Involuntary, Intense, Unforgettable.

Behind Seth, like a parade of alphas straight out of a luxury school uniform catalog, came Noah, Rafa, Davi, and Áurea. All well-dressed, all confident — and all with that cynical gleam in their eyes, the kind that says “we know this is going to blow up, and we’re here for the show.”

“Here we go again,” muttered Noah, spinning a pen between his fingers like he was placing bets in a romantic tension casino. “Ten seconds until Valemont loses his patience or makes Seth question his own existence.”

“He doesn’t lose his patience — he throws daggers disguised as words,” Áurea corrected, with the tone of a clinical analyst. “Riven is like... a Greek poem about revenge. Cold, beautiful, and always ends in tragedy.”

Rafa laughed, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

“And Seth falls face-first into the tragedy. Every time. The only difference is that he pretends he tripped on purpose.”

Davi, more restrained, simply added:

“I’m just waiting for the day they finally make out in the middle of an argument. But until then... this is pure entertainment.”

And as if fate had been listening, there they were.

Seth crossed paths with Riven in the hallway, in front of everyone, with the casual grace of someone who lived for that kind of moment.

“Valemont,” he said, flashing that rehearsed smile that could sell cars or start a war. “Keep up the martyr act, and you’ll end up a meme. Again.”

Riven stared at him for a second, light gray eyes almost lazy, like deciding whether it was worth responding was more exhausting than the answer itself.

But he did respond.

And with a much deadlier strike.

“And you? Still copying my work, or are you finally going to learn how to think for yourself?”

Seth smiled. A real one.

The kind of smile that said: you got to me, now I’m going to provoke you into hell.

“Oh, I thought you liked having me around... You even bolded my name on the presentation. That’s some sweet affection.”

“Typo. I meant to write ‘parasite’ — ran out of slide space.”

Mika let out a dramatic GASP that echoed down the hallway.

“Oh my god... I’m LIVING for this! This is Shakespeare, but with fanfic and testosterone!”

Jules put a hand on his chest.

“The acidity... the venom... pure emotional couture.”

Lys, phone in hand, typed at FBI hacker speed.

“Logged: new record for passive-aggressive sarcasm in under a minute. Score update: Riven three, Seth two. Tight match.”

Téo, quiet as always, just took one step closer to Riven.

Not as a threat — but like an invisible alarm.

Seth stepped forward.

Riven didn’t move.

They stood face to face, breathing the same air.

The world around them went silent — or maybe it had just been tuned out.

“Gonna stare at me all day, or finally say what you really want?” Seth provoked, voice lower now.

“I already said it,” Riven replied, firm. “I want distance. But looks like your obsession has GPS.”

Silence.

And then…

Mika tripped on her own feet and collapsed between them.

“Guys, WAIT! If you’re gonna fight, give me a heads-up! I need to record in HD!” she cried, lying on the floor, arms outstretched, like a Renaissance painting.

The tension shattered.

Laughter escaped from Noah, then Rafa.

Áurea rolled her eyes with elegance.

Lys typed: “Emotional battlefield casualty: Mika.”

Riven sighed. Seth chuckled.

“Your fan club is intense.”

“No. My friends are intense. You’re just background noise.”

And with that, he turned his back.

The scene ended — in total silence.

Seth watched him go. The smile on his face had less mockery now.

And maybe a hint of... loss? Anger? Desire?

No one could say for sure.

But one thing was certain:

Chaos had a name.

Later that same day, the hallway was far too quiet.

Most students were outside enjoying the sun. In the science hall, only the echoes of footsteps and the friction between two presences that should never have been placed in the same group remained. And everyone knew what was coming.

You could feel the air getting heavier.

Like even the concrete was holding its breath.

Seth walked toward Riven, eyes blazing with restrained rage, shoulders tense, jaw clenched. He was the kind of alpha who entered a room like the world owed him silence — and usually, it complied.

But Riven wasn’t the world.

He was the exception.

He stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

When he spoke, he didn’t shout. He didn’t need to.

“You’re not an alpha. Not even close.”

The words sliced like broken glass.

Riven stepped forward.

“You’re just a frustrated little boy, trying to shove testosterone where it doesn’t belong.”

Seth stopped.

Really stopped.

Like those words had been an invisible punch.

“Say that again,” he growled, voice low and fraying at the edges.

Riven smiled. Slowly. Venomously.

The kind of smile that knew exactly where it hurt.

“With pleasure.”

He stepped closer.

Now they were face to face.

Breathing the same air.

A thick, electric air.

Heavy with unspoken things and denied desires.

“You pretend to be dominant, the perfect heir, the ideal alpha... but you’re obsessed with a guy who doesn’t even go into heat. And you know why?”

Riven tilted his head. That smile turned to pure mockery.

“Because I make you hard with just a look. And that terrifies you.

Because all your alpha swagger can’t control your body around me.

Because deep down, you know your manhood is a performance. Fragile. Ridiculous.

And I’m living proof of it.”

That did it.

The snap of hate was instant.

Seth didn’t think — he lunged.

A punch to Riven’s shoulder.

Then a shove to the chest, strong and raw.

Riven staggered back a step, but answered with a mocking laugh.

“That’s your strength, Lancaster? That’s your best shot?

I’ve seen drugged omegas shake and hit harder than that!”

Seth roared. And then it was a real fight.

They crashed into each other with a fury that had been simmering for years.

Fists, knees, elbows, muffled shouts.

They hit the lockers, knocked over a trash can, slipped and tumbled to the floor — a tangle of rage, pride, and something filthier, more intimate, more dangerous.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Seth growled, trying to hold back Riven’s blows, face red, chest heaving. “YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT ME!”

“I KNOW EVERYTHING!” Riven yelled, his eyes blazing. “I know you’re scared of being seen as weak. As soft. As someone like me.

And the worst part?

You ARE.”

“You’re more like a trapped omega in an alpha’s body. And I’m the reminder that breaks you.”

A desperate scream broke the chaos:

“TÉO! FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

Téo came in like an avalanche.

He grabbed Riven from behind, one arm locked across his chest, holding him back with force — not to hurt, but enough to restrain a beast.

“ENOUGH!” he shouted. “You’re going to break him, Riven!”

“Let go!” Riven barked, struggling. “Let him try to prove himself for once in his life!”

Seth was slowly getting up.

Face red, a cut on his lip, eyes glassy — with rage, frustration, and something he himself didn’t understand.

“You—” he started.

But Riven cut him off.

“You only feel like an alpha when you’re alone in the mirror.

Out here, with everyone watching... you’re just a boy scared of his own desire.”

Silence.

Jules held Mika back.

Lys had stopped recording.

Téo still held Riven tightly — though his friend’s body had begun to relax… on the outside.

Inside, it still burned.

And Seth, standing there with blood on his lip and breath ragged, knew:

Riven had won.

With fists.

With words.

And worst of all…

With the truth.

On the other side, Noah, Rafa, and Davi rushed to Seth’s side.

He was panting, his lip bleeding, eyes still burning with fury.

“What the hell was that?!” Noah held onto Seth’s arm, while Rafa pushed away anyone who dared to get close.

“He’s insane!” Davi shouted, glaring at Riven.

“Insane is your ego,” Jules replied, stepping forward. “Fighting over teenage provocations? Real mature, huh?”

Téo still held Riven tight. But his eyes were locked on Seth — dark, nearly dangerous.

“If you touch him again...” Téo said, low and steady, “...I’ll break you, Lancaster.”

For a second, Seth hesitated. Not because of the threat. But because he saw something in Téo’s eyes he wasn’t used to: pure hatred.

Lys pulled Mika to the side.

Áurea stepped closer to Seth and clicked her tongue.

“Nice performance, Lancaster. Must be hard realizing your alpha act doesn’t scare everyone.”

“He provoked me,” Seth muttered, still trying to catch his breath.

Riven, still restrained, smiled. The corner of his lip bloodied.

“And it hurt, didn’t it?”

Finally, the coordinator showed up, staring at the scene like she already knew what to expect.

“You two. Director’s office. Now.”

“But Coordinator, he—”

“I saw everything.” She raised an eyebrow. “And you, Riven, should be thankful you’re not suspended. Yet.”

Téo slowly let go of Riven’s shoulder.

Seth stepped back, clean on the outside, but a mess inside.

The director’s office smelled of old paper, lukewarm coffee, and accumulated disappointment.

Riven sat with legs crossed, a mask of meticulous boredom on his face.

Seth stood, arms crossed, jaw tight, a bruise already forming on his neck.

Between them, Coordinator Elba held a report.

Director Penha just sighed.

“You two think this is an arena?” he asked, voice deep and tired. “This is a university. Not a cage. Not a boxing ring.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Seth began, still trying to keep his temper, “he provoked me.”

Riven didn’t even look at him.

“I didn’t provoke. I told the truth. He just doesn’t handle mirrors well.”

The director raised a hand for silence.

“I could suspend you both. And believe me, that was my first option. But the coordinator…” he glanced at Elba, “…believes there’s still hope for you two. That you can work through your differences in a… productive way.”

Riven let out a dry laugh.

Seth looked up like he was begging the gods of frustrated alphas for help.

“This is ridiculous!” Seth’s voice echoed in the office, fists clenched at his sides, jaw twitching.

On the other side of the desk, Elba Ferraz — rigid posture, sharp voice — simply watched the two like she was done with all the “mini-alphas in crisis and sarcastic poets” this school had to offer.

She didn’t yell.

She didn’t need to.

“After that little show you put on in the main hallway — broken furniture, blood, and three freshmen in panic — and yes, one of them has anxiety — you should be suspended.”

She crossed her arms.

“But since I still believe public humiliation is more effective than immediate expulsion... you’ll pay for this embarrassment with productivity.”

Silence.

Even the squeaky ceiling fan seemed to mock them.

“In two days, in the Social Chemistry lab — yes, that ‘interdisciplinary space’ everyone thinks is just for awkward group activities — you two will present a joint project.”

Seth frowned.

“A presentation? On what?”

Elba pulled a sheet from the drawer and slid it to the center of the desk.

“Theme: ‘Identity, Performance, and Masculinity in the Contemporary Context.’”

Riven raised an eyebrow.

Seth went pale, like he’d just taken another punch — only this one was intellectual.

“You’ll explore how gender stereotypes shape behavior in academic environments, using both personal experiences and critical analysis. The project is theoretical-practical. It’s graded and will be evaluated by both the Humanities and Psychology boards.”

“Just us? Alone?” Seth asked, voice low, almost subdued — a mix of disbelief and despair.

“That’s right,” Elba confirmed, with the finality of a judge’s gavel. “No audience. No friends to pull you off each other. One-on-one interaction. A written report. And a joint presentation, with both of you speaking.”

She leaned back in her chair, gaze sharp as a scalpel.

“Do it together... or hand over your dorm keys. Same outcome.”

Riven closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

Seth bit his tongue.

They both knew they couldn’t afford to refuse.

“Understood,” they said in unison.

The director nodded, too tired to be surprised.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.”

As they left the office, walking side by side, the hallway felt too narrow.

“This is all your fault...” Seth muttered.

“I’m bringing headphones. And a tranquilizer, in case your ego tries to attack me again,” Riven replied.

Seth scoffed.

Riven didn’t even smile this time.

They walked in opposite directions.

But both knew —

The real fight would begin tomorrow.

—

The door creaked like it could feel what he refused to.

Riven entered like a stranger in his own home — footsteps firm, cold, calculated.

Each step a silent scream: It’s over.

The TV blared at full volume, spitting out tragedies with the indifference of a regular news segment. Death tolls mixed with the smell of old cigarettes and burnt pots. But none of those tragedies compared to the one that lived inside those walls.

He walked through the room without looking at anyone.

His backpack was heavier from history than textbooks.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Carmela yelled from the kitchen, her voice like a whip.

Her voice had always been sharper than it should. It cut.

“To get my things,” he answered, flat.

He didn’t slow down.

Didn’t explain.

But she appeared.

She always did.

Apron stained, eyes hard, that bottled-up anger of someone who never learned how to love.

“What do you mean, your things?”

“I’m moving into the university dorms,” he said, standing at his bedroom door. “It’s approved. I start tomorrow.”

For a moment, time stopped.

Like the house itself held its breath.

“So that’s it?” she screamed, a knife-shaped tone. “You’re abandoning us?! After everything we’ve done for you?!”

He laughed.

A hollow sound.

Almost a cough.

He turned slowly, as if carrying shards in his chest.

“What exactly do you think you did for me?”

She stepped back. Pride kept her from showing weakness.

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy!” Élio’s voice followed, dragging behind nicotine and spite. “You eat here. Sleep here. You grew up here!”

“I’ve supported this house for seven years,” Riven said — and this time, the tone was different.

Deeper. Cracked.

Like something inside him was finally breaking — and the sound was leaking out.

“Mom’s money covered what it could. The rest was me. Every month. Every cent.”

“We never forced you!” Richard, the useless brother, chimed in with that clueless smirk.

“I should’ve let everything fall apart,” Riven muttered.

And this time, his hand trembled.

But he didn’t show it.

“Maybe then you’d have learned how to stand up on your own.”

He entered the room with a straight back.

But inside... his body wanted to collapse.

Old weight twisted inside his bones.

His hands, cold.

His forehead, sweaty.

His throat, closed.

Every folded piece of clothing was a memory.

Every book packed, a muffled scream.

And the box — the one with his mother’s photo — froze his fingers for a second.

When he returned to the hallway, they were all waiting.

Élio huffing.

Carmela breathing heavy.

The brothers laughing.

Always laughing.

Like hyenas circling a wounded lion.

“You ungrateful brat!” Carmela spat. “If you walk out that door, don’t come back!”

Riven stood still.

Felt his heartbeat pounding.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

And with it came heat.

A discomfort.

Pressure behind the eyes.

Skin burning.

Something was wrong.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t care.

“I left a long time ago,” he said.

The words were firm —

but inside, his body was screaming.

Strange tingling crawled up his spine.

Warmth in his chest.

Joints tense.

He was falling apart.

But standing tall.

He walked past them without looking.

The door shut behind him.

And what was left… died there.

—

The dorm room was simple. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk by the window. Everything arranged with obsessive precision.

Riven threw the backpack on the chair and sat on the bed’s edge.

Shoulders dropped.

Body heavy.

Mind... confused.

It wasn’t exhaustion.

It was something else.

Something that didn’t pass with silence or distance.

He took off his sweater and tossed it aside.

Tried to breathe.

But the air was dense.

Heavy.

Wrong.

He touched his arms. His skin was sensitive.

As if even his own touch wasn’t welcome.

As if something was waking up.

Just stress, he thought.

Just the body asking for rest.

He went to the bathroom, flipped on the fluorescent light.

Looked into the mirror.

Eyes dilated.

Skin flushed.

Breath unstable.

“No...” he whispered.

He sat on the sink’s edge, body leaning forward.

It couldn’t be. Not this.

He had never gone into full heat.

He was a recessive omega.

He always resisted.

But the scent...

It was changing.

Not strong. Not like a common omega.

But present.

Warm.

Calling for something he didn’t want to call.

He bit his lip.

Almost broke the skin.

“Shit…”

He opened the medicine cabinet.

Found an old pack of expired suppressants.

Crushed it.

Tossed it in the trash.

His heart was racing without permission.

His hands trembled.

And for the first time in years,

Riven was afraid of his own body.

—

Back in the room, he threw himself on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Laid on his side.

Then his back.

Then face down.

Nothing helped.

Nothing brought peace.

“This will pass,” he whispered. Like a prayer.

—

The lab smelled of alcohol, clean glass, and wasted time.

Riven walked in, forehead slightly damp, pulse high, but his face as unreadable as ever.

He sat at the station, pulled out his binder with controlled stiffness, as if his own hands might betray him.

Seth walked in two minutes later, dragging the stool like only he could — full of casual insolence.

“You gonna stay quiet, or already got your next jab lined up?” the alpha said, not even looking.

Riven didn’t answer.

Because in that moment… he was focused on breathing.

The heat had started like it always did — slowly, fooling the body with low-grade fever, a vague discomfort in the gut, warmth blooming in the wrong places: nape, inner arms, behind the knees.

He thought: Maybe it’s just stress. Maybe I’m overreacting.

But he’d already sweated three times in ten minutes.

His neck tingled.

And the urge to rub his face against something soft was almost instinctive.

Not now. Not here.

“You sick or just sweating in silence?” Seth prodded, raising an eyebrow. “Your face looks... off.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Riven snapped, voice too hoarse. “Just leave me alone.”

Seth chuckled. But this time, he didn’t tease.

He just… watched.

The next few minutes were pure hell.

The coordinator passed by the glass door once or twice, but didn’t notice anything. The pheromones were still faint. But alive.

Crawling under Riven’s skin like a cursed promise.