The halls of Blackmoor College were quiet at dawn, but Ethan Ward moved through them like a storm with muscle. Six-foot-three, jacked from hours of iron worship in the gym, he was everything the system hated—a walking, talking rejection of softness. His jawline cut like a blade, and his stare could gut a soul.

He wasn’t here to "find himself." He already knew what he was—an apex male, forged by hardship and blackpill truth. The campus was his hunting ground, and beneath his hoodie and compression joggers, a heavy cock swayed with every step like a loaded weapon.

No shame. No filter. Just raw hierarchy.

He’d scoped them out during the first week—soft boys, the kind that wore oversized sweaters and talked about feelings like it made them deep. They were nothing more than prey dressed in thrift-store pastels. Ethan didn’t see humans—he saw roles. The weak submit, the strong take. That was nature. That was real.

In the dorm basement gym, his sanctuary, Ethan towered over a trembling freshman named Micah—blonde, bookish, legs like a deer caught in headlights. Micah had made the mistake of staring too long at the alpha's sweat-slick body during leg day.

"Curious, huh?" Ethan had growled, towel slung over his shoulder, his cock thick and heavy even post-workout, hanging with gravity's pull like a challenge. "Curiosity's a slippery slope, boy."

Micah didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

What followed wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t fair—it was dominance. The kind that rewired a kid’s worldview. Ethan didn’t ask. He didn’t apologize. He took, because in his doctrine, consent was surrender, and surrender was natural when standing in the presence of power. That was what made a man alpha—not charm, not wealth—control.