MVCFO CH42

Chapter 42: “The Villain Can Be a Bit Worse”

“If I tell the school about your situation, do you think you’d still be able to stay here?”

Shen Qiaolan’s posture was somewhat disheveled, but his face carried a mocking smirk, as if unfazed by the danger before him.

Lu Cong pinned him against the edge of a metal storage rack, fingers pressing on Shen Qiaolan’s gland. With just a bit more force, this pampered young master would be ruined. “So?”

“I had you investigated long ago. They told me your family’s records are locked in the Alliance’s confidential system, untouchable. But some information comes effortlessly—”

Shen Qiaolan’s tone dripped with sharp, provocative amusement. “No wonder you never took my Shen family seriously. It’s not just your parents’ high positions—it’s because you’re banking on your top-tier pheromone grade, thinking the Alliance will always favor you, so you dare dismiss us. Right?”

“How long are you going to spout this nonsense?” Lu Cong’s impatience showed.

Shen Qiaolan, unhurried, seemed to believe he held the upper hand, his face twisting with an almost manic grin. “Didn’t the Alliance once consider redefining the grading system for your pheromones, creating a new tier above superior-grade Alpha? But it never happened… Let me guess why.”

“Oh… could it be they feared they couldn’t control your pheromones? Worried that elevating you too high would make you unmanageable? Makes sense. If your pheromones went haywire, everyone in this school could die. A liability like that—the Alliance would either tame you or make you disappear.”

Lu Cong blinked slowly, his gaze calm but his tone chilling. “Who told you this?”

Lu Cong’s pheromones were, in a sense, a terrifying weapon, the reason he’d been isolated until age five.

But he’d long passed the Alliance’s rigorous tests for pheromone control. Even if he lost control now, it wouldn’t reach the exaggerated “everyone dies” level Shen Qiaolan claimed.

More critically, Lu Cong’s pheromone data was strictly confidential.

Even Lin Xiangqi only learned fragments from Tang Luyu during pheromone-assisted treatment.

And the grading redefinition? Lu Cong was certain that happened when he was two or three, undocumented and never mentioned again.

Only Lu Huo and Qi Ye would know those old details.

Shen Qiaolan, someone with no connection to his family, shouldn’t know this much.

“Are you nervous? Or are you plotting how to silence me?” Shen Qiaolan’s taunts continued. “Fits your ‘character,’ doesn’t it? Bloodthirsty, obsessive, ruthless—just well-hidden, fooling Lin Xiangqi into thinking you’re some saint.”

He kept saying things Lu Cong didn’t grasp. “If he knew your true nature, would he run?”

Lu Cong was silent for a long moment.

Just as Shen Qiaolan thought he’d rattled him, Lu Cong let out a chuckle.

Then the hand on his gland tightened.

Shen Qiaolan gasped in pain, barely managing to hiss through clenched teeth, “Go ahead and try—see if you can kill me!”

He didn’t want to admit it, but he had to face reality: if Lu Cong truly wanted him dead, he couldn’t fight back.

Forget Lu Cong’s pheromones potentially outranking his—even at the same Alpha grade, strength varied.

Pheromones differed in nature. Some were soft, others sharp, carrying distinct traits.

Lu Cong’s scent screamed murder—bloody, ferocious, crushing all in its path.

Shen Qiaolan’s, meanwhile, oozed desire, control, and extreme self-absorption. It was a scent that naturally drew Omegas, making him a born seducer, adept at indulgence and adoration, not combat.

He rarely got the upper hand against Lu Cong.

But Shen Qiaolan didn’t seem scared.

Lu Cong still wore his gland-suppressing neck ring. As long as he couldn’t fully unleash his pheromones, Shen Qiaolan had room to counter.

He thought he held the advantage—Lu Cong was just an enraged, shackled Alpha.

Until Lu Cong snapped the flimsy metal ring off his neck with one hand, tossing it to the ground. A wave of oppressive force erupted into the air.

“You’re begging for death. I’d hate to disappoint.”

Lu Cong released his grip. Now able to attack with pheromones, he had no desire to touch another Alpha’s gland.

But his pheromones surged toward Shen Qiaolan, slicing through like a thousand blades.

In an instant, Shen Qiaolan’s decade-long arrogance and smugness shattered.

“Impossible…”

He’d never felt such fear.

When Lin Xiangqi leapt through the equipment room window, the scene stunned him—Lu Cong without his neck ring, pheromones flooding the air, and Shen Qiaolan writhing in agony on the floor.

In that moment, an oddly untimely thought crossed Lin Xiangqi’s mind: Shen Qiaolan didn’t look like a protagonist at all.

But he didn’t dwell on it, quickly shutting the window and rushing to Lu Cong.

The situation looked dire. Lu Cong had likely been provoked by Shen Qiaolan’s pheromones, and given his unstable state—teetering on the edge of a susceptible period—Lin Xiangqi guessed he’d already entered it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have removed the neck ring.

“Lin… Xiangqi…” Shen Qiaolan, propped on the floor, clearly in pain, stammered his name, warning, “Don’t go near… Lu Cong… he’s lost it!”

Shen Qiaolan reached for Lin Xiangqi, but Lin Xiangqi shot him a glare filled with old and new grudges, not pausing as he ran to Lu Cong.

Lin Xiangqi moved fast.

No one could understand the panic in his heart.

He feared something only he knew—

In the original story, Lu Cong was forced to leave because of Shen Qiaolan.

The story’s Lin Xiangqi didn’t know how many times Shen Qiaolan had schemed or sowed discord. He only knew he’d suddenly heard Lu Cong had gone mad, severely injuring Shen Qiaolan’s gland and harming police who tried to intervene.

The Shen family wanted to sue Lu Cong, and his unique pheromone situation made things worse. Unless they settled, Lu Cong faced two paths: prison or isolation.

Lin Xiangqi’s deepest memory of that plot was his certainty that the Lu family could protect Lu Cong, at least keeping him out of jail.

But he’d grown greedy.

He didn’t just want Lu Cong free—he wanted him to stay.

So, the story’s Lin Xiangqi, naively, came up with a foolish plan: beg the Shen family to spare Lu Cong.

But that cannon-fodder Lin Xiangqi wasn’t clever enough.

Shen Qiaolan manipulated him.

He agreed to let Lu Cong off but demanded Lin Xiangqi stay by his side for a week, ostensibly to “atone” for Lu Cong by caring for the injured Shen Qiaolan. In truth, it was to keep Lin Xiangqi from seeing Lu Cong.

A week later, the Shen family indeed dropped the charges. Lin Xiangqi thought he’d saved Lu Cong’s place, but when he returned home, Lu Cong was gone.

Frantic, Lin Xiangqi used a spare key to enter Lu Cong’s house. Trailing behind, Shen Qiaolan “accidentally” found a letter Lu Cong had left for Lin Xiangqi in their mailbox.

When Lin Xiangqi emerged, devastated, from the empty Lu family house, Shen Qiaolan had already burned the letter.

If Shen Qiaolan had just quietly destroyed it, no one would’ve known Lu Cong had written. Lin Xiangqi might’ve kept trying to contact him, eventually reconnecting.

But Shen Qiaolan deliberately told him, “Lu Cong wrote in the letter that he and his family had long decided he’d go to military academy. The college entrance exam meant nothing to him—he was just playing house with you. Now that things have come to this, he left early… So, see? I told you, how could a superior-grade Alpha settle for staying with a Beta? Lin Xiangqi, it’s time you faced reality.”

Lin Xiangqi shouldn’t have believed those words.

But Lu Cong’s departure was a fact. Even though the Shen family dropped the charges, why would he leave? The massive misunderstanding cast a shadow, burrowing into his heart.

Now, with the perspective of an omniscient observer, Lin Xiangqi knew these melodramatic, cliché misunderstandings.

So, from the start, he’d resolved to keep his distance from Shen Qiaolan, that walking poison bomb.

Clearly…

The plot had already changed.

This time, Lin Xiangqi hadn’t given Shen Qiaolan any chance to sow discord, and Lu Cong had no reason to suddenly attack him. So why had the “plot” circled back to this point?

It was as if fate itself mocked his efforts, deeming them futile.

The protagonist’s halo seemed determined to drag them toward a predestined ending…

No, no, no!

In panic and dread, Lin Xiangqi threw himself into Lu Cong’s arms, not waiting for an explanation. He unleashed a flood of Omega pheromones, trying to neutralize the menacing, smoky tension in the air.

Lu Cong’s breath hitched, his arm tightening around Lin Xiangqi’s waist. He whispered, “Someone’s here.”

“Don’t care about him.” Lin Xiangqi’s mind was consumed with visions of Lu Cong framed and imprisoned. Determined, he kept releasing pheromones and, on tiptoes, kissed Lu Cong.

His soft lips pressed urgently, tongue slipping in, carrying a sweet scent.

Omega pheromones served many purposes—seduction in some contexts, calming in others.

Right now, Lin Xiangqi was trying to soothe Lu Cong, minimizing the risk of his susceptible period spiraling out of control.

He kissed fiercely, with stubborn resolve—this plot had changed once, and he’d make it change again, twice, three times if needed.

As long as he, Lin Xiangqi, was still breathing, he’d never let them fall into the tragic ending of the original story.

For a moment, Shen Qiaolan thought he’d lost his mind.

Seeing Lin Xiangqi kiss Lu Cong, his heart seemed to stop. Before he could speak, the unmistakable scent of Omega pheromones filled the air.

With two Alphas present, the source was obvious.

How could this be…

This wasn’t what he’d planned.

When had Lin Xiangqi differentiated into an Omega? And when had he and Lu Cong become so intimate they could kiss so brazenly?

As Shen Qiaolan grappled with his confusion, Lin Xiangqi finally pulled back his tingling tongue, pheromones lingering between them.

Clinging to Lu Cong’s neck, he gently rubbed his heated gland. “Calm down, don’t release too many pheromones. People will smell it outside.”

Lu Cong wasn’t actually out of control, but he saw Lin Xiangqi’s anxiety and realized, belatedly, he’d acted rashly.

Though removing the neck ring was mainly to warn Shen Qiaolan, it wasn’t the most rational move.

Lu Cong hugged Lin Xiangqi’s waist reassuringly, reining in his pheromones. “Sorry, Yanyan, my mistake.”

“It’s not your fault. Shen Qiaolan caused this.”

Seeing Lu Cong clear-headed, not in a susceptible period, Lin Xiangqi exhaled in relief.

But he glanced at Shen Qiaolan, whispering to Lu Cong, “Let’s go… Don’t ever get near Shen Qiaolan alone. He’s rotten to the core.”

His tone made Shen Qiaolan sound like a plague.

Lu Cong nodded vaguely, obediently following Lin Xiangqi’s lead without sparing Shen Qiaolan a glance.

But then, Shen Qiaolan, seemingly on his last breath, struggled to his feet, trying to chase them.

“No, you can’t!”

His reaction was bizarre, eyes unnaturally red as he looked at Lin Xiangqi. “You can’t choose him! You don’t know what Lu Cong is! He’ll become a lunatic, a complete madman! Lin Xiangqi, I’m helping you. Lu Cong knows nothing—he’ll get you killed—”

Lin Xiangqi hadn’t planned to engage, but Shen Qiaolan’s words struck him as odd. He stopped, turning to face him but cautiously keeping Lu Cong behind him.

Lu Cong, bemused, watched the slighter Lin Xiangqi take a protective stance in front of him. Though he didn’t understand, hiding behind his Omega felt oddly amusing, so he went along with it.

“Lin Xiangqi, listen to me!”

Shen Qiaolan, thinking Lin Xiangqi’s pause meant he was willing to talk, rushed to explain. “I had a dream… no, not a dream, the future—a real future. Believe me, Lu Cong’s no good. His genes are flawed. If his pheromones go out of control, he’ll turn into a monster. Within two years, he’ll be a murderous maniac—”

Before he could finish, a sharp slap landed on his face.

Shen Qiaolan stood stunned, staring at Lin Xiangqi in disbelief.

“By ‘murderous maniac,’ do you mean taking on a hundred foes alone on the battlefield and winning overwhelmingly?”

Lin Xiangqi’s tone was mocking, his expression icy as he stared at the deceitful Shen Qiaolan. “I don’t know if you really dreamed something or if you’re just spewing lies to drive a wedge between us. Honestly, I don’t care. But Shen Qiaolan, if you insist on forcing Lu Cong toward your ‘dreamed’ ending, I’ll drag you down with us. Try me.”

All of Shen Qiaolan’s arrogance shattered under that slap. Yet he wasn’t angry—just bewildered. Looking at Lin Xiangqi, he murmured, “You… know?”

Lin Xiangqi didn’t want to dwell on it. “Know or not, it’s the same. Keep living in your dream. I’ve already woken up.”

“It’s not supposed to be like this…” Shen Qiaolan’s face twisted in pain. He couldn’t grasp why Lin Xiangqi reacted this way. It wasn’t what he’d envisioned.

In his fragmented dreams, every time Lin Xiangqi appeared, he’d flash a radiant smile, those beautiful eyes fixed solely on him.

Why was reality so different?

Was that dream really just a dream, all his own delusion?

Then, Lin Xiangqi sighed calmly. “Shen Qiaolan, a dream is a dream, a story just a story. You saw those futures and still chose to follow the same path. You had so many chances to change, yet you repeat the same mistakes, obsessed and unyielding. How could someone like you be the protagonist? You’ve turned yourself into a meaningless NPC.”

“I…” Shen Qiaolan opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. In that moment, it felt like a piece of his heart had been carved out.

Lin Xiangqi was done wasting words. Dropping that line, he grabbed Lu Cong’s hand and left.

Shen Qiaolan didn’t follow.

He’d once believed whatever he wanted would come to him—wealth, power, Omegas worthy of him, or Lin Xiangqi.

When he had that dream, he thought it was fate giving him a second chance at happiness.

With the “script” in hand, he could have it all. By following the set path, he’d be the story’s greatest victor.

But Lin Xiangqi had gone “out of character.” It didn’t just derail Shen Qiaolan’s plans—it shook his entire psyche.

Lin Xiangqi’s words were a sharp dagger, slicing through his flawless, perfect world. The protagonist’s halo vanished, and he suddenly felt Lin Xiangqi’s words made sense—

True protagonists move forward, creating their own story. Those trapped by the plot are just cannon fodder.

Now, Lin Xiangqi and Lu Cong were moving forward, while he was stuck in place.

How could someone like him be the protagonist?

Lin Xiangqi was far less calm than he appeared.

Though his words to Shen Qiaolan sounded bold, his heart was in chaos—

Shen Qiaolan had awakened!

As the story’s protagonist, he already had countless advantages. Now, with the original plot’s full knowledge, wasn’t that basically cheating? If Shen Qiaolan decided to fight them to the death, could two “villains” like them win?

Damn fate, setting a trap like this! No wonder he’d felt uneasy lately.

As Lin Xiangqi led Lu Cong toward the school gate, he tripped over his own feet several times.

Lu Cong squeezed his palm, trying to draw his attention and pull him from his thoughts.

But Lin Xiangqi didn’t notice.

“Yanyan?” Lu Cong leaned down, calling softly by his ear.

Lin Xiangqi snapped back, looking at him. “Hm?”

Lu Cong asked, “Where are we going?”

Lin Xiangqi: “Home, duh.”

Lu Cong, dead serious, nodded. “I thought you were taking me to elope.”

Lin Xiangqi: “?”

The next second, he saw the red light overhead and yelped, jumping back—he’d nearly dragged Lu Cong into oncoming traffic!

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Lin Xiangqi patted his chest, glaring at Lu Cong. “Trying to scare me on purpose?”

Lu Cong chuckled. “Thought you wanted some thrill.”

Lin Xiangqi: “Running a red light isn’t thrilling. We’re law-abiding citizens.”

Lu Cong: “Aren’t we villains now? Villains can be a bit bad.”

Lin Xiangqi laughed, then quickly sobered, startled. “Wait, how… You didn’t awaken too, did you?!”

What kind of plot twist was this—everyone awakening?!

Lu Cong looked confused. “Awaken what? I don’t think so.”

He added, “I just overheard you muttering about ‘villains, two against one, double the win rate,’ so I made a guess.”

Lin Xiangqi instinctively asked, “Guessed what?”

But as Lu Cong started to answer, Lin Xiangqi covered his mouth. “Let’s talk at home.”

Lu Cong didn’t object. Whether Lin Xiangqi chose to tell him or how he did it, Lu Cong remained as calm as ever, as if nothing could surprise him.

All the way home, Lin Xiangqi mentally rehearsed, weighing how to explain so Lu Cong could accept it more easily.

Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to say anything.

About the story, about the original ending.

At first, he feared Lu Cong wouldn’t believe him, thinking him crazy. Now, he worried Lu Cong would take it too seriously and be hurt by the original plot’s events.

If Shen Qiaolan hadn’t pulled today’s stunt, Lin Xiangqi had already decided to bury those so-called settings and predestined endings forever.

In the end, he had to tell Lu Cong the truth.

To his surprise, Lu Cong was remarkably calm.

Only when Lin Xiangqi mentioned, “In the original story, I died suddenly the night I got my Capital University admission letter,” did Lu Cong react—his brows furrowed slightly.

When Lin Xiangqi finished, he chugged hot water, seemingly thirsty but actually anxiously awaiting Lu Cong’s response.

But Lu Cong stayed composed.

After Lin Xiangqi drained his cup, Lu Cong got up, refilled it, and unwrapped a milk candy, popping it into Lin Xiangqi’s mouth. Then he sat back on the couch, legs crossed, perfectly at ease.

Lin Xiangqi studied him for a moment. “Are you so mad you’ve lost it?”

After all, in the story’s ending, Shen Qiaolan and his stand-in lived happily ever after, while Lin Xiangqi and Lu Cong died miserably.

But Lu Cong chuckled. “Nothing to be mad about.”

He didn’t seem to be putting on a front—he genuinely wasn’t angry or upset by the plot Lin Xiangqi described.

Lin Xiangqi felt inexplicably miffed. Setting down his cup, he climbed onto Lu Cong’s lap, looking down at him. “So you don’t believe me? …I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. All that ‘waking up with self-awareness’ stuff sounds like I’m nuts. If Shen Qiaolan hadn’t gone off today, I’d have let this rot in my gut.”

The more he spoke, the more irritated he got, pinching Lu Cong’s face hard. “Even if you don’t believe me, at least play along and trash it with me! This story’s so melodramatic, illogical, and frustrating. And the protagonist has zero charm—why does he get a successful career and happy family? What did the white moonlight do wrong? What did the villain boss do wrong? What did the stand-in Omega do wrong?”

Lu Cong laughed, indulging him by joining in to roast the protagonist’s character for a bit before saying, “I’m not doubting you. I know you’re telling the truth. You awakened your self-awareness and changed your ending—that alone is enough for me to feel grateful. I can’t really imagine how the ‘Lu Cong’ in the original story kept going. I couldn’t do it. If you died, I’d follow you.”

Lin Xiangqi rested his chin on Lu Cong’s shoulder, relaxed. “No way. Even if I go, you have to live well.”

Lu Cong, almost childishly, argued, “I don’t want to live alone.”

Lin Xiangqi: “Auntie and Uncle would beat you senseless.”

Lu Cong: “They’d understand.”

Lin Xiangqi laughed despite himself. “Hey, don’t say that so seriously! We’re alive and well right now!”

He hadn’t realized something: while he thought Lu Cong was unfazed, his own emotions were steady too. Unlike when he first awakened, when just thinking of the original plot sent him into a fury that shook his core, now it felt like they were just casually discussing a novel.

Lu Cong: “You’re right. We’re alive and well, so I’m saying there’s no need to be angry.”

Lin Xiangqi mulled it over, catching his meaning. “You mean there’s no point getting upset over things that haven’t happened, right?”

Lu Cong gently ruffled his hair. “Exactly. You’ve already changed so much. You’ll steer the story to a new ending. No need to grieve over what didn’t happen.”

Lin Xiangqi’s heart lightened, the knot he’d carried unraveling instantly.

Maybe he’d known this deep down but lacked certainty.

Lu Cong’s words gave him a surge of encouragement.

But then Lin Xiangqi had a whimsical thought. “What if, in another world, there’s a really sad me and a really sad you?”

“No,” Lu Cong said. “If parallel worlds exist, they’re another book, another story, another clever cannon fodder and lucky villain. For you and me, only what’s in front of us is real. Only what happens now belongs to us.”

His unhesitating reply smoothed Lin Xiangqi’s unease completely.

Grinning, he planted a firm kiss on Lu Cong’s lips. “I feel better now. I kept thinking my ‘past life’ death was so unfair. But thinking like this—there’s no past or next life, only the present. The one who made this choice is me. The one who made another choice isn’t another me—it’s another person.”

He kissed Lu Cong again, their lips and teeth clashing, a mix of pain and laughter.

Lu Cong smiled, returning a softer, gentler kiss. “My Yanyan is the smartest.”

Lin Xiangqi: “Isn’t my Lu Cong smart too?”

Lu Cong laughed. “Hard to say. He’s a bit dumb sometimes.”

Lin Xiangqi had expected a heavy, oppressive talk, but Lu Cong effortlessly brushed aside his fears, reshaping them into something he could accept.

Now, Lin Xiangqi felt no fear of the so-called ending. No matter how big the trouble, he and Lu Cong would face it together. Nothing to be afraid of.

Including Shen Qiaolan.

In the original story, Shen Qiaolan’s greatest weapon was manipulating hearts, but that hinged on Lin Xiangqi “liking” him.

Now, Lin Xiangqi found him irritating and wouldn’t give him an inch to exploit.

Even if it came to facing the protagonist together, Shen Qiaolan had an 80% chance of being outplayed—the factors that led to Lu Cong’s death in the original no longer existed!

Suddenly brimming with fight, Lin Xiangqi clenched his fist and declared to Lu Cong, “I’m gonna be the most badass villain boss in the world!”

Lu Cong, amused yet charmed, fist-bumped him. “Go for it, Boss Yanyan.”