Chapter Text
“So you’re abandoning us,” Kaigaku spat, cutting through the silence with that sharp, bite-sized malice he always used when he wanted to draw blood.
Genya adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “My brother is coming for me. Himejima-san spoke to him,” he answered quietly, his hands curling into tight fists.
Gyutaro let out a dry, raspy wheeze of a laugh, his yellow eyes shifting up to fix on him.
“Ah, right...” Gyutaro murmured, tilting his head with a crooked sneer. “The same brother who’s ignored you up until now, yeah? What a sweet little family reunion.”
“Shut up,” Genya growled.
“And for what?” Kaigaku stepped forward aggressively, crowding his space. “Because the old blind man called him? Now suddenly he’s got a brother just because some monk ordered him to?”
“Don’t talk about Himejima-san like that!” Genya roared, stepping right back into his face.
“I’ll talk however the hell I want!” Kaigaku bared his fangs, his aura flaring instantly.
“God, you’re so loud,” Ume interrupted with a dramatic sigh, not even looking up as she buffed her nails. The only Omega in their ragtag group. “If he wants to leave, just let him leave.”
“If you walk out that door, don’t you dare crawl back here,” Kaigaku snarled, turning his back on him.
Genya snapped his eyes open to the chill of his bedroom, letting out a long sigh that melted into the morning quiet.
Fate had a sick sense of humor. Years after leaving the temple, they had all somehow ended up at the exact same academy.
He glanced sideways toward his desk.
Time was running out. The sweat-soaked handkerchief sample was already losing Tanjiro’s live scent, degrading fast into nothing more than stale, rancid fabric. Soon, his only blueprint for the buyer would be completely useless.
He let out a low growl.
His glands throbbed mercilessly, the sides of his neck raw and swollen from pulling an all-nighter trying to force his own biology to mimic Tanjiro's scent. Saying he had slept late was a generous way of putting the fact that he’d only managed to pass out right as the first rays of dawn peeked through his window.
He pulled the futon over his head with another muffled groan, trying to steal even a few more minutes of sleep.
The bedroom door flew open with a loud, jarring bang.
“Get up! We have company.”
And just as quickly as he’d barged in, Sanemi vanished down the hall.
Fantastic. Exactly what he needed: hosting guests after nearly passing out from biological exhaustion.
“Genya! Good morning!”
The greeting came from an Omega whose warm, radiant smile could almost rival Tanjiro’s.
“Senjuro...” Genya mumbled, blinking bleary eyes as he tried to clear his head.
The younger Rengoku brother was sitting at the kitchen table in his crisp, spotless uniform, cradling a mug of tea between his hands.
The soft, sweet scent of citrus radiated off Senjuro, comforting and gentle under normal circumstances. But to Genya’s hyper-sensitive, exhausted, and utterly saturated nose, any external scent hit like a direct strike to the skull.
Even so, Senjuro was so polite and genuinely kind that it was physically impossible to be annoyed with him.
Senjuro had presented about three months ago, and he was an Omega in every sense of the word—everything society expected one to be. Polished, small-framed, soft-spoken, helpful, and, truth be told, undeniably cute. The absolute polar opposite of a certain hysterical Omega Genya knew. Though his immaculate manners were mostly thanks to the strict upbringing of the Rengoku household.
“I’m so sorry if I woke you, Genya-san,” Senjuro said timidly, offering a polite little bow from his chair. “My older brother had a very early meeting today and didn't want me walking to school alone.”
“No... it’s fine,” Genya muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he pulled out a chair beside him.
As Sanemi grumbled in the background, aggressively wrestling with the coffee maker, a cold sweat broke out across the back of Genya’s neck. The handkerchief was locked away in his backpack in his room, but the sheer urgency of the deadline was burning a hole in his chest.
“You look so pale,” Senjuro noted with genuine worry, sliding a steaming cup toward him. “Here, drink a little.”
Genya looked at Senjuro, then shifted his gaze to Sanemi, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye with his arms crossed, silently monitoring whether he was going to eat.
“Thanks, Senjuro,” Genya said quietly, taking a slow sip.
Sanemi drove with his usual hair-trigger aggression, fighting the morning traffic while Senjuro tried his best to maintain pleasant conversation from the passenger seat. The soft, bright scent of oranges drifting off Senjuro mixed with Sanemi’s heavy, rich vapor of ripe fig and toasted brown sugar. Ordinarily, it was a comforting mix, but for an Enigma whose nervous system was completely fried, being trapped in an enclosed vehicle with both of them felt like a slow, subtle form of torture.
The second they pulled into the school parking lot, Genya scrambled out of the car, inhaling a massive breath of warm, open air.
Before pulling away to park, Sanemi poked his head out the window, leveling a stern look at his younger brother.
“When classes end, Senjuro is coming straight back home with us. Stay close to him and walk to the car together. Understood?”
Perfect. That meant he wouldn't even be able to work on the commission when he got home. Just brilliant. But why was Senjuro coming home with them in the first place? Why had he even ridden with them this morning?
A sharp spike of pain behind his temples cut off his train of thought. If Nemi wanted him glued to Senjuro's side, fine; he didn't have the energy to argue anyway.
“Yeah, Aniki. Got it,” Genya nodded.
They said goodbye as Sanemi drove off, and the two of them set off toward the middle school wing where Senjuro’s classes were located.
Before heading to his own building, Genya needed to drop off a few borrowed books to Muichiro—books he’d almost forgotten at home in his haze of fatigue. Walking Senjuro to his classroom first allowed him to kill two birds with one stone.
“Genya-san... you really do look terrible,” Senjuro murmured, casting worried glances at him as they walked. “Please, let me carry your bag.”
“I’m fine... just tired,” Genya grunted, his voice raspy. But as the morning heat began to climb, sapping the last of his strength, he didn't even have the willpower to fight back when Senjuro gently slid the heavy strap off his shoulder.
An instant pang of guilt hit him right in the gut.
Watching Senjuro, who was noticeably smaller, visibly straining to adjust the bulky, heavy bag over his own shoulder made Genya’s stomach churn.
Nemi had drilled it into his head from a young age that he was supposed to protect those weaker than him. And look at him now—a towering giant stumbling along while an Omega dragged his heavy bag through the halls for him. If Sanemi ever saw this, or heard through a third party that Genya had let a delicate Omega haul his stuff around while he walked with empty hands like a useless sloth, he’d be dead meat. He’d get a beating and a lecture that would last a month.
“Senjuro, seriously, give it back... you’re gonna hurt your back,” he urged, reaching out with a hand full of pure guilt.
“Not at all! It barely weighs anything, Genya-san!” Senjuro insisted with a sweet, surprisingly stubborn smile, tightening his grip on the strap so Genya couldn't snatch it back. “Let me help you with at least this much. Besides, we’re almost there!”
Genya let out a defeated sigh, rubbing his overheated neck. His pride was currently scraping the floorboards, but he simply didn't have the stamina to debate someone as absurdly nice as Senjuro.
When they reached the Tokito twins' classroom, Senjuro greeted them with his usual warmth. Muichiro and Yuichiro looked up from their desks, but the moment their eyes landed on Genya’s wrecked, ghost-like appearance, their expressions shifted instantly.
“You look like trash,” Yuichiro blurted out, stepping forward without his usual bite.
“Pale. Like a corpse,” Muichiro added, tilting his head as he leaned in closer.
Prompted by a sudden, protective instinct, all three Omegas passively flared their scents at the exact same time. Senjuro released a sweet rush of orange blossom, while the twins let their soothing notes of lotus flower and green tea float into the air. They meant to comfort him, but to Genya’s collapsed, overloaded system, the gesture was overwhelming.
The three scents collided in the air, fusing into a thick, cloying, suffocating fog.
Genya’s throat constricted.
Having that dense cluster of sweet notes sticking to his skin didn't soothe him in the slightest; it scorched his nasal passages, triggering a wave of dizziness and a cold sweat. It was a sensory overload that made him feel as though his glands were about to burst.
“Thanks...” he managed to croak out, holding his breath to stop from inhaling any more of the heavy vapor.
“Go get something cold to drink before you pass out,” Yuichiro ordered, shoving his shoulder—unintentionally leaving another direct smear of his scent on Genya’s clothes in the process.
Genya offered a clumsy goodbye to Senjuro and the twins, stepping away completely saturated in the group's sugary-sweet blend. With his throat still burning, he shuffled like a zombie toward the nearest vending machine.
When he reached it, his fingers moved on instinct, selecting a can of iced green tea out of habit.
Pressing the freezing metal can against the side of his burning neck brought a moment of bliss... until a voice shattered it.
“Ah, Genya! Good morning!”
Genya turned halfway around.
Standing right there was the root cause of all his recent headaches, looking far too cheerful for his own good—a lively mood Genya bitterly envied at that moment.
In that split second, Genya’s brain debated two clear choices: punch him square in the face for ruining his sleep schedule and mental health over that stupid locker request (even if Tanjiro wasn't technically the one who put the hit out), or just greet him meekly because his brain lacked the power to do anything else.
Option one was undeniably tempting.
“Ah, morning,” he grunted, resignedly choosing option two.
Tanjiro looked utterly spotless. His smile was serene, but his deep burgundy eyes locked onto Genya, scanning him top to bottom as his nose twitched slightly.
“Your collar is all crumpled,” the redhead offered softly, stepping closer with that gentle, disarming voice of his.
“Huh?”
Sure enough, his shirt was a complete disaster: one side of his collar was popped up awkwardly, and the top two buttons were undone to let his skin catch whatever faint breeze it could. He hadn't realized how trashy he looked when he dragged himself out of the house, and now Senjuro's genuine concern earlier made complete sense.
“Want me to fix it for you?” Tanjiro asked, taking another step forward.
Genya stared at him, his head tilted as an intense internal conflict waged in his mind.
If he said no, Tanjiro would undoubtedly nag him until he caved, and arguing required energy Genya simply didn't possess. He was far too exhausted to put up a fight. Was this Tanjiro’s infamous big-brother instinct kicking in? Sometimes he forgot how absurdly, exasperatingly protective the Omega was toward literally anything that moved.
“Ah, yeah... thanks,” he muttered with a heavy sigh, surrendering to his own fatigue.
Genya leaned down slightly, invading the Omega’s personal space to make it easier for him. Tanjiro set to work with practiced patience, using both hands to smooth down the collar and trace his fingers along the lapel.
Standing that close, Tanjiro’s scent—a warm, radiant burst of sunlight, green tea, and fresh petrichor—poured out in full force.
For Genya’s inflamed glands, inhaling that concentrated trace was like a hot spark setting his olfactory nerves ablaze. Through the heavy fog of sleep deprivation weighing down his eyelids, a lazy, opportunistic thought crossed his mind: "Wait... I can actually use this."
The sheer density of the smell made his head spin, but Genya gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a deep, deliberate breath. He drew in the warm sunlight, the green tea, and the rich earthiness. The scent flooded his nasal passages like a rushing stream, pooling deep in the core of his being. It was an odd, contradictory mix—warmth, sweetness, and rain-soaked dirt—yet it harmony was undeniable.
Up close like this, he had to give credit to the freak at locker 22; his own previous attempt at replicating this scent was an embarrassing joke compared to the real thing.
But now, he had more than enough to get it right.
When the Omega finished and pulled his hands back, Genya could still feel the lingering phantom of damp earth on the tip of his nose. Tanjiro offered a quick farewell and vanished down the corridor.
"I’m a genius", Genya congratulated himself on his spur-of-the-moment strategy. He felt a tiny pang of guilt for exploiting Tanjiro’s kindness like that, but it was an opportunity to finally rid himself of that maddening commission, and he couldn't afford to pass it up.
The physical cost had been steep—leaving his glands throbbing with a sharp, dull ache—but he now held the exact blueprint he needed to finish the job.
The universe, Buddha, luck, whatever it was, was finally taking his side.
He popped open the can of green tea and chugged it down, far thirstier than he realized, before trudging off toward his classroom.
For now, his main goal was simply surviving the morning without passing out on his desk.
Why was everyone staring at him?
No, it wasn't just his imagination—they were definitely staring.
From the second he walked into his classroom, the unvarnished glares were impossible to ignore. Upperclassmen Alfas wrinkled their noses in disgust when he passed them in the hallways, while quiet, feverish whispers erupted behind his back in the classroom.
Did he really look that bad? Flustered, he tried adjusting his collar and flattening his messy hair.
The morning classes dragged on so slowly that for a moment he wondered if he was trapped in some medieval psychological torture designed to see how long he could go without slamming his forehead into the desk.
When the lunch bell finally rang, it jolted him fully awake. He was one of the first out the door, heading straight for the courtyard in search of a quiet, shaded spot. He hadn't been sitting long when voices called out to him, making him turn around.
“Genya!”
The Tokito twins were approaching at a brisk pace. Genya was surprised to see Senjuro right alongside them—the younger boy rarely hung out with the twins during lunch—until he remembered Sanemi’s warning from that morning: Senjuro was going home with them today.
The four of them settled beneath the shade of the tree Genya usually frequented, each opening their respective bento boxes.
However, the Omegas’ expressions soured slightly as they sat near him. They didn't say anything out loud, but they were visibly annoyed about something.
Then, a sudden chill ran down his spine.
Genya snapped his head around.
That feeling again. He was being watched. Stalked.
It was an icy prickle crawling up the back of his neck—that infuriating certainty that someone, somewhere in the crowded courtyard, had their eyes locked onto him. But the sea of students was too dense for him to pinpoint who was trailing him.
When he looked back toward his group, he found himself staring right into a pair of bright pink eyes.
Nezuko was standing right there, staring at him intently without blinking, a serene smile on her face. Genya blinked back at her slowly.
Kamado Nezuko was an absolute enigma in her own right. Unlike her brother, the Beta never let on what was actually going through her head. If Genya was a literal Enigma, Nezuko was one in spirit.
She blinked, letting out a soft little chuckle as if she had just heard an inside joke. “Good afternoon, Genya-san! Mind if I eat lunch with you guys?”
Without waiting for a response, Nezuko casually made herself at home on the grass beside them. Her presence made the atmosphere feel even stranger.
Around him sat a surreal setup: the Tokito twins and Senjuro formed a tight defensive perimeter of delicate Omegas around Genya, while Nezuko silently observed the whole scene with an unreadable expression.
Despite the pleasant chatter of the group sharing food, Genya couldn't focus on his meal.
That persistent, bugging sensation wouldn't leave him alone. He subtly scanned his surroundings again.
There were groups of Alfas laughing near the sports courts, couples chatting on the elevated walkways, and he could even spot Tanjiro hanging out with his own friends. Yet the heavy weight of that gaze remained planted firmly between his shoulder blades—dense, heavy, like a predator sizing up its prey from the shadows.
"Where the hell is it coming from?" he thought, squeezing the green tea can in his hand.
Noticing his sudden rigidity, Senjuro leaned in closer with a soft, worried look. “Genya-san... are you alright? You’ve barely touched your food.”
“Yeah... just looking for someone,” he lied, his voice scratchy as he forced his eyes back down to his bento. The prickling feeling had faded, at least for now.
Nezuko, who was quietly chewing on a piece of tamagoyaki, tilted her head as she picked up on his discomfort.
Genya clenched his jaw, swallowing a mouthful of rice with difficulty. Being surrounded by Omegas his instincts screamed at him to protect only pushed his territorial, defensive radar into overdrive. Someone was watching him, and he had no doubt that sooner or later, he’d drag them out into the light.
His headache, however, escalated into a blinding throbbing. Feeling as though his neck was going to explode from the sheer overload of scents clinging to his uniform, combined with the lack of sleep and the creeping paranoia, he abruptly stood up, offering a clumsy excuse to the group about needing to wash his face.
The remaining class hours passed in a blurry, miserable haze.
By the time the final bell echoed through the halls to signal the end of the day, Genya could barely keep his feet under him.
He shuffled down the semi-empty corridors toward the middle school wing to pick up Senjuro. The harsh late-afternoon sun beat through the windows, making the air stifling and heavy. He dragged his feet, his shoulders slouched, and the glands in his neck pulsed with a hot, sharp ache from sheer physical exhaustion.
All he wanted was to reach the car, close his eyes, and drown in the air conditioning.
As he passed the quiet area behind the gymnasium near the sports lockers, two male voices echoing from the other side of the brick wall made him freeze mid-step.
“That guy scored all the best Omegas, didn't he?” a raspy voice scoffed, followed by the metallic pop of a soda can opening.
“Yeah, man...For a guy who claims to be a vegetarian, he sure eats very good meat,” a second voice chimed in.
A cold wave washed over Genya’s spine.
He straightened up instantly, stepping closer to catch every word with crystal clarity. It was two middle school Alfas, a year younger than him.
“Man... First the twins, and now Senjuro. Didn't take him long to sink his teeth into him either!” the first Alfa continued.
“Right? The kid presented barely a few months ago and he’s already claimed him. I heard some guy tried to mess with the kid yesterday, but everyone saw it... That’s why he’s glued to Shinazugawa now!”
“And I saw Kamado hanging around him today too! What a total joke. The guy’s got a whole damn harem!” the second sneered.
“Man... You think he fuck with a different one every day of the week?”
“Wouldn't surprise me. Honestly... even innocent little Kamado turned out to be a slut.”
Pressed flat against the brick wall, the air was instantly knocked out of Genya’s lungs.
In that single, shattering moment, something inside him snapped.
Logic vanished. Any remaining shred of patience, restraint, or self-control evaporated instantly. The extreme physical exhaustion, the blinding migraine, the suffocating cloud of scents plastered to his clothes all day, the relentless paranoia of being watched, and now—listening to these bastards casually drag his friends through the dirt...
Everything erupted into a blind, white-hot flash of rage.
He rounded the corner of the wall with long, aggressive strides, bursting into the locker hallway.
The two Alfas froze, turning pale as Genya stepped out of the shadows. He looked terrifying—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, radiating a heavy, suffocating aura of unbridled aggression.
“Say that again,” Genya demanded. His voice came out so deep and guttural it sounded like the low roar of a wounded beast.
“What?” the second Alfa stammered, trying to play it cool as he nervously adjusted his backpack strap.
“Say what you just said to my face. If you’ve got the balls,” Genya growled, taking a heavy step forward as he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles cracked loudly.
The first Alfa, trying to act tough in front of his buddy, let out a cocky laugh and stepped up to Genya with an arrogant smirk.
“Ah, classic... What? You defending your little whore?”
Genya didn't wait to hear another word.
—
The faculty lounge was completely deserted.
The warm, orange light of the setting sun streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet air and wrapping the room in a strangely peaceful atmosphere. Over in the corner, Tomioka was zipping up his briefcase, ready to finally head home after an agonizingly long day. Inosuke was going to give him grey hairs before his time.
However, as he slung his bag over his shoulder and turned toward the door, something resting on a desk in the back caught his eye.
There, draped carelessly over the back of the chair assigned to the math teacher, was a black suit vest. The dominant Alfa had peeled it off midway through the afternoon, loudly complaining about the unbearable heat, and had apparently forgotten it in his rush to get to the parking lot.
Tomioka stood frozen in the middle of the silent room, staring at the lone garment.
All alone.
With no one around.
And the faculty lounge was completely empty.
Giyuu slowly turned his head to check the windows, then glanced through the glass panel of the door, checking with borderline paranoia to make sure no one was coming down the hall.
Once he confirmed he was the only soul left in the building, he glided silently toward the Alfa’s desk.
He stopped in front of the chair. Reaching out both hands, he lifted the black vest with utmost care. The fabric still held a faint trace of Sanemi’s body heat—a dense, lingering warmth that seeped into Giyuu’s palms, along with a subtle hint of moisture near the center of the back.
Unable to restrain himself for another second, Giyuu leaned down and buried his face directly into the fabric of the back panel, right where the scent was most concentrated.
He closed his eyes. The impact was instantaneous.
Shinazugawa smelled sweet.
Ripe figs, molasses, and toasted brown sugar. It was a wildly unexpected scent—almost ironic for an Alfa of his status, someone so prone to yelling, roughness, and violence—but it was an aroma that drove Tomioka completely out of his mind. He brushed his lips against the fibers, drawing in a slow, deep breath, feeling the heavy fragrance coat his airways and settle deep within his chest.
That fruity, sugary warmth was the exact opposite of his own dominant Omega scent—a cold, sharp, acidic aroma that usually kept people at a distance.
He inhaled again, filling his lungs to capacity. But right in the middle of that sweet wave, his eyebrows knitted together.
Beneath the heavy notes of fig, his sharp nose picked up an unmistakable floral undertone. Fresh, soft, intrusive.
Masachika.
The scent of the Omega Sanemi’s close friend, was lightly woven into the shoulders of the vest. It made complete sense given how many hours they spent talking or eating lunch together, but Giyuu’s brain was beyond logical reasoning.
A surge of pure, unadulterated possessiveness spiked through his blood.
He tightened his grip on the vest, crumpling the fabric in his fists, and let out a low, raspy growl, burying his face even deeper into the material. He inhaled with shameless intensity, trying to drown out every fiber, desperate to smother that floral trace beneath the sheer weight of his own scent.
He took one last deep breath, savoring the rich fig scent as vividly as if he had the fruit open right in front of him, tasting the Alfa's sweetness in the quiet solitude of the room.
“What are you doing?”
Tomioka froze solid.
With practiced, deliberate slowness, Giyuu lifted his face from the fabric, loosened the grip of his fingers, and raised his eyes toward the doorway.
Standing in the threshold was Tengen. He had one hand leaning against the doorframe, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
The silence that descended upon the staff room was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Tomioka swallowed hard, holding the vest pinned against his chest. Panic was screaming inside his head, but his facial muscles stubbornly refused to break composure. With the flattest, coldest, most unbothered expression he could muster, he looked the Alfa dead in the eye.
“...Nothing.”
“Are you doing what I think you’re doing with Sanemi’s vest?” the white-haired man asked, his voice trembling with a mix of pure disbelief and overwhelming amusement.
“...No?”
“Oh God, you totally are.”