Chapter Text
The scent of cherry blossoms and cold, clean ozone hit the back of Utahime's throat—a physical blow of the scent of cursed energy as she stepped into the staff meeting room. The air was thick with the mingled signatures of her colleagues. The earthy and stable Beta scent of Nanami. The faint papery gamma note from Yaga.
But it was all dominated by him.
Him.
Him.
His scent was the one that was untouchable. It was mountain tops—it was the electric static before a story. It was a scent that demanded submission even from those biologically incapable of giving it. It was an Alpha's scent. His scent.
And it made her want to grind her teeth.
Satoru Gojo—he was draped over a chair at the head of the table. Long legs stretched. He was blocking the aisle, his blindfold drawn over his eyes. He was grinning at something Shoko said—perfect canines flashing. She paused in the doorway—she couldn't help it.
Her suppressants hummed steadily in her veins—a clinical lie. A chemical wall that held back the truth. They made her smell of nothing but soap and the faint generic scent left from her shampoo. It was a beta's scent. It was the scent of the soft and weak. A nobody's scent. And that was what she wanted to be—a nobody. She didn't want the attention and the brutal truth of what came with being an Omega.
She refused.
It felt like she was killing her own Omega soul.
"Ah, Utahime." Satoru's voice sang out—he didn't even turn his head in her direction, but he knew she was there. "We were just discussing the new first years. I was saying we should toss them into a special grade curse nest right away. You know, to separate the weak from the… well, the weak. Shoko thinks I'm being uneithical." His voice was a lazy, amused drawl.
"Because you are," Utahime said. She took the seat farthest from him, placing her files on the table with a preciseness. "Not everyone is born with an infinity shield and a god complex, Satoru."
"Ouch," Gojo said, laughing softly before his attention was finally sliding to her. It was dismissive and physical all at once. It always was. His eyes would scan her—he would always see every flicker of her cursed energy. Every flicker of her technique and find her wanting. A Beta. To him—she was predictable, steady and unremarkable. She was nothing more than a support player. His mocking disappointment was a phantom limb she had learned to ignore.
He never hesitated to remind her of his status. Like he got off on it. Like he enjoyed mocking her for what he thought she wasn't.
"But it's true, isn't it?" Gojo drawled. "The strong survive. The weak, well—they become lesson plans for the strong." He finally swiveled in his chair to face her fully, his grin turning into something more pointed, more personal. This was them. This was what they did. This was their dance. Every knew it. Everyone ignored it. They expected the bickering at this point. "You'd know all about lesson plans, wouldn't you, Utahime-sensei? How's the kiddie pool at Kyoto? Still teaching them how to float while we're swimming with sharks over here?"
Her lips thinned—that familiar anger filled her. He prodded and she snapped. He laughed and she seethed.
It was easier than the alternative. It was easier than admitting to the humiliating pull low in her belly that his proximity triggered. Because his Alpha presence was overwhelming. Even with her suppressants. Her suppressants could dampen but never quite erase.
"At least my students learn control and respect," she shot back. Why did he always goad her? "Concepts you've clearly never encountered."
"Respect is earned, Utahime," he said. "And let's be honest, you betas are all about the slow and steady, aren't you? No thrilling ruts. No dizzying heats. Just sensible shoes and pension plans. Boring." He sighed—a wistful and mocking sound.
Her fingers twitched, her palm itching to slap past Infinity.
"It's a shame, really. A real shame. With that face, that temper… you'd have made a fascinating omega. All that fire, all bottled up with nowhere to go but arguments. Would've been fun to see what it looked like unleashed."
The words—a variation on a theme they had played since teenagers—landed with a sickeningly fresh lurch. A shame you're not an omega.
The bastard had no idea.
She hated that he was the strongest. She hated that he could be the coldest. She hated that when she needed him—she absolutely could call him. She still wanted to slap him, though.
For a split second—a moment in time—she wanted to bare her teeth at him and show him the medicated time bomb that she had forced into submission beneath her skin. Maybe then he would stop. But she wasn't naive enough to to exploit herself like that. Every Alpha within miles would be on her in an instant.
They would see her technique as something to exploit within their bloodline. They would see a womb. They would see breeding.
No, thanks.
Shoko exhaled a stream of smoke through the tension. "If you two are done with your foreplay, can we start the actual meeting? Some of us have autopsies scheduled."
The meeting proceeded.
Gojo's legs were long enough for him to nudge her ankle beneath the table. Her jaw clenched. She ignored him.
She reported on her students progress, her voice calm and professional. The model beta. The perfect beta.
Gojo made outrageous suggestions, most of which Yaga denied with a weary sigh. Nanami gave a financial breakdown of mission costs. Through it all, she was aware of Satoru as she always was. The way he slouched. The way he took up space as if it was his birthright. The way his voice changed when he stopped joking and gave a real order—an Alpha command that made the very air seem to still and obey.
It was the subtle, maybe even unconscious way. the other Alpha's in the room deferred to him—submissive when they registered his own dominance. She felt it, too. Her throat. Her eyes. Everything,
She crushed it with a lifetime of practice.
After the meeting broke, she was gathering her papers when his shadow fell over her.
"Hey."
She didn't look up. "What."
"Mission in Sendai. Grade 1 curse, nesting in an old theater. Intel suggests it's playing with perceptions. The higher-ups want a duo. One to dismantle the domain and one to anchor the other in reality. A strong alpha and a stable beta." He said the last part like it was a mildly amusing joke. "They suggested us."
Her heart stuttered. A prolonged, close-quarters mission. With him. Away from the easy refuge of her home. Her job. Her everything. "I'm busy with my students' mid-terms."
"Delegate." He said. No argument.
Her lips curled. He just assumed she was going.
He was probably right.
Because it was an assignment from the higher ups.
"We leave at dawn." He said as if she hadn't just said no. "Pack for two days. And Utahime?"
She finally looked up.
"Try to keep up." He turned and sauntered out.
Her teeth was grinding as she watched him leave.