Chapter Text
Arthur Oliveira balanced himself skillfully on his skateboard, carving sharp and daring turns across the rough asphalt of the school courtyard. He was a 16-year-old Latino teenager, slim, standing at 1.76 meters tall, with curly brown hair that rebelliously fell over his forehead and stormy gray eyes that always looked like they were ready to explode. His gaze was steady, defiant, as if always ready to punch the first idiot who got in his way.
For Arthur, skating wasn't just a hobby — it was a lifestyle, freedom in motion. Whenever he rolled on four wheels, he felt like he was escaping, if only for a few moments, from the invisible chains of the social hierarchy. It was in that quick momentum that he could truly breathe.
The truth was, society was a rotten structure, where Alphas ruled, Betas served, and Omegas… well, Omegas could barely breathe without asking permission. And Arthur, being a hot-blooded 16-year-old Beta with way too many opinions, didn’t fit into that theater of obedience.
His teachers accused him of being stubborn, and his parents said it was just a phase, but to Arthur, he was only just starting a revolution.
The Beta skated calmly among the students with the same ease as someone walking through their own home. In his ears, his earbuds blasted the aggressive sound of “Idiot Alpha American”, a pirated satirical version of a Green Day song by some underground anti-hierarchy indie band Arthur had found online. The bassline vibrated through his spine like fuel for his quiet rebellion. Each riff felt like it mocked the perfect facade of the Alphas.
On his way, he passed by the snobby Alpha athletes — the unofficial rulers of that territory — all dressed in immaculate uniforms, rehearsed smiles, and muscles displayed like living trophies. Some of them growled when they saw him, a guttural, almost animalistic sound typical of Alphas who felt threatened by the audacity of a Beta who dared to walk among them with his head held high.
Arthur didn’t flinch. Didn’t slow down. He merely glanced sideways and, without even taking his hand out of his hoodie pocket, raised his middle finger high — his personal flag of war. No words needed. That was enough.
When he reached the main entrance stairs, he stopped with a sharp spin of his board, the wheels echoing like a protest. He scooped the skateboard up smoothly with his foot, tucked it under his arm, adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, and lifted his chin.
He entered through the front doors like he owned the place. As if the hallways, the lockers, the stares — all of it — were beneath him. Every step was laced with a near-insolent confidence, a silent challenge to the system that tried so hard to reduce him to nothing.
Arthur pulled out one earbud the moment he spotted Laura Diaz leaning against the wall near the drinking fountain, wrapped in her own little world. One foot was propped against the bricks, and she was furiously scribbling in a beat-up notebook, her tongue poking out in comic concentration. He removed the second earbud and coiled the wire around his fingers, smirking.
— You know you’re not allowed to summon demons before eight in the morning, right? — he teased, crossing his arms as he watched her draw what looked like a cross between a bat and a waffle with eyes and razor-sharp teeth.
Laura looked up, her eyes heavily lined with black pencil and purple eyeshadow so poorly blended it looked like she hadn’t slept in three days — which, knowing Laura, might actually be true. Her cotton candy-pink hair was tied into two messy buns, and the fishnet tights under her ripped black dress had more holes than fabric.
— That’s exactly what demons are for, Arthur. Breakfast and vengeance — she replied with a dreamy yet vaguely dangerous smile. Her voice was light, as if every sentence came sprinkled with invisible glitter.
Arthur stepped closer, giving her a mock once-over, his signature smug grin in place.
— Are you still tall enough to summon anything? I thought spirits only answer people who can reach the top shelf — he said, lightly tapping the top of her head with his skateboard.
— Short jokes at seven in the morning? Bold of you. Careful or I’ll curse your shampoo and make you bald before you turn eighteen — Laura shot back, trying to sound threatening, but her laughter betrayed her.
At just 1.53 meters, Laura was short, but her personality filled far more space than her body. She had curves that didn’t fit into magazine standards and never tried to hide them. Her heavy makeup was her armor, and her gothic clothes were her shield against a world that insisted on treating her like background noise. And yet, she radiated an absurd kind of optimism ,as if, by some miracle, she still believed things could turn out okay.
What Arthur admired , though he’d never admit it out loud , was the way Laura kept smiling, even while playing a supporting role in her own home. Her parents barely acknowledged her, handing over the full responsibility of her younger brother, Raul, as if she were some kind of second mother. And still, she showed up every day with new drawings, weird quotes, and bizarre ideas that only she could fully understand.
— Raul doing okay? — Arthur asked, trying to sound casual.
Laura shrugged.
— Yeah. He woke up before me today. Made pancakes and accidentally summoned Asmodeus. I ate them anyway.
Arthur chuckled.
— You’re totally gonna turn him into a baby satanist.
— Better that than a future Alpha in spirit — she replied with a sly grin.
They stared at each other for a moment, sharing that rare kind of comfortable silence where nothing needed to be said , the world was a mess. But at least they had each other. And sarcasm.
Arthur dropped his board to the floor with a dry clack and tilted his head.
— Wanna go to the club? I’ve got new theories about how Alphas have smaller brains than hamsters.
— I brought cookies and a poem about the death and decay of an Alpha’s vile corpse — Laura announced cheerfully, tucking away her notebook.
— Perfect — said Arthur. — Where’s Pooh?
Together, they headed down the hallway toward the old supply room behind the gym — the one place where the outside world stopped mattering.
As they neared the old shed , the secret sanctuary tucked between the gym and the storage building , Arthur and Laura found Robert Kane, or as they’d insisted on calling him since age eight: Pooh.
A stupid nickname that stuck after he showed up to a school Halloween party wearing a red shirt, yellow pants, and a honey jar in his lunchbox. He hated it. Tried to kill it a hundred times. But Arthur and Laura were stubborn, and Pooh had accepted that, at least among friends, he’d always be the Beta with a cartoon name.
Pooh stood at the door, slightly sweaty, spinning a basketball on his finger with the kind of precision that said he could do it in his sleep. He was tall , 1.82 meters , and built like an athlete after years of hard training. Short blond hair, deep brown eyes that were almost always narrowed in either frustration or focus. Of the three, he was the strongest physically and the most driven , he even looked like an Alpha... until he spoke. Then you realized he was just a simple, direct guy who thought more about game tactics than about dominating anyone with pheromones and bravado.
He wore a sleeveless school jersey with the sides cut out, showing off his lean, defined arms. A Beta with Alpha looks, but lacking the genetic stamp of approval society worshipped.
When his parents found out he wasn’t an Alpha like his older brother ,the family’s golden boy, star player on the youth team and public speaker at social events , the disappointment was instant. As if a child’s only value was whatever ran in their veins. From that moment on, Pooh became the kid no one wanted to bet on anymore. The second place. The “could-have-been.”
— Finally — Pooh said when he saw them approaching. — I was starting to talk to the ball.
— That’s worrying, Pooh. She might start talking back — Arthur replied, unlocking the shed with the key hidden in his shoe.
— If she does, at least she’ll have more empathy than my parents — Pooh muttered, tossing the ball in the air and catching it one-handed.
Laura winced sympathetically and gave him a light pat on the arm.
— At least the ball won’t make you pay bills or compare you to your brother.
— Yet. — He gave a crooked half-smile, the kind you wear to avoid breaking.
Pooh was Arthur’s opposite. While Arthur was a storm of sarcasm and rage, Pooh was solid ground — focused, practical, always thinking a few steps ahead. But the one thing they shared was repressed anger. In Pooh, it became hours of training, air kicks, and silent jump shots. In Arthur, it became sharp words and wild schemes to overthrow the system.
— I’ve been training a new type of block. It’s all in the hip movement. Saw an Alpha do it at last year’s championship — Pooh said as they entered the room.
— If it goes wrong, you’ll be a meme in the hallway — Arthur said, tossing his board in the corner.
— And if it goes right, I’ll shut that asshole coach from the junior team up — Pooh shot back, his determination reigniting.
— Then we’ll celebrate by burning an Alpha-shaped mannequin — Laura added, flopping onto the old bench with a theatrical sigh.
They laughed.
Inside that stuffy old shed, surrounded by forgotten shelves and the muffled sounds of practice echoing outside, they stopped being “just Betas.” There, they were something more than labels.
And maybe... just maybe... one day, they’d be something even the system couldn’t ignore.
Pooh dropped himself into the old, squeaky office chair that complained with every movement, while Laura laid flat on the cold cement floor, notebook still clutched to her chest.
Arthur locked the door from the inside, stacked a few old boxes by the window, and perched on top of them with his skateboard resting between his knees.
There they were.
The Invisible Club.
Three Beta teens tired of being trampled by a system that never saw them as anything but background characters. The entire school could be on fire outside, and in that forgotten little space, everything fell silent. Everything made sense.
— Alright, — said Arthur, tapping his skateboard on the ground twice like a judge’s gavel. — Official meeting of the Invisible Club is now in session.
— With cookies, — Laura declared, pulling a crumpled pack of store-brand cookies from her backpack. — And a poem about the decomposition of an Alpha corpse. It’s written from the worms’ point of view.
— Cookies first, worms later, — Pooh replied, grabbing one.
Arthur glanced at the makeshift whiteboard nailed to the rusted wall, covered in notes, ironic phrases, sketches, and battle cries written in nearly-dry markers. In bold red letters, it read:
"Freedom isn’t asked for. It’s taken."
— So — Arthur began, looking at the two like he was just asking the time — guess who’s been staring at me a lot lately?
— The library guard? — Laura guessed, already biting into a cookie. — He seems like the type to have a thing for problematic teens.
— No — Arthur rolled his eyes. — Alexis Lykaios.
The silence that followed was almost comedic.
Pooh choked on his cookie.
Laura’s heavily lined eyes went wide.
— The Alpha? Captain of the basketball team? Heir to the dynasty of golden boys? The school’s shining star? — Laura listed, her tone laced with suspicion.
— That one. He’s been watching me. A lot. Intense, even. The kind where, if you swapped his uniform for a cape, he’d be a full-on anime villain.
Arthur sat again, slower this time.
Outside, the noise of the basketball practice echoed through the courtyard, sneakers pounding, the coach’s whistle, the muted rhythm of the ball hitting the court… everything carried on as usual. But something in that shed had shifted.
Laura bit her bottom lip, thinking.
— Okay… but did you do something to him? I don’t know, insult his mom by accident? Drop your board on his head? Alphas don’t stare like that for no reason.
— Not that I know of, — Arthur replied, folding his arms. — I just pass by on my board. Same as always.
Pooh frowned, more serious than usual.
— Arthur, seriously. Alphas are vengeful. They don’t forget and from what little I know about Alexis Lykaios... — he paused — he seems to have every Alpha strength and every Alpha flaw cranked to the max. Like a deluxe edition of the asshole package.
Arthur gave a short laugh, but his eyes were distant. He didn’t like admitting it bothered him , especially since he couldn’t tell whether it was a threat or something worse.
— Chill — he said, forcing scorn into his voice. — He can stare all he wants. I’m not giving any Alpha the time of day. Especially that clean-cut Alexis clown.
Before anyone could add anything, the bell rang through the halls, slicing the moment cleanly in half. The system’s bell. The one that reminded them that their freedom was temporary.
The three of them sighed almost in unison a quiet ritual.
Laura picked up her notebook, Pooh grabbed his basketball, and Arthur slammed his board against the floor with a crisp crack . Without another word, they stepped out of the storage room and returned to the school’s fluorescent maze like soldiers heading back to the front lines.
However, as soon as Arthur turned the corner toward his calculus class, he felt that familiar chill crawling down his neck.
Eyes.
Golden eyes.
There they were. Fixed on him. Not with anger. Not with superiority.
But with intention.
Alexis Lykaios leaned casually beside the locker room door, water bottle in hand, hair still damp from practice. He watched Arthur with a calm that felt predatory , as if he already knew something inevitable was coming.
Arthur looked away, but even without seeing, he felt those eyes still pinned to his back.
And for the first time... he couldn’t tell whether it was the beginning of a problem or something far, far worse.