It was a late autumn afternoon when the letter came. The sun had already dipped behind the hills of Daesan Town, casting the sky in a watercolor wash of pale orange and purple. Taehyung sat at the low dining table, sorting through practice test papers. The room smelled faintly of kimchi stew and laundry detergent—the comforting scent of a small, overworked home.

The heater groaned in the corner, struggling to warm the drafty apartment. His mother was in the kitchen, humming quietly, her hands worn red from washing dishes. His father wouldn’t be back until after midnight. Two jobs, no holidays.

Taehyung barely looked up when the knock came at the door.

“Could you get that, sweetheart?” his mother called over her shoulder.

Taehyung nodded, pushing aside his papers. The front door stuck slightly in the cold, and when he yanked it open, he found no one there. Just a single, thick envelope on the ground, crisp and white, with gold-embossed letters.

Sohae Elite Academy – Admissions Office

His fingers froze.

Time stilled around him.

He bent down slowly, reverently, as if touching a sacred relic. His heart began to pound—a tight, painful rhythm against his ribs. It was too heavy for a rejection. Far too heavy.

He shut the door behind him, eyes fixed on the envelope.

His mother turned at the sound of his shuffling steps, drying her hands on her apron. “Who was it?”

He couldn’t speak. He held up the envelope instead, and the moment her eyes caught the crest stamped on the wax seal, she gasped.

“Oh my God.”

Neither of them moved. For a few seconds, the kitchen fell utterly silent, filled only by the hum of the heater and the faint clatter of utensils from the neighbor’s window.

“Open it,” she whispered.

Taehyung sat down slowly. His hands trembled as he peeled the wax seal, careful not to tear the crest. Inside was a letter—no, three papers. One was cream-colored, another pure white, and the third was a metallic print with a golden signature.

He read aloud, his voice barely above a whisper.

> “Dear Mr. Kim Taehyung,

We are pleased to inform you that based on your exemplary entrance scores and academic record, you have been selected to receive the Sohae Academic Excellence Scholarship, granting you full tuition, housing, and academic support for your duration at Sohae Elite Academy…”

His voice cracked.

“…beginning this winter term.”

His mother let out a choked sob and dropped to her knees beside him, covering her mouth with both hands. Her shoulders shook.

He stared at the page.

It didn’t feel real.

For a long time, all they could do was cry.

**

Taehyung didn’t come from wealth. He came from sacrifice.

His mother used to be a literature teacher. His father, a driver for a logistics company. After the economy crashed three years ago, they lost most of their income and moved into a smaller place outside the city. But they never stopped supporting his studies. Every extra won went to his prep books. Every hour of free time was spent tutoring him, coaching him, cheering him on.

He didn’t have name-brand clothes or the latest scent filters. He didn’t go to a top private school. But he had something sharper.

He had hunger.

He studied day and night, memorizing formulas in the dark, solving problems on old notebooks passed down from local tutors. He spent summers at the local library while other Omegas in his neighborhood prepped for their first heat cycles.

He postponed his own suppressant schedule to focus on exams.

He chose not to be vulnerable.

Not yet.

**

When the term started, the academy sent a transport shuttle to pick up the new students. Most came in black cars and armored sedans, escorted by family retainers and security bots. Taehyung arrived with his mother at the station, suitcase in hand, wearing a freshly ironed secondhand uniform. The fabric was slightly faded at the collar, but she’d stitched the seams perfectly. She pressed his scent-neutral scarf into his hands and kissed his forehead.

“Don’t let them see you cry,” she whispered. “Even if it hurts.”

Taehyung nodded, trying to be brave.

He didn’t know how long the train ride was. He barely looked out the window. His heart was too loud, too fast. His eyes drifted across the other students—polished, confident alphas and betas, each dressed in immaculate uniforms, eyes bored or haughty.

He didn’t fit.

Not here.

Not yet.

**

The school loomed like a cathedral when he finally arrived.

Sohae Elite Academy was carved into the cliffs overlooking a distant, icy shoreline. The buildings were gothic and massive, wrapped in spiraling black glass and ancient stone. Towers rose into the clouds. The flag of the academy fluttered above the entrance—deep blue silk with a golden wolf in the center, its head raised toward the moon.

It looked like a place built for monsters.

Taehyung followed the flow of students inside. His room assignment had already been messaged to his phone. Dorm 4C, Omega Wing.

As he passed through the main gates, he heard the whispers start.

“Who’s that?”

“New Omega?”

“Doesn’t even have a scent collar…”

He kept his head down.

Eyes on the floor. Shoulders hunched.

No one greeted him. No one offered help.

By the time he found his room, his palms were damp, his jaw sore from clenching. The dorm room was small but clean, with pale gray walls and a steel-framed bed. He sat on the edge, staring at the folded school schedule on the desk.

Every day was packed—lectures, labs, etiquette classes, dominance theory.

He exhaled.

He would survive this.

He had to.

**

That night, Taehyung unpacked quietly, hanging his spare shirt in the closet and setting up his books in the tiny shelf above the desk. He stuck a photo of his parents—worn and slightly faded—on the wall beside his bed.

The room smelled like nothing.

No scent masks, no perfumes, no suppression.

Just cold, clean air.

And it was lonely.

But he whispered to himself before sleep took him:

> “I am here. I earned this. They can’t take that away.”

He believed it.

Until he met Jeon Jungkook.

The uniform felt heavier on his shoulders that morning.

Taehyung stood in front of the full-length mirror attached to his dormitory closet, brushing down the fabric of his blazer with careful hands. It was perfectly clean. His mother had pressed every seam. The Omega badge gleamed silver against the navy lapel, polished so hard the metal glinted in the rising sun.

Still, it didn’t feel like it belonged to him.

The room behind him was silent. No roommate yet. Most of the elite Omegas at Sohae had private rooms—perks of wealth and bloodlines. Taehyung had one too, not by privilege, but by design. The school didn’t want a scholarship case disrupting its social hierarchy.

He adjusted the fit of his scarf—just loose enough to seem casual, just tight enough to cover his gland—and slung his old canvas bag over his shoulder. The others would have leather satchels, monogrammed backpacks, scent-coded tablets.

But this was all he had.

He stepped into the hallway.

And the silence shattered.

**

Sohae Elite Academy was a universe of its own.

Glistening black marble floors, glass-paneled walls, hallways so wide they echoed with the faintest step. Every student walked like they owned the earth beneath them—shoulders straight, scent masks glimmering like jewels against their throats. Alphas strutted in groups, laughing loud and without restraint. Betas walked with careful grace. The few Omegas that passed by carried themselves like royalty—well-groomed, sweetly perfumed, groomed to perfection since birth.

And then there was Taehyung.

His soft brown eyes scanned the corridors, trying not to look too long at any one person, trying to remember directions. Classroom 3A. Lecture Hall C. Omega Etiquette Orientation.

He kept to the edge of the crowd.

Whispers followed him.

“That’s the scholarship one, right?”

“Kim… Tae-something?”

“Why isn’t he wearing a scent collar?”

“He doesn’t smell like anything…”

“Must be masking naturally. Weird.”

He kept walking, ignoring them. Or trying to.

Their voices slid into his bones like splinters. He’d expected it. Prepared for it. But knowing a thing was coming never made it easier to endure.

He found his first class—Introductory Ethics and Power—minutes before the bell. The lecture hall was vast, sleek, and tiered like an amphitheater. Hundreds of students were already seated, murmuring, checking their schedules, whispering.

All the seats in the center were filled.

He found an empty one at the far left, second-to-last row. He sat, back straight, eyes down, and pulled out his notebook. The cover was fraying at the edges, corners bent. But inside, the pages were clean.

He was halfway through copying down the course code from the screen when the temperature in the room shifted.

A low hush rolled through the hall like a pulse.

And then—footsteps.

Heavy. Confident. Laced with something electric.

Taehyung looked up.

Jeon Jungkook.

He entered like a shadow unfolding in daylight—six feet of polished arrogance, black hair swept back with casual perfection, broad shoulders filling out his elite Alpha blazer. His scent slipped through the air—rich, spicy, dangerously sharp, like smoke and wild musk. Taehyung caught it even from where he sat.

The Alpha’s presence was... overbearing.

Beautiful, yes. Charismatic.

But terrifying.

He didn’t walk alone. Two other Alpha students flanked him, both laughing at something Jungkook muttered under his breath. People made way for them like a tide parting. And when Jungkook reached the middle of the room, he stopped, glanced up toward the back rows—

And locked eyes with Taehyung.

Time cracked.

For a moment, it was just the two of them.

Taehyung’s breath stuttered. His fingers clenched around his pen. Jungkook’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes—dark, unreadable—dragged over Taehyung like they were stripping him down to his soul.

Then he turned away and took his seat in the center.

A ripple of whispers broke through the spell.

“Why was he staring at him?”

“Did Jungkook just—”

“No way he cares about some no-name Omega…”

Taehyung felt his heartbeat in his throat.

He lowered his head and didn’t look up again until the lecture started.

**

The first week blurred.

Taehyung made no friends. He barely spoke. Most Omegas ignored him, unwilling to associate with someone so beneath their social rank. Alphas sneered at him. Betas watched him like he was a curiosity—something strange behind glass.

Still, he excelled.

Every test, every reading, every lab—they were the only places he felt safe. Numbers didn’t care where he came from. Words didn’t judge his scent. Equations didn’t demand he bare his throat or hide his trembling hands.

He submitted every assignment early. Spent every lunch alone under the north courtyard’s ivy-covered arches. The greenhouse, he discovered, was always warm. He sat there often, beneath the glass roof, breathing in the scent of lilacs and dirt, pretending for a little while that he belonged.

He didn’t notice how often he was being watched.

**

Jungkook had noticed him on the first day. Not because he was interested—no, never that.

At first, it was irritation.

Why did that no-name Omega feel so... calm?

He should’ve looked anxious. Fragile. Weak. Omegas like that weren’t meant to survive Sohae, let alone top their classes.

But Taehyung walked like a ghost with purpose.

Then came the rankings.

Jungkook sat in the common room that Thursday, flipping casually through the digital board as it updated.

> 1. Kim Taehyung – 99.2%

Jeon Jungkook – 98.9%

The room went still.

Jungkook’s smile faltered for the first time in months.

“Who the fuck is Kim Taehyung?” one of his friends asked, laughing.

Jungkook didn’t laugh.

Instead, he stood up.

And went looking.

**

Later that evening, Taehyung opened his dorm locker to find his homework missing.

Every page. Gone.

His notes—three weeks’ worth—vanished.

No explanation. No damage. Just gone.

He searched everywhere. Checked with the faculty. Nothing.

And that night, when he returned to his room, he found a note slid under his door.

A single word:

> “Careful.”

No signature.

No scent.

Just the threat.

**

He didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t tell anyone.

He just woke up the next morning, dressed, and went to class.

Head down. Shoulders hunched.

The whispering was louder now.

And the wolf’s eyes were on him.

Watching.

Waiting.

The third week of the term began with blood on the field.

Not literal blood—Sohae wouldn’t permit that unless it served a lesson—but the symbolic kind. The kind of bruised pride that left deeper scars than fists.

Jeon Jungkook stood at the center of the combat training arena, jaw slick with sweat, his breathing slow and even. The air was filled with the pungent tang of dominance, raw and heavy. His opponent—a Beta third-year named Ryu—was on the ground, coughing, his shirt torn open at the collar where Jungkook had nearly ripped the scent tag from his throat.

Jungkook didn’t care about the match.

He’d won it effortlessly.

He always did.

But something in him still simmered as he stared down at the fallen boy. His blood felt tight. Hot. Off-balance. The world had stopped making sense the moment that name appeared above his on the digital board.

> Kim Taehyung.

An Omega.

A no-name.

A whisper with a pulse.

He hadn’t just taken the top score—he’d stolen it from Jungkook. The throne Jungkook had built over years of perfect performance. Untouchable, worshipped, feared. Everyone at Sohae knew their place.

Except Taehyung.

And that…that was unacceptable.

**

“So what are you gonna do about him?” Jisoo asked that night, flipping through her makeup case on Jungkook’s dorm couch. The elite suite smelled like vanilla and musk, the scent masks on full power. Jungkook lounged in his leather chair, gaze fixed on the fireplace screen, which flickered silently.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, voice calm, lazy.

She glanced at him, raising a brow. “That’s not like you.”

He gave a small smirk. “He’s just a scholarship case. He’ll break on his own.”

“You sure?” Jisoo twirled a brush in her fingers. “Because the way he looked at you during combat lecture…he wasn’t scared. He wasn’t impressed, either.”

Jungkook’s smile vanished.

No one dared to look at him without fear. Without awe. That was the rule.

He stood up, moving toward the window. The campus lay quiet beneath a pale crescent moon, its towers black against the night sky. Somewhere in one of those wings, Taehyung was probably reading. Studying. Still believing he could rise.

He didn’t know what pissed him off more—that Taehyung was challenging his rank, or that he didn’t even seem to know it.

“Let him breathe a little longer,” Jungkook murmured. “Then I’ll remind him what it means to lose.”

**

The next day, Jungkook passed Taehyung in the hallway.

Their shoulders brushed.

Taehyung looked up—instinctively, gently—and froze when he met Jungkook’s eyes.

Jungkook leaned in, slow and low, just enough for his scent to bleed into the space between them. Smoke. Spice. Something hot that made other Omegas blush or tremble.

But Taehyung didn’t blush.

He flinched.

Just barely.

Jungkook saw the twitch at his throat. The tightening of his grip on his books. But there was no submission in his posture. No bare-throat gesture. He just looked…tired.

Worn thin.

And Jungkook didn’t like that either.

He stepped back, gave a mocking smile, and walked away without a word.

**

It began subtle.

Jungkook didn’t need to get his hands dirty to make a point. Not yet.

The next week, Taehyung’s seat in the library was always taken—by students who’d never stepped foot there before. His assigned lab partner changed without warning. He started receiving late notices for assignments he knew he’d submitted. Professors looked at him with quiet confusion, wondering where the spark had gone.

It wasn’t enough to ruin him. Yet.

Just enough to shake the floor under his feet.

Just enough to make him doubt himself.

Jungkook watched from afar, arms folded, eyes cold. Every tremble of Taehyung’s hand, every glance over his shoulder—it felt like fuel.

Until something unexpected happened.

One day, after practice, Jungkook caught a glimpse of Taehyung sitting alone behind the greenhouse, cradling a bruised hand. Not fresh. Not alarming. But real.

Jungkook paused.

Taehyung didn’t see him.

The Omega had his back to the academy. His blazer was wrinkled, his scent mask loose. A faint trail of his real scent filtered into the air—delicate, trembling lilac and crushed leaves.

It was nothing like the sickly-sweet perfume most Omegas used.

It was raw. Honest.

Painful.

Jungkook turned away before he could understand what it made him feel.

**

“You’re getting obsessed,” Seojin told him during alpha training week. “I don’t get it. You’ve destroyed people for less than what this Omega’s done.”

Jungkook didn’t answer.

He sat alone in the sparring room, gloves off, knuckles red.

He didn’t know what this was.

It wasn’t about pride anymore.

It wasn’t even about the rankings.

It was the way Taehyung looked at the world. Like he was too soft to survive it. Like he didn’t know how beautiful that made him. How dangerous.

Jungkook hated it.

But he couldn’t look away.

**

Then came the midterm mock results.

> 1. Kim Taehyung – 98.5%

Jeon Jungkook – 98.3%

Again.

The halls were quieter this time.

No one dared joke. No one commented. Jungkook’s fury was legend now—like the eye of a storm, beautiful from a distance, deadly up close.

He saw Taehyung walking toward the lecture wing, slow and distracted. He looked thinner. Paler. Exhausted.

He walked past Jungkook like he didn’t exist.

And that—that was the final crack.

**

That night, Jungkook sent a message to his inner circle.

> "Meet behind Omega Wing. 2am. Bring gloves."

No questions asked.

**

The bruises were small.

No broken bones. Nothing obvious.

But when Taehyung limped into class the next day, hair falling into his eyes, lips pale and trembling—Jungkook didn’t look at him.

Not once.

Because for the first time in his life, the victory didn’t taste sweet.

It tasted like ash.

And he didn’t know why.