The Little Clown Fish’s Diary
I remember that day after the mission. The return bus had stopped at the riverside for a long time. The instructor hadn’t boarded yet, so we couldn’t leave. Night had fallen deeply; the streetlights along the riverbank were all extinguished, leaving only the dim lights of the bus.
The doctors whispered in the back rows about Samael’s virus. Meng remained silent, using an eye mask to sleep, but I noticed two damp patches on it—alphas never liked to show their sadness in front of others.
Ying was exhausted, resting her head on my lap and curled up in the seat, asleep. Her eyelashes were wet, and occasionally a nightmare would make her stir.
I drew back the bus curtain and saw a figure under a distant tree, tall, smoking, his handsome profile faintly visible in the moonlight.
Instructor Bai was a devil behind the smile, but once training ended, he became the ideal type for all omegas at the base. One roommate even wrote “The Instructor Kissed Me 99 Times,” which we passed around until an alpha snatched it, mocking us for losing our minds. Later, I realized that even the alphas were secretly reading it, making the pages messy.
Instructor Bai had never revealed his division level; I assumed it must be high, because every time we watched his combat recordings, he handled everything with ease, revealing only a fraction of his skill.
I liked Instructor Bai. This wasn’t hard to admit. Ying liked him too; admiration for a powerful alpha is innate in humans. Liking someone, though, doesn’t always mean it can be realized—and in our case, it was difficult.
Bai wasn’t cruel, though his training methods were inhuman. When he smiled, I didn’t know how to describe it. On Teacher’s Day, we made a cake and tried to smear it on his face while he wasn’t looking, cameras ready—but he had anticipated it and smushed the cream on our faces instead.
His smile was both mischievous and gentle, eyes crescent-shaped, thin lips unable to hide sharp little teeth. Cute, yet distant.
Sometimes, someone among us would gather courage to confess to him. He never rejected anyone outright; he just somehow anticipated it and avoided it, pretending nothing happened the next day.
Instructor Bai was a cool alpha, seemingly skilled at everything. He taught us chemistry and economics, as well as surfing and skateboarding. When he didn’t wear his intimidating instructor uniform, just a big t-shirt, shorts, and a baseball cap, he looked like a high schooler. We noticed he had ear piercings, so we gifted him shell studs, choosing a blue shell after searching the sand for a long time—he liked blue fish, whose bones were white.
He must have liked them, because he allowed us to put them on. It made him look even more charmingly roguish—the “rogue” here was a compliment.
But the next day he removed the shell decorations, telling us dismissively that the principal wouldn’t allow it. Eventually, the ear piercings even closed naturally.
We’d been together for three years. Some of us had grown taller or darker, but the instructor hadn’t changed at all; he looked exactly the same.
Through the bus window, I gazed at him and thought about so many things. But then another shadow appeared beside him, startling me.
An omega descended from the tree branches, tail coiled along the trunk, locking Bai’s neck from behind with a forearm, a gun pressed against his temple.
Our instructor hated being threatened and disliked omegas being overly familiar. I thought the beautiful omega would topple him to the ground—but he didn’t. Instead, the instructor was pressed down by the omega.
Ying and I froze, holding our breath, watching. The omega’s expression of dominance made me shiver. I watched him carve bloody letters into the instructor’s body with his nails, as if branding his possession. The instructor endured the pain, showing indulgent patience rather than resistance.
Bai clutched his bloodied abdomen, staggering to stand, lifting his vest to inspect the wound, licking the surrounding blood.
He bent to pick up the merman, walking toward our bus. Ying and I dared not peek, glancing out of the corner of our eyes. The instructor sat in the back, the merman resting in his arms, head on his shoulder, half-asleep.
He gently supported the merman’s head, closed the curtain, and kissed his eyes. When the merman dozed off, he carefully brushed his low-hanging eyelashes with his knuckles. Bai’s neck revealed bite marks and a fish-shaped mark—alphas rarely allowed omegas to leave marks like that.
The long-distance bus drove along the highway. Ying and I were too excited to sleep, stealing glances at them. The usually alert instructor never noticed. His gaze remained on the omega in his arms, tender enough to make you ache for him.
The President’s Diary
I personally visited Cheng Chi’s parents to inform them of their child’s sacrifice. Seeing their devastated expressions was heart-wrenching.
Cheng Chi’s father came to see me alone. Hearing his choked pleas, I could not say a harsh word to an alpha who had aged ten years overnight.
Back at the office, I called Xiao Bai over, gently explaining Cheng Chi’s father’s wishes. Xiao Bai looked puzzled, asking why.
Xiao Bai was still too young. The world he had experienced was even paler and purer than that of other boys his age. He clutched the glass orb tightly, refusing to hand it over.
That orb was the manifestation of his differentiation ability, “Annihilation.” Even after living over forty years, I had never seen a power nearly on par with the Creator itself. When a soul-concentrating glass orb shattered, the person would be utterly erased from the world, leaving no trace of ever having existed.
Xiao Bai did not hand it to me; he sneered and walked away—just like a rebellious adolescent. But I could not force my values onto him, nor could any of us force them on anyone.
Ultimately, though, at Cheng Chi’s memorial, he personally handed the orb to Cheng Chi’s father. Every child grows up cruelly, unaware whether the ending is good or bad.
I had, however, recorded the entire event in detail, pressed under a glass plate. Even if I erased Cheng Chi’s name from my mind, I still remembered how a young soul had sacrificed itself.
After the memorial, Xiao Bai came to report the outcome. He was surprised to find that I still remembered, which pleased him slightly. Before leaving, he casually asked if anyone would remember him when he died.
I told him they would. He smiled and left.
Indeed, someone would. His guardianship and custody before adulthood had been entrusted to me. Jin and I always treated him like a second child, though he probably didn’t know it.
The president had graciously granted two days off. Bai Chunian went to a mall to buy a well-known brand of water mattress. The advertisement claimed the mattress had a cooling water system to keep it comfortable in summer. Customers, however, had given poor reviews, saying they developed rheumatism or old-leg pains after a week. But Bai Chunian liked the design. He selected one with a perfectly firm yet soft surface, drove it home himself, washed and dried it twice, then filled and sealed it, adjusting its height to fit the left side of his bedroom bed, and turned on the water cooling system.
“Try it out.” Bai Chunian patted the fish tank, and Lan Bo climbed out of the water, yawning.
The mattress gave off a cool breeze. Lan Bo rolled around comfortably. “So refreshing.”
Bai Chunian lay down on the bed, positioning himself at the seam between the water mattress and the regular mattress, gently placing his hand on Lan Bo’s waist, leaning close to whisper, “I don’t want to sleep alone. Stay with me.”
Lan Bo ruffled his hair, sat up, and lifted Bai Chunian’s vest to inspect the wounds he had inflicted, checking for infection.
Bai Chunian whimpered softly. “It hurts…”
Lan Bo frowned, lay down, and embraced him, letting him bury his head in Lan Bo’s chest while releasing calming pheromones and gently patting him. “There, there.”
Bai Chunian flipped over like a spoiled cat, pressing onto Lan Bo, licking his neck and fingers. Small barbs on Bai Chunian’s tongue scraped at Lan Bo’s omega skin, absorbing the soothing pheromones. Instinctively, he wanted to groom him, but Lan Bo’s skin was smooth and hairless; instead, the tiny barbs left faint, erotic red marks.