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At nine years old, Ryuji and Renji were inseparable. Their mothers—Aya and Meilin—had been childhood best friends themselves, and now their sons carried that bond forward without even realizing it.
The boys didn’t yet know about secondary genders, or the hierarchy that would one day shape their lives. For now, they were simply children, running through the summer fields of their neighborhood, chasing dragonflies and daring each other to climb higher into the old banyan tree.
Ryuji was bold, always the first to leap from a branch or splash into the river. His laughter carried like thunder, fearless and loud. Renji, quieter but no less determined, followed with steady steps. He wasn’t reckless—he was deliberate, the kind of boy who thought before he jumped, but always jumped anyway because Ryuji asked him to.
Their mothers watched from the porch, smiling at the sight. Aya nudged Meilin with a grin. “They’re just like us,” she said. “Always together, always daring each other.”
Meilin laughed softly. “Yes. And one day, they’ll understand what it means to carry the weight of who they are. But for now… let them be boys.”
That evening, the two boys sat side by side, sharing a bowl of sticky rice. Ryuji shoved a piece into Renji’s mouth with a grin, and Renji retaliated by smearing sauce on Ryuji’s cheek. They collapsed into laughter, unaware of the destiny waiting for them.
For now, they were only Ryuji and Renji—playmates, brothers in spirit, bound by the friendship of their mothers and the innocence of childhood.
One day ..
Their mothers had gone out together, leaving Ryuji and Renji alone for the first time. The boys sprawled across the tatami mats, half‑finished board game between them, the late afternoon sun painting golden stripes across the floor.
Ryuji leaned back, his voice carrying the same boldness that always made Renji listen. “Renji,” he said suddenly, serious in a way that startled his friend, “if you become an omega… then I’ll marry you. That way I can protect you forever.”
Renji had already developed a quiet habit: wherever Ryuji went, he followed. If Ryuji sprawled on the porch, Renji sat beside him. If Ryuji climbed the banyan tree, Renji was right behind, even if his knees trembled. He didn’t need to speak it aloud—his closeness was his language.
after Ryuji’s bold promise—“If you become an omega, I’ll marry you so I can protect you forever”—Renji didn’t laugh or tease. Instead, he leaned against Ryuji’s shoulder, small head resting there as if to say I don’t want to be anywhere else but near you.
Ryuji blinked at the weight of the gesture, then grinned, wrapping an arm around Renji in a clumsy hug. “Then it’s settled,” he said. “You’ll always stay by me, and I’ll always protect you.”
Ryuji and Renji spent their days in a quiet town on the outskirts of Hangzhou. Their mothers, Aya and Meilin, often reminisced about their own childhood while the boys played in the courtyard, the scent of steamed buns drifting from the kitchen.
Renji, true to his nature, never strayed far from Ryuji. If Ryuji darted into the bamboo grove, Renji followed. If Ryuji sprawled on the stone steps, Renji sat beside him, shoulder brushing shoulder. He didn’t need words—his closeness spoke louder than anything.
One afternoon, with cicadas buzzing in the humid air, Ryuji turned to him and said with sudden seriousness: “Renji, if you become an omega, I’ll marry you. That way I can protect you forever.”
Renji’s cheeks warmed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned closer, resting his head against Ryuji’s arm. “Then I’ll stay near you,” he whispered, “always.”
The promise hung in the air, innocent yet powerful, sealed in the heart of a small Chinese home where two boys grew up side by side—unaware of the destiny waiting for them.
At ten years old, the world shifted for them. In their small Chinese town, Ryuji and Renji finally learned the truth of their secondary genders.
Renji’s nature revealed itself quietly—he was an Alpha, steady and warm, just as he had always been. Nothing about him changed; he still liked to stay close to Ryuji, still followed him into mischief, still leaned against his shoulder as if that was the safest place in the world.
But Ryuji’s awakening was different. His aura was overwhelming, unmistakable—he was an S‑class Alpha, the kind of presence that made adults pause and children instinctively step back. And with that revelation came a decision that hardened inside him.
That night, sitting under the lantern glow in Renji’s courtyard, Ryuji looked at his childhood friend with a seriousness far beyond his years. “Renji,” he said, voice low, “you’ll always be my friend. Nothing more than that. I’ll protect you, but… I can’t let us be anything else.”
Renji blinked, confused. His heart tugged at the words, but he didn’t argue. He only leaned closer, as he always did, resting against Ryuji’s side. “Then I’ll stay near you,” Renji whispered. “Even if it’s only as your friend.”
By the time they reached fifteen years old, the childhood innocence had begun to fade, replaced by the awareness of who they truly were.
Ryuji, the S‑class Alpha, carried himself with an aura that made others instinctively step aside. His presence was commanding, his voice deeper now, his movements sharper. Yet inside, he held firm to the decision he had made at ten—that Renji would remain his friend, nothing more. He believed that drawing that line was the only way to protect both of them from the weight of his dominance.
Renji, still an Alpha, hadn’t changed in the way he felt. He continued to stay close to Ryuji, always walking beside him, always finding excuses to linger near. His devotion was quiet, unspoken, but constant. To him, Ryuji wasn’t just a friend—he was the center of his world.
One evening in Hangzhou, the two sat by the riverbank, the lanterns from passing boats reflecting on the water. Renji leaned against Ryuji’s shoulder, just as he had done since childhood. “You’ve grown so strong,” Renji murmured. “But you’re still the same Ryuji to me.”
Ryuji’s jaw tightened. He wanted to smile, wanted to let the closeness remain unchallenged, but his words came out firm. “And you’ll always be my friend, Renji. Nothing more.”
Renji didn’t argue. He only stayed where he was, head resting lightly against Ryuji’s arm, as if to say friendship is enough, as long as I’m near you.
Ryuji often found himself retreating into solitude. His room, tucked away in their family’s home in Hangzhou, had become his sanctuary—a place where he could breathe without the weight of his S‑class Alpha aura pressing on everyone around him.
He sat at his desk one evening, the paper lantern casting soft shadows across the walls. Books lay scattered, but his mind wasn’t on them. Instead, he thought of Renji.
Renji was still the same—always near, always steady, always carrying that quiet devotion. But Ryuji’s decision from years ago echoed in his chest: Renji will always be my friend. Nothing more.
He clenched his fists, staring at the floor. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel something deeper stirring when Renji leaned against him or smiled in that gentle way. It was that he feared what his overwhelming dominance might do if he let those feelings grow. To Ryuji, keeping Renji as “just a friend” was the only way to protect him.
Yet, in the silence of his room, the truth gnawed at him. He wanted Renji close. He wanted him near, just as Renji had always wanted. But he forced himself to push those thoughts away, burying them beneath the vow he had made to himself.
Outside, the night air carried the sound of cicadas, just like when they were children. Inside, Ryuji sat alone, wrestling with the contradiction of his heart and his resolve.
the school day felt ordinary—until Ryuji noticed something no one else did.
From his classroom window, he caught sight of Renji climbing the back wall of the school grounds. Renji moved quickly, agile from years of following Ryuji into mischief, but this time he wasn’t alone. An omega slipped after him, laughing softly as they dropped down to the other side.
The courtyard was empty; no teachers, no students. No one saw them—except Ryuji.
His chest tightened as he watched Renji glance back once, making sure the omega kept up. They disappeared beyond the wall, leaving Ryuji frozen in place.
He clenched his fists under the desk. Renji… why are you sneaking out with an omega? The question burned, but he couldn’t voice it. He had promised himself years ago that Renji would only ever be his friend, nothing more. Yet seeing him slip away with someone else stirred something raw—something Ryuji didn’t want to name.
The classroom noise faded, and all Ryuji could hear was the echo of Renji’s laughter as he vanished beyond the wall.
The classroom was buzzing when the teacher suddenly entered, her voice sharp enough to silence the chatter.
“Listen carefully,” she announced, eyes sweeping across the rows of students. “Two students have been caught kissing each other on school grounds. This is unacceptable. School is for study, not for love stories.”
