Chapter Text
The big problem at Yukiakari University of Arts and Technology (YUTA) wasn't the lack of funding for the 3D modeling lab, nor the exorbitant price of toner at the basement copy shop. The problem went by the name of Mauss Riki, or as he preferred to be called, Maki.
Harua knew this because, to his utter misfortune, the window of the advanced tailoring workshop in the third year of Fashion Design looked directly onto the outdoor basketball courts.
And the infernal noise rising from that rectangle of concrete painted green was capable of throwing off the tension of a state-of-the-art computerized sewing machine.
—If he yells "it's three, baby" one more time, I'm going down there and sewing his mouth shut with nylon thread—Harua murmured, without taking his eyes off the cut he was making in a piece of raw linen.
Her voice was like a trickle of running water over smooth stone: calm, perfectly modulated, and cold enough to freeze the enthusiasm of anyone within a two-meter radius.
Harua was twenty-one years old, with cherry-red hair, one meter and sixty-nine centimeters tall, with a bone structure that seemed to have been drawn, with delicate features, slightly protruding front teeth that gave her a bunny-like appearance, and eyes so dark they looked like two jaboticaba berries under the reflection of the high-precision lamp. He was, according to the laws of modern biology and the Japanese government's subgender census, an omega.
However, if anyone expected Harua to walk around releasing pheromones that smelled like strawberry bubblegum and waiting for a six-foot-three brute to open the elevator door for him, that person would be sorely mistaken. His solar vampire personality was reflected in his wardrobe, which consisted of minimalist tailoring, shades of gray, black, and off-white, coupled with a healthy dose of disdain for anyone who used the "we're biologically compatible" argument to justify their lack of verbal repertoire.
—Oh, come on, Haru? The kid's just living life—Yuma said, throwing his thin body onto the cutting table beside him, almost crumpling the parchment paper pattern of a pleated skirt. Yuma was an omega from the Contemporary Dance program and her roommate, which meant he spent half the day stretching in anatomically improbable positions and the other half trying to find Harua a boyfriend just for the sheer pleasure of sowing chaos. — Besides, he's kind of hot. Have you seen those biceps and the structure of that jaw? It looks like it was sculpted by Michelangelo after three shots of espresso.
— He's a year younger, has a brain the size of a tennis ball, and his hair looks like it was bleached with expired hydrogen peroxide from a convenience store — Harua replied, her tone unchanging as she rubbed the tailor's chalk on the fabric. — And he's an alpha from the Civil Engineering program. Civil Engineering, Yuma. They spend all day calculating the weight of concrete beams and the night at fraternity parties drinking warm beer in plastic cups. There's no substance there, just volume.
—Taki said he's cool, and he's Euijoo's friend — Yuma pointed out, picking up a pair of scissors to play with his fingers.
—Taki thinks everyone who gives him a half-eaten piece of melon bread in the cafeteria is the reincarnation of Buddha — Harua retorted, taking the scissors from the omega's hand and putting them in their genuine leather case. — And he's only Euijoo's friend because, unfortunately, he has questionable taste in alphas and is dating Nicholas, who's also in that pack of Neanderthals. And do you know what happens when Nicholas and that Maki guy get together?" The average IQ on campus is plummeting.
Down on the court, the sound of a basketball hitting the iron rim was followed by a high-pitched scream that pierced the double-glazed window:
—NICHOLAS! DID YOU SEE THAT? IT WAS FROM BEHIND! NO ONE CAN STOP ME AT THIS COLLEGE!
Harua closed his eyes for exactly three seconds. He inhaled the air that smelled of chalk and new fabric, exhaled his chronic irritation, and looked at his wristwatch. It was four o'clock on a Thursday afternoon in autumn. In forty-eight hours, the worst event on the academic calendar would begin.
The traditional, noisy, and utterly ridiculous "Capture the Omega" race at YUTA.
🐶🐰
To understand how Harua, the most antisocial and focused student in the Design course, had become the current two-time champion of a sport that resembled a medieval hunting festival adapted for hormone-fueled young adults, it was necessary to go back three years.
In his first year, Taki and Yuma (his Machiavellian roommates and self-confessed social butterflies) dragged him into registering for fraternity and course block integration activities.
They saw the event poster and immediately decided it would be hilarious if Harua participated, and challenged him, saying he wouldn't last five minutes because he was "too delicate," which Harua vehemently denied.
The race was created decades ago with the supposedly noble intention of "encouraging socialization and breaking down barriers between subgenders," and basically consisted of a giant game of capture the flag.
The rules were simple: registered omegas received a number and a colored satin ribbon with their names that could be tied somewhere on their body.
They had a thirty-minute head start to spread out and hide around the perimeter of the campus—which included four building blocks, a sports gymnasium, two artificial forests, a maintenance basement, and the old warehouse mostly occupied by the stage materials for the Theater course.
Soon after, the alphas were released.
Whoever captured an omega (which meant simply grabbing the ribbon or, in the more athletic and sentimental cases, lifting the person off the ground and carrying them to the meeting point) earned points for their respective group and the right to invite the captured person to the autumn ball.
At the time, Harua had agreed to participate driven only by pure hatred and wounded pride (and because Yuma had promised to help sew ten meters of invisible hem for his final Introduction to Pattern Making project if he agreed).
—Just stay in a visible place, Haru — Taki had said at the time, his cheeks full of milk bread — Someone will catch you in five minutes, you'll get the participation point, and we'll go eat ramen downtown.
The problem is that nobody told the alphas that Harua hated losing more than anything. And nobody knew that Harua's grandfather, a grumpy old man from Nagano, had forced him to run five kilometers every morning up hills of apple orchards since he was twelve years old to "strengthen his character."
So when the starting signal for the alphas sounded in that year of 2024, Harua didn't hide behind a bush like the other omegas who wanted to be found by their respective boyfriends or suitors. He climbed the giant tree behind the art building, ascended the drainage pipe to the roof of the administrative building, ran along the maintenance walkway of the central ventilation system, and spent the last two hours of the event sitting in the lotus position inside the third-floor air duct, reading an old edition of Vogue Italia he'd found in his backpack.
When the timer reached zero, the campus loudspeaker announced: “Attention, buildings. Omega number 042, Harua, from Design, could not be located. I repeat: the Art Building wins by default.”
In the second year, it became a matter of honor for the Engineering and Physical Education departments. They joined forces and devised strategies with community radio, pincer-shaped sieges on the walkways, and even a search party that used their sense of smell to try and track his scent. But Harua was on another level. He knew his natural vanilla scent was subtle and easy to mask, so he'd spent the entire previous week wearing a horrible, strong-smelling synthetic lavender perfume he'd bought at a wholesale market and odor-blocking patches.
He spent the entire race running between floors, performing body feints worthy of a professional rugby player on the third-year alphas who tried to corner him in the narrow hallways of the Chemistry building.
Harua had become an urban legend. The unreachable omega. The "Ghost of Block B".
🐰🐶
—This year is going to be different—Taki commented, as the three walked toward the central cafeteria on Friday morning. The campus was all decorated with orange and purple streamers. —Nicholas said the Engineering people put together an Excel spreadsheet with their likely escape routes based on the college's pipe maps.
—They used Excel? — Harua let out a bored sigh, adjusting the strap of his black canvas bag. — How elementary. They should have at least used some predictive fluid flow modeling software if they wanted to stand a chance against me.
— Haru, you talk like you're planning an Alcatraz escape, not an integration race where people just want to make out behind the gym — Yuma laughed, patting his friend on the back. — Look, your fan club is coming.
On the other side of the courtyard, coming out of the Engineering building, was the group that dictated the university's sound level. Nicholas led the pack, laughing at something on his phone, but the central figure was unmistakable.
Maki was six feet tall, with shoulders that seemed too broad for YUTA's aesthetically criminal varsity jackets and bleached hair that shone in the morning sun like a beacon a mile distance. His skin was slightly lighter than average due to his German ancestry, and his jawline was so straight it looked like it had been cut with a precision paper guillotine. He carried a basketball under his left arm and an energy drink can in his right hand. He was laughing—loudly, of course, with dimples and that irritating self-confidence of someone who's never had to deal with rejection or a late bill in their life.
—Hey! Taki! Yuma! Harua!—Nicholas shouted, waving from afar.
The group of alphas changed course, heading towards the three omegas. Harua seriously considered turning around and pretending he'd forgotten a set square in the studio, but pride kept him firmly in place. He crossed his arms, his posture erect, his face as neutral as a shop window mannequin.
—Hey, guys!—Maki said as she approached. His voice was full, resonant, the kind that effortlessly filled the room. He glanced at Taki, then at Yuma, and finally, his eyes fixed on Harua.
There was a playful glint in Maki's irises. Everyone at YUTA knew who Harua was. The Design omega who treated alphas like they were pushy telemarketers.
— So this is the famous two-time undefeated champion?" Maki stepped forward, twirling the basketball on the tip of his index finger with irritating dexterity. He looked Harua up and down, lingering on his lug-soled shoes and perfectly tailored gray trousers. — You're shorter than I thought from the stories, Harua-chan. Are you sure you won't break a leg running tomorrow afternoon?"
Harua didn't blink. He watched the spinning ball, then looked up to meet Maki's eyes.
—You should worry about yourself, because I'm sure the physics of your body prevent you from making a sharp turn without losing your balance on the wet courtyard floor, Maki-san — Harua replied, his tone so calm it sounded like he was reading the weather forecast — Your center of gravity is too high due to the unnecessary hypertrophy of your deltoids. I recommend you wear shoes with good grip if you don't want to spend the weekend with a dislocated ankle after being humiliated by me.
The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath. Nicholas let out a muffled laugh behind his hand. Maki stopped the ball with her palm, her smug smile wavering for a fraction of a second before widening even further.
— Was that a challenge? — Maki leaned slightly forward, the pine and mint scent of his alpha pheromones rising subtly, instinctively trying to mark his territory.
Harua took a half step back, not out of fear, but because he detested these ridiculous displays of territoriality.
— That was a diagnosis — Harua said, turning to Yuma and Taki. — Let's go. The ramen shop closes in ten minutes and I can't waste time with brutes who can't even combine primary colors.
Maki stood in the middle of the courtyard, watching Harua's back walk away. The omega's gray coat swayed slightly with each firm step he took.
—Dude... he ate you up before noon — Nicholas said, nudging Maki in the ribs with his elbow.
— He's... feisty — Maki murmured, his eyes still fixed on the back of Harua's neck. His smile had changed. It was no longer the smile of someone making a joke. It was the smile of someone who had just found the most complex and interesting engineering project of the semester.
—Nicholas, give me that Excel spreadsheet again. I'm going to participate in the race.
🐶🐰
The sound of Harua's alarm clock was the absolute silence of his cell phone vibrating under the pillow, set exactly for 8:15 a.m. He didn't need loud alarms because his biological clock was as rigid and inflexible as his patience with idiotic alphas.
Upon arriving in the kitchen of the apartment he shared with Taki and Yuma, the scene he found immediately made him consider turning around and locking himself in his room.
—I'm telling you, Juju! If you wear that bandana, Nicho will spend all his time trying to bite your neck in the middle of the field — Taki said with his mouth full, trying to spread jam on toast while gesturing dramatically.
Euijoo, who already had the damned red bandana tied around his brown hair, rolled his eyes, but his cheeks betrayed the blush.
He was a docile omega with a vibrant personality who was studying Psychology along with Taki, and his relationship with Nicholas, an alpha in the Information Technology course, was constantly the sweetest topic on campus.
— Nicho wouldn't do that, he's too romantic. I can't say the same about myself, though; this year I promised Jo, if I catch him, I'll drag him behind the Arts building — Yuma interjected, adjusting the short sports shirt he was wearing.
— Oh my God, Yu-kun!— Taki laughed, blushing as if he had any decency —The race is called 'Capture the Omega,' not 'Molest the Alpha.'
— I'm sorry, Taki-chan, but I can't miss the opportunity to get a piece of the cutest and most emotionally repressed alpha in Visual Arts — Yuma finished with a mischievous smile.
—Ah, Haru… Good morning! Did you sleep well? You know what day it is, right? — Euijoo took advantage of the other omega's arrival with relief to escape the embarrassing subject, while offering a steaming mug of coffee, which Harua readily accepted.
— The day I planned to finish modeling my collection, but instead I'll be dragged around campus to be hunted like a slaughter animal at the annual event that's the pinnacle of patriarchal and biological humiliation — Harua took a sip of his coffee, his expression unchanged.
— Don't be so dramatic! — Yuma laughed, stealing a piece of toast under Taki's disapproving glare — You've won the last two years and are literally the legend of the "Capture the Omega Race," nobody can catch you. You run like the wind and hide better than a ninja.
— This year I'm going to walk slowly so someone catches me in the first five minutes and I can get back to my studio — Harua declared, placing the empty cup in the sink.
— You wouldn't dare — Taki narrowed his eyes. — The pride of the entire Block B is at stake. If you surrender, the alphas of Block C will become unbearable and spend the rest of the year bragging.
— Harua, did you see the university forum today? — interrupted a suddenly nervous Euijoo.
— You know I don't read virtual garbage that doesn't add anything to my intellect and whose interface aesthetically offends my style, Euijoo.
— Well, you should. Because the Engineering fraternity teamed up with the IT guys and made a high-stakes bet. And Maki's name is at the top of the hunters' list, especially after…
Upon hearing that name, Harua felt a slight nervous twitch in her left eyelid and the beginning of a sharp headache.
— After what? Not that I care, but what did that loud, bleached-blonde Neanderthal do now? — Harua asked, crossing her arms.
— He posted a video on the forum saying that the 'phantom omega dynasty' ends today — Euijoo said, showing her cell phone. In the video, Maki appeared shirtless, with a towel around his neck after training, winking at the camera and saying, "Hey, Harua-chan from Design. Save some space in your Saturday night schedule, because tonight I'm going to get you."
The comments on the post were exploding.
Harua took a deep breath, feeling his blood boil under his skin. He hated many things in life: but at the top were the self-assured alphas who thought the world revolved around them.
—Change of plans— Harua said, his voice dropping to a dangerously calm tone. —Taki, get my high-performance running shoes. Yuma, give me that red ribbon. I'm going to destroy an alpha's pride today.
🐰🐶
At three in the afternoon, the YUTA campus looked like the set of a low-budget science fiction movie mixed with The Hunger Games. About two hundred students were scattered across the central lawn.
The omegas wore t-shirts with their respective registration numbers pasted on the back and colorful satin ribbons tied around their arms, waist, or legs.
Some were doing serious stretches while others were just chatting with the alphas who intended to capture them, basically coordinating the location of the "kidnapping" to speed up the process.
Near the Alpha fraternity tents, Nicholas distractedly adjusted the straps on Maki's arms—you see, he was a level-headed alpha, but he lost his way completely when he looked at Euijoo, who was on the other side of the field talking to Harua.
— Dude, did you really need to post that video?— Nicholas asked, slapping Maki on the back of the neck — Harua seems calm, but Juju told me he has the temper of a rabid pinscher when provoked.
Maki let out a loud laugh, displaying perfectly aligned teeth. He was wearing a black tank top that highlighted his muscular arms and temporary tribal tattoos that the clubs forming alliances wore for the event. His scent was strong, heightened by adrenaline.
—Come on, Nicho! This guy's been making fools of everyone for two years. The rugby alphas were crying two years ago because he hid in a ventilation duct in the old lab. A ventilation duct! The guy's a genius, I admit. But he's never raced against me."
—He’s older than you, respect your senpai — joked Kei, Taki’s older brother, a tall, imposing fourth-year alpha who had been dating Fuma, a muscular omega from the Computer Science course, since high school. — And Harua doesn’t mess around. If I were you, I’d protect my shins.
— I’m the MVP of the university basketball championship, Hyung, my reaction speed is milliseconds. A short, grumpy omega won’t be able to beat me — Maki winked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
🐰🐶
On the other side of the field, Harua leaned against the bronze statue of the university’s founder, while Taki finished tying the red ribbon around his slim waist. He wore black cycling shorts under light shorts and an oversized camouflage t-shirt that he had customized himself to reduce wind resistance, and his friends surrounded him as if they were his boxing coaches.
— Remember route three, Haru — Yuma instructed. — Near the artificial stream, the terrain is slippery. Jo told me he heard the Physical Education alphas are planning a siege there.
— Let them try — Harua replied, adjusting the laces of his high-performance black running shoes. — Why is Jo helping the enemy?
Yuma gave a smug smile, glanced over Harua’s shoulder, and gave a mischievous wink directly to Jo, who was a few meters away trying to appear neutral. The alpha suddenly blushed, swallowed hard, and looked away.
The warning horn echoed across the campus. The announcer shouted into the microphone:
“Omegas, you have 5 minutes to finish preparing! When the gong sounds, run for your lives and your pride!”
A horde of omegas began to prepare, some laughing, others serious. Harua didn’t move immediately. He walked with firm, elegant steps to the edge of the tree line.
—Haru, Maki swapped his basketball shoes for trail running shoes — Juju whispered, appearing beside him with the infamous red bandana on her head. — I saw him talking to the rugby team captain. They divided the campus into quadrants and are going on a pack hunt.
—Their pack suffers from a serious problem with motor coordination and inefficient planning — Harua replied, standing up and testing the cushioning on his right foot. —They're going to bump into each other at the first intersection in Block C. The hallway there is only six feet wide because of the new lockers.
Yuma appeared running, the blue ribbon dangling from his arm.
—Good luck, Haru! If you win again, the Art Block will get a new freezer, and we're planning to put it in the lab! Don't let those ogres from Block C get your ribbon!"
Harua simply nodded. When the gong sounded across campus, signaling that the omegas had thirty minutes to disappear, most hurried toward the bushes or the open classrooms of the nearby Blocks. Before disappearing from sight, he stopped abruptly, turned, and faced his nemesis directly.
Maki was at the alphas' starting line, waiting for the timer to run out. His eyes met Harua's in the distance. The alpha smiled and pointed to his own wrist, mimicking a watch.
Harua raised his right hand and, with all the calm in the world, made a gesture with his index finger, challenging Maki to the game. Then, he vanished into the foliage.
— Oh, he's so screwed — Maki murmured, his inner wolf howling with pure anticipation.