“What should I do?”
I was nervously shaking one leg throughout the entire class, staring at one corner of the classroom. The teacher’s voice was just drifting past my ears. My mind was completely focused on that guy.
How do I even start a conversation?
I planned to approach him right after class ended. Since we had to move to the next class, I needed to talk to him before then, but I hesitated and missed the timing. I have to say something to him no matter what. Thinking of the round, youthful face flickering before my eyes, I tried to summon up some courage.
I can do this. I absolutely have to.
He kept staring straight ahead as if unaware of my gaze. It was the first time I was looking at his face this closely, and unintentionally, I started scrutinizing every part of it.
How can someone be so pale?
If his skin were clear and bright, I’d surely admire it. But his skin was far from that positive description. So pale it almost had a bluish tint, his complexion was more like that of a sick person. If I had a vivid imagination, I might have thought he was a vampire. Of course, as soon as I saw him standing under the piercing sunlight, I immediately realized how ridiculous that idea was.
In contrast to that skin, his hair was jet black. It was the first time I’d seen hair so black it seemed almost blue. The contrast with his skin was so sharp it was almost chilling. Snow White in fairy tales was so lovely, but reality was completely different. If the Brothers Grimm had seen him, they would have hurriedly revised the princess’s appearance, crying that Snow White should never look like that.
Snow White had rosy cheeks.
I thought I’d found the difference, but soon I shook my head. That wasn’t the only problem. His dull, pitch-black hair was grown out messily, covering his neck and the collar of his jacket, falling down past his eyebrows without a proper part, his untidy hairstyle catching attention in a bad way.
At one of the top five elite boarding schools in the US, he was the only one who walked around with such a messy hairstyle. His shirt was always wrinkled, and it was rare to see his tie properly knotted. His shoes were covered in dust; his body was skinny and frail, and he was shorter than average. The more I looked, the more unpleasant he seemed, and my head started aching. Why him, of all people?
Lucien Hearst.
The moment I murmured his name in my mouth, my chest grew heavy. The largest steel company in the US, a corporation nearly a century old, boasted immense wealth matching its reputation. He was the third and youngest son of that powerful family. Even within this private school, where heirs of notable families gathered, his status was unmatched. No one could rival Lucien Hearst just based on his background.
Yet, he was always alone. No one tried to get close to him. It wasn’t just avoidance—it was closer to contempt. Of course, his outsider nature and unremarkable appearance played a part...
Huuuu.
I took a deep breath just as the class bell rang. Kids started getting up here and there, and I hurried to stand too—but my destination was different. While everyone else crowded toward the door, I headed toward the window, standing firm in front of the boy who was slowly rising from his seat, clenching my fist tightly.
Hmph.
As I took another breath, he straightened his stooped back and looked up at me. When I met his furrowed brows and those rare-colored eyes below, I unintentionally blurted out my true intention.
“Do you want to row with me?”
Oops.
I immediately regretted it the moment the words left my mouth, but it was already too late. I’d spent the whole hour agonizing over how to say it, and what was this? Sure enough, his frown deepened, and through his grimy glasses smudged with fingerprints, his dark eyes seemed to flash momentarily. I shrugged unconsciously but quickly pretended to be unfazed and continued with bravado.
“Come join, you’d pick it up fast. The conditions are just right.”
Of course, that wasn’t really my opinion. The guy was shorter than me, with no muscles to speak of—actually, so thin that you could barely find any fat on him—and I couldn’t believe he’d join the rowing team, struggling to hold his body steady against the biting winter wind. I snorted at the thought.
But my view was strictly personal. I wasn’t the one proposing this. I was just doing the job someone else asked me to.
I quickly glanced over his body again, then met his still-frowning face.
“…You are?”
“Dilly.”
Of course, he didn’t know me at all. That was to be expected. Lucien Hearst was like a soap bubble floating on the sea. I wasn’t disappointed and, as if recalling something, quickly said my name to his half-closed eyes.
“I’m Dillon Avery. Just call me Dilly, that’s what everyone does.”
“Avery.”
He stubbornly said my last name, speaking lightly as if to a friend. When I looked at him, tense under his thick lips, Lucien Hearst slowly continued.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass.”
“No need to pass. Everyone will welcome you like crazy.”
I laughed, trying to be lighthearted as usual, but his lips didn’t move. When my smile faded, he said coldly and briefly, almost harshly:
“I’m not interested in rowing.”
After saying that, he packed up and turned away. I hurried to follow him, not letting him out of my sight.
“Luc, don’t do this…”
When I casually called him by a nickname, he paused for a moment. At least I got his attention. But before I could be glad, an interrupter appeared.
“Dilly, Dilly!”
Just as I was about to say more, I heard a shout calling me. I looked up, and a group of friends was standing some distance away, watching us.
“We need to move to the next class, what are you doing?”
“Come on, hurry up.”
They gestured for me to hurry, and I smiled in response.
“Ah, I have something to take care of. You go ahead? I’ll catch up soon.”
“What are you talking about? Peterson gives penalty points if you’re even one second late. Hurry up, come on.”
I tried to say I was fine again, but they didn’t listen. They grabbed my arm and pulled me along helplessly. I kept glancing back at Lucien, who was staring at me intently.
“What on earth are you thinking?”
They dragged me to the nearby restroom, not another building. One of them pressed me urgently, and soon voices started erupting all around.
“Did you suddenly eat something weird? Huh? Or did you get shot in the head?”
“Rowing with Hearst? What nonsense is that?”
“Just talking to that guy is already ridiculous.”
“Maybe he’s sick? Let’s go to the nurse, can he even walk?”
“If his head’s hurt, shouldn’t we go to the ER?”
“Wait, wait, wait, guys.”
I hurriedly raised my hands to calm my friends. Rolling my eyes, I glanced around and only then did they reluctantly fall silent. I sighed and spoke.
“Calm down, everyone. Why are you acting like this? I’m fine. I didn’t hurt my head.”
“Oh no. You definitely hurt your head.”
My friends immediately contradicted me.
“You might have bumped it on the wall without noticing.”
“Or fallen out of bed and hit your head.”
“Yeah, no other explanation.”
“Stop, stop.”
I blocked their words again, crossing my arms with a frown.
“What the hell? Can someone explain? I really don’t get why you’re reacting like this.”
They just looked at me silently—not because they had nothing to say but because they were dumbfounded. After a chorus of sighs, one of them finally spoke.
“You asked Hearst to row.”
Immediately, the group surrounding me started to speak all at once.
“You want to row with the least cooperative guy out of 8 billion people?”
“If the boat flips, he’ll just step on you and get back on the water alone.”
“Hearst might even flip the boat.”
“Very likely. That guy would.”
“He’s a psychopath.”
“Isn’t he a sociopath?”
“I don’t know, it’s the same thing.”
Amid the noisy chatter, I pressed my forehead with one hand, feeling a headache. I knew well what kind of guy Lucien Hearst was, and what the school thought of him.
A gloomy guy. An enigma. A waste of genetics.
There were many reasons for all the bad reviews, and they had their grounds. Students born and raised in these socially elite families knew their special status but also how to mingle with others. Looking down from a glass ceiling unreachable to commoners, they believed they weren’t much different from those beneath the ceiling.
Their parents—and maybe even higher generations—had passed through this prestigious private school, with a predetermined path to college. They believed their place was earned through ability and effort, denying that they had started above the glass ceiling.
Therefore, they took equality for granted and believed discrimination was impossible in any case. Everyone had equal opportunity; anyone could reach their position. In other words, ‘those under the glass ceiling’ could become equals with ability and effort. It was a grand illusion but regarded as truth among them.
Except for Lucien Hearst.
Within this elite group that prided itself on openness, the harsh evaluation of him had reasons. His habit of looking down on others was biologically inevitable because of his short stature, but the contempt and sneers felt like prejudice.
Lucien Hearst was the only ‘Extreme Alpha’ in the entire school.
Skin color or background wasn’t a barrier. They believed everyone was equal—except for innate traits. Just as lucky royals lived their separate lives from others in unimaginable positions, Extreme Alphas were the same. Lucien Hearst being an Extreme Alpha was a huge deal. Not just any Alpha or Omega, but the only Extreme Alpha in school.
Psychopath. Serial killer. Narcissist, and so on.
All kinds of unpleasant labels stuck to him, creating distance from everyone else. Though some were awed and approached out of respect for his uniqueness, Lucien Hearst was different. Just talking to him made everyone treat me like a weirdo.
It was the first time I directly saw his eyes so close. They were more mysterious than I thought—closer to indigo than purple. I heard even among Extreme Alphas, eye colors vary from bluish purple to almost black. Lucien’s eyes were definitely a bright purple close to blue.
Probably that eye color was another reason people kept their distance. Lucien had never emitted pheromones, so no one had ever smelled the ‘special’ pheromones of an Extreme Alpha. If he’d worn colored contacts to change his eye color, no one would have known his trait.
“He hasn’t really done anything.”
Lucien was so quiet most people barely noticed he was there. But my friends didn’t agree.
“He’s an Extreme Alpha.”
At someone’s remark, others chimed in.
“Extreme Alphas are all crazy.”
“Nothing good comes from getting close. Just wait, he’ll cause big trouble soon.”
One of them shook his head and seriously asked,
“Is there really a reason it has to be him? I don’t remember him standing out in sports.”
He was skinny and frail, far from athletic. Until actually seeing him, most students and staff probably held huge illusions. After all, he was likely the first and last Extreme Alpha most would ever see.
Due to pheromones, Extreme Alphas physically and mentally surpass other traits. In media, they always have strikingly beautiful faces, superior bodies, and sharp minds. As much as people feared their special trait, they were also fascinated. The school briefly buzzed with excitement when they heard an Extreme Alpha was transferring in.
But Lucien Hearst mercilessly shattered those illusions. He was nothing like the ideal man everyone imagined. Frail, short, unusually quiet and gloomy, always sloppy and careless, no notable strengths, and average grades. This AP class was the only AP course he was taking.
It didn’t take three months to see this. Their interest quickly faded once they realized he was even less impressive than themselves, and soon everyone began ostracizing him. Now, in 11th grade, no one talked to Lucien Hearst.
If it weren’t for his trait, he might have been severely bullied. Luckily, everyone just completely ignored him. He never spoke a word and just attended class before returning to his dorm room. Given this, it was no surprise everyone was shocked by my behavior.
“You never thought you’d get so into rowing.”
“Yeah, it’s not even been a semester.”
When another chimed in, more nodded and agreed. I just gave a faint smile.
“If I’m going to do it, I have to try hard. Winning would be even better.”
“That’s true, but isn’t this year going to be tough?”
Not wrong. Suddenly many quit rowing, leaving too few players. We barely made eight, including me, but no substitutes meant uncertainty. We needed at least one backup candidate. Even if we quickly found someone, turning them into a real player by game time seemed unlikely.
Still, I had to do something. Because...
“Dilly?”
Turning at the voice, I saw a boy standing by the restroom entrance. The moment I saw his face, my expression immediately relaxed.
Emilio Diaz.
I couldn’t help but gape.
Of course.
I’m gay, and I like Emilio.