Chapter Text
The roar of engines reverberated across the racetrack like a war cry. The sun blazed down on the asphalt, turning it into a ribbon of molten black, shimmering with heat and tension. Crowds filled the grandstands, flags waving, voices rising in a chaotic symphony of excitement and anticipation.
“And here we go, ladies and gentlemen—welcome to the first race of the season at the Grand Bangkok Circuit! You know what that means—it’s time to see if the king still reigns supreme!” The announcer’s voice thundered through the loudspeakers, thick with adrenaline. Cameras panned to the starting grid, where sleek, custom-built machines idled like caged beasts, engines growling with impatience.
“And there he is, folks—Alan! Thailand’s undefeated champion, the King of the Hallows, the man who’s never so much as touched second place in five consecutive seasons! The one racer every competitor fears and every sponsor worships!”
From the cockpit of the matte black at the front, a figure sat still—calm amidst the chaos, Alan.
He didn’t need to rev his engine to draw attention. His very presence demanded it. His car, low and wide with navy blue accents, bore no number—he didn’t need one. Everyone already knew which one was his.
Inside the helmet, his eyes were unreadable. Cold, calculating, sharp. Not a bead of sweat on his brow despite the oppressive heat. The alpha in him thrummed with contained power, but it wasn’t his racing that made the air around him feel heavy—it was the sheer force of his pheromones. Even with the dampeners, his pheromones clung to the air like static—sharp enough to keep other alphas wary, thick enough that omegas never dared approach him. Race days especially, no one risked testing his temper.
Alan didn't care. He wasn't here to mingle. He was here to win.
The green light flashed.
Boom.
Tires screamed against asphalt, engines roared into full throttle, and in a blink, Alan was gone—like a bullet slicing through the air, leaving everyone else to chase shadows.
“And just like that, Alan takes the lead! Nobody even came close off the line! It’s like the rest of the grid’s still waking up while he’s already halfway to the finish!”
Lap after lap, he was a machine—precise cornering, flawless braking, brutal acceleration. But there was something raw about the way he drove, something instinctive. Like he wasn’t just racing—he was hunting. Dominating. Owning the track with every second that ticked by.
No one could defeat him. No one dared .
And when he crossed the finish line, a full seven seconds ahead of second place, he didn’t even glance at the crowd.
This wasn’t a celebration for him. This was expected. Inevitable.
He stepped out of his car, pulling off his helmet to reveal wind-swept dark hair and sharp, unforgiving eyes. Reporters surged forward, held back only by the firm hands of security and the sheer weight of his unapproachable aura.
Alan didn’t smile. He never did.
He turned his back on the cameras and walked toward the garage.
The king had returned—and no one dared challenge his throne.
🏎️
The scent of burnt rubber and engine oil still lingered in the air, but far from the racetrack, in the cramped auto-lab of a small vocational school on the outskirts of Bangkok, a different kind of energy was building.
Jeff’s fingers were stained with grease as he leaned over an engine block, eyes narrowed in focus. His hands moved fast—quick, confident, calloused. The world around him was loud—students chatting, tools clanging, instructors barking instructions—but Jeff heard none of it. All he could hear was the purr of the machine beneath him and the commentator’s voice echoing in his mind from the livestream replay on his phone.
“Alan wins again! A flawless run from Thailand’s golden racer! No one can even breathe in his slipstream!”
Jeff paused, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smudge across his cheek. He turned his head to glance at his phone screen. Alan was stepping out of his car, cold and powerful, eyes like steel under the visor of his helmet—a living legend.
And Jeff’s dream was to become the best mechanic for the best racer.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, battered notebook. Inside were hand-sketched diagrams, pit strategies, carburetor layouts, gear calibrations—pages and pages of notes taken from hours of studying X-Hunter's televised races. He flipped to the page where Alan’s car schematic was carefully drawn, with scribbled improvements and highlighted numbers in red.
“X-Hunter Garage. That’s where I need to be.” He loved scribbling his dream in his notebook. “Alan’s car. That’s what I want to work on.”
“Jeff!” someone called from across the lab, snapping him out of it. “You coming? Class is over.”
“Yeah,” he said, closing the notebook and tucking it back into his bag. His voice was light, almost boyish. Too light.
He moved carefully, making sure his scent-blocker was tightly sealed around him. It didn’t completely erase his presence, but it blurred the lines enough to pass as a beta.
Jeff adjusted the strap of his scent-blocker, a habit burned into muscle memory. Pills, blockers, distance—that routine was his second skin. The only way he could stand here dreaming without being noticed.
It was hard, but he had to do it for his dreams. It wasn’t because he was ashamed of being an omega—but because no omega had ever been seen near the X-Hunter garage, and maybe it wasn’t even allowed. Jeff didn’t know the real reason.
And Alan? Alan was allergic to omegas near him at all. Everyone knew he had a bad temper whenever he encountered one; it was because of the omega pheromones. Alan hated the sweet pheromones as they reminded him of his traumatic past, but no one knew that; they just knew he was allergic to them, especially when they seduced him.
But Jeff wasn’t trying to seduce anyone. He didn’t want to be some racer’s mate or play some role in a heat-fueled romance. He wanted grease under his nails, busted knuckles, and the chance to work on the fastest machine in the country and make it even better than it already is.
X-Hunter wasn’t just a garage—it was the future. And Jeff was going to get in, no matter what.
As he walked out into the dusk-lit courtyard of the school, the sound of a distant engine echoed from a nearby street. Jeff stopped for a moment, his eyes turning skyward, and whispered to no one but himself: “One day, I’m going to stand in that garage. I don’t care what I have to hide. I’m going to be the best mechanic the best team’s ever had.”