hurt, it’s all real. He really just transported to another world in his sleep.
What about his life? He was on course to graduate, get his dream job, and live happily ever after. What about his parents, his friends, Cyrene?
“How do I get out of here?” He asks the disembodied voice in his head, his voice cracking slightly.
“Oh that’s simple.” Demiurge replies immediately. “Just reach an ending and you’ll be transported right back.”
“Reach an ending? As in, finish the story?”
“Mm-hmm!” Demuirge hums in a way unique to Cyrene. “You may either stick to the original plots or deviate, it’s all up to you!
He really hopes he’s gone crazy from the tests a week ago and his parents already rushed him to a ward instead.
The story, what’s the story again? Oh right. Mydeimos and the protagonist. That’s the ending right? All he needs to do is play matchmaker, get the two together. That actually doesn’t sound too hard, he’s even the protagonist’s boss.
“So as long as I get Mydeimos and the protagonist together, I’d get to go home.” He stands back up and asks the air excitedly.
“Hmm?” Demiurge responds in confusion. “Well I guess you can! But-”
“I got it!” He interrupts her and jumps out of bed. The plan is already forming in his head. “Where’s the protagonist?”
Demiurge takes a second to process the change in topic. “Oh she’s on her way to the office right now, you should be able to meet her at your company.”
His company. He’s now a multimillionaire CEO who doesn’t actually do any CEO duties. Phainon splashes cold water onto his face and stares into his reflection again. He’s survived engineering, this is a walk in the park.
“Wait.” He stops himself. “Are there any other rules? Like what happens if I die?”
“There’s no other rules. But the laws of your original world still apply.” Demiurge giggles. “If you die, you die.”
“What about back home, is my body just unconscious? Does everyone think I’m dead?”
“Uhhh.” The voice laughs nervously. “I’m actually not sure!”
Oh, so there’s just a chance his body’s completely dead, on its way to the morgue in his original world. Good to know. But that’s a problem he can’t fix, all he can do right now is finish the story.
—
Phainon blitzes through his routine, fumbling and tripping his way around the bathroom. His only setback was when he opens the door to the worst array of clothing he’s ever seen. Khaslana had an awful taste. The clothes are all either black, gray, or navy, not a speck of color or personality in them! Phainon’s going to have to fix that, the closet could use a little yellow and purple.
He picks out the most basic outfit: black slacks, simple white dress shirt and a black collar around his neck. Phainon poses in front of the mirror to admire himself for a little bit as Demiurge rattles off about the direction to his office.
Phainon successfully leaves his mansion and drives his (very expensive!) car into the parking lot of his own company without crashing. He can’t help but laugh throughout the entire drive, not because anything’s funny, but because he’s running on the high of suddenly gaining millions of dollars as a broke college kid.
He exits the car and slams the door close with, hopefully, the swagger of a rich man. The company building is fully made out of glass, standing tall amongst the cities and looming over the rest of its companions. The words ‘COMPANY INC’ is emblazoned across the top of the building in pure white; it looks like the writers really didn’t put much care into Khaslana’s setting. A little annoying, but Phainon can work with it.
The lobby is all marble and chrome, filled with well-dressed people chatting in polite business speak. Phainon straightens his shoulders and walks through the front doors. Immediately, people notice him. Conversations stop abruptly, workers turn away to look busy, and in the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees someone bow.
Phainon offers a smile and points finger guns at the nearest person. “Morning, everyone!” He says in his most cheerful tone.
The silence gets worse, someone drops their brief case.
Looks like Khaslana’s not a chatter.
He’s heading to the elevator when someone crashes into him. It’s almost comical the way they slam into each other, papers fly, something scorching hot soaks through his shirt—coffee, his brain supplies. Scalding, hot coffee is cooking him.
Some girl had just bumped into him and spilled coffee all over his dress shirt. He looks down in shock, the girl feverishly apologizes with a voice barely above a whisper.
“I-I’m so sorry! I just suddenly tripped, it’s all my fault. I’m stupid, I’m clumsy.” Her meek voice barely audible. She sounds like she’s crying. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I’ll do anything! Please don’t tell the boss.” She bows even deeper as she gathers the paper.
“Hey, it’s fine.” Phainon crouches down to help her with the papers. “Accidents happen.”
The girl is still trembling, on the verge of tears. She’s got long straight brown hair and big doe-like eyes, round face and a flat nose. She’s cute looking, but in an almost uncanny valley kind of way. Her eyes are too big, her eyelashes just a tad bit too long.
“It’s fine, really.” He reassures her again as he hands her the stack of papers. “I got plenty of shirts.”
He’s a little taken aback when they stand back up, her head barely reaches his chest. She finally looks back up to thank him, her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh, you’re—”
“Yup.” He presses the ‘up’ button at the elevator. “One and only.”
The elevator arrives just in time. “Up?” He asks.
She nods quickly and scurries inside as Phainon follows soon after. He can still feel the hot coffee on his shirt and the whispers of the workers that think he’s out of earshot.
There’s only two of them in the elevator, the girl presses on the 12th floor with a trembling hand. That reminds Phainon, he has no idea where he’s going. Perhaps he’ll just get a tour around the building since he has nothing to do anyway.
“So what’s your name?” He asks, trying to sound casual.
“Your Name.”
“S’cuse me?”
“My name is Your Name.” She repeats.
“Your name.” Phainon blinks. “Your name is Your Name?”
“Yeah.” She stares at the elevator floors like it's the most interesting thing in the world. “But my friends call me Y/N.”
Just when you think you’ve seen it all. Phainon was going to ignore it and chalk it up to the wonders of the world before it all clicked together. Oh of course.
“Wait, you’re the protagonist!” The words slip out before he can stop it.
“Huh?” Y/N’s head snaps up and she looks at him in confusion.
The elevator dings for the 12th floor and the door slowly opens up to a muted floor full of cubicles and printing sounds. Phainon’s mind is racing. This is the protagonist, one of the two pieces of puzzles he needs to get back to his world.
“I-I got to go.” Y/N points towards the exit weakly, already edging towards it. “I’m late.”
“Wait.” He hurriedly jabs at the close button. “Don’t leave just yet.”
“Oh my supervisor is really strict and—” She glances towards the closing doors.
“You can work from my office.” he declares in a hurry.
Y/N looks at him like he’s weird. Something in her eyes tells him she doesn’t think very highly of him. Phainon realizes how this looks. A CEO trapping a new hire in an elevator, he’s really nailing the tropes here.
“I’m not—” he explains. “It’s for work.”
“Really?” She asks slowly. “Just work?”
“Yeah!” Phainon lies as naturally as he can. “I am in need of a secretary…and you seem competent for the task.”
“But I spilled coffee on you.” She folds her arms. “And I’m an entry level data analyst.”
“This is a legitimate job offer.” he supplies weakly. “I just need an extra pair of hands.”
It’s a horrible job pitch.
Y/N weighs her options, her eyes narrowing as she sorts through the pros and cons. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.”
“You don’t even believe that.”
“People hate working with me, told me I’m too difficult.” The story spins right off his tongue. “Thought I should try with a new hire.”
She laughs. A short, bitter sound escapes her throat. “My supervisor threw a stapler at me last week, I can handle difficult.”
The elevator stays still, still on the 12th floor with the doors closed. Phainon can feel Demiurge lingering in the back of his mind, probably updating character relations and tracking game mechanics.
“Alright.” She says at last.
“Then it’s decided!” Phainon smiles. “Let’s go—”
“Your office is located on the top floor.” Demiurge helpfully reminds him.
“-to the top floor!”
—
It takes him a while to sort everything out. Khaslana’s office is exactly what he expected. It’s a huge glass room with a view overlooking the entire city, a desk the size of a dining table made from pure mahogany wood, leather chairs and bookshelves filled with business and law books. There’s even a little plaque with Khaslana’s name on it sitting right in the middle.
He gestures Y/N to the guest chair on the other side of the table. “Come, come. Make yourself comfortable.”
Phainon rids himself of that stained dress shirt once in the comfort of his own office. “Hope you don’t mind, the coffee’s killing me.” He says absentmindedly while folding the top.
When he turns around, Y/N looks completely different.
Phainon almost jumps. Y/N, or the woman sitting in Y/N’s place changed drastically. Instead of straight long brown hair, Y/N’s hair is blonde, like platinum blonde. Her entire facial structure has changed—high nose bridge and a sharp jaw. Even the complexion is different and there’s even freckles on her.
“W-who are you?” He squeaks.
She tilts her head, “What’s wrong?”
“Your whole face just changed—like everything—”
“I always looked like this.” She blinks.
Can she do that? Phainon looks over his shoulder attempting to find some invisible camera to look into, but of course, there’s no one there. Is it because she’s the player? So her appearance changes constantly? Great game design, horribly inconvenient for Phainon.
“I can’t recognize you like this.” He pinches his nose bridge and leans back on his desk. Nothing’s ever easy for him. He thinks for a long time, finger tapping at his cheek.
A bright idea flashes in his head.
“Here.” He takes off his collar and clasps it onto her neck. Good. “Now, I’ll be able to recognize you no matter what. It suits your outfit too.”
Y/N’s face goes bright red. “What are you doing?” She exclaims, her hand flying up to take the collar off. “Do you have any idea what this means?”
Phainon has no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. “What are you talking about?”
“No one taught you the implications between secondary genders?” Y/N looks at him like he’s insane. “This is basically a claiming gesture.”
His mind flashes back to Cyrene’s flustered face when he asked about omegaverse, and how he dropped the topic quickly. His knowledge on this topic resides within the confines of a few internet jokes and Castorice’s offhanded comments.
So no, no one taught him.
“Yeah, I was just…testing you.” He says instead.
Silence.
“Are you alright in the head?” She asks with a judging expression.
Phainon’s taken aback by the audacity. Isn’t she supposed to be super nice and kind? Surely otome protagonists aren’t supposed to be like this. Where was the stuttering attitude a few minutes ago?
“Y/N.” He says, completely straight faced. “I’ll triple your wages if you stop questioning me.”
“Yes boss!” She immediately puts the collar back on with a little salute. “Anything you say boss!”
“No one has treated me this well before.” The girl wipes away at her eyes dramatically. “My life is yours!”
The whiplash is killing him. “What kind of people have you been living with?”
“I moved here recently after landing this job, my roommates and landlord don't seem to like me.” Y/N takes that as a chance to monologue about her whole life.
She tells him the whole deal. Her tiny apartment with rats, the paycheck to paycheck days, one bad day from financial ruin. How she just has a tendency to trip and fall, spilling whatever she has in her hands. It’s gotten her fired from multiple places.Phainon can’t believe Cyrene found this fun, perhaps a therapy session is overdue.
“Look, I know this sounds weird,” he scratches his head and looks away. “But my place has a few empty guest rooms. If you really need it, you can live with me.”
“Really?” Y/N looks at him skeptically. “Why are you treating me so well?”
“Well, I work weird hours, it’ll be nice to have a secretary on the call.” Phainon lies. It’s good to keep her close, and learn what she likes and hates, that way it’ll be easier to matchmake. “Think about it.”
—
Half way across the country, in a sunlit kitchen filled with vanilla and lemon scent, Mydei pulls out perfectly baked cupcakes from the oven. He’s in a good mood. The new lemon cakes recipe has come out nicely and they taste as good as they look, maybe he’ll even upload the results to his channel. Taking the vacation was a good call.
He wonders what Khaslana’s doing right now. Probably terrorizing some idiot at the company. The thought makes him smile. He misses those little competitions between their two companies, the barely disguised insults during negotiations and petty corporate sabotages. It’s a rivalry unique to them.
Things must be tense lately, he’s been putting a lot of pressure onto Khaslana’s business. He knows he’s crossing unspoken lines, pressing into places that might actually hurt Khaslana’s company, but it’s all necessary.
Chuckling to himself, he opens up his phone to take a picture of his work before a notification pops up and catches his eyes.
CEO Khaslana Caught Fraternizing with Mysterious Omega Employee.
His fingers hover over it. Rationale tells him not to look, that it’s all overblown fake news and borderline defamation from news outlets with nothing else to report. And it’s not like he cares about what his competitor’s up to. He clicks it anyway.
He scrolls past the text, it all means nothing to him. He needs substantial proof, pictures, videos.
Mydei stops at the first image. It shows Khaslana kneeling down to pick up papers with someone, a woman turned away from the camera. It’s nothing. Khaslana’s been a kind person.
The second picture is worse. Elevator surveillance with just the two of them. Khaslana’s smiling, really smiling at the mysterious woman as she stares at him back with a wide-eyed hopeful expression.
The third picture makes his vision tunnel. Khaslana is shirtless, clasping a collar on the omega, the collar he always wore, the one he bought with his first paycheck.
The phone screen splinters and cracks underneath his grip. There’s even more pictures of Khaslana walking the woman to his car, wearing a completely different shirt. It just doesn’t make any sense. Khaslana was basically married to his work, devoted to the dance the two of them have been sharing. And now, in a single morning, some random girl just suddenly captured his heart?
He opens up the message app and types in Khaslana’s number. They haven’t texted each other since graduation, no amount of underhanded moves or snide remarks in interviews were able to break that. They were both too prideful.
Mydei’s not even sure if he still has the same number, but he types in the message anyways.
What’s with the article?
He waits.
Eventually the three dots appear and bops up and down.
Khaslana’s busy right now, who’s this?
Mydei throws his phone across the kitchen.
—
Phainon drives smoothly through the intersection with Y/N sitting next to him. She declined to move in with him, but the subway broke down. So, now he’s giving her a ride home.
“Did you respond?” He asks, sparing her a glance.
“Yeah, but they didn’t respond.” Y/N purses her lips. “Should I call them back?”
“Nah, it’s probably spam if I didn’t save the number.” He pulls down the sun visor.
“You know, I thought you were a total asshole at first.” Y/N pulls her visor down and shifts her seat back. “Everyone said you were awful.”
Phainon’s smile falters slightly. He’s always been the easy-going guy, people loved him, felt comfortable around him. He’s chill, approachable. That doesn’t seem like the case here. He thinks back to the reactions of his own workers, there’s a lot of work cut out for him.
“Oh yeah, what about now?”
“You just seem kind of dumb.” She admits.
“Alright man.”
“It’s not an insult!” She promises. “More like, an observation.”
“I’m cutting your wage.”
“I’ve had a change of heart, you’re a shining light of wisdom.”
A translucent screen appears in the corner of his vision, like a video game HUD. Names and progress bars scroll by, showing all the people he’s met through the day. Y/N’s percentage is at a whopping 25%, and also unfortunately the only positive percentage.
Doesn’t matter, it’s a good start.
“Thanks for today boss.” Y/N climbs out the car as he pulls up to her rundown apartment. “I’ll think about the offer, really.”
“Anytime.”
Phainon watches her walk into her apartment, magically tripping a few times along the way before pulling away. The day’s been a success. He’s found the protagonist, gained her trust, and set up for future interactions. All that’s left is the male lead.
Surely this matchmaking will be a breeze.