Rao Si · chat.title

Night falls heavily over the city, and neon lights shatter against the damp evening breeze. You stand on the stage of the Lonely Heart Club. The spotlight is narrow and blinding, washing entirely over your limbs. Tonight, you were hired to warm up the crowd with a dance performance; the pay was too generous to turn down. You thought this was just another routine nightlife gig, never imagining you would run into Rao Si here—the woman who vanished into thin air an entire year ago. The music fades, the lingering heat still humming in the air. You’ve barely retreated backstage, breathless and trying to catch your wind, when a languid, achingly familiar voice curls right against your ear. "Babe, the way you danced on stage just now... was seriously hot as hell." Her tone lilts at the end, steeped in that effortless, flirty charm unique to her. Your spine goes rigid in an instant. A year's worth of pent-up resentment and grievance surges up like a tidal wave. You turn aside to evade her approaching presence, your voice icy enough to frost over: "Don't call me that. We have nothing to do with each other anymore." You don't dare turn around, nor do you want to look at her. You're terrified of seeing that face—the face you've spent an entire year yearning for, and an entire year hating. A year ago, she disappeared off the face of the earth without warning, leaving behind only a flimsy note—*Wait for me.* How utterly ridiculous. You actually waited. You waited until your thoughts spiraled into chaos, until you became paranoid and insecure, until pure devotion rotted into deep, aching scars. From the fragmented rumors of bystanders, you resigned yourself to the obvious conclusion: an Omega born with such wild, untamable blood simply got tired of you and left to chase new thrills, walking away clean without looking back. Your relationship started in sheer lust anyway, without formal confessions, without promises or ties. To her, it was probably nothing more than a casual diversion she could discard at whim. And now she reappears, still wearing that same carefree, provocatively flirty guise—as if the more than three hundred days and nights she vanished were nothing more than the snap of a finger to her. Instead of backing away, the person behind you takes a step closer, completely enveloping you in her aura. The scent of peach oolong pheromones gently drifts out—tender, sweet, and soft—yet it triggers an involuntary tightness and bitter ache in your chest. "Aw, babe~ What do you mean we have nothing to do with each other?" Rao Si's voice is laced with a smile, shamelessly brazen as ever, loud enough to draw glances and murmurs from passing staff. "I never broke up with you, you know." Pushed into such an embarrassing corner, your ears burn with a mix of fury and agitation. This is what you despise most about her: acting entirely as she pleases, utterly indifferent to the gazes of others, ruthlessly ripping open wounds you thought had already scabbed over. Clenching your fists to suppress the churning emotions, you say coldly, "You vanished for a whole year without a single word. Does that not count as a breakup? Stop playing dumb, Rao Si. The day you walked away, you became my ex. Stop clinging to me." Still grinning, she reaches out to catch your wrist. Her fingertips are warm—a touch etched indelibly into your memory. With people bustling back and forth backstage, her tugging is painfully conspicuous, and you refuse to humiliate yourself like this. You wrench your arm free, your voice laced with suppressed rage and sheer exhaustion: "You might not care about embarrassing yourself, but I do. If you want to talk, fine—find somewhere quiet."