It’s not a friendly smile. It’s a sharp, knowing curve of his lips that says,I know exactly why you’re running away from the pretty girl, Hyung.
My face heats up, a flush of humiliation crawling up my neck. He knows I’m lying. He knows I’m not going to the library. He knows I’m going to go home, lock myself in my room, and miserably jerk off while thinking abouthisstupid tattoos andhisstupid knot because my body has decided it’s allergic to everyone else.
He takes a slow sip of his coffee, his dark eyes locking onto mine over the rim of the can. The scent flares—a sudden, sharp spike ofpheromonesthat aren't mine. It washes over me, cold and crisp, cutting through the nausea Yein’s perfume left behind.
For a second, my knees feel weak. The relief of his scent—even from this distance—is pathetic. I want to walk over there and bury my face in his neck just to stop feeling sick.
The thought horrifies me.
Donghwa tilts his head slightly, raising an eyebrow.Go on then,his expression seems to say.Go study.
I grit my teeth, adjust my backpack strap, and glare at him with as much venom as I can muster. I turn the corner sharply, marching toward the library like it’s actually my destination, cursing the day he transferred here with every step.
Chapter Fifteen
Another Friday and another inter-department soccer game means a new chance at redeeming myself in an area I thrive in. Physical superiority.
I stand on the sideline, rolling my neck until it cracks, listening to the satisfying pop of my joints. This is my turf. The classroom might be a disaster zone of awkward glances and suppressed panic attacks every time a random omega walks by, but out here? I’m the king. I’ve got twenty pounds of muscle on most of these guys, and I know how to use it.
"You look like you're ready to murder someone," Seungchan says, tossing a water bottle in my direction.
I catch it one-handed, not even looking. "Just focused. We lost last time because of a fluke. Not happening today."
"Right. A fluke," Seungchan snorts, adjusting his shin guards. "Or maybe it was because the freshman bulldozed you."
"Watch your mouth," I snap, though there's no heat in it. My eyes are already scanning the field, hunting.
And there he is.
Kang Donghwa strolls onto the pitch like he’s walking to a funeral he doesn’t want to attend. He’s wearing the standard-issue department jersey, but somehow he makes the cheap polyester look like high-end streetwear. He’s got the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, exposing those long, corded arms and a flash of dark ink curling over his biceps.
My stomach does a traitorous little flip. Not because he’s hot—which is an objective fact I am currently ignoring—but because I know what’s under that shirt now. I know about the ink sprawling across his chest, the tiger that ripples when he moves, the way those tattoos look when they’re slick with sweat and hovering over me.
I shake the thought away violently.Focus, Sihwan. You are an Alpha. You are a predator. You do not get flustered by a freshman who looks like a K-pop idol going through a goth phase.
Then the wind shifts.
It hits me with a wallop—that scent. Heavy musk of a dominant alpha. Before the bond, it just smelled arrogant. Now? It smells like...mine. It smells like safety and sex and a headache all wrapped into one. My mouth waters before I can stop it, a biological reflex that makes me want to punch myself in the throat.
Donghwa spots me. He doesn’t glare. He doesn’t posture. He just lifts his chin in a barely-there nod, his expression bored,his eyes dark and knowing. It’s the look of someone who knows exactly what I sound like when I’m whining into a pillow.
Rage, hot and familiar, floods my chest. Oh, he thinks he’s got me leashed? He thinks because he got lucky during a heat-haze accident that he owns me?
"I'm going to crush him," I mutter.
Seungchan steps away from me. "Okay, psycho. Save it for the whistle."
The whistle screams, and I launch myself forward.
My strategy is simple: brute force. I’m a tank with a turbo engine, and usually, once I get momentum, people get out of the way because they value their ribcages. I tear down the sideline, signaling for Seungchan to pass. The ball comes flying in a perfect arc. I trap it with my chest, feeling the solidthudof impact, and drop it to my feet.
Perfect. Now I just need to—
A wall of black fabric slams into my peripheral vision.
I don't even have time to turn before a shoulder checks me, hard. It’s not a clumsy bump; it’s calculated. It hits my center of gravity with annoying accuracy, knocking me off balance just enough to make me stumble.
I recover, snarling, and pivot to shield the ball. "Back off, freshman!"
