"You still doubt yourself, walk the door. In here you will be broken and rebuilt. In here, there will be no escape."
The man—saying words that were more threat than encouragement—stood before us. He was in his mid-thirties, with dark hair, a scar that ran past his right eye, and a decorated uniform that made me more excited than afraid.
So as I stood at ease with the hundreds of soldiers in our sector, listening to their snickers over my head, I tried not to ponder whether I'd made a grave mistake.
I've always been small. And now, among all these Alphas and Betas, it was painfully obvious.
A sergeant had called me scrawny. The guard who escorted us to our quarters had labeled me runt. And every other enlistee took one look and decided I'd make a decent punching bag.
"Act like you don't see them," Pierre had advised, smudging clay on my face.
That was right before we were called for our first briefing—in this enormous hall, surrounded by officials who made me want to disappear into the floorboards.
To make matters worse, Sett was right beside me. He didn't seem too happy about it.
"Damn runt, hard to see over your head," someone sneered behind me.
Quiet, rough laughter followed, surrounding me like predators. But just like Sett, I stared straight ahead. If I ignored them, they'd get bored, right?
But that only encouraged them. They got louder, eventually interrupting the Brigadier General—dragging his attention to us. No—to me.
I raised my chin like I'd seen Levi do when daring someone to mess with him. But without his psychotic grin, it just seemed... pathetic.
By the time the General reached me, sweat had started to roll down my spine.
His brows furrowed. Then he chuckled.
"This—this is a joke, right?"
The others, taking that as permission, roared louder. All eyes now fully on me. My chin stayed up even as the General's gaze bore into the side of my face.
"How old are you, kid?" he asked, glaring at me with curiosity.
"Eighteen, sir!" I answered with the deepest voice I could muster. News flash—not that deep. "Late bloomer, sir!"
The laughter doubled. The General, now seemingly offended, raised his hand—and it all quieted in an instant.
"Your voice hasn't even broken," he murmured. "Any shriller, you could play as a Lord's concubine."
What was one supposed to say to that? "I'm sorry, sir!"
"You apologize for existing?"
"No, sir!" I corrected quickly. "I apologize for not meeting your expectations, sir."
Something flickered in his gaze—surprise or interest, I wasn't sure. But as fast as it came, it was gone. And once again, my presence seemed to offend him.
He drew closer, our faces inches apart. "Tell me, boy, why are you weak?"
For the first time, I looked into his eyes. The truth in his words stared back at me. I had never hated anyone more than I hated this dead-eyed soldier.
Why was I weak? Why was I here? I was a joke. What did I want to prove?
"Come on." He whispered. "You can do this. WHY ARE YOU WEAK, BOY?"
Because I was an Omega. A repressed Omega—and no matter how much I tried to hide it under short hair, a dirtied face, and a binder that cut into my ribs, somehow... it was always sniffed out.
I was weak.
My lips parted... but—
A figure stepped forward before I could speak. "He took after our mother. She was a Beta, sir."
It was Sett. Staring ahead, hands latched behind his back. What was he doing?
The General looked from Sett to me, brows knitting together, as though struggling to see the resemblance.
Then he turned fully to Sett.
"So, two brothers. One dumb and the other..." In a flash, the General's fist slammed into Sett's gut. Sett gritted his teeth but made no sound—not even after the second and third blows.
"...And the other speaks when he's not spoken to."
My world went silent. Sett's silent pain held me frozen. My stomach churned, and I had no clue whether it was for myself or for Sett as the Captain turned to face me again.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pen, and dropped it at my boot.
"Take it," he ordered.
The hall was pin-drop silent, except for Sett's almost-repressed groan next to me. This... this was bad, wasn't it?
"Go on. Pick it up."
So I did, squatting down for it—when a hard leather boot slammed into my belly, knocking the breath out of me. Unlike Sett, I'm not strong. I can't hold it in.
My gasp was a broken, shameful sound. My knees hit the floor, eyes stinging.
The soldier stared down at me—void eyes, dark lashes—like I was dirt. Like I was nothing.
"Count to five. Be on your feet, or go home." He stepped back, glancing at the pen by his boot. "One."
Home.
No. Not home. I couldn't go home. I couldn't give them proof on a silver platter that everything they believed about me was true.
"Two."
Amidst the pain, with shaking hands, I pushed myself to my feet. Staring up at him. Hating myself for the tears in my eyes, for the fingers clutching my stomach.
"Pick up the pen, soldier."
Please, no... not again. Not again.
I reached for it and—
BAM!
His boot crashed into my ribs.
I dropped. Eyes wide. Cries echoed through the hall. Arms wrapped around my middle as I groaned in agony. It hurt. It hurt so damn much.
"One," he began to count again.
I could barely see. The pain was blinding. His voice distant.
It felt like death. I was praying for death. Please, no more. Tears streamed down my cheeks in torrents.
"No more," I begged silently.
"Three..."
But...
I couldn't go home. I couldn't prove them right. I was more than a damn Omega.
I'll show them. They'll see.
"Four."
I pushed myself up, slowly, my whole body trembling. Teeth gritted. I barely looked at his face. But I could still see him. Those void eyes.
They judged me.
I was more than a repressed Omega.
"The pen."
...Or maybe I wasn't.