* * *

Chirp chirp chirp chirp.

The relentless sound of birdsong tickled Remy’s eardrums and dragged him out of his deep sleep.

“Since when did I set my alarm to bird sounds…?”

Muttering groggily, Remy suddenly remembered a crucial fact and jolted awake.

“Oh, right! I got possessed!”

Snapping to his senses, Remy sprang out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

After a thorough bath and getting himself ready, he took a deep breath.

If he was going to achieve his goal, he’d give it his all, starting today.

The plan was simple: follow the original story and ensure he earned the hatred of the Alphas.

Sure, being reincarnated as an Omega was a slight deviation from the plot, but it wasn’t too late to course-correct.

“Who should I start with…?”

He didn’t know how far the story had progressed, but sitting around wouldn’t help.

If he wanted to return to the real world as soon as possible, he’d need to take action.

So, Remy decided his first target would be Ashton.

Ashton Harlan, the black-haired Alpha he had seen right after his possession.

“Ashton’s been close to Remy since childhood. Out of the three Alphas, he’s the least likely to have been the one who shot me, though…”

Still, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

Only the author knew which Alpha had pulled the trigger, so relying on probabilities could ruin everything.

Remy climbed into the carriage he’d taken back from the palace the day before and headed to Ashton’s house—his childhood friend’s home.

“So this… is Ashton’s house?”

Ashton was the eldest son of Duke Harlan, set to inherit the title upon his father’s death.

In this novel, there were four noble families: two supporting characters, antagonist Remy’s, and the main love interest Allen’s.

Oh, and one of the supporting characters was even a prince.

Since both Remy and Ashton were from prestigious families, he expected their homes to be similar.

But the Harlan estate was far grander and more imposing than he had imagined.

Maybe even among nobles, rank made a difference.

“Hmm. Well, we’re childhood friends, right? I should be able to act casually.”

Following a servant’s guidance, Remy entered the mansion.

Without their help, he might’ve gotten lost, but luckily, the servant escorted him all the way to the drawing room.

“If you wait here, the young master will arrive shortly.”

After a polite bow, the servant left. Remy glanced around the room before approaching a tea table that had been prepared.

The feel of the high-quality crimson carpet against his shoes was oddly satisfying.

The chair he sat in was cushioned with soft white fabric embroidered with red roses—an elegant and perfect touch.

“Wonder if I can take a few things back to the real world when I leave. Selling this stuff would make me rich.”

As he muttered nonsense and sipped his tea—

“Remy.”

A low, unfamiliar voice spoke, so close it brushed against his ear.

Startled, Remy flinched, spilling tea from the cup he was holding.

“Ah, hot!”

The scalding tea soaked his hand.

Ashton, the owner of the voice, immediately leaned in with concern.

A warm, pleasant scent wafted over.

Before Remy could glance up, he caught sight of jet-black hair falling like a curtain and a glimpse of tanned, strikingly smooth skin.

Remy frowned.

Whether it was because of the burn or something else, his body felt uncomfortably warm.

“Are you alright?”

A voice so soothing it felt like honey was dripping into his ears.

Just as alluring as his looks, Ashton’s velvety voice was almost too much to handle.

Remy bit his lip.

“It doesn’t look too bad, but…”

Ashton knelt in front of him, carefully examining Remy’s hand.

His graceful movements brought his breath close enough to brush against Remy’s fingers.

Startled by the ticklish sensation, Remy pulled his hand back slightly.

“I’ll get some ointment. Stay right here.”

Ashton released his hand and stood up.

His disheveled black hair framed his face perfectly as he walked away.

His departure left a trail of that same addictive scent, and for a moment, Remy forgot his mission.

He sniffed the air unconsciously, immediately snapping back to reality.

‘This is dangerous.’

He shook his head, glaring at the doorway Ashton had disappeared through.

Waving his hand through the lingering scent, Remy scowled.

He couldn’t let himself get swept away like this.

That ridiculously considerate, overly kind Alpha had him slightly rattled—but he couldn’t falter now.

“Hah. Is that how you’re going to play it? Fine.”

If Ashton wanted to act so charming, Remy had a plan of his own.

If flirting was a game, then the counter was clear:

“Put up a wall so high, no one gets through.”

He clenched his fists.

“Go ahead, try being nice. I’m not falling for it.”

With his resolve firm, Remy’s goal gained a new layer.

“…Though, is it normal for a guy to be that flirty? What’s his deal?”

Then again, in this world, it wasn’t about men being with men.

It was about the dynamic between those who could conceive and those who could impregnate.

The realization brought on another wave of misery.

Why did he have to get possessed in a novel like this?

“Just hold on. I’ll put up with it until I can return to the real world.”

Pat, pat.

Remy gently reassured himself, steadying his thoughts.

Soon, the door opened, and Ashton appeared once more, holding a glass bottle filled with green liquid.

“Give me your hand.”

Remi hesitated, doubting whether such a rudimentary remedy could exist in this era.

Still, he doubted it’d fail to treat something as minor as his burn and obediently extended his hand.

It wasn’t even severe enough to definitively call a burn—it might have subsided with just cold water.

“If it hurts, tell me.”

Ashton pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, poured the green liquid onto it, and pressed it gently against Remy’s reddened hand.

The sharp scent of herbs wafted up, and a soothing coolness spread from the cloth.

Remi flinched slightly.

Whatever this was, it seemed infused with a cooling herb that quickly drew the heat from his hand.

A faint, involuntary groan escaped his lips.

The tingling sensation in his fingers hinted at the potency of the herbal remedy.

“It’s Centella extract.”

Hearing the unfamiliar name, Remy blinked wide-eyed at Ashton, who met his gaze and began explaining.

“Centella is also called ‘tiger grass.’ They say tigers roll in it when they’re injured, which is how it got its nickname. It helps regenerate the skin, so it’s often used for burns or wounds.”

Remi nodded, his expression signaling he understood.

“Isn’t it fascinating? Tigers instinctively knew the benefits of this plant.”

Ashton smiled brightly, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth.

His sincere smile was undeniably beautiful, but Remy kept his expression stoic, staring him down with a look that asked, ‘Can you still act like this after seeing my face?’

“Think that’s enough?”

Ashton, unfazed by Remy’s standoffish demeanor, focused entirely on his task.

He lifted the handkerchief, inspecting Remy’s hand.

“How is it? Feeling better?”

Remi withdrew his hand brusquely and gave it a cursory glance.

“Yeah. Feels better.”

His tone was curt as he turned away and plucked a slice of cake from the three-tiered tray.

With an air of nonchalance, he bit into it—and froze.

“Wow.”

The cake’s extraordinary taste caught him off guard.

He stared at it, almost disbelieving.

Wrapped in a light yellow cream, the cake released a burst of tangy lemon flavor as soon as it hit his tongue.

It was followed by a buttery richness that melted into a subtle grapefruit bitterness, leaving his palate utterly enchanted.

His already large eyes widened further as he remained captivated by the incredible taste.

“What? What’s with that face?”

Snapping out of his reverie at Ashton’s voice, Remy immediately schooled his features into annoyance.

“What about it?”

“You… That cake…”

“This? Lemon cake?”

“Yeah.”

“What about it?”

Ashton hesitated for a moment before his expression relaxed.

“Never mind.”

Smiling softly, Ashton sat across from Remy, grabbed a fork, and stabbed a piece of cake from the tray.

Choosing a slice adorned with dried citrus fruit, he held it out to Remy.

“Isn’t it inconvenient to eat with your hands?”

Only then did Remy realize he’d been eating with his fingers while ignoring the fork on his plate.

Embarrassment surged, turning his face beet red.

“I’m fine. I’m done eating anyway.”

Feigning nonchalance, Remy took the offered fork and deliberately placed it on the table.

Ashton, ever unbothered, rested his chin on one hand, leaning comfortably against the table.

Was it because summer was nearing?

* * *