The Ardente and the Deviant appeared before my eyes: one red, the other blue.

“The sexual characteristics specific to alphas” appeared.

"The sexual characteristics specific to alphas. Alphas are capable of marking and knotting."

Marking.

"Marking. The ability to protect and claim an individual as one’s own. With the partner’s consent, the alpha releases pheromones over a prolonged period so that their own and the omega’s intermingle and form a balance. Once stabilized, this bond is anchored through a bite, allowing gustatory receptors to also reach the partner’s organism. Marking implies union and is recognized as the equivalent of marriage."

Knotting.

"Knotting. During mating, the alpha’s erection doubles in size, causing a contraction of the partner’s intimate muscles. The two are then unable to separate. The knotting period lasts thirty minutes. It is generally intended for alphas and omegas during reproduction, increasing the chances of conception, though it is not impossible with a beta."

Then, it was my turn.

"The sexual characteristics specific to omegas. Omegas are capable of lubrication, childbearing, and breastfeeding."

Lubrication.

"Lubrication. During sexual stimulation or desire, the omega’s body secretes lubrication. Its purpose is to receive the partner and facilitate penetration, providing comfort and pleasure to the omega."

Childbearing.

"Childbearing. Human gestation is the state of an individual being pregnant. The omega carries an embryo within the uterus, and the organism adapts to support life. The average duration from fertilization to birth is 38 weeks. An omega is capable of carrying single, twin, or multiple pregnancies."

Breastfeeding.

"Breastfeeding. During pregnancy, certain hormones prepare the breasts for lactation. The first days can be difficult. Milk production then increases rapidly after birth. This phenomenon is called ‘milk let-down.’ It is often impressive, as the breasts may become swollen and tender, but alpha pheromones or other treatments can alleviate the associated pain."

Back to silence and the menu, I clicked on “failure and success.”

"Station-31 carried the First wave of ABO. Unfortunately destroyed thereafter, the new gonosome bearers were deported to SOTA, which became the stronghold of a new society that would later turn into a prison. The Second wave on SOTA was called ‘the Greys’ and was recognized by Domus as an ABO failure due to the environment of the new planet."

I immediately understood that “the Greys” were the ones Jill had advised me to meet. The scars on their bodies, their grey skin, their yellow eyes… They were all like that—those of the second generation. And yet, nothing more was said about it. Why were they considered failures? Because of their differences?

"The Third wave met the same success as Station-31. Individuals evolved alongside their environments, and no physical degradation was observed."

Normal. The Greys had been replaced by common ones—like Break, Ivan, or Jill.

"The Fourth wave, and final one, was Domus’s greatest success. Individuals adapted fully, and parasitology made them the purest strains in the creation of the new gonosomes."

I recognized my own traits in them. Those large mauve eyes whose shade felt strangely familiar, and their white hair. But I couldn’t be certain, so I moved on.

Just as the Serene had shown me, the artificial intelligence explained the planet’s levels in turn—their names and functions. The Serene hadn’t lied and hadn’t left anything out, except where supplies were collected at the beginning of each month. After that, I continued with “game.”

"When SOTA became a prison, the planet’s upper spheres, governed by Domus, created—"

A drawing appeared. It resembled a house, sketched in thick lines with rounded ends, accompanied by the same soft sound that had animated the artificial intelligence at the beginning.

"100,000 players per month. One winner per month. Every player has the opportunity to reach the upper spheres. Survive, be idolized, and rise."

The Serene had already taught me far more. Why did we have so little information about this damn game if it ruled our lives? Back at the menu, I found no further answers on the subject. There were a few small things left.

"Advantage. Each season’s winner will be granted one wish."

Good to know.

Menu; color.

"Color. Dear player, you may experience difficulty perceiving colors. This is due to your prolonged or partial deprivation of visual stimuli while in prison. Do not worry—this condition is temporary."

Suddenly, a new option unlocked: “Outsider.”

"Dear player, you are what Domus calls an Outsider. You do not originate from the upper spheres, unlike your counterparts known as ‘the Greys.’ You were born within SOTA’s prison and lived there. Your condition resembles monochromatism, a disorder caused by an alteration of the cone photoreceptor cells in the retina responsible for color perception."

A diagram illustrated the condition.

"The absence of significant color sources within the prison causes a neurological alteration in color perception. White, grey, black, and their shades will be perceived. You may discern hues already present in the prison, but it may be impossible for you to discover new ones."

I frowned. So there were colors here—but I couldn’t perceive them. If I could see the yellow in others’ eyes, it was because my eyes had always been accustomed to the guards’ yellow badges. I looked around. Were there really colors I couldn’t see? I shook my head. Either way, what did it matter? Damn it. What difference did it make if I couldn’t see colors?

I turned my attention back to the menu. There were still a few things left, like contraception or suppressants, but I felt I’d had enough for today. I sighed and thanked the artificial intelligence.

"Dear player, thank you for contacting Domus."

The sphere vanished, and I left the room. My skull felt ready to explode. Too many complicated words, too much information—and damn it… I wasn’t used to this! I was fried.

The Serene was waiting, sitting on a metal table. With him stood the one with the rabbit mask. When they saw me approach, they moved as well. The rabbit mask remained silent, but the Serene rested his head against my hair.

"How was your lesson, my little bunny? Did you learn well?"

I brushed his hand away with mock annoyance. He was touchy, but I hadn’t seen a single inappropriate gesture or look. And besides… his pheromones were pleasant, just like those of that damned rabbit mask. And suddenly, I remembered. Around his neck was engraved “Ravenne,” so I looked at the Serene’s—and there it was: “Oren.”

"A lot of information," I muttered. "But tell me—are those your names? Because mentally calling you ‘the Serene’ and ‘the rabbit mask’ is starting to piss me off."

The Serene burst into a warm, booming laugh that consumed the entire lower half of his face. The other one remained still, staring at me. At least he knew what I meant.

"The Serene? That’s a first. Hey, what do you think, Ravenne?"

He looked flattered and surprised, but mostly amused. He had indirectly answered my question. Ravenne glanced at Oren, and Oren understood without a word—he burst out laughing and nodded vigorously.

"Well then, now that proper introductions are out of the way… how about we take care of something important?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"We’re going to get you some suppressants, my little bunny, before Mother Nature reclaims her rights."