The academy didn't sleep.
Even at dawn, the corridors hummed with quiet activity—footsteps, distant voices, the faint mechanical sound of security drones patrolling the halls. Jinhyeok stood by the dormitory window, fingers pressed against the cool glass, watching the sky lighten slowly.
He hadn't replied to Akira's message.
He couldn't.
The words bond resonance detected replayed in his mind like a curse.
Impossible things were supposed to stay impossible.
Behind him, the room buzzed softly as his wrist device synced with the academy system. A notification blinked onto the screen.
Mandatory Health Evaluation — Alpha Class A
Location: Medical Wing
Time: 06:30
Jinhyeok's jaw tightened.
Medical checks this early in the semester were rare.
And dangerous.
The medical wing smelled sterile—sharp disinfectant layered over suppressed scents. Alphas sat comfortably in their chairs, relaxed, some joking quietly. To anyone watching, Jinhyeok looked the same.
Inside, his nerves screamed.
"Next," the nurse called.
He stepped forward.
The scanner hovered over his wrist, then moved slowly across his chest. Numbers flickered on the screen.
The nurse frowned.
"That's strange."
Jinhyeok kept his expression neutral. "Is there a problem?"
She tapped the screen again. "Your scent output is… irregular."
The word landed like a blade.
"I'm under stress," he replied smoothly. "Transfer students usually are."
She studied him for a moment too long, then nodded. "That could explain it."
She didn't sound convinced.
"Take these," she said, handing him a small vial. "Stronger stabilizers. Just in case."
Jinhyeok accepted them, his fingers cold.
Stronger stabilizers meant stronger side effects.
But refusal would raise questions.
He turned to leave—and froze.
Li Akira Moon sat on one of the medical beds.
Not Alpha section.
Not Omega.
Beta observation room.
Their eyes met.
Akira tilted his head slightly, curiosity written openly on his face. "You too?"
Jinhyeok forced himself to walk. "You don't look injured."
Akira shrugged. "They said my readings were unusual."
Unusual.
Again.
"What kind of readings?" Jinhyeok asked, then immediately regretted it.
Akira smiled faintly. "They didn't explain."
Of course they didn't.
Silence stretched between them.
Then Akira spoke again, softer. "You didn't answer my message."
Jinhyeok stopped.
"That wasn't appropriate," he said.
Akira stood, closing the distance between them. "Neither is pretending we're strangers."
Jinhyeok's heart slammed hard against his ribs.
"Be careful," he said quietly. "Curiosity gets people hurt here."
Akira searched his face. "Is that a warning… or advice?"
Jinhyeok didn't answer.
He turned and walked away.
Classes passed in a blur.
Every time Akira entered a room, Jinhyeok felt it—a pull, subtle but relentless. His suppressants dulled the edge, but they couldn't erase instinct.
During combat theory, Ren leaned over and whispered, "You're off today."
Jinhyeok didn't look at him. "Focus on the lecture."
Ren smirked. "That Beta again?"
Jinhyeok's gaze snapped to him. "What?"
Ren raised his hands. "Relax. You just keep looking in his direction."
Jinhyeok forced himself to look away.
Across the room, Akira was taking notes calmly, unaware—or pretending to be.
"Strange choice," Ren continued. "You're not usually interested in Betas."
"I'm not interested," Jinhyeok said sharply.
Ren laughed. "Then why does your scent spike every time he moves?"
The room seemed to tilt.
"You're imagining things," Jinhyeok said.
Ren's smile faded slightly. "I'm not."
That was bad.
Very bad.
That evening, the academy lights dimmed as curfew approached.
Jinhyeok walked faster than usual, heading for the restricted stairwell that led to the older wing—quiet, empty, forgotten. He needed space. Silence. Control.
He didn't expect footsteps behind him.
"You run away a lot."
Akira's voice echoed softly in the stairwell.
Jinhyeok turned slowly. "You shouldn't be here."
Akira leaned against the railing. "Neither should you."
The air between them shifted.
No alarms. No devices.
Just instinct.
Akira took a step closer. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"Why does being near you feel… familiar?"
Jinhyeok's chest ached.
Because you held my hand when we were children.
Because you cried when they took me away.
Because they told us it never happened.
"Drop it," Jinhyeok said.
Akira didn't. "And why," he continued softly, "do I feel sick every time someone calls me a Beta?"
Jinhyeok's breath hitched.
Akira's hand lifted unconsciously, fingers brushing his own wrist.
The faint mark glowed—just for a second.
Jinhyeok's device screamed to life.
CRITICAL ALERT: FORBIDDEN RESONANCE CONFIRMED.
The stairwell lights flickered.
Akira stared at his wrist, eyes widening. "What… is this?"
Jinhyeok grabbed his arm.
"Listen to me," he said urgently. "No matter what you feel—no matter what you remember—you tell no one."
Akira looked up at him, shaken. "Jinhyeok—what are we?"
Jinhyeok released him as if burned.
"Nothing," he said.
But his scent betrayed him.
Sweet. Panicked.
Omega.
Akira inhaled sharply, knees weakening.
And in that moment, something ancient and forbidden snapped awake between them.