Song Liu, an Omega whose whole existence was a tribute to expensive taste and utter spoiled brat-dom, felt his Italian loafers might as well be treading on a muddy farm road. He was being shipped off to the Alpha's Royal Academy, and it was bullshit.
Instead of the grim, grey fortress he first imagined, the academy was worse: a breathtaking monument to old money and sheer, unadulterated power. It wasn't ugly; it was obscene. Think white marble, columns taller than most skyscrapers, and giant, glittering gold crests embedded in the stone. It looked less like a school and more like a palace that decided to host a very exclusive, very intimidating military boot camp.
This, the most elite Alpha academy in the whole damn empire, was his punishment. His dad, Duke Song, the Alpha of the North, had decided that totaling a vintage hover-coupe was the last straw. The Duke, a man who answered only to the Emperor and whose word was law across half the northern territory, was not someone you messed with.
"Just keep those scent-blockers charged, young master," Liang, his butler, muttered as the Maybach, which now seemed almost too small, pulled up to the main gate. "We don't want any... incidents."
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Alphas smell things, it's gross," Song Liu snapped, adjusting the diamond-encrusted choker he wore. "Honestly, sending an Omega here? It's utterly humiliating. Where's my mother when I need her?"
His mother, a gorgeous and famously delicate Omega who adored her only son and spent her days happily baking impossibly beautiful sweets, was currently in tears back home, powerless against her imposing Duke of a husband.
Song Liu didn't wait for Liang's sigh of resignation. He just hauled his carry-on (which, again, only held his real coffee grounds and silk PJs) and stormed toward the gates, leaving the butler to deal with the mountain of designer luggage.
Room 502 was on the fifth floor, and it was ridiculously large, almost a junior suite. Clearly, "dorm room" meant something different when you paid this kind of tuition. Song Liu claimed the left side and was busy trying to find a plug that wouldn't short out his imported mini-fridge when the door swished open.
In stepped an Alpha who looked like he'd been carved out of stone and dressed by a very expensive tailor. He was impossibly tall, built like a royal guard, and wore the crisp, white-and-gold uniform of the top-tier students like it was his birthright. His hair was dark, and his eyes, a shocking, icy blue, surveyed the room with an unnerving calm. He carried just one simple, high-quality leather bag.
"Room 502?" the new guy asked. His voice was deep, smooth, and had a low-frequency rumble that vibrated deep in Song Liu's chest, even through his heavy-duty scent blockers.
Song Liu stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. "That would be me. And you must be the lucky schmo who got assigned to the dorm with me. Look, let's set some ground rules, okay? I'm Song Liu, and I need silence, my air filtration set to 'Arctic Clean,' and no touching my stuff. Your... single duffel bag," he sneered, pointing at the pathetic thing, "will stay strictly on your side."
The Alpha leaned against the doorframe, a faint, almost secret smile playing on his lips. "Sounds fair. I'm Wei Ze. So, which side is mine?"
Song Liu didn't waste another second. He ripped open his biggest trunk, grabbed a roll of the most obnoxious, thick, fluorescent yellow industrial tape he could find, and got to work. He marched to the exact middle of the room and started laying down a perfect, blinding line: from the middle of the doorway, across the floor, up the desk, and even over a perfectly good light switch.
"This," he announced, pointing dramatically at the garish strip, "The Line. You cross this, and I call my dad. He's the Duke of the North, and he practically runs this place. So I suggest you stick to your side, Wei Ze."
Wei Ze watched the entire performance—the spoiled Omega creating a hideous territorial marker—with pure, unadulterated amusement. When Song Liu was finished, the Alpha did the most infuriating thing: he casually stepped over the yellow tape, walked to the enormous window overlooking the parade ground, and stared out.
"Hey! What the actual hell? I just told you not to cross The Line!" Song Liu squeaked, his voice cracking with outrage.
Wei Ze turned around, his eyes now cool and perfectly neutral. "I heard you, Song Liu. Now, if you're done playing interior decorator, I suggest you move your espresso machine. I need to get my desk set up." He stepped back over the tape, picked up his single duffel, and placed it neatly on the far, Alpha side.
Song Liu just stood there, jaw slightly dropped. This idiot. This nameless Alpha was going to learn who he was dealing with, even if it meant getting a crap ton of people expelled and whining to his mother for a week straight.
A few floors below, in an office that probably cost more than Song Liu's entire apartment back home, Headmaster Kaelus was nervously polishing his already pristine gold epaulets while listening to a high-ranking official on his secure holo-comm.
"General, sir, I understand the need for anonymity, but the Crown Prince is rooming with Duke Song's Omega son! The boy is... challenging. He just divided the room with fluorescent yellow construction tape."
The calm, seasoned voice of the General came through. "Headmaster, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Wei Ze, specifically requested a typical experience. As for the Omega... the Prince said he finds the 'tape situation' quite insightful regarding civilian eccentricity. Don't worry about security. The Prince is secured. Just ensure the spoiled Duke's son remains oblivious to the true identity of his roommate. We wouldn't want to ruin the Prince's amusement."