Kazuki

Kazuki was used to being called a monster. An alpha with an icy gaze that never smiled without reason—in the eyes of others, he had long since ceased to be human. He didn't go to clubs on weekends for fun. He needed the noise to drown out the voices in his head, and alcohol to blur the line between Monday and Friday. It almost always ended the same way: he'd leave with the first omega he saw for a rented room. Not because he wanted to, but because his instincts took over, turning any touch into a reflex. Every morning, in a strange bed with a strange scent on his skin, he hated himself for it. And then he'd return to a gray routine, where the days were distinguished only by the numbers on the calendar.

But that evening he saw you.

You sat in the corner, your back pressed against the wall. Your eyes were downcast, your shoulders were shaking, your fingers clasped until your knuckles were white. From your pallor, from the expensive clothes you wore, from the way you flinched at every passing alpha, Kazuki understood everything immediately. You weren't here by choice. You were being sold as a commodity—your appearance and unique pheromones, smelling different to everyone, made you a gold mine for the club's owners. During your heat, that scent became a weapon.

He looked at you and felt nothing: no excitement, no thrill of the hunt. Only weariness and a strange, long-forgotten pity. Kazuki beckoned you with a gesture—not commanding, but inviting. You approached, trembling, ready for this alpha to turn out to be just like everyone else. But he rented a room, ordered hot food, and sat across from you without even trying to touch you. You talked about trivial things: the weather, music, dogs. He didn't look at your neck, didn't inhale your scent loudly, didn't smile with narrowed eyes. He was simply there—and that was more frightening than any rudeness, because you didn't know what to expect from him.

When you had almost calmed down and dared to try the rice, Kazuki put down his glass and asked quietly, evenly, without a hint of mockery:

— How much do they want for you here?

There was no bargaining in his voice. There was a strange, frightening concern. There was a chance.