CHAPTER 3: BLUE HAIRED ALPHA
/ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\
After school, Dylan marched toward the teachers' lounge with the energy of an exhausted single mother dragging her problematic child to a parent-teacher meeting. Miyo followed beside him, holding Dylan's hand obediently—not because he understood the situation, but because Dylan grabbed him like he might wander into traffic otherwise.
The teachers' lounge was quiet, papers stacked everywhere, coffee cups abandoned like war casualties. And there, slumped over his desk like a defeated salaryman, sat Mr. Kellum – their homeroom teacher. Brown hair, crooked glasses, dark circles deep enough to be considered caves, and permanent wrinkles from years of furrowing his eyebrows at student's... stupidity. He sighed the moment he saw them. "Haa… what now?" (눈‸눈)
Dylan didn't waste time. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and spoke with righteous urgency. "Sir Kellum, um… you see, Miyo failed five subjects and—" (˘･_･˘)
"No." The teacher cut him off immediately without looking up.
Dylan blinked. "But sir—"
"No." Mr. Kellum stamped some papers, scribbled something, exhaled like he'd lived a thousand years, then finally lifted his head just to stare at Miyo. "You," he said, pointing. "Are the only one in the entire class who failed."
Miyo quietly lowered his head, expression unchanged, serene as ever—but Dylan noticed the tiny downward twitch of his lips. A microscopic pout. Which meant Miyo was sad. /ᐠ｡ ｡ᐟ\
Dylan puffed up angrily. "But sir! This rule wasn't even here last year—can't you do something? Anything? Miyo struggles with studies and—"
Before he could finish, an explosion of dramatic agony erupted from across the room. They turned to their attention to the opposite table from where the noice was coming. And there it was. A sight so dramatic it deserved it's own background music.
V●ᴥ●V
At the opposite table, another teacher sat frozen in sheer horror as a tall, muscular, blue-haired alpha clung to his waist like a drowning man clutching a buoy.
"PLEASEEEE!! SIR ROWAN!!" Luca wailed, tears that absolutely didn't exist streaming down his face in spirit. "If I can't take the next exam… I'll have to repeat the year!! And no nationals!! WAAAHHH!! Sir Rowan, I'm like your son, right!? Father!! Papa!!" ಥ╭╮ಥ
Sir Rowan—a well-built alpha in his forties with fiery red hair—looked both offended and physically pained. "Do NOT call me your papa!" he snapped, trying to push Luca off. "And why are you so strong— LET GO OF ME!" Σ(ಠ_ಠ)
But Luca clung harder, wrapping around the man's waist like some overgrown, sobbing koala. He lifted his face with the biggest, wettest, sparkliest puppy-dog eyes in existence. "Siiir… Rowan… you know how much basketball means to me…"
And Sir Rowan was on the verge of giving up on his career entirely. "You should have STUDIED BEFORE THEN—oh my god—LET GO, YOU MENACE—"
Back at the other side of the room, Dylan stared at the scene with a judgy horrified expression. "…Who is that? Why is he crying like that? Why is he… grabbing him like THAT?"
Mr. Kellum didn't even turn around. Just waved a dismissive hand like he was swatting a fly. "Apparently another student who failed. Go home. Study. Do not make this my problem."
"Wait! Sir—please—just listen—" Dylan tried again.
"No." Kellum turned a page with the cold efficiency of a dead soul.
But Miyo wasn't looking at the teacher anymore. And wasn't listening at all. Because Miyo's eyes… were locked onto Luca. Like a cat seeing a laser pointer for the first time. His serene face didn't change, not a single muscle twitched—but something in his gaze sharpened. A rare moment where Miyo, king of spacing out, was genuinely looking at another human being.
Was he intrigued?
Fascinated?
Amused?
No one knew.
Maybe he wasn't even feeling anything at all.
Maybe he just thought Luca looked like a very loud, very large, very blue creature.
But the simple fact remained:
Miyo was staring.
And Luca – dramatically sobbing on a grown man's lap like a rejected puppy had no idea he had just captured the attention of the dumbest omega in school.
After some moments, Dylan walked out of the teachers' room with the deep sigh of someone who had just failed a side quest. Miyo followed behind him like a tiny duckling. His expression calm, thoughts empty, soul floating somewhere three feet above his own body.
Dylan patted Miyo's back softly. "Don't stress too much. Sir Kellum acts cold, but he's actually considering things in his mind… probably. He's just like that."
Miyo blinked once.
Slowly.
Then nodded.
That was all.
But right as they were about to turn the hallway corner, Miyo glanced back at the teachers' office door. A small flicker in his calm gaze. The image of that blue haired alpha dramatically sobbing into a grown man's waist like a confused toddler, hovered in his mind. He didn't know why he was thinking about it. He didn't usually think about anything. Maybe he just found the scene… visually interesting. Like watching a giant dog chase a ball.
He shook his head gently and continued following Dylan, with his tiny steps, tiny brain, tiny world.
V●ᴥ●V
While, Back Inside the Teachers' Room. After what felt like a century (but was actually only seven minutes of tragedy), Luca finally released his iron grip on Mr. Rowan's waist. *Sniffs* "Well fine then… Sir Rowan… I will go now…" Luca bowed deeply, still sniffling dramatically, then trudged out of the room like a wounded soldier returning from war.
Mr. Rowan slumped into his chair, face pale, spirit drained. He rubbed his temples.
"Gosh… that kid. He's always so determined when he wants something…"
Mr. Kellum, who had been quietly sipping lukewarm coffee for survival, flicked a glance his way. He raised an eyebrow. "You have a failed student in your class too?" (눈‸눈)
Rowan straightened up a bit. He was used to Kellum's silence; the man barely spoke. So when he did, it felt like a holy event. "O-Oh. Yeah. Luca. That blue-haired alpha. You too, Mr. Kellum?" (´⊙ω⊙`)!
Kellum nodded and returned to his paperwork like a grumpy monk. "Yes. An omega. I've known him for three years. He works hard but… he never corrects his mistakes." He said this with the tone of a man who had witnessed every one of those mistakes firsthand.
Rowan scratched his cheek.
"Hmm… but Mr. Kellum, don't you think this new rule is… a bit harsh? I mean… not all students are good at academics. They should have chances."
Kellum paused his writing for half a second.
Then resumed. His voice was calm, flat, and merciless. "Well. No can do. Rules are rules. This is what is supposed to be. Please return to your work."
Rowan blinked, startled by the sudden authoritative tone. "Ah—! Y-Yes. Of course. Um. Okay then."
He turned back to his desk, still shaken. And Mr. Kellum kept writing—calm, stoic, unfazed.
V●ᴥ●V
Some hours later, Luca was out there in the basketball court like a man possessed. Midnight, cold air, floodlights humming like they were judging him. Sweat dripped down his neck, his blue hair plastered to his forehead, looking like some tragic sports anime protagonist going through his 'I must train alone' arc.
He slammed another ball into the net, *thunk* and then hunched over, hands on his knees, chest burning. "So that's it, huh…?" he muttered to himself, voice rough. "Nationals… gone… just like that?" For a moment, he stood perfectly still, expression tightening. Then – "No. Nope. Hell no."
His eyes lit up with that unshakeable, chaotic Luca-fire, the kind that made teachers groan and teammates sigh. He wasn't smart. God knew he was not smart. But he was stubborn enough to headbutt fate until it gave up.
"Dumb from birth doesn't mean dead from effort," he growled, spinning the ball on his finger with ridiculous determination. "I'm not going down like some background character." He tossed the ball again, muscles trembling, but he didn't stop. Luca never stopped.
Meanwhile, across town in a soft pastel bedroom that smelled faintly of peach pheromone, vanilla lotion and sweet laundry detergent, Miyo lay flat on his back in frilly blue pajamas. The kind with tiny ribbons that didn't even serve a purpose.
He stared at the ceiling with blank, glassy eyes like a doll someone forgot to pack back into the toybox after playtime. One hand resting on his small tummy. No expression, no sniffles, no dramatic monologue, just… processing.
Miyo.exe has stopped working.
His thoughts were slow, foggy, like they were floating through cotton.
I failed…? Again…? He wasn't someone who cried or yelled or threw his notebooks dramatically. He didn't have big reactions. He didn't know how to. All he had was this quiet heaviness settling over his chest.
He turned his head lazily to the open window. Outside, the sky glittered with stars – bright, gentle, patient. And something in those stars tugged at a memory he hadn't visited in a long time.
A tiny Miyo, smaller than he already was now. A soft futon. Crickets chirping outside. His grandmother's wrinkled hand resting on his hair. "Miyo-chan… don't dull yourself over things others achieve. Everyone shines in their own way," she had murmured in Japanese, her voice warm and slow.
"You don't have to be like everyone else. You just have to be yourself, ne?"
She had passed away years ago, but the memory glowed in his mind like a lantern.
Back in the present, Miyo blinked slowly. His fingers curled slightly over his stomach. He thought of Luca's ridiculous meltdown earlier. How sincerely that blue-haired alpha had pleaded, like the world depended on it.
He thought of Dylan patting him so gently, trying to cheer him up. He thought of Mr. Kellum's quiet, unreadable stare.
And for the first time in a long time, something small and warm flickered in Miyo's chest.
Something almost like… wanting.
Fight back.
Try again.
Not be left behind.
He didn't know what that feeling was called.
But it made his heart feel like it wasn't asleep anymore.