‪‪❤︎‬

You startle as your somewhat delirious mind finally takes notice of the figure seated in front of you. There's a pitcher of water with two expensive-looking glasses set on a table behind him, as well as a bowl of fresh fruit. He's slumped over in a luxurious armchair, his head resting on his knuckles as he breathes deeply, fast asleep. That's- no way, this can't be right.

You check your hands — five fingers on both, no abnormalities. You're wearing your usual pajamas, and the details are all there, down to the smallest stain. This is too clear to be a dream. This hurts too much to be a dream. So what, a psychotic break? Are you going insane?

Intense pain blooms deep in your skull, and you cover your face, holding back a shuddering sob. Chills and shivers wrack your body, and it takes everything you have to keep yourself from crying out and waking the stranger in front of you. The stranger, because there's no way that's who you think it is. He's not real. You must be going insane; it hurts so badly. You bite down on your palm to keep yourself quiet, tasting iron as your unease builds even further.

You have to get out of here. You have to get out of here. Dizzy and delirious, you climb out of bed, nearly collapsing to the floor just from trying to stay standing. You unsteadily stumble forward on legs shaking from the effort of holding up your own body weight, singularly focused on moving forward. You've never felt this weak before.

With a great amount of effort, you reach the door to the bedroom, and luckily, the door's hinges don't squeak as you push it open. You're relieved to have something to lean on, bracing your shoulder against the wall as you force yourself to keep moving forward.

You're unsure of your goal as you mindlessly limp down the hallway, peeking past the open doors in hopes of finding something, anything. No luck. Not even a promising-looking potential hiding place. Acid bubbles up in your throat, and you choke on a cough, just barely swallowing it back down. Your throat burns as the liquid retreats, but you know it likely won't be gone for long.

A bathroom. You need a bathroom. Shivering as another wave of chills rolls through you, you keep moving forward. There would have likely been one attached to the bedroom you woke up in, but you're not going to risk heading back in there, not when there's some sort of doppelganger at your bedside.

A wave of pain originating from your heart forces you to your knees, and you gasp, your vision blurring with tears. You struggle back up to your feet, and you think you catch a glimpse of red, beady eyes glowing in your direction from a vantage point up above. But when you try for a second glance, they're gone.

The nausea in the back of your throat is rapidly worsening, and it's looking like you won't get to a bathroom in time. You stumble into a random room, looking for a garbage can, but there's none in your limited field of vision. Acting on instinct, you crawl under a table in the corner like a defeated dog, curling up as you try to hold back the inevitable.

The ringing in your ears grows louder as tears drip down your nose, hand pressed to your mouth. You're too drained to flinch when you feel cool fingers brushing your neck as they carefully gather up your hair, holding it out of the way as another hand gently pries yours from your mouth, nearly engulfing it as a thumb rubs slow circles on the back.

"It's alright. Just let it out, sweetheart. I've got you."

You sob, a hiccup quickly followed by a cough, then a violent retch as your body expels a thick, viscous, black goo onto the ground in front of you. You don't even have enough time to be horrified before more quickly follows, this time mixed with the contents of your stomach.

It tastes awful, leaving a lingering burn in your throat and your mouth, and the taste of what you can only imagine as rotten flesh. You cough up a few more mouthfuls before slumping forward, easily caught by the large hands that have handled you so delicately.

Your vision is spotty as your body is pulled forward, retrieving you from your hiding spot with the utmost care. Your mouth is carefully wiped with a silk handkerchief before you feel the figure lifting you with incredible ease, guiding your chest to lean against his own as he stands up. He must be very tall, you muse, as you're quite far off the ground.

He walks slowly, one arm beneath your thighs and the other rubbing circles into your back to keep you steady and attempt to mitigate the effects of motion sickness. You appreciate his efforts to keep you comfortable. Your throat still burns; you think it got into your sinuses, too. You sob softly into his shoulder. You can't stop shaking.

You lose focus for a little while, almost dozing off, but you're brought back by the soothing sensation of a warm washcloth gently cleaning your face, wiping away your dried tears and the leftover black residue around your lips and nose. You're sitting on the edge of a cold bathtub, with the man's hand still pressed to your back to keep you from toppling over.

A plastic cup is tapped to your mouth, accompanied by a soft command.

"Swish."

You do as he says, opening up for the liquid and swishing it around in your mouth. Once you're done, he guides you to lean over and spit it out into the tub, bringing you back to wipe your lips again. How did he know your favorite mouthwash…? Lucky guess?

You're lifted again, and you lean into the man, burying your face in his chest for comfort. He smells nice; a small but very welcome distraction from your poor condition. You don't think you've ever felt closer to death than you do now. The deep, burning agony in your heart has begun to spread slowly through your veins, and your muscles now protest with a throbbing pain left from overexertion.

You're pulled from the grounding warmth of his chest yet again and delicately placed in the bed where you woke up, back in the embrace of its silken sheets, now soothingly cool against your feverish skin. You're propped up like a doll against slanted pillows, and the man sits in front of you, dipping the mattress. His hands press another cup to your lips, this one made of glass.

"Drink."

You doubt you could gather enough energy to raise your arms to grip his wrist, so you thoughtlessly comply, the water feeling heavenly against your irritated throat, clearing much of the remnants of black goop still clinging to the inside. You drain the whole glass in no time, and after he refills it, you drain another. You're about to ask for a third, but the man places the cup aside, opting to press the back of his hand to your forehead instead.

"You have an incredibly high fever…" He murmurs, concern laced in his tone. "We need to see how that water settles first, then I can give you some more."

You turn away from him, your gaze fixing instead on your hands. Your skin looks much greyer than it should. But you can't bring yourself to care as exhaustion begins to tug insistently at your mind, urging you to relinquish your feeble grip on consciousness. You almost do, but you're interrupted again by the man's voice.

"Do you remember who I am?"

You blink a few times, forcing your eyes to focus in order to make contact with the stranger's ruby-red ones. There's a hint of desperation and vulnerability in them that you hadn't spotted before.

"… Sylus?" you rasp, your throat feeling like it's filled with shards of broken glass. Though, the pain is worth it when you get to catch the surprised relief on the man's face. Maybe it is really him.

Instead of confirming or denying your assumption, he gently lifts one of your hands, leaning down and pressing his lips to your knuckles. There's a new tenderness when he speaks now, as if your existence itself is as fragile as glass and he's afraid to shatter reality.

"Rest. I'll be by your side until you wake."

Some part of you deep inside feels comforted by that, so you let go, falling into the cavernous abyss of sleep.

. . . . .

The air at Tokyo Jujutsu High felt different from the rural school you had left behind. It was heavier, thick with the metallic tang of cursed energy that lingered at the back of your throat with every breath. It wasn’t just the quantity, it was the quality. Sharper. Denser. Alive in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Most of it seemed to come from the two boys standing near the gate.

“A Beta?”

The voice was bright and cutting, carrying easily across the space between you.

When you looked up, Satoru Gojo hadn’t even fully turned his head in your direction. His posture was loose, almost careless, but you could feel it, his attention locking onto you with unsettling precision. Even without seeing his eyes, you knew his Six Eyes were already dissecting you, cataloging every detail down to things you couldn’t even sense yourself.

“They didn’t tell me the transfer was going to be so… DULL,” he added, the last word edged with something between curiosity and disappointment.

“Stop being a prick, Satoru.”

Shoko didn’t bother looking up from her phone, her tone flat with long-practiced indifference.

“They’re a high-grade sorcerer. Try acting like you have a soul.”

Beside him, Suguru Geto studied you in silence.

Where Gojo’s presence was overwhelming, bright, intrusive, impossible to ignore. Geto’s was the opposite. Controlled. Contained. He didn’t push into your space, but that didn’t make him any less noticeable. If anything, it made him harder to read. His attention settled on you slowly, like a weight you only realized was there once it had already sunk in.

“Welcome,” he said at last, his voice smooth and measured.

“Satoru is just excited. He’s never met someone he couldn’t… overwhelm before.”

The pause felt intentional, like he was choosing that word carefully.

Gojo laughed, sudden and sharp, and before you could react, he disappeared.

One moment he was leaning against the gate—

—and the next, he was right in front of you.

Too close.

You instinctively leaned back, but it didn’t create any real distance. The Infinity between you formed an invisible barrier, yet it did nothing to ease the tension. If anything, it made the proximity feel more deliberate.

Gojo leaned in slightly, his head tilting as he drew in a slow breath near your shoulder. He wasn’t touching you, but the lack of space made it feel like he was.

Searching.

For something that wasn’t there.

“There’s nothing,” he murmured, quieter now, his earlier teasing tone slipping into something more focused.

“No scent at all.”

His lips pulled into a faint pout, and his glasses shifted just enough for you to catch a brief flash of bright blue beneath them.

Sharp and almost unnatural.

“It’s like looking at a blank canvas,” he said. “I think I’m going to have to fix that.”

Before the words could settle, Geto stepped forward.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, light but steady, his fingers pressing just enough to ground you in place.

“Don’t mind him,” he said calmly. “He doesn’t like things he can’t control.”

There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone softening in a way that should have been reassuring.

“But don’t worry… I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

The words might have sounded comforting on their own, but something in the way he said them made your chest tighten instead.

As they began to lead you toward the dorms, you followed without thinking too hard about it. The gravel crunched under your shoes, the sound oddly loud against the heavy quiet that had settled around the four of you.

You didn’t see the look Gojo and Geto exchanged behind your back.

Gojo’s expression was open, almost boyish at first glance, but there was a sharp, hungry edge to it something restless and intent, like he had already decided you belonged to him and was simply waiting to act on it.

Geto’s gaze, in contrast, was calm and deliberate.

Patient.

Like he wasn’t wondering anything at all.

Like he had already decided exactly where you were going to fit.

It had been three weeks since you transferred, and you were finally starting to find your rhythm. Most of your time was spent with Shoko, who appreciated that you didn't ask her for "scent-blocking" favors or get caught up in Alpha drama. You had learned where the campus went quiet.

Not empty

Never empty, but quieter in a way that made the constant pressure of cursed energy fade into the background instead of pressing against your skull.

Shoko’s spot was on the back steps of the medical building. It wasn’t much. Just a narrow stretch of concrete, a rusted railing, and a view of trees that had started to turn with the season. But it was tucked far enough away that most people didn’t bother walking past it unless they had a reason.

You found her there again, exactly where you expected.

“Thought you’d be in class,” you said, nudging the door open with your shoulder.

Shoko didn’t look up. She was already halfway through a cigarette, one leg stretched out, the other bent loosely at the knee.

“I was,” she said. “Then I wasn’t.”

You stepped outside, letting the door fall shut behind you. The air was cooler than it had been that morning, carrying the faint smell of smoke and antiseptic that always seemed to cling to her.

“You’re going to get caught eventually,” you said, leaning back against the wall beside her.

She exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift upward.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Probably.”

A pause.

Then, dryly—

“Hasn’t happened yet, though.”

You huffed a quiet laugh and slid down to sit beside her, leaving just enough space between you that your shoulders didn’t touch. With anyone else, that distance might have felt awkward.

With Shoko, it didn’t. It was easy. She glanced at you then, eyes flicking over your face in a quick, assessing way.

“You look less like you want to run away,” she said.

“Give it time.”

“Mm.”

She tapped ash over the edge of the step.

“Still no problems?” she asked after a moment. “With them?”

You didn’t need to ask who she meant. “No,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. Then, after a beat, “Not really.”

Shoko hummed, unconvinced but not pushing.

“That’s new,” she muttered. “Usually they’ve scared people off by now.”

“I’m not scared.”

She turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow.

“Didn’t say you were.”

The corner of your mouth twitched.

For a while, the two of you just sat there. The quiet wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t filled with expectation. Just the distant sounds of students training, leaves shifting in the wind, the faint crackle of Shoko’s cigarette.

It felt… normal.

“You know,” she said eventually, “you’re the first Beta we’ve had here in a while.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“No scent, no instincts getting in the way, no weird pack dynamics.” She shrugged lightly. “Must be nice.”

You tilted your head, considering that.

“It has its perks,” you said. “People don’t look at me like I’m something to claim.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Shoko went still for half a second.

Then she let out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“Give it time,” she said.

You frowned slightly. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“Yeah,” she replied, taking another drag. “And I’ll probably say it again.”

You glanced at her, trying to read her expression, but she was already looking away, gaze fixed somewhere out past the trees.

“They’re not subtle,” she added after a moment. “Especially not Satoru.”

You let out a small breath. “I noticed.”

“And Suguru?” she went on, her tone flattening just slightly. “He’s worse.”

That got your attention.

“Worse how?”

Shoko stubbed the cigarette out against the concrete, grinding it down with slow, deliberate pressure.

“He’s patient,” she said simply.

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

“Which means,” she continued, glancing at you again, “if he wants something, he’ll wait as long as it takes to get it.”

The words lingered in the air between you.

You didn’t respond right away.

After a moment, you forced a small shrug. “Good thing I’m not something he wants, then.”

Shoko looked at you for a long second. Then she sighed, pushing herself to her feet.

“Yeah,” she said, not sounding convinced at all. “Good thing.” She nudged your foot lightly with hers.

“Come on. If we’re skipping class, we might as well do it properly.”

You blinked up at her. “What does that mean?”

A faint smirk tugged at her mouth—small, but real.

“It means,” she said, turning toward the path, “we’re getting food that isn’t from the cafeteria.”

That, at least, was an easy decision.

You stood, falling into step beside her without thinking about it.

For now, it was simple.

Just you and Shoko, walking away from everything else.

The next day you were sitting on the steps of the courtyard, minding your own business and reading a textbook, when the air suddenly shifted.

"You're doing it again," a voice chirped.

You didn't look up to know it was Satoru. He didn't teleport this time; he actually walked, his hands in his pockets, stopping just far enough away that he wasn't crowding you. It was the first time he’d been this "tame."

"Doing what, Gojo-kun?" you asked, turning a page.

"Existing without me," he said. It sounded like a joke, but his Six Eyes were fixed on you from behind his shades. He sat down two steps below you, leaning his head back against your knee. He wasn't touching you yet, just hovering in that Infinity gap. "It’s weird. I can’t hear your heart rate jump when I do this. Are you even human?"

"I'm a Beta, Satoru. We don't get 'starstruck' by biology."

"I like it," he murmured, his voice losing its playful edge for a split second. "It’s quiet when I’m near you."

"Is that why you've been following them for the last twenty minutes, Satoru?"

Suguru emerged from the shadows of the hallway, carrying two cans of coffee. He didn't join the pile on the stairs; instead, he leaned against the opposite wall, watching the two of you with that, weary smile.

"I wasn't following," Satoru huffed. "I was observing. Right, transfer-kun?"

Suguru walked over and handed you one of the coffees. His fingers brushed yours as you took it in a lingering, deliberate contact. He was checking your pulse, just like Satoru, searching for the crack in your composure.

"Don't let him annoy you," Suguru said softly. "He’s just fascinated by things he can't break. But if you ever need a break from the noise... My door is always open. I keep things much more... orderly."

He was already planting the seed. He wasn't pouncing; he was just making himself look like the "safe" option compared to Gojo’s chaos.

Later that day.

The three of them were leaning against the brick railing of the second-floor balcony, a rare moment of stillness in their chaotic lives. Shoko was flicking ash into a soda can, while Satoru leaned back on his elbows, his blindfold on this time was pushed up just enough to let his Six Eyes scan the clouds. Suguru stood beside them, his gaze distant, his mind likely dwelling on the bitter taste of the morning's curses.

"There's the transfer," Shoko remarked, nodding toward the courtyard below.

Satoru’s attention snapped downward instantly. He expected to see you walking alone or perhaps tucked away with a book, but instead, you were standing near the koi pond with Nanami Kento.

The scene was jarringly out of place for the "quiet" Beta they knew.

You were laughing—a genuine, melodic sound that neither Satoru nor Suguru had ever managed to draw out of you. Your face was slightly flushed, a soft pink dusting your cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun and everything to do with whatever the blond upperclassman was saying. You looked bright, open, and—worst of all—attentive.

"He's an Alpha, isn't he?" Satoru's voice had lost its playful lilt. It was flat, an edge of territorial friction grinding beneath the surface. He watched the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so shy and feminine it made his God Complex itch with a sudden, dark annoyance.

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, his hands tightening on the railing. He didn't say a word, but the smile he usually wore had vanished. He was watching the way Nanami’s hand hovered near your elbow not touching, but close enough to offer a sense or closeness  that Suguru felt belonged to him.

"Nanami's a good guy," Shoko said, glancing between her two friends with a knowing look. "Stable. Reliable. Everything you two aren't."

"He's boring," Satoru snapped, his blue eyes flashing with a, delusional fire. "He doesn't even have a personality. Why are they reacting like that for him?"

"Because he treats them like a person, Satoru, not a project," Shoko muttered, though the boys weren't listening.

Down in the courtyard, Nanami said something else, and you beamed at him, your eyes crinkling in a way that felt like a slap to the two Alphas on the balcony. For weeks, they had been observing you, poking at your Beta neutrality, trying to find the "trigger" that would make you look at them with something more than polite detachment. And here you were, giving it away for free to a man who barely spoke ten words a day.

"I don't like it," Suguru murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous, velvet low. He wasn't just annoyed; he was calculating. He realized now that your "neutrality" wasn't a biological limit—it was a choice. You could react. You just weren't reacting to them.

Satoru let out a sharp, breathless laugh, his ego finally shifting into something darker. "I want that," he whispered, his gaze fixed on the flush on your neck. "I want them to look at me like the world just started. I’m going to make sure that’s the only way they look at us from now on."

The koi pond was the only place on campus where the air didn’t feel like it was vibrating with the ego of a Prime Alpha.

Standing here with Nanami, the world felt… normal. He was an Alpha, yes, but he was a man first. He didn't lead with his scent or use his presence to suck all the oxygen out of the room. He spoke about the stock market, the humidity, and the inefficiency of the school’s administrative filing system.

"You're quite adept at focusing under pressure," Nanami said, his voice a steady, grounding baritone. "It's a rare trait in this environment."

I felt a genuine heat rise to my cheeks, my lips curving into a bright, unforced smile. "It’s easier when the person I’m talking to doesn’t act like they’re the center of the universe, Nanami-san."

He gave a rare, barely-there huff of amusement, the closest thing to a laugh I’d ever heard from him and my chest felt light. This was what I wanted. Stability. Respect. A conversation that didn't feel like a power struggle.

My mind involuntarily flickered to Gojo and Geto, and I felt a familiar curl of distaste in my gut.

To the rest of the world, they were "The Strongest," icons of the jujutsu world. To me, they were simply barbaric. There was no other word for it. They moved through life with a primitive, sub-gendered entitlement that made my skin crawl.

Satoru was the worst a man-child wrapped in god-like power, so blinded by his own Six Eyes and Infinity that he forgot other people were actually human. He didn't "ask," he took. He didn't "walk," he occupied space. Every time he leaned into my space, sniffing for a scent I didn't have, I didn't see a "honored one." I saw a predator confused by a lack of blood trail.

And Suguru… he was almost more dangerous because he was calculated about his animalism you realized shoko was right. He wore his politeness like a suit that was two sizes too small, his cynicism leaking out of the seams. He looked at me not as a classmate, but as a resource to be managed, a Beta "anchor" for his spiraling morality.

They were slaves to their biology, governed by instincts they were too arrogant to even try to suppress. They wanted me to be "affected" by them, to tremble or flush or bow.

You remember it like it was yesterday, it happened the day after you had that conversation with shoko skipping class. 

It happened in a place that should have felt safe.

A side corridor, half-lit, tucked between two unused classrooms. You had taken it a dozen times already because it was faster, quieter—empty.

That was your first mistake. You felt it before you saw them. That shift in the air. The pressure. Like something large had stepped into your space without making a sound.

You stopped walking.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

The voice came from behind you.

Too close.

You turned—

—and Satoru Gojo was already there, leaning casually against the wall like he’d always been part of it. Like he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere.

The hallway suddenly felt smaller.

“I have class,” you said evenly.

Gojo tilted his head, considering that, like it was a mildly interesting suggestion rather than a fact.

“Do you?” he asked.

Before you could respond, something shifted at your side. Suguru Geto stepped into place beside you, close enough that your shoulder nearly brushed his chest. You hadn’t heard him approach.

That was deliberate.

“Your schedule is flexible,” Geto said mildly. “We checked, you seem fine skipping with shoko.”

Your stomach tightened.

Of course they knew.

You glanced between them, recalculating distance. Gojo behind you. Geto to your right. The wall to your left.

Boxed in.

“Is there something you need?” you asked.

Gojo smiled.

Too wide. Too pleased.

“Need?” he echoed. “No.”

He pushed off the wall and took a step closer. The Infinity was there, you knew it was but it didn’t matter. He closed the space anyway, like the concept of boundaries was optional to him.

“We’re just curious,” he said.

His gaze dragged over you slowly, openly, like he wasn’t even pretending not to.

“Three weeks,” he went on. “And nothing.”

You frowned slightly. “Nothing what?”

“No reaction,” Gojo said, almost pouting now. “No scent, no shift, no instincts kicking in.” He leaned in, again, too close, his voice dropping just a fraction. “It’s weird.”

Before you could move, he inhaled near your neck.

Sharp. Intent.

Searching.

Still nothing.

A flicker of irritation crossed his face. Behind you, Geto’s hand came to rest lightly against the wall, just beside your shoulder.

Not touching you.

But close enough that you felt it.

A boundary drawn.

“You’re not affected by us,” Geto said, his tone calm, but far more focused than before.

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” you replied.

The word came out steady. That seemed to interest him more than anything else.

“Hm.” His other hand adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, a small, controlled movement that didn’t match the intensity of his gaze.

“That’s… unusual.”

Gojo clicked his tongue softly.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “Everything reacts to me.” You let out a quiet breath. “I’m not everything.”

For a second, the hallway went very still.

Then Gojo laughed.

Not loud this time.

Something sharper. Thinner.

“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

Geto’s eyes didn’t leave your face. “If you’re not influenced,” he said slowly, “then you can’t be guided. And if you can’t be guided…”

He let the sentence trail off.

You didn’t like where it was going.

“…then we’ll just have to find another way,” he finished.

His hand shifted slightly closer.

Not touching.

Yet.

The implication settled heavy in your chest. Gojo straightened, rolling his shoulders like he’d just made a decision.

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “We’ll figure it out.”

You held his gaze. “I’m not something to figure out.” That made him smile again.

This time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

For a moment longer, neither of them moved. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the pressure lifted. Gojo stepped back first, giving you space like he hadn’t just taken it. Geto followed a second later, smooth and unhurried. The path ahead of you was clear again.

But neither of them looked away.

“Go on,” Geto said, almost polite. “Wouldn’t want you to be late.”

You didn’t wait.

You walked forward, steady, controlled, refusing to rush.

But you could feel it the entire way down the hall.

Their attention.

Still there.

Still fixed on you.

Like the conversation wasn’t over.

Like it had only just begun. You had been in your head for so long almost forgetting you're talking to Nanami.

You looked back at Nanami, who was checking his watch with a dignified frown. He was an adult. He was civilized.

"I should get back to my report," he said, nodding politely. "Try not to let the noise of this place get to you."

"I'll try," I said, my smile widening.

I didn't notice the six eyes watching me from the balcony above, or the shadows that had stopped moving as Suguru's grip tightened on the railing. I didn't realize that by showing Nanami exactly what I refused to give them, I had just turned their curiosity into a primitive, starving need.

In less than a second, he was gone, no warning, no dramatic build-up. Just absence. One moment Gojo was leaning lazily against the balcony, the next the space beside Suguru was empty, the air still humming faintly from where his technique had bent it.

He didn’t think. He didn’t plan.

He just appeared.

Right behind you.

Close enough that the faint scent of something clean and expensive clung to the air, close enough that the distortion of his Infinity brushed against your skin like a pressure you couldn’t quite name. His hand came up instinctively—not touching, never quite touching—but hovering near your shoulder as if deciding whether you were real.

Because that was the problem.

You didn’t react the way people should when he arrived.

No flinch. No spike of fear. No instinctive recoil.

Just… that same steady presence.

I didn’t pull away. Not yet. I wanted him to see that his presence didn’t make me tremble; it only made me tired. I looked past the shock of white hair and the single, frantic blue eye peering over his glasses, and I spoke with a clarity that seemed to physically push against his Infinity.

“What was that? Why him?” He asked.

"You want to know why I smiled at him, Satoru? It’s because he didn’t force me to."

I saw his fingers twitch from the corner of my eye above my shoulder, his ego visibly bruising at the comparison. Behind him, the shadows in the corridor seemed to deepen as Suguru arrived.

"Nanami-san is a man who understands that his sub-gender isn't an excuse for bad manners," I continued, my voice steady even as my skin crawled from the static of Satoru’s power. "He treats me like a person, not a puzzle to solve or a territory to mark. When I talk to him, he listens. He doesn’t spend every second of the day trying to suck all the air out of the room just because he can."

I took a deliberate step back, forcing his hand to drop. Satoru looked struck, his mouth hanging open in a silent, indignant pout.

"You and Suguru? You’re animals," I spat, the word hitting them like a physical blow. "You think because you’re Prime Alphas, the rest of us are just background noise to your instincts. You act like animals—sniffing at my neck, hovering over me, teleporting into my path like you’re entitled to every second of my day. You want to own me, and you’re too delusional to see the difference."

Satoru’s expression shifted from confusion to a dark, simmering annoyance. He wasn't used to being told 'no,' let alone being told he was anything less than the Honored One.

"I’m the only one who can protect you," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful mask entirely. "Nanami is weak. He can’t keep you safe from what’s coming."

"I'd rather be in danger than be a pet," I said, finally turning my back on him.

I didn't see the way Suguru’s eyes narrowed, his hands fisted at his sides as he processed my words. I didn't see Satoru’s gaze track the movement of my hips with a hungry, desperate intensity. I only felt the cold realization that by calling them out, I hadn't made them back off, I had just challenged their Alpha instincts to prove me wrong.

My footsteps are even and heavy on the stone, leaving the "Strongest" standing there with his ego laid bare and his mouth still half-open.

Satoru watched your retreating back, his Six Eyes tracking the minute shift of your shoulders until you vanished around the corner of the dorms. The silence that followed was thick, flavored only by the faint, bitter scent of the courtyard koi pond and the residual hum of Satoru’s Lapse: Blue.

"Barbaric," Satoru finally repeated, his voice low and oddly hollow. He didn't turn around, but he knew Suguru was standing right behind him. "She basically called us barbaric, Suguru. Like we’re just... some strays she found in the trash."

Suguru didn't answer immediately. He leaned against the railing where you had been pinned just moments before, his fingers tracing the hairline fractures in the stone, the physical proof of Satoru’s lack of control. A cynical, sharp-edged smile pulled at his lips.

"She’s right, Satoru," Suguru murmured, his dark eyes fixed on the empty space you’d left behind. "We are. But the mistake you're making is trying to convince her otherwise. You're trying to win a debate when you should be winning a war."

Satoru finally turned, his blindfold pushed up, his blue eyes flashing with a delusional, manic intensity. "I don't want a war. I want her to look at me the way she looked at Nanami. I want her to see me."

"Then stop acting like a child who lost his toy," Suguru said, his voice dropping to a velvet, predatory low. He stepped into the light, finally taking the lead. "A Beta doesn't respond to the noise you're making. They respond to stability. To necessity. If she thinks we’re animals, we stop trying to hide the teeth. We just make sure we're the only ones she has left to turn to."

Satoru’s anger flickered, replaced by a slow, dark understanding. "You want to isolate her."

"I want to make us her only world," Suguru corrected, his God Complex matching Satoru’s beat for beat. "Nanami is a 'civilized' distraction. We need to remove the distractions. If we're the only ones who can provide the 'respect' and 'safety' she craves... she'll have no choice but to realize we’re exactly what she needs."

Satoru let out a slow, jagged breath, his grin returning, this time, wider and more permanent.

 "She said she’d rather be in danger than be a pet. I think it’s time we showed her just how much danger there is... and just how much we're willing to do to keep her."

Part 2 - maybe