"So, Heesung," I start, leaning against the desk. "I was thinking we could grab—"
I’m talking to an empty chair.
I blink. I look under the desk, as if he might have dropped a pen. Nothing.
I spin around. "Where’s Heesung?"
Seungchan looks up from his phone, blinking vacantly. "Huh? The pretty one?"
"Yes, the pretty one! The one I was sitting next to for an hour!"
"Uh..." Seungchan scratches the back of his neck, his bicep flexing with the movement. "I think he left while you were staring at the goth kid."
"I wasn't staring," I snap. "I was observing the enemy."
"Right. Well, the prize just walked out the back door."
I whip my head toward the rear exit. The door is just settling into its frame.
He slipped me.
Yoon Heesung, the guy who loves attention, the guy who collects Alphas like trading cards, just ghosted me. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't ask for my number. He just waited until I was distracted by Donghwa’s little exit show and vanished.
My jaw tightens. My scent flares again, hot and spicy, souring with irritation.
"Unbelievable," I mutter, grabbing my bag.
"Don't worry, bro," Seungchan says, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder. "We can go get pork cutlets. My treat. Bulking season, right?"
I shake his hand off. "I don't want pork cutlets, Seungchan. I want to know why the hell everyone on this campus is suddenly blind to quality."
I storm toward the door, my friends trailing behind me like a pack of confused oversized puppies.
This isn't over. Not even close. Kang Donghwa might have won the first round by being a mysterious, pretentious mute, but I play the long game. And I never lose.
I catch my reflection in the glass of a trophy case near the elevators and pause. Not bad. The lighting in the Arts Hall is usually tragic. A fluorescent hell that washes out even the best tans, but I’m making it work. The Under Armed shirt is tight enough to show off the chest day pump I got this morning, and the hair is holding its shape despite the humidity.
I give myself a subtle nod.King behavior.
I’m feeling good. I’m feeling generous, better than this morning now that I've had a couple hours to get over my irritation. I’m ready to bless the Visual Design department with my presence. But as I turn the corner toward the lecture rooms, my good mood hits a speed bump.
There’s a blockade.
A gaggle of students, mostly omegas with a few betas sprinkled in, are clustered around the narrow window of Practice Room 4. They’re buzzing like a hive, all hushed giggles and not-so-subtle jostling for a better view. Usually, this kind of congestion only happens when I walk into the cafeteria.
I slow my stride, curiosity warring with a prickle of irritation. If they’re looking at something, it means they aren’t looking at me. And I have a strict policy about being the most interesting thing in the room.
"Move over, I can't see," one girl whispers, standing on her tiptoes.
"God, look at his hands," another breathes out, sounding like she’s about to melt into a puddle of slick right there on the linoleum.
I frown.Hishands?
I step up behind the group. I don't have to say anything; I just let my scent flare a little. Just a tease. Heavy enough to make the air thick. It works like a charm. The betas stiffen, and the omegas closest to me turn, eyes widening as they realize a dominant alpha is looming over them.
"Oh, Sunbae!" one squeaks, shuffling aside.
"Sihwan-oppa," another murmurs, cheeks flushing.
