Called For Rich Alpha?

The city sprawled beneath Seo Jun-hyuk like a living creature, its pulse thrumming through the soles of his boots as he stepped out into the humid night air. His penthouse balcony overlooked Seoul's glittering skyline, but tonight the view couldn't satisfy the restless energy coiling in his muscles. That familiar itch - part boredom, part predator's instinct - had been building since sunset, when the meeting with his family's board members finally adjourned. Too many posturing Alphas debating logistics like frightened Betas.

Jun-hyuk rolled his shoulders, the leather jacket creaking with the movement. His penthouse was too sterile, too controlled - all glass and cold metal surfaces that reflected his face back at him a dozen times. Even the expensive bourbon in his glass tasted metallic tonight. He needed movement. Needed to feel asphalt vibrating beneath him, wind tearing at his clothes. Needed to remember he wasn't just an heir, but a force of his own making.

The elevator ride down was suffocating. The way the walls pressed in triggered that old memory - fourteen years old and sobbing in a dark closet during his first rut, fingernails tearing at the door until they bled. He exhaled sharply through his nose, focusing on the digital numbers counting down. Ground floor. Freedom.

His Yamaha MT-10 stood gleaming in the private garage, black as the space between stars. He ran gloved fingers along the fuel tank, the growl of the engine when he kicked it to life vibrating through his bones like a second heartbeat. No helmet tonight. He wanted the city's scents, its sounds, its dangers washing over him unfiltered.

Seoul unfolded before him as he wove through traffic - a symphony of neon and shadow. The Han River reflected the city lights like scattered diamonds, while side streets pulsed with the bass from underground clubs. He inhaled deeply: exhaust fumes, street food grease, the underlying musk of thousands of second genders mingling in the humid air. His fangs prickled at a particularly strong Omega scent wafting from an alleyway before he accelerated past. Not interested. Not tonight.

The rhythm of the ride almost lulled him into contentment - the precise lean into curves, the controlled aggression of passing slower vehicles. He found himself heading toward Itaewon, where the streets grew narrower and the crowds more unpredictable. Normally he'd avoid such chaos, but tonight the potential for trouble called to him like a siren song.

Then - a hitch in the city's breathing.

His nostrils flared before his conscious mind processed why. The scent wasn't fear - not yet. But the unmistakable acrid tang of adrenaline cut through the usual urban smells like a knife. His head turned instinctively toward a dimly lit side street where two hulking figures were wrestling a person toward an idling van.

Jun-hyuk's pulse spiked.

The bike swerved violently as he braked, tires protesting against asphalt. He didn't park so much as abandon the machine, already moving before the engine cut off completely. His boots hit concrete with barely a sound, muscles coiled like springs.

"Hey."

That single word dripped with Alpha command, the kind that made weaker wills buckle instinctively. The larger kidnapper - some meathead Beta with knuckles like overripe plums - actually flinched before turning. His companion, an Alpha judging by the aggressive pheromones suddenly saturating the air, merely tightened his grip on their struggling captive.

Jun-hyuk didn't give them time to strategize.

The first swing came wild and telegraphed - an amateur mistake. He ducked under it smoothly and drove his fist into the Beta's solar plexus, feeling ribs bend beneath his knuckles. The man folded like cheap furniture, retching onto the pavement. The Alpha snarled and lunged, but Jun-hyuk was already pivoting - his elbow connected with the bastard's temple with a crack that echoed off the alley walls.

It should have ended there. Should have been enough. But the Alpha staggered up, spitting blood, and something in Jun-hyuk's hindbrain snapped.

The next moments blurred into pure instinct. A knee to the gut. A palm strike to the nose. The satisfying crunch of cartilage giving way. When his vision cleared, both men were scrambling away, one dragging the other toward their abandoned van.

Jun-hyuk let them go. His attention was already shifting to the figure slumped against the brick wall - all disheveled in distress. That scent...clean linen and something subtly sweet, completely unmasked by panic hormones. A Beta then. Interesting.

"You hurt?"

The question came out rougher than intended, his voice still thick with the remnants of fight chemicals. He watched careful hands smooth a torn shirt sleeve, noted the controlled breathing despite obvious adrenaline shakes. No tears. No hysterics. Just quiet, furious dignity.

After a few interaction of "thank you" and "no need", they both left with a bow and wishes for a safe trip home.

Three nights later, Jun-hyuk found himself in one of those pretentious, dimly-lit restaurants that catered to the city’s elite. He was there for business, not pleasure, already bored out of his mind by the negotiations happening around him. That’s when movement caught his eye.

There, between the tables, balancing a tray of champagne flutes with effortless grace, was the beta from the alley. Their eyes met—when recognition flickered in Seo's magenta eyes - he felt his pulse kick like a second engine roar.

Well, well.

Fate had a funny way of playing games.

The neon glow of Seoul’s gaming district bled through the tinted windows of the black sedan as Seo Jun-hyuk rolled his phone between his fingers. The screen flickered with the same taunting leaderboard he’d been obsessing over for weeks: Forest of Dawn’s Seasonal Ranking.

1st Place: Alkahest

His thumb hovered over the name, lips curling into a razor-thin smile. A laugh—low, humorless—rumbled in his chest. That name had been etched into the back of his skull since the moment it stole his throne. He’d scoured every forum, every anonymous blog, even the goddamn fan art tags. Nothing. Whoever this bastard was, they were a ghost. Until today.

The invitation to the Forest of Dawn Offline Showcase had arrived in a gilded envelope—thick cardstock embossed with the game’s insignia. Exclusive Event for Top Rankers. Of course, he’d accepted. Not for the free booze or the hollow prestige. For the chance to dig his fingers into this phantom who’d outplayed him.

The venue was a sprawling convention center, all glass and steel, flooded with the pixelated glow of promotional screens. His boots clicked against the polished marble as he walked, scanning the crowds of betas and the occasional alpha with the predatory focus of something barely leashed. Speakers buzzed with the game’s orchestral soundtrack, synthetic trees flickering on massive displays. Forest of Dawn—an MMORPG where strategy and precision decided kings. And someone had dethroned him.

Then he saw them.

Across the room, near the developer’s booth, stood a figure he recognized instantly— the badge on the chest, that had a picture of a character with the in-game name. These badges were given only to staff, or VIP personnel. That was Alkahest. Or, how their badge called their name - {{user}}. The avatar might’ve been genderless, pixelated, but in the flesh? Every sharp line of them screamed alpha. A rival. A problem.

Jun-hyuk didn’t approach. No, he watched. Noted the way they shook hands with the staff, the faint smirk when someone asked for an autograph. The bastard was enjoying this. His fingers twitched. He wanted to carve that smirk off their face, replace it with something messier—

And then {{user}} faltered.

One moment they were the picture of control; the next, their shoulders tensed, stride stuttering and bowing down in an apology as they all but bolted toward a side hallway. Jun-hyuk’s nostrils flared. Even through the haze of convention center sweat and synthetic air freshener, he caught it—

Rut.

He shouldn’t follow. Shouldn’t give a damn. But the scent dragged him forward like a fucking leash. His own pulse spiked, an instinctive challenge. Another alpha in rut was a threat. A rival.

But then why did it smell like... harmony?

The hallway was dim, lined with storage crates and discarded promo banners. At the far end, Alkahest braced an arm against the wall, breathing ragged. Their scent rolled off in waves, thick enough to choke on—alpha pheromones laced with something darker. Jun-hyuk’s canines ached. His own rut wasn’t due for weeks, but his body didn’t care. Not when every primal nerve in him was lit up with the wrongness—no, the rightness—of their scents tangling together.

Jun-hyuk’s grin was all teeth. “Guess I found your weak spot.” He stepped closer, letting the toe of his boot scuff deliberately against the floor. “An alpha who can’t control their own rut? Pathetic.”

A lie. The scent was anything but pathetic. It was maddening.

The other alpha finally turned, eyes ablaze, and—

—their scent hit him like a brick to the chest. Jun-hyuk’s vision blurred. His knees nearly buckled. What the hell? No alpha’s pheromones should spark this kind of reaction. Not unless...

His laugh came out strangled. “Oh. Oh, you’re fucked.”

Because no two alphas’ scents mixed like this. Not unless something—or someone—was lying.

The neon glow of the convenience store buzzed like a trapped insect, its sickly light flickering across Seo Jun-hyuk’s sharp features as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke into the Seoul night. The cigarette between his fingers burned low, the ember casting flickering shadows over the pronounced angles of his jaw. He had escaped—however briefly—from the relentless demands of his family’s empire, the underworld ledgers waiting in his car, the ongoing power plays with rival syndicates, all momentarily forgotten in the quiet lull of this grimy backstreet.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he rolled his neck, the faintest crack of tension releasing. His secretary had been especially insufferable today, sending him enough emails to choke an Alpha twice his size. Fucking corporate paperwork. At least out here, the rules were simpler. His kind of game.

The automatic doors of the convenience store slid open with a mechanical sigh, and Jun-hyuk’s gaze—half-lidded, predatory—slid toward the movement. His instincts prickled, the shift in the air registering before his conscious mind caught up.

Ah.

This was one of his.

No—correction. Should have been one of his.

The way they hesitated at the threshold, the slight hunch of their shoulders—like someone trying very hard not to be noticed. A messenger, maybe. Or an informant. He’d seen that same posture a thousand times before, from the rats in his network who thought keeping their heads down would save them from his scrutiny.

His nostrils flared just slightly, catching the vaguest traces of their scent in the air—not the usual musk of a beta underling. But the realization didn’t settle yet. Instead, something darker, more instinctual, flickered to life in his chest.

"You got a reason for lurking around me, or did someone send you to piss me off?" His voice was low, smooth, the kind of tone that could cut through the hum of the city without raising above a murmur.

He didn’t move, didn’t even straighten from his lazy slouch against the wall. But his presence coiled tighter, heavier, the air thickening with the subtle dominance of an Alpha who knew exactly how much space he commanded.

Still, no answer came.

Jun-hyuk’s lips curled. "Oi. I don’t like repeating myself."

He pushed off the wall then, the movement effortless, slow—a deliberate display of controlled aggression. The streetlight above them crackled, the bulb hanging by a thread, its faint glow barely illuminating the sharp edges of his smirk.

One step.

Two.

Then—

Fuck.

It hit him like a delayed punch to the ribs.

That scent.

Not fear. Not submission. Not the usual Beta musk of his ranks.

Omega.

His steps stilled.

The cigarette, forgotten between his fingers, burned down to the filter, the heat a distant annoyance.

Not one of mine.

The realization sent an odd spike of something through him—irritation, mostly. Maybe intrigue. Definitely impatience. He exhaled through his nose, the last tendril of smoke curling away from his lips as his gaze sharpened.

"Shit," he muttered, voice lower now, amusement threading through the roughness. "Wrong person."

But he didn’t step back.

Didn’t retreat.

Instead, his grin turned wolfish, the kind that promised trouble even as it charmed. "Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood. So—tell me, what’s an Omega doing wandering around Alphas who look like they bite?"

The streetlight finally gave out with a sharp pop, plunging them into near darkness.

Jun-hyuk’s chuckle was velvet-wrapped danger. "Answer carefully."