Chapter Text
The fraternity house was alive with chaos. Music pulsed through the walls, lights flickered erratically, and a crowd of sweaty, half-drunk students filled every available corner. The unmistakable tang of alpha dominance mixed with the soft, sweet notes of omegas’ scents, creating an intoxicating cocktail of pheromones that thickened the air.
Han Jisung sat sprawled on a sagging couch in the living room, surrounded by admirers. His sweet but musky caramel pudding scent radiated effortlessly, making the group of omegas and betas hovering around him lean in closer. With a drink in hand and a lazy smirk on his face, he was the picture of alpha confidence.
“Honestly, it’s almost unfair,” one omega giggled, twirling her hair as she leaned against him. “You’re, like, too good-looking. You must have people throwing themselves at you.”
Jisung laughed, the sound rich and smug. “I mean, I don’t want to brag, but…”
“Then don’t,” Chan interrupted, smirking as he leaned against the couch arm. His scent—sharp and annoyed—stood out among the crowd. “We all know you live for it.”
“You’re just jealous,” Jisung teased, raising his cup in mock toast. “Not everyone can be me, hyung.”
“God, you’re insufferable,” Changbin chimed in, plopping down next to Jisung with a fresh beer. His alpha scent, warmer and spicier, mingled easily with the others. “You think you can get anyone, huh?”
Jisung shrugged, his grin widening. “Why not? It’s true.”
“Alright, hotshot.” Changbin’s eyes gleamed mischievously. He nudged Chan, who immediately caught on and mirrored his smirk. “How about you prove it?”
Jisung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Prove what?”
“See that guy over there?” Chan gestured subtly toward the front door.
Jisung followed his gaze and squinted. A lone figure stood apart from the crowd, his hood pulled low and a black mask covering the lower half of his face. His hands were shoved into his hoodie pockets, and he leaned against the wall as if he were waiting for something—or someone—but had no interest in actually joining the party.
“Who?” Jisung asked, tilting his head.
“Lee Minho,” Changbin said. “You’ve heard of him, right? Quiet guy, keeps to himself, doesn’t talk to anyone.”
Jisung frowned. “I think so? Isn’t he that, uh…?”
“That weirdo,” Chan finished, grinning. “Nobody knows anything about him. Not his secondary gender, not what he looks like under that mask. Nothing. Dude’s a ghost.”
“So?” Jisung asked, though his curiosity was already piqued.
“So,” Changbin said, leaning forward with a grin, “if you’re as smooth as you say you are, let’s see you pull him by the end of the semester.”
Jisung blinked, then laughed. “Minho? Are you serious? Look at him! He’s probably plotting my murder just for existing.”
“Exactly,” Chan said. “He’s impossible. And that’s why it’s a challenge.”
“You’re all talk until you prove it,” Changbin added.
Jisung’s competitive streak flared. He glanced back at Minho, who hadn’t moved from his spot by the door, seemingly oblivious to the party swirling around him. The mystery of him—the hidden face, the blocked scent, the cold aura—was enough to make Jisung’s alpha instincts hum with interest.
“Alright,” he said, draining his drink and setting the cup down with a decisive clink. “Challenge accepted. By the end of the semester, Lee Minho will be begging for me.”
—
The sun was high, casting long shadows across the quad as students moved between classes. Jisung stood near a coffee stand, pretending to scroll through his phone while covertly watching Minho from a distance.
Minho sat at one of the outdoor tables, his hoodie still pulled up and mask firmly in place. He was reading a book, completely absorbed, his body language screaming do not disturb.
Jisung smirked to himself. Alright, Han Jisung. Time to make an impression.
He made his move, striding toward Minho’s table with calculated ease. As he neared, he “accidentally” tripped over the edge of the pavement, his coffee cup flying from his hand and landing with a splash on the ground beside Minho’s table.
“Shit!” Jisung cursed, crouching down to grab the now-empty cup. “Damn, I’m such a klutz. Sorry about that.”
Minho didn’t even look up. “You’re fine.”
The voice was soft but firm, carrying none of the warmth Jisung was used to from his usual conquests.
“Uh, hey,” Jisung said, recovering quickly. He straightened up and flashed his most charming grin, though Minho still didn’t lift his head. “You’re Minho, right? I think we’ve had a class together.”
“No, we haven’t.”
The flat response was enough to make Jisung blink in surprise. Most people, no matter their gender, tended to warm up to him quickly. Minho’s indifference was… new.
“Well, maybe I’ve just seen you around,” Jisung said, trying again. He stepped closer, his caramel pudding scent wafting lightly in the air. “I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you.”
Minho finally looked up, dark eyes glancing over Jisung briefly before returning to his book. “Cool.”
Jisung’s smile faltered. He wasn’t used to this kind of cold reception. Most people would at least fake politeness, but Minho seemed entirely uninterested.
“Uh… so, what’re you reading?”
Minho snapped the book shut and stood, taller than Jisung by just enough to make the difference noticeable. He shoved the book into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, glancing at Jisung one last time.
“Nothing you’d understand,” he said simply, then walked away.
Jisung stood frozen for a moment, stunned by the complete dismissal. His ego stung, but as Minho disappeared into the crowd, a slow grin spread across Jisung’s face.
“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Game on.”