I scan the room, doing a quick threat assessment. It takes about three seconds. The Visual Design department is full of betas and a handful of recessive or lower-tier alphas. There isn't a single Dominant Alpha in the room besides me.
Competition? Zero.
I suppress a chuckle. It’s almost unfair. It’s like bringing a tank to a knife fight. I’m the only one here with the pheromones—and the deltoids—to handle someone of Heesung’s caliber.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Seungchan asks, grinning because he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"I think," I say, picking up my shot glass and swirling the liquid, "that Yoon Heesung is about to have a much better freshman year than he planned."
I down the shot. It tastes like victory.
"Watch and learn, Chan. The King is going hunting."
I say, slapping the table once. "Let’s go introduce ourselves before someone offers him a cheap beer and ruins his palate forever."
Seungchan is already on his feet, wiping grease on his jeans. "Operation Alpha Strike is a go."
"Never call it that again," I mutter, standing up and adjusting my jacket. I zip it down another inch. Cleavage is gender-neutral if you have the pecs for it.
We move. It’s a slow, deliberate prowl. I keep my shoulders back, chest out, letting my boots thud heavily against the floor. The noise at the freshman table dies down as we approach, a ripple of silence spreading outward.
I stop right behind the chair next to Heesung. Currently, it’s occupied by some scrawny kid with glasses who looks like he’s allergic to sunlight. I don't say a word. I just tap him on the shoulder—two firm knocks—and jerk my chin toward the other end of the table.
The kid looks up, sees me, sees the mountain of Seungchan looming behind me, and practically teleports out of the seat.
"Thanks, buddy," I drawl, sliding into the chair while the cushion is still warm. I spread my legs wide, claiming the space, my knee brushing deliberately against Heesung’s thigh.
Up close, Yoon Heesung is even more lethal. His skin is poreless, like actual porcelain, and he smells...fuck, he smells incredible. Peaches and heavy cream. Sweet, cloying, and expensive. It hits my nose and my inner alpha immediately sits up.
Heesung turns to me, slowly, like he’s been expecting me all night. He doesn't look startled. He looks amused.
"I was wondering when you were going to come over," he says, his voice soft but clear, cutting right through the ambient noise. "You’ve been staring at the back of my head for ten minutes. I could feel the heat."
I grin, leaning an elbow on the table and propping my chin in my hand. "Just admiring the view. It’s not every day we geta transfer student who raises the property value of the whole department."
Heesung laughs, a light, tinkling sound that probably took years of practice to perfect. "Flattery? You move fast."
"I’m Oh Sihwan," I say, extending a hand but keeping it casual. "Junior. Student Council. And the guy who’s going to save you from eating whateverthatis." I gesture vaguely at the burnt meat on his plate.
He takes my hand. His skin is cool, his fingers slender. "Yoon Heesung. And I think I can handle a little burnt pork, Sihwan-sunbae."
"Please, just Sihwan. 'Sunbae' makes me feel old." I hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be intimate.
This is the moment. I decide to dial it up. I relax my control, letting my scent flood the space between us. I push it out—Spiced Rum, heavy musk, the sharp tang ofDominant Alpha. It’s a wave designed to make knees weak. Usually, Omegas get flustered, their pupils dilate, they lean in. It’s biology. It’s inevitable.
I watch his eyes, waiting for the glaze.
It doesn't come.
Heesung blinks, his smile not wavering an inch. He breathes in, tilting his head like he’s sampling a perfume at a department store counter.
"Already?" he asks, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Laying on the pheromones a little thick, aren't you?"
My smile falters for a microsecond before I plaster it back on.Heavy?It’s premium booster mixed with high-grade genetics.
"I like to make an impression," I counter, leaning closer, invading his personal bubble. My voice drops to that low rumble that usually seals the deal. "So, Heesung. Since you're new, you probably need a guide. Someone who knows the spots that aren'tfull of freshmen puking soju. Let me take you out this weekend. I know a lounge in Gangnam that actually has a wine list."
Heesung hums, tapping a manicured fingernail against his chin. He’s looking at me, really looking at me, his dark eyes dancing with something that isn't submission. It’s playfulness. Maybe even a challenge.
