"Watch your mouth, freshman," I growl, my voice dropping an octave. I flare my scent intentionally now, pushing the heavy, burnt-sugar smell of my boosters to the limit, trying to crush him under the weight of it. "You think just because you’re somerich, old-money pretty boy that people are going to bow down to you? You think your daddy’s name is going to win you any friends here?"
I lean in, getting right in his face. I’m taller than most people, but he’s got a few inches on me, and I hate having to look up even slightly.
"You have to earn your place here," I tell him, putting every ounce of my dominance into the words. "And right now? You’re at the bottom."
Donghwa just sighs. A long, weary exhale that smells like ginseng and ice water, cutting right through my heavy musk.
"That's the thing," he says, pushing off the sink and standing to his full height, forcing me to take a half-step back or risk chest-bumping him. "I’m not interested in winning 'friends.' And I definitely don't care about your little social point system."
He looks at me with pity. Actual, genuine pity.
"It sounds exhausting," he adds dryly. "You can keep the crown, or whatever it is you think you’re wearing. I just want to wash my hands."
That pitying look is the final straw. It snaps something in my brain, right where my patience used to be.
I step into his space. I don't just invade it; I occupy it. I get close enough that I can see the individual flecks of gray in his irises, close enough that the scent of cold winter air coming off him is practically burning my nose hairs.
I lift my hand and jab a finger hard into the center of his chest.
"Listen, punk," I snarl, my voice echoing off the bathroom tiles.
I expect him to be soft. He looks like an art exhibit, all sharp angles and expensive fabric, the kind of guy who’d bruise if you looked at him too hard. But my finger meets resistance. Under that oversized cashmere turtleneck, the guy is solid. It’s like poking a marble statue wrapped in wool.
It annoys me even more.
"I don't know how things worked in whatever ivory tower you crawled out of," I say, keeping my finger pressed against his sternum, "but here? In this department? I’m the dominant alpha. Me."
I use my free hand to gesture vaguely at the door, at the hallway, at the entire university that I have spent two years conquering.
"I built this hierarchy," I continue, my voice rising. "I put in the time. I went to the mixers, I bought the drinks, I set the standard. So if you think you’re just going to stroll in here with your moody attitude and your gap-year nonchalance and just... collect all the omegas without putting in the work? You’ve got another thing coming."
I’m breathing hard, my chest heaving. I’m waiting for the fear. I’m waiting for him to realize he’s stepped on the wrong toes.
Donghwa doesn't move. He doesn't slap my hand away. He doesn't step back. He just looks down at my finger digging into his chest, then slowly drags his gaze up to my face.
And he smiles.
It’s not a nice smile. It’s barely there, a ghost of amusement that curls the corner of his mouth. His eyes crinkle just a fraction, and I swear to god, he looksentertained.
"Are you finished?" he asks.
"I'm finished when I say I'm—"
"You have no standing to lay claim over every omega in the department," he interrupts, his voice calm, cutting right through my bluster like a scalpel.
He finally moves, lifting a hand to brush invisible lint off his shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that I’m still threatening him.
"Last I checked, this is a university, not a feudal kingdom," he says, his tone bored. "And despite what you seem to believe, youdon't own the student body. You aren't the gatekeeper of who they talk to or who they look at."
He takes a half-step forward, forcing me to either hold my ground and chest-bump him or retreat. I hold my ground, but the height difference is glaring now. He looks down at me, his dark eyes heavy and unimpressed.
"And here’s a reality check for you,Sunbae," he adds, putting a mocking emphasis on the title. "You aren't the only dominant alpha on campus anymore."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I open my mouth to retort, to tell him he’s nothing compared to me, but he talks right over me.
"If the omegas prefer me to you," he says, shrugging a shoulder as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, "that sounds like a personal problem. Maybe you should ask yourself why they’re looking for something else instead of trying to bully the competition."
He leans in, his voice dropping to a whisper that is infinitely more terrifying than my shouting.
