They were back.
Those strong and reckless Alphas.
Borges didn't look up from the blackboard. Chalk in hand, he calmly continued writing out the day's lesson.
"This," he said in a tone more informative, "is the basic predictive model for pheromone depletion."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the air. Some of the Alphas frowned at the board, trying to keep up.
He wasn't a teacher, just a quiet kid in the welfare center who spent his days buried in old textbooks on glandular regulation. With nothing but a stack of handwritten notes and a chalkboard that had seen better days, Borges could explain complex biochemical reactions and design nutrient recovery plans that worked better than anything sold outside.
But today, the atmosphere had shifted, slightly at first, but something was approaching.
The younger Alphas didn't notice it, but Borges did. As an Omega, his senses reacted first. His nose twitched slightly. Then a familiar sting shot through his glands, tightening every nerve.
Vodka and cheap herbal extract. Beneath it, something bitter and wrong, which is, the scent of black-market stimulants creeping in through the cracks around the door.
He smirked faintly.
The seniors were back. Those who thought dominance was something you could force through pheromones and pain.
They didn't realize how close they were to collapse. Constant overuse of simulants comes with a price. And eventually, that bill always arrives.
But not today.
Right now, Borges focused on the younger ones in front of him. Many were newly awakened. Hot-headed, fragile, and unpredictable.
One wrong move could cause irreversible gland damage.
The chalkboard had been filled with his usual mix of technical schematics and recovery charts—on one side, data clusters and calculations; on the other, a clean, simplified table of nutrient protocols.
Everything they needed.
"Alright," Borges said, setting down the chalk. "We're stopping a bit early today. Remember, supplements aren't enough. Your gland needs the right inputs. If your pheromones are dropping, the most efficient way to remedy is to eat more chicken hearts and roasted pineapple. Yes, pineapple."
Several students snorted.
Callum, as usual, couldn't help himself.
"I thought it was a joke, but honestly, last time he told me to listen to Chopin when I had an imbalance, and it actually worked. Like magic."
He grinned and started scribbling notes.
"Just so we're clear," Borges added, brushing chalk dust from his sleeve. "Today is for rest and repair. No fights."
"I've been good all day," Callum replied, eyes glinting. "But my hands are seeking for another big fight."
"If a fight starts, you'll be the second one to be beaten and thrown out the window."
"Ok, but who's the first?"
"Me," Borges said dryly. "I wouldn't survive the first punch." Since he is an Omega - he didn't make it clear, but everyone knows
He walked back to the podium and circled the last few lines of data in red, to show how serious it is.
"You're on the edge of exhausting the pheromones, Callum. Don't push it any more."
Callum groaned but packed his things without protest.
"Go on. If you're still here in two minutes, I'll serve you pineapple with chicken hearts every meal for a month."
The class burst into laughter as backpacks zipped and chairs scraped.
"If any uninvited guests show up, I'll take care of it."
But suddenly, the footsteps came.
Heavy. Purposeful. And with them, the scent got stronger.
The door burst open.
Three figures entered. The one in front moved like he owned the place.
Morgan.
He was a senior Alpha, smug and brutal, the type who never got in trouble because he was the trouble itself. The two behind him followed close, and one of them, a taller guy in a leather jacket, watched the room like it bored him.
"Well, well," Morgan called out, voice echoing off the walls. "Doctor Borges, playing nurse again? or illegal medical practice?"
The room fell quiet.
"Don't bother standing," he said. "This visit's informal. Just wanted to see the prodigy everyone's whispering about."
He stepped forward slowly.
"If you're here to learn, you're welcome to stay." Borges replied mildly, as if he didn't notice the tension thick in the air.
"Protection fee?" Borges raised his eyebrow, calm as ever. "I thought teaching you not to abuse enhancers was payment enough."
"If you'd actually listened, that lesson would've been worth far more than whatever you blew on black market stimulants."
"Do you even know how much I spent getting that stuff from the black market? While you just stood there talking nonsense about not helping junkies."
"I have to say, little buddy, I feel so much greater now. Maybe only if I knock you around a bit, you'll finally understand what real strength looks like."
The air thickened.
Pheromones flared. The smell of synthetic aggression hit like gasoline.
"Finish your notes and leave," he told the young Alphas still in the classroom. "With that much pheromone in the air, your brains won't work much longer."
"And you, how generous." Borges's grin stretched. "Powerful as you, with an intensified smell got in night club and dark market, may you strive and reign supreme as the Alpha King of the Universe."
His tone was light and sincere, but every word landed like a slap.
Morgan's expression darkened.
The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a tight clench of his jaw. His pheromones surged, thick as smoke, flooding the room with heat and threat.
"You think this is funny?" he growled, stepping forward. "You really think your little brain games can protect you now?"
"I don't care what theories you've got! Let's see what wins today, your formulas or my fists."
His fist slammed into Borges' shoulder. Borges stumbled, hitting the blackboard. Chalkdust burst into the air as he collided with the word "Pineapple."
Callum stood at once.
"Don't," Borges said under his breath. "Your glands can't take it."
But Callum stepped forward, standing between Borges and the looming threat.
"No one lays a finger on him."
Morgan laughed.
"Bold for a puppy. You all are really entertaining."
The room buzzed with pheromonal pressure.
Borges coughed hard, pain exploding in his chest. He saw Callum's body tense, glands flaring. Too much, too soon.
"You'll break yourself," Borges whispered.
But Callum didn't move.
That helplessness,so unique to being an Omega, crashed over Borges again like a wave.
He had no real way to change anything. No strength to fight back.
How many times had he wished he were an Alpha? Not just someone who looked strong while hiding behind books and formulas, but someone who could actually stand beside his friends in a real fight.
Someone who could protect them, not just warn them.
Morgan's face turned cold.
"Knew it. Should've figured this Omega was stirring the pot."
He kicked.
Borges took the hit straight to the gut.
His body folded.
He flew backward and slammed into the wall.
Blood spilled from his lips.
Before him, on the classroom wall, the school banner quivered:
Discipline is survival. Obedience is safety.
Morgan stalked over.
Stepped on Borges' wrist.
"You hear that?" he said as he pressed down slowly.
Another crack.
"You're still just a failure."
Borges closed his eyes.
Something metallic slid into his palm.
Cold. Glowing.
It wasn't handed to him.
It was always there, waiting.
As if some mechanism deep in his body had finally unlocked at this exact moment.
His fingers curled around it. The capsule pulsed faintly, synced to his heartbeat.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't hesitate.
Borges wiped the blood from his mouth, exhaled shakily, and closed his eyes.
The light brightened.
Steady. Certain.
Then—
[Pheromone suppression detected]
[Host awareness of conversion: confirmed]
[Initiating forced protocol]
[Gene restructuring sequence began]
[Warning: one attempt only]
[Proceeding...]
"Hello! Dear Host."
The voice was bright and cheerful. Female.
"You... who are you?" Borges asked, dazed.
"The system cannot answer that at this time," the voice replied calmly. "Current protocol limits communication to essential prompts. Congratulations. You've unlocked a one-time pheromone conversion opportunity."
There was a brief pause.
"Would you like to proceed?"
Borges frowned. "Conversion? What exactly does that mean?"
"The system cannot elaborate. The host must respond: yes or no."
He hesitated only a second. Then: "Yes."
"Confirmed. Initiating qualification protocol. Please complete the following task to enable restructuring."
[Challenge loading...]