Yahiko’s eyes followed the two boys as they left the shop, still snickering over their “joke.” He sighed through his teeth, and out of habit muttered,

“Do you need a bag?”

The reply stopped him cold. A voice he knew, calm and steady, cutting through the irritation that lingered in his chest.

“Hayashi-senpai…?” Yahiko blinked, as if not trusting his own eyes. “I—sorry, I got a bit distracted.”

“No problem.” Ayato’s answer was plain, unbothered.

Yahiko quickly tapped the screen, counted the total, and accepted the payment. His fingers felt clumsy on the buttons, but the moment passed quickly. No scene, no hesitation on Senpai’s part – just a customer at the counter.

The boy tore off the receipt, handed it over, and forced a polite smile that wavered at the edges. “Thank you very much. Have a good day.”

Ayato left the shop and squinted up at the sunlight. The heat pressed down, but the street itself was calm, lined with the usual flow of passersby. A pair of teenagers walked past, talking loudly about alphas and omegas, their laughter cutting sharp in the still air. The words made Ayato pause, and the memory came back without warning: Yahiko’s hand gripping his arm, eyes wet, voice breaking— “Please… just until graduation. Then I’ll disappear.”

Ayato exhaled through his nose, forcing the image back. His gaze drifted to the small shop behind him. “A summer job, hm,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Sliding into his car, he set the snacks on the passenger seat and let the cool air wash over him. His gaze lingered on the photo pinned to the dashboard. His husband’s smile looked back at him, warm and unwavering. Ayato’s expression hardened.

“…Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, turning his gaze away toward the window. 

They met during their years at university. His husband was an omega, though for Ayato it had never been something that defined him. He came from a good family, had friends, and carried himself with quiet confidence. Still, he once admitted that high school had been rough – not unbearable, but heavy in ways only an omega would understand.

Ayato had been there for him, at first as a friend, then as something more.

His gaze lingered on the photo. That smile – so alive, so warm – now only paper and memory.

“…No.” Ayato whispered, turning the picture face down on the dashboard.

Maybe this was his chance to mend something – a chance to fix the hollow silence left in his life that had dulled since his husband’s passing. The thought crossed his mind like a shadow.

Could it be…?

A mark, after all, was no small matter. Teenagers bore light marks, fleeting, gone in weeks. Their pheromones were weak, their bodies still changing. But with adults it was different. A single mark could last for years, binding two people in ways that neither might be ready for.

Ayato let out a low sigh, pressing the photo back into place before starting the engine.

“Why do these choices always have to be so difficult…”

The next few days Ayato spent at home, savoring the fragile peace of summer and telling himself he deserved a little rest. But Friday came sooner than he’d hoped, dragging him to the bus station with a clipboard.

Now he was standing at the bus station, checking the students of Class 1-C as they filed in. When the last one was seated, he followed, taking a place near the front.

“Thanks for joining us, Hayashi-senpai,” Ishikawa-sensei said warmly, sliding into the seat beside him.

“No problem,” Ayato replied, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “Always glad to… assist.”

In truth he wasn’t. He would rather have been anywhere else than crammed into a bus on a Friday morning, heading toward a trip he hadn’t asked for. Summer was meant for quiet, not chattering teenagers.

But Ishikawa-sensei didn’t notice, or pretended not to. She likely believed this was a step toward him joining in, softening the distance he kept.

He leaned back, eyes on the window, letting Ishikawa-sensei fill the silence. He had built his solitude carefully: no visits, no invitations, no small talk beyond what work required. By now, his colleagues treated him as part of the staff, nothing more – and that was precisely how he liked it.

Ayato let Ishikawa-sensei’s voice wash over him without really listening. His gaze drifted out the window, where fields were rolling by. A few seats back, however, another thread of conversation caught in the steady hum of the bus.

“Looks like we’ve got another pair lining up for the lovebirds’ corner,” Yahiko muttered, nodding toward the pair across the aisle.

Shin chuckled. “At this rate, next semester it’ll just be the two of us left single.”

Yahiko let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah… and if I’m the only omega left, guess who the alphas will start circling around.”

“Not while I’m around,” Shin said, flashing a grin. “Anyone who tries it will have to get through me first.”

For a moment Yahiko smiled, warmed by the loyalty. But deep inside he knew the truth: Shin’s promise couldn’t last forever. One day, Shin would meet someone, fall in love, and move on, just like the others. And when that happened, no matter how sincere today’s promises were, Yahiko would be left alone again, nothing more than easy prey for someone else’s bite.

The real problem wasn’t marking itself, but its absence. In society, omegas without a permanent alpha’s scent were given names: loners or, worse, wasted. A wasted omega carried no claim, no protection. Without an alpha’s mark, they were considered stray – like a dog with no scent to trace, no family line to show.

An alpha’s mark was more than just pheromones. It was respect, territory, protection. When an omega carried it, everyone understood: this one belongs here, under the shield of a specific family or bond. But an omega without it? They were seen as fair game. One alpha might try to claim them, then another, and another – because if no one had left a scent, it meant no one thought them worth keeping.

That was why high school was the cruelest stage of all. Between fifteen and eighteen, bodies finished maturing, roles fell into place, and invisible hierarchies formed. First heats, first bonds, first markings — the years when society silently decided who stood where. Once that role hardened, you carried it into adulthood like a brand burned into your skin.

For Yahiko, this was the danger. If no one marked him, no one claimed him, he would carry the stigma forever. Every day that passed without protection pushed him closer to the edge. He didn’t dream of romance or grand love stories — not anymore. All he needed was someone who could anchor him, someone whose mark would let him breathe without fear.

The bus rolled into town, and soon the students spilled into a small roadside café. 

The café buzzed with chatter, but Shin’s voice cut through, quiet and careful. “Have you thought about… asking someone? Not necessarily in our class – in a parallel one, or even a senior. There might be someone willing to stand by you.”

Yahiko gave a bitter little laugh and lowered his gaze to the spoon in his hand. “And what then? If I start walking around school begging for a mark, that’ll only make it worse. People will think I’m throwing myself at alphas. That’s exactly the kind of thing that would give them an excuse to say I was asking for it.”

Shin frowned. “But still—”

“Where have you ever heard of an omega asking for it?” Yahiko went on, softer, almost whispering. “Omegas aren’t supposed to ask. That’s not how it works. The alpha chooses. The alpha decides. Omegas don’t… they don’t beg.”

The words hung heavy between them. Shin scratched the back of his neck, forcing a crooked smile. “Guess I’m not very good at giving advice, huh?”

Yahiko smiled too, playing along. But the smile didn’t reach his chest. Because deep down he knew: just days ago, he had done exactly that – he begged for a mark.