first scent

The rain poured heavily against the glass windows of Highton Academy, blurring the view of the school courtyard. Students passed through the halls in clusters, chattering, laughing, living their ordinary lives. But for Yuki, today wasn’t ordinary. He was late, wet, and clutching his transfer file to his chest like it was a shield.

His soft silver hair, damp from the drizzle, stuck to his pale skin. Omega. It wasn’t written on his forehead, but people always knew. They sensed it. The way he held his breath around alphas, the way his gaze dropped unconsciously, the way he tried to be small—unnoticed.

He hated it.

Yuki turned the corner too fast and slammed into something—or someone.

“Ah, sorry—!” he stumbled back, papers fluttering out of his file and onto the polished floor.

Silence.

He looked up and met eyes so dark they swallowed light. The boy in front of him wasn’t just tall—he was presence. Calm. Cold. Dangerous. His uniform fit perfectly, like it was designed just for him, and his raven hair framed his angular face like a painting that shouldn’t be touched.

Alpha.

Yuki’s omega instincts screamed it. His scent receptors were suddenly overrun—something musky, electric, like storm-charged air after lightning.

The alpha didn’t speak. Just crouched, picked up a paper, then held it out to him. Their fingers touched for a brief second. Something shifted. A spark, not kind or gentle—but sharp, almost painful.

Yuki’s heart thudded hard.

“I didn’t mean to—” Yuki’s voice trailed off.

The alpha tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “You’re the new one.”

Yuki nodded slowly.

“You reek of nerves,” he said, voice low and flat.

Yuki flushed, immediately tucking the file under his arm and bowing slightly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the boy said, stepping closer. Too close. His scent wrapped around Yuki like a cage. “It’s... interesting.”

Before Yuki could ask what that meant, the alpha stepped past him and walked away.

He didn’t even ask for a name.

But Yuki would never forget that moment—or that scent.

It was only later in the classroom that Yuki learned his name.

“Kazuki Ren,” said a girl beside him, whispering as if afraid Ren could hear from across the room. “Third year. Alpha. His family owns half the city. Dangerous guy. Doesn’t talk to anyone.”

Yuki’s heart twisted. That name. That cold voice.

As if summoned by mention, Ren lifted his eyes and stared directly at Yuki.

Yuki froze.

Something burned behind those eyes—an intensity too raw to be casual. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He just watched.

And Yuki felt like prey.

Days passed, but the feeling didn’t fade. Ren was everywhere. Silent in the halls. Present in the cafeteria. Always near, but never speaking to him again. Still, Yuki could feel it—the weight of his gaze when his back was turned, the phantom brush of a glance across the classroom.

He pretended not to notice.

He had to.

Because every time he saw Ren, his scent struck him again—harder. Wilder. As if it knew something Yuki didn’t. And in the quiet moments, he found himself thinking about those eyes, that voice, the feeling of being seen.

It was ridiculous.

He barely knew him.

Still, Yuki’s heart betrayed him every single time Ren was near.

He kept it a secret. Of course he did.

Even from himself.

But Ren knew.

He always knew.

From the moment they touched, something ignited in his blood—something ancient, possessive. He didn’t need to mark the omega to know Yuki was his. That scent, that fragile vulnerability cloaked in courage... it fascinated him.

No. It consumed him.

He watched. He waited. He fed his obsession silently, letting it bloom in the shadows of his quiet world.

Yuki didn’t need to know.

Not yet.

Not until Ren could have him—not as a student, not as a child—but as something more.

Something permanent.

He smiled once, alone on the rooftop, watching the world pass beneath him.

Just a little longer, he thought.

And then he vanished.

Yuki never got a goodbye. Not a word. Not even a glance.

One day, Ren was there, watching him like always.

The next, he was gone.

Graduated early. Moved overseas, they said. Taking over the family empire. A genius, a prodigy.

Gone.

Yuki didn’t cry. Not in front of anyone.

But the silence left a hollow ache in his chest that no one noticed.

He told himself to forget.

And five years later...

He would meet him again.

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