Theia

I stood outside Saguru’s Technical Institute (STI), my hands nervously smoothing the stubborn wrinkles in my navy-blue blouse. The fabric felt too thin against the crisp autumn air of Tokyo, and I bit my lip, a habit that surfaced whenever my nerves threatened to unravel me.

Japan was supposed to be my fresh start—a chance to escape the weight of expectations and carve out a life on my own terms. But standing there, dwarfed by the towering skyscraper before me, I felt more like an outsider than ever. My omega status didn’t help. In a society that revered alphas and betas for their ambition and productivity, omegas like me were often relegated to the sidelines, dismissed as delicate homemakers meant to bear children and soften the edges of alpha dominance. After years of studying, pouring my heart into coding and scripting, I’d faced rejection after rejection.

No one wanted an omega in their tech firm, no matter how many certifications I’d earned.

In this world, omegas were a paradox—vital yet undervalued. We were the counterbalance to alphas, the ones meant to temper their intensity, to ground their leadership with our supposed nurturing instincts. But that role came with a cost. Society saw us as secondary, our contributions an afterthought.

It wasn’t until omega births began to dwindle that the world took notice. Suddenly, we were “precious,” but not for our minds or ambitions—for our biology.

Alphas, with their commanding presence and leadership roles in every district, were deemed the backbone of society. And omegas? We were the ones meant to “tame” them, to bind ourselves to them through scent matches and produce the next generation.

My mother’s voice echoed in my head, relentless as ever, urging me to register in the national scent-matching system before I aged out of my “breedable years.” At twenty-seven, I was teetering on that edge, but the thought of surrendering to that fate made my stomach churn. I wanted more. I wanted to be part of something greater than myself, something that didn’t reduce me to my designation.

That’s why I was here, standing before STI, one of Japan’s most prestigious tech institutes. The building loomed like a monolith of glass and steel, its sleek, reflective surface catching the golden hues of the setting sun. I adjusted my posture, squared my shoulders, and stepped through the revolving doors, my heart pounding in my chest. The lobby was a marvel of modern design—polished marble floors, towering indoor plants, and a holographic display projecting STI’s latest projects. The air hummed with the faint buzz of technology and ambition. I fumbled with my identification card, my fingers clumsy from nerves as I tried to clip it to my blouse. The plastic slipped twice before I managed to secure it.

The lobby was bustling, but no one spared me a glance as I approached the front desk. A woman sat there, her fingers flying across a keyboard, her eyes fixed on the screen. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and her expression was one of detached efficiency. Before I could even open my mouth, she spoke, her voice clipped and robotic. “Floor twenty-six. Here’s your intern badge. Sugimoto is waiting at the doors and will give you further instructions.” She slid a badge across the counter without so much as a glance in my direction.

I offered a polite smile, though it felt wasted on her indifference, and tucked the badge into my hand. My nerves twisted tighter, but I forced myself to move toward the elevators, clutching the badge like a lifeline.The elevator was a sleek, mirrored box, and I squeezed in beside the control panel, surrounded by a mix of sharply dressed professionals and nervous-looking interns like myself.

Just as the doors began to slide shut, a high-pitched voice pierced the air. “H-hey! Wait! Hold the elevator!” My finger instinctively jabbed the “open” button, and a chorus of exasperated sighs rose from the other passengers.

A young woman stumbled in, her chestnut hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed a bright red. Her eyes flickered with a faint pink glow, a telltale sign that her omega instincts had surged, likely propelling her in a frantic dash to catch the elevator. She panted, catching her breath as she settled beside me, her shoulder brushing mine in the cramped space.“S-sorry,” she mumbled, her voice soft but earnest as we stepped off on the twenty-sixth floor together.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her flustered state, finding a small comfort in her shared awkwardness. “It’s fine. Are you an intern too?”

“Yes!” Her face lit up, and she extended a hand with a grin. “My name’s Isobe Ryoko! But you can call me Ryoko. How about you?”

“Theia Pohane,” I replied, shaking her hand. Her grip was warm, her enthusiasm infectious.

Ryoko’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. “You’re from the States? Your Japanese is flawless! And you look so young!” Her words tumbled out in a rush, and I smiled at the compliment, though I braced myself for the inevitable follow-up.

“I’m twenty-seven,” I said, anticipating her reaction. “I’ve had years to practice.”

Her eyes practically doubled in size, and I laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in my chest. We walked side by side down the sleek hallway, the walls lined with digital screens showcasing more of STI’s latest innovations. At the end of the hall stood a receptionist’s desk, where a small group of interns had gathered, their identification badges matching the one pinned to my blouse.

A woman stood before them, commanding the space with an air of authority.

Her badge read Sugimoto Sakura, Vice President of STI. She was striking—tall and statuesque, with jet-black hair cascading over her shoulders and green eyes that gleamed like polished jade. Her tailored suit hugged her athletic frame, and her presence was magnetic, exuding confidence and control. As her gaze swept over the group, the other interns seemed to shrink under her scrutiny, their expressions a mix of awe and fear. I, however, found myself intrigued rather than intimidated.

When her eyes landed on me, they softened for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something—recognition, perhaps?—before returning to their steely resolve. I held her gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. Ha. Whatever that moment was, it passed as quickly as it came, and she addressed the group with a voice that was both commanding and precise.

“Greetings. I am Sugimoto Sakura, Vice President of Saguru’s Technical Institute. You have been selected to intern under my direct supervision—a privilege many would kill for. Do not disappoint me.” Her words carried a weight that made my spine straighten, though I couldn’t help but wonder why I’d been chosen.My academic record was strong, with top marks in Python and scripting courses, but I wasn’t the valedictorian of my class. And then there was my application. I’d been brutally honest about STI’s recent game, Phoenix—a first-person shooter that was a disaster. Glitchy mechanics, uninspired design, and a storyline that felt like it was written by an algorithm.

For every question about the game on my application, I’d included a detailed critique, tearing into its flaws with a mix of professionalism and passion. If anything, I’d expected that to disqualify me.

We followed Sugimoto through a set of glass doors, leaving the lobby behind and stepping into what I could only describe as Action Central. The space was alive with activity—programmers hunched over glowing monitors, engineers tinkering with holographic prototypes, and analysts debating in hushed tones.

The air buzzed with the hum of servers and the faint clatter of keyboards. And then I saw him. Daichi Kento. The founder of STI.

He stood at the far end of the room, his presence as commanding as Sugimoto’s but in a different way. Where she was sharp and controlled, he was a force of nature—tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, with an aura that seemed to pull the room toward him.

His alpha designation was unmistakable, radiating through the confident tilt of his head and the way he moved with purpose. I knew I shouldn’t mix business with pleasure, especially not with someone like him. Alphas like Daichi were dangerous—not because they were cruel, but because they were magnetic, drawing omegas like me into their orbitl.

As we approached, his head turned, and his gaze locked onto mine. The air shifted, charged with something electric. His hazel eyes, partially obscured by dark-rimmed glasses, dilated visibly, and I felt a jolt as his scent hit me—bergamot, sharp and citrusy, with an undercurrent of something warm and grounding.

My nose crinkled instinctively, my omega senses reacting before my mind could catch up. I wasn’t insecure; I knew I was attractive. But Daichi Kento was a man who seemed to exist on another plane entirely—untouchable, unattainable. Yet, as our eyes met, I felt the weight of his attention, like a spotlight that saw straight through me. He pushed his glasses up, a small, deliberate gesture, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

Did he sense the same pull I did?