Chapter Text
At age 11, Chigiri Hyouma received his secondary test gender results, and felt quite normal about it.
In a society where the majority of people were betas, Hyouma had pretty much expected that he would be one too. After all, his entire family were betas- his sister, his mother, his father, both of his grandparents, and both of his grandparents’ grandparents were all betas. It made sense, then, that he would be a beta as well.
There had been some theorizing that he could possibly be omega, though. Ever since he was an infant, people had been mistaking him for a young girl instead of a young boy, and the older he grew the more delicate his features became. Beauty and fragility went hand in hand when it came to omegas, and to others, Hyouma certainly seemed to fit the bill.
While Hyouma wouldn’t call himself fragile, he did take pride in his looks. After all, he looked like his mother and sister, two of the lights of his life, and nothing made him happier than being just like them. They were beautiful and confident, and Hyouma could think of no higher praise than to be put on the same level as they were.
They were beautiful and confident, and they were betas- much to the surprise of many. In fact, people who were merely shown pictures of them instantly pegged them as omega.
This, too, was a point of pride, because even at age 11, Hyouma knew that ‘omega’ was something people stuck on those who were born extraordinarily pretty, who had some magical ability to attract others to them. His family were betas, meaning they needed no generic help, no magic powers to surround themselves with people that these conceptual ‘omegas’ did.
To Hyouma, who didn’t quite understand how subgenders worked, it was as though the members of his family were so powerful that they had no need to weaponize something as vague as a ‘magic scent.’ They were as good as the people who were cheating, without cheating.
It wasn’t that he liked the fact they were popular and got the attention of others. It was simply because he liked that they were special.
That was all he knew, and it was all he needed to know. He had better things to think about, such as football.
Hyouma was four years old when he first picked up the sport he knew he would dedicate the rest of his life to.
It hadn’t been anything special. He had no grand tales of seeing a world champion score a jaw-dropping goal, nor did he have any family members that were particularly interested in the sport. In fact, his natural inclination for running made him more suitable for something like track-and-field, where athletes competed with purely the speed and strength of their legs. But his mother had, in her want for Hyouma to pick up a sport, decided to send him to a nearby soccer school, and one kick of the ball had all but sealed his fate.
It was one thing to simply dash past someone. It was another to do so while weaving through other people, whilst keeping an eye on the ball, as you planned your journey to the destination that was the goal.
His mother gushed to him about how talented he was at the sport after his first practice session, and he found that he agreed.
He’d beaten everyone that day, after all. They had all tripped over themselves and fallen at his feet, trying to stake claim on the ball that had been his from start to finish. And it was only his first day of playing. What was he, if not a genius? What was he, if not chosen?
This was the first time that Hyouma had felt the pleasure of being ‘chosen’ by something. The thrill of being above others, because of an inherent talent and an extrinsic skill that bloomed far better for him than it did for others.
…I want to win the World Cup.
The World Cup. The pinnacle of the world of soccer. To win it would be to prove himself as chosen. To win it would be to prove that he was the best striker in the world.
That was why he went into the first secondary gender mandatory testing at age 11 not particularly thinking about much. One of his classmates, a young boy named Momose, shyly asked him whether he thought he’d be an omega, to which Hyouma simply responded: “I don’t really care.”
It was a waste to think about something as boring as this when he was trying to be the world’s best striker.
He received the results a few months later. According to the government’s medical facilities, he was a beta.
“Mom,” he said after he’d gotten home that day. “I’m a beta.”
His mother, who had been lounging on the couch, looked up from the book she was reading. “How nice Hyouma! You’re just like us!”
“What?” his sister asked, poking her head out from the kitchen. She had been grabbing herself a glass of peach juice. “Hyou-chan’s beta? Aww. I wanted to brag to my friends about having an omega brother.”
“Is that something to brag about?” Hyouma asked in return, frowning. “Seems kinda lame to me.”
“I mean, it’s like getting an SSR in gacha, isn’t it?” she replied, twisting open the bottle cap of her drink. “It’s cool and special. Male omegas are always famous.”
“Sweetie, don’t compare your brother to your gacha games,” his mother said with a warm laugh. “I’m sure Hyouma would rather be famous for being the best striker in the world. Wouldn’t you, Hyouma?”
His mother had supported his dream, right from the very start. There had been no questions, asking if he was sure. No comments about how difficult it would be. She had looked at the shine in Hyouma’s eyes and decided that yes, her son would become the best striker in the world.
“Mmhm.”
When he was younger, Hyouma didn’t really understand the importance of presentation. But with age came self-awareness, and with self-awareness came consciousness.
It wasn’t as though he particularly cared about making himself appealing to others. He’d been popular since he was a child, after all, and he still remembered how his sister had laughed herself silly after he told her about the slew of confessions he had recieved whilst he was still in elementary school.
No, he had no wish to be desirable, but that was only because he wasn’t insecure enough to let his pride depend on the opinions of others. But with consciousness came self-reflection, and with self-reflection came the need to conduct himself in a manner he was satisfied with.
There was something inherently pleasurable about knowing you looked good. Not just in his daily life, but in football, too. There was satisfaction in scoring a goal beautifully and cleanly, over scoring one from a wrangled mess of coincidences. It was a show of maturity, a demonstration of self-assurance and skill, and that applied both in his sport and everywhere else.
He’d always admired his mother and sister for their confidence and beauty, and the desire to be like them still did remain with him as he hit his teenaged years. But he had mostly grown out of it by the time he hit fourteen, and more than that, he admired their composure, their sensibilities. The way they had no need to puff their chests up in pride, because simply standing with a gentle, confident arch of the back was enough.
A single glance was all one needed to take to understand the qualities they embodied, the style of life they chose to live. That manner of skillful presentation was what Hyouma admired, what he sought for in his own life.
It was with these thoughts in mind that he started paying a bit more attention to himself, and to the things around him.
For example, he found himself caring for the specifics of his appearance. He kept his hair short, because it would interfere with soccer. That was non-negotiable, even though his sister passionately insisted that he would look great with long hair. But he didn’t mind indulging her when it came to hair care, though, and it quickly became routine for him to give his hair a good soak and brush every time he got home from practice. He didn’t bother doing anything fancy to it, but even a simple combing could keep it tidy and beautiful.
Sometimes he would even join his sister whilst she tried her new skin care and cosmetic products, and this, too, became a steady pattern in his everyday life. She would come home from school, touting a new product that she’d either bought or been gifted, insisting that he give it a try, just for fun.
His sister liked to coddle him a lot. She was quite a bit older than him, seven years, in fact, and treated him like a pet or a baby even after he reached thirteen. He’d pushed back a bit at the start, but he learned to give up quickly. If there was anything his sister had going for her, it was her tenacity, her stubbornness, her unwillingness to give up in the face of setbacks.
Hyouma just wished that the said setbacks didn’t include the plea for her NOT to squeal loudly every time he did anything on the field during a game. He didn't care what others thought, not really, but even he felt embarrassment. His sister’s behaviour always seemed out of his control, a jolt of unpredictable lightning that broke through his routine predictions, and Hyouma found that he wasn’t particularly great at handling this sort of unpredictability.
Hair care was constant. Skin care was constant. His grades, too, were constant. His improvement in soccer, of course, was constant. They ran parallel to each other, peacefully uninterrupted, and Hyouma liked it that way.
His sister was different, or at least he thought she was. She was adventurous, having not decided what she wanted to do with her life, and took everything, from successes to failures to disruptions to changes, all in her stride. Hyouma couldn’t say he understood her, but he could respect her adaptability.
That’s how he lived his life, steady and routine, knowing that continue along this path would eventually lead him to become the world’s best striker.
The results didn’t lie. He trained constantly and diligently, and what should show for it other than constant wins? He regularly put effort into honing his skills, and he was always the MVP, scoring goal after goal, hat trick after hat trick. The next step was middle school, then middle school nationals, then high school, then high school nationals. And eventually, it would be on an international stage, and finally, he would become the world’s best striker.
This was his future. He was talented, and he knew it. How could it not be?
The first complication happened when he was fourteen, coming up to fifteen. It happened near the start of his third year in middle school, on a Wednesday afternoon when he decided to visit the school library on a whim.
There had been no real thought behind it, not really. It just so happened that it was pouring that day, and Hyouma decided that he wouldn’t mind killing some time by checking to see if their school library was in possession of the Attack on Titan manga. If nothing else, he could probably bring himself to do some studying while he was there. He was far from an academic genius, and constant soccer practice meant that he didn’t have much time to revise.
That was where Hyouma met him for the first time.
He’d been browsing the shelves near the window randomly. His fingers had been along the spines of the books for the past ten minutes, but his mind was rather empty. He felt listless and unanchored, gazing at the neat letterings on the books but not necessarily reading them. The muted drumming of the rain outside brought soothing white noise to his ears, and listening to them seemed to assist in emptying his mind.
Sometimes he would take a book out and flip through it idly, but he’d shelve it back only a few seconds later. If something caught his eye, he’d pause, take it back out, before pushing it back where it belonged once he lost interested. This pattern repeated and went on for a good while, before finally being interrupted by a gentle, hesitant voice.
“Chigiri-kun, do you need help looking for something in specific? You’ve been looking through this shelf for the past thirty minutes.”
Hyouma startled, hearing his name but not recognizing who had said it. He fumbled, nearly dropping the book that he held in his hands, though he managed to catch it in time and save himself some embarrassment. He turned to face the owner of voice and nearly startled again when he was met with a young man who was a full head taller than him.
Whilst he might be slender and have soft features, Hyouma was still an athlete. At fourteen, he stood taller than a fair bit of his peers, and as a young man, he knew he still had some growing to do in the future. But in front of him loomed someone who was not only tall, but likely towered most people in the school.
More importantly, Hyouma had never seen this boy in his life. How on earth did he know his name?
The boy, he learned, was named Minamoto Yuu, and he was a third-year in the volleyball club. That explained his height, at least, and upon questioning as to how on earth he knew Hyouma’s name, Minamoto simply responded, “Of course I know the name of the football team’s princess.”
Princess? He had heard some people calling him that recently, but for the most part, Hyouma didn’t bother listening in to the gossip that flitted throughout the student population. He knew from the amount of Valentine's Day chocolate he got that he must be getting some attention, but he hadn’t been aware that it was so great that some random schoolmate would be able to recognize him off the street, metaphorically speaking.
“Huh,” Hyouma said, with only mild curiosity. It wasn’t that big of a deal, as long as it didn’t result in someone swooping in and attempting to break his leg or something. “Whatever.”
“You’re quite moody, aren’t you?” Minamoto observed. “No wonder I heard some girls in my class complaining about it.”
“I’m not moody,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t care about being flattered by people I don’t know.”
“Well, you know me now,” Minamoto said, then laughed after Hyouma gave him a deadpan look. “Sorry. So, what can I do for you, Princess? I help out at the library often, so I know where everything is. Were you looking for books on sports medicine?”
Sports medicine? Hyouma was confused, but after a moment, the taller boy gestured over to the book in his hands. He flipped the book over to take a look at the cover, and sure enough, it was a book about the history and developments of sports medicine and therapy. Minamoto had probably seen it and assumed that he’d been purposely looking for books like these.
“No,” Hyouma said. “I was just looking at whatever for no reason. I don’t need help.”
Minamoto laughed once more. “You don’t bother putting up airs, do you? Even though I’ve heard you’re prideful.”
“What does pride have to do with this?” he asked in reply, even more bewildered. “That’s dumb.”
Minamoto quirked his eyebrow. “I’ve seen quite a number of people try faking knowing what they’re doing in libraries. I had you pegged as that type of guy.”
“Well, I’m not,” Hyouma said. “That's not pride, that’s stubbornness. It’s stupid to expect others not to notice.”
“Don’t look at me like that, I agree with you,” Minamoto said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Anyways, since you don’t need me here, I’ll take my leave, Princess. Just shout if you need me.”
“Fine,” he said, though not intending to ever call on him. “Whatever.”
Minamoto just smiled, bowed, and took his leave.
Hyouma’s first impression of Minamoto Yuu was that he was kind of annoying, but calm and understanding. He didn't dislike him, and in hindsight, Hyouma could respect that he’d put up with his attitude and had responded in earnest.
There weren’t many people who would bother being in Hyouma’s company, and even less who wanted to be around him for reasons other than his looks or achievements. He didn't think Minamoto actually enjoyed his company, not really, but from then on, every time he’d go to the library, he was greeted by a friendly “Hello, Princess,” and some attempts at small talk.
Honestly, he thought the nickname was more than a little cringeworthy, but Minamoto had seemed taken with the nickname, and Hyouma didn’t mind it enough to ask the other boy to stop. While ‘friends’ might be a bit of a stretch, they were at least on friendly terms, and Hyouma didn’t have many people to interact with outside his teammates.
After a while, he realized that he was explicitly going to the library to see Minamoto rather than any implicit desire to read, and realized that he should probably put some effort into actually getting to know him.
Minamoto was delighted, as he’d expected, that ‘the stand-offish Princess' had actually condescended to ask him a question, and Hyouma felt a strange squeeze in his chest as he looked upon the face of genuine excitement in front of him.
Minamoto, he learned, was an alpha, which at least explained his tall and broad stature. He liked reading and had a friend in the library club, which is why he was here every day when he didn't have volleyball practice. His favorite genre was romance, but he liked fantasy action stories as well. He was an only child.
All this was just the most basic of information, but Hyouma held it close to his chest all the same. They were precious, sparkling gems of information, and committed it all to memory for no reason other than the fact that he wanted to. By the time Minamoto found it fit to start recommending books to him, a few months after they had first met, he in turn realized that he was more than willing to read things just so he had something to say the next time they met.
After a while, he realized he’d started to like the dumb, cringey little nickname as well. It felt special.
He felt special.
It didn’t take Hyouma too long to understand what it was he was feeling.
It had been during lunch break in his school. There were a number of both boys and girls playing with balls around the school premises, which wouldn’t be anything noteworthy if not for the fact he spotted Minamoto in their midst as he walked past.
They were playing some hybrid of dodgeball and volleyball, and Minamoto himself was in possession of the ball. He’d stripped down for the activity, only wearing his white shirt that had gone dark with sweat, and Hyouma couldn’t take his eyes off the way he could see muscles moving under his clothes.
He’d been transfixed, watching that joyous expression spread on his face, staring at the way sweat rolled down his neck. So charmed, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed that one of the other boys had hit the ball a bit too high and a bit too hard and it now hurtled at top speed in his direction.
He’d been too distracted.
The sight of the spinning ball startled him out of his strange reverie, so much so that he froze up on instinct rather than moving out of the way. He could do nothing but stare at it helplessly, desperately trying to fire his brain back up, watching it approach him at an alarming speed.
But then, a sudden shout.
“Chigiri-kun!”
And he felt a sudden force crash into him and topple him to the ground.
He’d closed his eyes on impact, but his muscles had finally responded and he was at least able to brace himself. But it didn’t matter, because even as he felt himself losing his balance, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his body and pulled him in tightly, locking him into a secure embrace. When he hit the ground, he first felt the pressure of the arms tightening further, and only after that did he feel the force of the fall.
Once he was sure it was over, he slowly, blearily blinked his eyes up at the figure above him.
Dark hair, clinging to his skin. Small dewy droplets kissing his forehead and neck, sparkling like crystals in the sunlight. A gentle furrow in his brow, creasing his skin softly, twisting the hairs up. His lips, softly parted to let the pinkness of his tongue peek out mischievously. Those bright eyes, staring at him in concern, alert and aware.
For some strange reason, Hyouma felt like his body was on fire.
“Chigiri-kun?” Minamoto asked, panting lightly. From this angle, his shirt hung low, allow Hyouma a glimpse of the strong curve of his clavicle. “Are you okay, Princess? It didn’t hit you, did it?”
“I-I,” Hyouma stammered, eyes trying to find a proper place to settle in but failing. Princess. Princess. “I, uh… I mean, w-why did you tackle me, idiot? G-get off me!”
He needed to get Minamoto and his attention off of him, fast. He scrambled to push the taller boy off of him, but all that did was allow him to get a good feel of his firm muscles. Hyouma went even redder and pushed harder, feeling as though his heart was tumbling down a steep, unending slope. His mind was a mess, his chest even worse, and all he wanted to do was to get out, out of this situation.
Minamoto blinked down at him, before finally releasing him with a relieved laugh. Hyouma instinctively tried to chase that touch, before catching himself and pulling away in time.
“I’m glad you’re not hurt, Princess,” Minamoto said, pushing himself off the ground. “Sorry, I saw the ball flying at you and panicked. I figured pushing you down would be easier than trying to catch the ball.”
Princess, Princess, Princess…!
“S-stop calling me that!” he blustered out, hurriedly backing up and leaping to his feet the moment he was able to. “Seriously. You couldn’t think of a better solution? You could’ve gotten hurt. What else’s your big dumb body for?”
“Worrying about me and yelling at me in one breath, huh?” Minamoto said with a calm, amused smile. Hyouma thought it was cute, before immediately being overcome with the desire to slap himself. “I’ll take it. Sorry again, Chigiri-kun.”
“W-whatever,” Hyouma stuttered in reply. Then, after realizing that he should probably be a bit kinder to the person who had just saved him from a bump on his head. “I mean… thanks.”
Minamoto’s smile turned into a grin. “You coulda just said that at the start.”
After that, they were approached by the students Minamoto had been playing with, concerned about what had just happened. Hyouma brushed them off easily enough and excused himself. At least his well-known surly attitude made it easy for him to just leave the situation without needing to make up an excuse.
After he walked far enough that he was sure the group of students could no longer see him, he began to run. He had to run, or else it would build up. Run it off, or else it would take over his everything, or else it would cause his heart to beat out of his chest.
It was still in the middle of the school day. He couldn't just go home, so he ran to the nearest enclosed space, one of the school toilets. He shut himself in and shuddered against the ice cold door, trying to suppress the sudden burning of his body.
That night, he awoke in a panic, panting and gasping, shaking underneath the sheets, having dreamt of strong arms trapping him and soft lips pressing against him.
He was good at running, but even he couldn't do anything about a dead end.
He couldn’t look Minamoto in the eye the next time he saw him. But it was fine, because Minamoto never pushed when he seemed truly uncomfortable. That was part of what Hyouma has come to like about him.
He hated it. He loved it. He hated that he loved it.
Minamoto was an alpha. Hyouma didn't know much about alphas, but what he did know was that they were supposedly destined to be with an omega.
If he really wanted to, he could try to put himself out there. He thought he was relatively charming and he took pride in the way he presented himself. Minamoto already seemed to like him well enough, so if he pushed hard enough he was sure he could make a good showing.
But he was a beta. Minamoto would never reciprocate, and even if he did, he would break things off eventually. His feelings were pointless, and Hyouma’s pride wouldn’t allow him to try something he knew he would fail at.
They were silly and shallow anyways. There was no way this was love, not when he barely knew a thing about Minamoto.
He treasured them, all the same.
The second complication took place in the middle of his third year of middle school, when they were forced into re-taking the secondary gender test. Slightly after the realization of his feelings.
Hyouma had attended it half-heartedly, already knowing the results. The second gender testing was a formality for most. Cases where people ‘changed’ subgenders as they entered puberty weren’t unheard of in their current day and age, but most of the time, people stayed what they were identified as during their first testing.
The second testing was implemented long ago to make sure that late-blooming alphas and omegas could be safely and accurately identified, since some individuals either had less dominant genetic material, or simply developed it later in life. However, cases of late development were quite rare, and the medical equipment of the current age was much better at detecting the identifying trademarks of the alpha and omega genetic material- so not much escaped the first testing.
He did have a speck of hope, though. A single dash of pointless hope, that perhaps he could somehow morph into an omega, so that his feelings wouldn’t be completely hopeless. If he was omega, at least, he would have a chance. At least, those were the thoughts of if the young, immature Chigiri Hyouma.
Perhaps that was why he was strangely nervous when he received the report in a month. His mother had handed it to him, thinking it was better if he opened it himself rather than her checking its contents preemptively.
It was going to say ‘beta’. He knew that. He knew that.
His mother knew it too. The only reason why she let him open it was to be polite. He knew that. He knew that.
He held his breath and dug his thumb under the glue seal of the envelope.
…and dropped the sheet of paper.
This was a dream. It had to be a dream.
Because why else would there be the words ‘Ω (OMEGA)’ written there, in big black letters?
His mother gave him a concerned look, then bent over to pick up the sheet of paper to read it for herself. After a moment, her eyes widened and her head whipped back to look at her son.
There was a moment of silence as the two of them simply stared at each other.
His mother broke the silence first. “Well, I guess I can’t say your cuteness is just due to your genes now.”
Hyouma frowned. “They were never because of my genes. I worked hard.”
His mother stared at him a moment longer before breaking out into laughter. “I guess not. Really, though. We were prepared for you to be an omega since you were eleven. I didn't expect it to take four more years, but I guess you were always special.”
He couldn’t help but make a face after hearing her response. “What does that mean?”
She smiled. “Well, you’re going to be the world's best striker, aren't you? That's plenty special. Though, the fact that your subgender was only revealed during the second testing might be a bit troublesome, since that means you’ll have a lot to catch up on.”
Catch up on? She was making it sound like an academic subject. It wouldn’t be too hard, surely.
Hyouma didn’t know much about the whole alpha-omega thing since schools rarely taught betas anything other than the basics, but it wasn’t as though he was going to gain superpowers or have a personality change. There wasn't much to worry about.
He told her as much and her smile softened. He could tell she was still worried, but she didn't say anything after that so it likely wasn’t anything he needed to concern himself with. Hopefully.
It was later, as he lay in bed reading a book he had borrowed on Minamoto’s recommendation, that he thought about how he didn’t feel particularly different, even with the knowledge that he was an omega.
He'd tried to search it up online, after he was done with dinner. Even if google didn’t readily have answers, surely there were online forums that did, right?
The answer was yes, but no. There was quite a lot of information out there, but most of it was general, vague and hard to confirm. Some even seemed blatantly wrong, like the article that claimed that omegas ‘needed’ alphas to survive. That just seemed like complete bogus to Hyouma, and further searching revealed to him that it was indeed one of the many outdated stigmas that somehow still existed to this day.
He did learn some things of interest though.
Hyouma had already known that omegas would experience ‘heats’. That was something they had taught him during health class in school, but all he’d known it as was just a ‘period’ of an omega’s life where they felt restless due to feeling the need to reproduce. His classmates, all beta, had snickered over it as teenagers did, and Hyouma had promptly turned his brain off.
The forums online had added on something he thought was important. That omegas could end up feeling ill, or even fall extremely sick due to their heats, since the burning desire for ‘reproduction’ wouldn’t go away so quickly without actually partaking in the act.
This was… going to happen to Hyouma, right? This seemed inconvenient. If he got his heats at a bad time, that meant he wouldn't be able to play in matches. He practically lived for soccer, so that thought was unbearable to him. Especially since heats would mean that every month or so, there would be a week where he would be unable to practice. This could ruin a player, and was likely the reason why there weren't many omega athletes.
He didn’t mind having his daily life interrupted and changed, but football was different. Thankfully, there existed ‘suppressants' that could help push down the effects on later days, though it could only be used after the first half year of heats was over. Annoying, but not game-ending.
Still, though. The idea that he would be getting ‘heats’ was a little strange. He’d seen some TV shows that would use an omega's heats as an excuse to give the viewers some ‘spicy’ scenes to enjoy- because the restrictions on what could be broadcasted to teens was really relaxing recently- but he’d assumed it was just a cheesy movie cliche.
The materials he’d looked at for research seemed to confirm it, though. An omega’s heat was really about… about…
Hyouma couldn’t help but squirm a little.
This was all a little fast. Especially since he’d only just. Only just realized what attraction felt like.
(That was attraction, right? What could it be, if not attraction?)
He’d cross the ‘heat’ bridge when he got to it, he decided. He didn’t want to think about what it was like. Would it be worse than what he was currently experiencing? He didn’t want to know the answer.
Though it did remind him… if he was an omega, did that mean he was now suitable to be with an alpha?
Did that mean he… had a chance?
It was probably wrong, to think of this change as something for an alpha’s sake. But the timing was so good. Hyouma wouldn’t help but wonder if his body somehow understood his attraction and infatuation with an alpha, and responded by morphing into an omega somehow.
A stupid thought, but a thought all the same.
They took him out of his classroom for health class, informing him that, since he was now an omega, he would be receiving special education about omegas and alphas. Since he would be shoved into a world with unique social cues and norms, he would need to work hard and pay special attention to these classes.
Hyouma didn’t really care. Formalities and social cues meant nothing to him. As long as it didn’t affect football.
As it turned out, it did, in fact, affect football, not just in the way he thought it would.
He’d learned about pheromones in health class, both before and after he'd ‘become’ an omega. He’d just thought it’d be something like fancy perfume, but it was more akin to suddenly developing a sixth sense, but the sixth sense was just an extremely sensitive sense of smell.
It began with something small, like smelling wisps of something, that he pretty sure wasn’t something he normally smelled in a classroom. Then it was vaguely recognizing what the scents were, like recognizing one of them was mint and another was a bit more fruity. Then it came to somehow understanding what these scents were supposed to represent, and his brain, for some reason, was able to pin down which scents were coming from whom.
It was distracting during practice. Not annoyingly so, but it was very noticeable and he couldn't help but pay attention to it whenever he was playing. It wouldn’t be too hard to adjust, especially with time, but it was irritating to have his attention constantly being pulled back and forth between the scents of his teammates.
Then there was the sudden implicit ability to recognize scents as alpha or omega, as well as being able to recognize the feelings they were supposed to convey.
“Chigiri-kun,” Minamoto said to him one day. “You’re an omega?”
Hyouma looked up from his book and was hit with a waft of something akin to the sea air.
The sudden scents had been relatively easy to get used to, but this was the first time he’d smelled Minamoto’s. Even though he’d had the thought to seduce him due to his newfound omega status, he’d been too nervous, too scared, and had ended up avoiding the library for a couple of weeks. Minamoto hadn’t said anything about it, nor had he tried to search Hyouma out, which was something Hyouma both appreciated and felt slightly dissatisfied with.
“Uh,” Hyouma said nervously, hoping it came out sounding deadpan. “Yeah. You can tell?”
A silly question. He could tell Minamoto was an alpha by scent, now. It wasn’t strange for Minamoto to be able to smell whatever his scent was.
“‘Course,” Minamoto said with a grin. “So the football club's Princess is an omega, huh. That’s fitting.”
Fitting? Hyouma had no idea what he meant by that, but he hoped it was good. It sounded good, from the way he said it.
“Oh?” Minamoto said without warning. “I knew you didn’t mind the nickname. You do like it, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Hyouma asked, annoyed. “Where did that come from?”
Minamoto laughed. “Your scent. Guess you don’t know how to control it yet, huh?”
Hyouma froze. His scent? Right. He could vaguely sense emotions with scents. Right now, Minamoto’s was like the scent equivalent of an amused lilt, and while Hyouma wasn’t too good at deciphering scents yet, it was clear to see what he was feeling.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it with time,” Minamoto assured him. “After a while you should be able to use suppressants properly. I hear ‘converts’ have to wait a while since the body is a bit unstable.”
Converts. Was that what they called people who were ‘late-bloomers’?
“Okay,” Hyouma said. Then he proceeded to make a mistake, asking, “How do I smell? Is there a way for me to see?”
“Your scent is pretty weak right now,” Minamoto said with a contemplative hum. “Probably ‘cuz you’re a convert. You should be able to smell it with time, as it gets stronger. But don’t worry, it’s a really pretty scent. Like you.”
Hyouma flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears, his heart thrumming in his chest, and Minamoto laughed once more.
“Okay, I’ll go do my own thing now,” he said, waving a hand. “Have fun with that book, Princess.”
Then he left, faster than Hyouma could come up with a response.
That was odd. Minamoto usually took his time before leaving. But maybe he just had something else to do.
Hyouma pressed a hand to his beating heart and let out a soft breath.
On the way back home, he came across a black cat. It had ink fur and eyes of pure gold.
It stared at Hyouma, as if appraising him. Hyouma stared back.
After a moment, it broke the stare and turned away. It's footsteps were soundless, and it was so dark that he lost sight of it the moment it blended into the shadows. Hyouma squinted at the general area he’d seen it disappear in, but he couldn’t quite tell if it was still there, or if it had walked away.
Hyouma gazed at the spot for a few seconds, before turning around and walking away. There was no point trying to go after it. It was just a cat.
Football, at least, was still going well.
He’d informed his coach of his subgender when he’d received the news just so there wouldn't be any accusations of deception going around. His coach had just told him that he didn't care as long as Hyouma brought in results, and results he did bring in.
Ever since he’d developed the ability to produce pheromones of his own, most teams would be able to peg him as omega. After all, due to their naturally strong disposition, many sports teams were dominated by alphas. Strangely enough, this had lead to opposing teams underestimating him, even though he’d beaten them before.
Not that it mattered to him, since that really only just proved their differences in their strength. Someone who looked down on an opponent just because they weren't alpha was never going to have what it took to be the best in the world.
There were a few particular schools that came to challenge their team. They were usually neighboring schools, or at the very least schools that held close ties to them or their coach.
But once in a while, a new team would be invited over to play for some reason or another, and those were usually the exciting ones. The teams Hyouma normally played with were strong, sure, but they were mostly predictable and they hardly posed a challenge to him anymore. New teams meant new players and new strategies, and sometimes even a gem of a challenge.
The biggest gem he’d found during his match with a certain other middle school. He vaguely remembered that they came from somewhere around the Tohoku region, but couldn't quite recall the name of it.
It didn't matter, though, because it wasn’t the school that was special. It was their striker.
He certainly made a powerful first, second and third impression. He seemed to be the captain of the team and it showed. When the other team first arrived, they were basically a rowdy mess of kids until he came to give them all a firm chop on the heads and round them out. He stood tall and straight, taking charge of greetings and other formalities with what seemed both like charismatic ease and also a serious sense of responsibility.
Hyouma believed in presentation, and he could freely admit that this young man’s presentation was perfect. Just one look and he could tell that the other boy was the kind you could rely on and trust. That was impressive, especially for a middle schooler.
Hyouma put aside the fact that he, too, was just a middle schooler.)
That was his first impression.
His second impression was that he was good. Though the other team’s Captain was bulky, he was quick on his feet and meticulous in his plays. He was clearly focused on power-type plays and his ability to shoot was truly impressive, but he wasn’t over-reliant on it. His shots had strong accuracy and he was good at breaking through formations and throwing Hyouma’s team in for a loop.
Though, Hyouma was still better.
If Mr. Captain punched holes into their formation, Hyouma blitzed theirs apart in a flash, slicing through the other team’s players with ease and receiving far passes with his deceptively fast pace. He outran them like he outran every other player who thought they could beat him. The exhilaration coursed through his veins like lightning, and seeing the looks of impressed surprise on the other team was enough to make his head feel like it was soaring.
It was one thing to beat others, but it was another to beat someone who was good.
This was what he lived for. The joy of leaving others in the dust, of being not just good but better than good. The joy of being the best player in the field, and hopefully, eventually, the best striker in the world.
They won, of course. Mr. Captain was good and so was his team, but Hyouma was better.
They ended their first match with 3-2, with a hat trick from Hyouma. Of course.
They had a few more matches after that, and Hyouma's team did lose one But they came up on top in the end, so it didn't matter. They were still better.
Mr. Captain approached him after the practice ended, and it was here that he got his third impression.
“Hey, good game,” he said, and held his hand out to shake. “You’re good. What’s your name?”
Hyouma had been bent down to retie his shoelaces and stared up at the outstretched hand. This wasn’t the first time someone had tried making niceties with him after a game, but it was the first time he was approached by someone good enough that he actually considered responding. Though they’d lost (overall), Mr. Captain had made sure they didn’t go down without a fight, and so Hyouma respected that.
Plus he seemed humble, and there wasn’t a trace of malice behind his words. There were little things Hyouma disliked more than envy and jealousy, and he sensed none of that from Mr. Captain.
So he supposed he could humor the other boy just this once.
“Chigiri Hyouma,” he finally said, then continued to tie his shoelaces. He wasn’t about to stop halfway for the new arrival. Mr. Captain didn't seem to mind though, waiting there patiently with his hand stretched out. It was a little annoying, actually, but Hyouma was definitely more mature than to snub him by purposely taking longer than usual to lace his shoes.
Mr. Captain wouldn’t put his hand down, even after he was done fiddling with his laces, and Hyouma gave up and shook his hand.
His grip was tight. Hyouma suddenly had the realization that he hadn’t really touched anyone other than his family recently, which was kind of pathetic. Not that it mattered.
“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Captain said, and relaxed his grip. “Kunigami Rensuke.”
I didn't ask, Hyouma wanted to say, but that was a bit much, even for him. Mr. Captain- Kunigami was alright.
Instead he said, “Nice you meet you. You’re good too.”
When he pulled his hand away, he noticed the faint scent of musk and something else. Alpha?
Hyouma had barely smelled a thing during their match, so he’d assumed that Mr. Captain- Kunigami was beta. But it looked like he was just wearing strong suppressants that were only now wearing off after an extended period of exercise. In hindsight, it did make sense that he was an alpha, what with that frame and build.
Kunigami seemed to notice some sort of shift in Hyouma because he said, “Sorry about that. I usually take suppressants strong enough to last the whole practice, but I think I pushed myself even harder than usual today.”
“It’s fine, it doesn't bother me,” Hyouma replied. He was surprised Kunigami had even noticed- it was very very faint, after all. Or perhaps it was just because Hyouma’s scent gland hadn’t developed properly yet? He did hear that it would take a year or so for his body to adjust. More importantly, “You should be giving your 110% every practice, anyways. Get used to it.”
Kunigami cracked a smile. “Who's to say I don’t?”
Hyouma raised an eyebrow.
“I do 150% everyday,” Kunigami said. “But you made me pull out 200%.”
“Huh,” Hyouma said. Those sure were some exaggerated numbers, but as long as he was happy. “Well, you’re welcome.”
Kunigami grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a call coming from the rest of his teammates.
“Hey, Hero!” they shouted. “Get over here! We got debrief!”
Hero?
“Coming!” Kunigami shouted, and his voice projection was certainly impressive. He turned back to Hyouma and thankfully lowered his voice back to something that wouldn't blow his eardrums out. “Sorry. Could I talk to you a bit more after this? Just wait for me for a while.”
“Sure.” Hyouma had absolutely no idea what he could want with him, but it wasn’t like he had anything urgent after this. If anything, he was impressed by how straightforward the other boy was. “Go get your lecture from your coach or whatever.”
Kunigami laughed and excused himself, and Hyouma himself decided he should probably go back to his team for his own debriefing before someone yelled at him.
The debriefing itself didn't take that long, but they did still have to pack up all the equipment. Though most of the work could be pawned off to the younger or newer members, their coach always made sure everyone did something, and so despite their debriefing taking less time than the other team's, Hyouma ended up getting off later. He had even seen the other leaving from the corner of his eye, presumably to head over to the bus from whence they came, and had expected that Kunigami had done the same.
He had expected wrong. When he walked back out onto the field, planning to leave the school via the side gate, he was greeted face-to-face with the tall ginger. He was beginning to realize that there was a pattern here, though he wasn't quite sure of what.
"You stayed," he said, flat and unimpressed. "Didn't the rest of your team go back?"
"They did," Kunigami confirmed. Then, after a moment, "What's that look supposed to mean?"
"I thought alphas were supposed to be able to tell," Hyouma grumbled under his breath. Wasn't that what the pheromone stuff was for? Speaking of which, Kunigami's scent was more noticeable now. His suppressants must have almost completely worn off. Or maybe it was just easier to tell now that they were mostly alone and not stinking of sweat… or at least Hyouma wasn't, having changed before he left.
(In his defense, he had thought Kunigami had gone back with his teammates.)
"I'm an alpha, not a mind reader," Kunigami said. "Besides, I was the one to ask you to come here, so I can't just bail without warning. I'm the one that's supposed to make good on my word. And it’s not like my house is that far from here."
"Huh," Hyouma said. Yeah, he did seem like the type. "I guess that's why your teammates call you 'hero'."
"Oh, you heard that?" Kunigami asked, looking surprised but not particularly embarrassed. "I guess they were yelling pretty loudly."
Hyouma appraised him for a second. “Well, it might be cringe, but at least yours suits you.”
Kunigami’s lips quirked. “I have more than one response to that.”
“If you’re expecting me to tell you what mine is, don’t,” Hyouma said cuttingly. “Just tell me what you wanted to talk to me about.”
“I wasn't going to ask that, but sure,” Kunigami said, then gestured over to the gates in the distance. “We can walk while we talk, can’t we?”
That would actually be his preference. He informed Kunigami of this as sharply as possible, but Kunigami didn’t really seem to buy into his attitude, simply nodding and turning away. It probably had something to do with the pheromones or whatever. He was getting more used to it, but could still hardly smell his own, let alone control it.
As it turned out, Kunigami simply wanted to know more about Hyouma’s playstyle and how he trained. Apparently, their match had rendered him extremely impressed by Hyouma’s technique and he wanted to ask for information from the source.
“That’s it?” Hyouma asked, incredulous. He couldn’t comprehend staying back just to ask a question like that to a peer. Kunigami had been good, but he hadn’t been stay back and miss a bus good.
“That's it,” Kunigami affirmed. “Don’t be like that. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that this kind of thing’s important.”
Well, it was his time that was being wasted and not Hyouma’s, so he didn’t really have anything to complain about… but still. He’d gotten the sense that Kunigami was stubborn to a fault, but this was on another level.
…though that wasn’t to say that this didn’t make Hyouma feel good. It did. It felt incredible, actually, to be valued so much. Flattery wasn’t worth his time and envy was the mark of the weak, but admiration from someone who understood? It felt like acknowledgement, and it felt like proof that he was getting closer to his goal as the best striker on the earth.
Of course Kunigami would want to talk to him, ask him about his plays after the fact. It meant he was just that good. His faith in his skills and talents would not be swayed by anyone. Even if no one has talked to him, Hyouma would still be utterly confident in himself and his abilities.
But still, still, it felt good.
It was only due to Hyouma's naturally surly disposition (combined with the stupidness of the situation, because no matter how good it made him felt, the fact was that this situation was still impossibly moronic) that he managed to stop himself from breaking into a goofy grin.
Not that it mattered, because Kunigami surely noticed, being an alpha and all. At least he was gentleman enough not to say.
Hyouma coughed in an attempt to collect himself.
“Don’t expect me to hand you everything on a silver platter,” he said, as they slowly made their way to the train station. “If you can’t work for it, you aren't deserving of it.”
“Guessing you rule your own team with that iron fist?” Kunigami asked, shoving his hands in his pocket. “Not that I disagree. This way, it’s fair and square.”
Hyouma resisted the urge to pull a face. “No. I wouldn't want to rule them with anything. If they can’t buck up by themselves, I’m not wasting my time on them. I’m here to be the best, not buddies. The rest can just be my accessories, for all I care.”
Kunigami seemed like the type who would help even the weakest members of his team rise up. Hyouma didn’t have any interest in that, and wouldn't have any interest in it in the foreseeable future.
“You’re kind of a princess, aren’t you, Chigiri?” Kunigami asked, and wait, what?
Hyouma made the mistake of freezing in his tracks. Kunigami stopped soon after, a furrow in his brow and a bewildered frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Then, his eyes widened and before Hyouma could interject, he said, “Wait, is that actually what people call you?”
“Shut up,” Hyouma grumbled, fixing what he hoped was an intimidating glare at the ginger. It didn't seem to work, and Kunigami’s expression never so much as budged. “Your teammates call you hero. That’s not much better.”
“The difference is that I gave myself that nickname,” Kunigami replied, amused. “Cheer up. I think ‘princess’ is a nice nickname. It suits you. Your playstyle’s selfish and elegant.”
Okay, when he put it like that, it didn't seem so bad. Perhaps Hyouma was too used to Minamoto’s… though he still had no idea why Minamoto called him that. Or why others did. He didn’t mind being called that in private, but with others around, it was just… Just a little weird
And Kunigami said he gave himself his nickname?
“My goal is to be a football superhero,” Kunigami explained, earnest and shameless. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke the words, his scent lightened, and Hyouma instinctively knew that there was not a single lie being told. “It’s been my dream since childhood. I don’t just want to be the best. I want to be inspiring.”
He was radiant. So radiant, in fact, that Hyouma couldn’t bring himself to deny him by telling him he still thought the nickname was cringeworthy.
Hyouma himself didn't have any grand reason for wanting to be the best, nor did he strive to one day win the World Cup any deep-cut reason. It was all really just for that fleeting sense of superiority and thrill, that one moment where he proved to his opponent that he could fly closer to the sun than anyone else. It made him feel good, and there wasn't anything else he needed to think about.
“Good on you, I guess,” he said. “For what it's worth, my first impression of you was that you were a leader worth trusting. Or it could just be the alpha.”
“What do you think alphas are?” Kunigami said, but his eyes softened. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
The walk to the station wasn't long, but as it turned out, Kunigami would be taking the same train Hyouma did part way back home, so they would be together for a while longer. They mostly discussed topics relating to football, both tactics and players, and eventually landed in the topic of schools.
Hyouma had already decided on his school- Lacosute Tech. It was near his house and was a powerhouse school in his general area, though Hyouma could tell he was easily better than most on the team. It was renowned, though, and regularly made it to the Nationals. He’d also heard good things about the coach. With Hyouma, they would be able to blitz through tournaments without worry.
Kunigami hadn’t yet decided where he wanted to go, but he mentioned that he did have his eyes on Seidou High.
“They’re pretty far,” he said thoughtfully. “Seidou and Lacosute.”
“Does that matter?” Hyouma asked. “Don’t tell me you're actually hoping to have a match.”
“Of course,” Kunigami replied, looking dead serious. Hyouma wondered if he even knew the definition of a joke, then dismissed the thought. “I want to challenge you again, Chigiri Hyouma. Fair and square, team versus team. You don’t have complaints, do you?”
Fair and square. He liked that term, didn’t he?
It seemed as though Kunigami had begun seeing Hyouma as something like a rival. Not that it really mattered to Hyouma, since he was better either way, but he was taken aback by how sudden the decision was… Kunigami did seem like the type to charge forwards based on intuition.
But still. It had been one practice.
Well, he was Chigiri Hyouma.
He could do with a challenge, anyways.
“No,” he said. “I don’t. But if you don’t step up before the next time we meet, I’ll be leaving you in the dust once more.”
“Of course,” Kunigami said, jaw set. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
He forgot to get Kunigami’s number. After all that talk about rematching, they forgot to actually give each other a way to contact the other.
In his defense, Kunigami was the one who proposed it. He should’ve been the one to ask Hyouma for his number.
Actually, this reminded Hyouma that he didn’t have Minamoto’s number either. They usually just saw each other in school, and usually in the library.
What was the best way to ask? Hyouma wanted a way to contact Minamoto outside of school, even if there wasn’t really a point to it. But it would be strange to just walk up to him and ask him for his number, right? Especially since they had gone so long without knowing it. What if Minamoto got strange ideas about it?
Hyouma wasn’t usually self-conscious, but this was different.
If he showed interest in it, would it drive Minamoto away? Kunigami had been able to tell quite a lot from Hyouma’s scent. What else was his scent giving away that he didn't know? If he tried to ask for Minamoto’s phone number, he’d surely be so nervous that anything he was feeling was bound to spill out onto the ground.
Hm.
Maybe… maybe it was better not to. They would see each other in school anyways.
As he walked home from the station, he thought he saw something shifting in the shadows. But when he peered at the source of the movement, Hyouma found that he couldn't see anything at all.