"Don't hate the player, Sangho," I drawl, tossing the soju back in one smooth motion. It burns pleasantly on the way down. I slam the glass onto the table with a satisfyingthwack. "Hate the fact that you decided to wear a polo shirt from 2014."
The table erupts in laughter. The omega girl giggles behind her hand, and two others next to her lean in closer, practically fighting for a crumb of attention. I bask in it. It’s like sunlight on a lizard’s back. This is the ecosystem, and I am the apex predator who is generous enough to let the smaller creatures admire the view.
"Yo, Sihwan," Seungchan says around a mouthful of unchewed pork belly, spraying a few crumbs of excitement onto the table. He gestures wildly with his tongs toward the other side of the restaurant. "We haven't checked out the fresh meat yet. We should go over there. Establish dominance. Mark territory. You know."
"Please don't actually mark anything, Chan," I mutter, grabbing a pair of scissors to cut the meat before he chokes to death. "But you're right. It’s only polite for the King to greet his subjects."
I wipe my mouth with a napkin, check my reflection in the back of a spoon—hair still perfect—and swivel in my seat to face the freshman table.
It’s the usual tragic mix of nervous energy and bad posture. A sea of hoodies, awkward silences, and people trying too hard to look like they belong. I scan the faces with a bored glance. Beta. Beta. Ugly Alpha. Omega with bad skin. Another Beta.
My gaze slides to the end of the table and stops.
The boredom evaporates.
There’s a pocket of gravity near the wall. A group of about six freshmen are huddled around one guy, laughing at something he just said. He’s not laughing, though. He’s just sitting there, looking like he walked out of a magazine spread while everyone else is stuck in a candid snapshot.
He’s gorgeous. Not in a rugged way, but in that polished, high-maintenance way I respect. Perfect skin, delicate features, and an air of practiced nonchalance. He’s holding court without even trying, sipping his drink while three different people fight to talk to him.
I squint, the familiarity itching at the back of my brain. I’ve seen that face before.
I jam my elbow into Seungchan’s side. He chokes on a piece of samgyeopsal, coughing loudly enough to startle the table next to us, but I ignore the commotion. My eyes are locked on the prize at the freshman table.
"Yo, Meat-mountain," I mutter, keeping my voice low so it doesn't carry over the sizzle of the grills. "Target acquisition. Three o'clock. The one looking like he just walked off a runway while everyone else looks like they crawled out of a dumpster. Who is that?"
Seungchan swallows the pork whole—I’m pretty sure he didn’t even chew—and wipes grease off his chin with the back of hishand. He follows my gaze, squinting for half a second before his face lights up like a golden retriever spotting a tennis ball.
"Dude! Seriously?" Seungchan practically shouts, spraying a fine mist of excitement. I dodge it with instinctual reflexes. "Of courseyouspotted him first. That’s Yoon Heesung!"
Ah, now it registers.
Yoon Heesung.
The pieces click into place instantly. I don’t just know the name; I know the face. I’ve seen it plastered on the sidebar of my social media feed, in the pages ofDazedKorea while I was waiting at the dentist, and mentioned in the hushed, excited whispers of the department group chat regarding the incoming class.
"The model?" I ask, though it’s not really a question.
"Yeah, the model!" Seungchan nods enthusiastically, leaning in. "He’s got like, a million followers or something crazy. Rumor was he transferred here for the Arts program. I didn't think he’d actually show up to the mixer, though. He’s kinda... high tier, you know?"
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest, a slow grin stretching across my face. High tier is exactly my flavor.
I study him again, really looking this time. Now that I have a name, the aura makes sense. He’s not just pretty; he’s refined. The way he tilts his head, the way he holds his glass—it’s all camera-ready. He’s an Omega, obviously. You can tell by the way the air seems to soften around him, the way the betas at his table are practically tripping over themselves to refill his water cup.
But more importantly, he’s afamousOmega.
My brain is already running the calculations, and the numbers are looking fantastic.
Junior year is the year of Oh Sihwan. I’ve already got the body, the grades (mostly), and the status. The only thing missing from the "King of Campus" brand is the Queen. I’ve been single formonths because, frankly, none of the local options matched my aesthetic. But Yoon Heesung?
He’s perfect.
Imagine the visuals. Me, the only Dominant Alpha in the department, walking down the quad with Yoon Heesung on my arm. The contrast would be lethal. My bulk and tan skin next to his pale, delicate features. The "Power Couple" energy would be off the charts. My Instafam engagement would triple overnight.
"He looks bored," I observe, watching Heesung politely decline a piece of meat from a sweaty-looking sophomore.
"He looks expensive," Seungchan corrects, reaching for another bottle of soju. "Probably used to eating at places where they don't give you scissors to cut your own food."
"He needs better company," I say, running a hand through my hair to ensure maximum volume.
