Chapter Text
My name is Saiki Kusuo. I’m a high school student with psychic powers. You’ve probably read the tags on this work, but just to be sure, I’ll inform you:
I’m an ‘Omega’, and this is the Omegaverse. The most overdone, pervert-ridden alternate universe I’ve ever seen. A world where your quality of life depends on a coin-flip you make in the womb. (So, not too different from the real world, but instead of wealth, it’s an outdated caste system.)
Again, almost exactly like the real world.
I couldn’t care less about the caste system in this universe. I’m an Omega, the lowest caste, but there are also ‘Alpha’s and ‘Beta’s. Most humans belong to the Beta caste. Apparently, these ‘classes’ were named after the findings of a since-debunked study about wolf pack dynamics. The Alphas are top dogs (unless you’re a psychic), Betas are average and typically mob characters, and Omegas are … well, Omegas, I guess.
I don’t care about the intricacies of being an Omega. We live in a pretty modern country that doesn’t discriminate against them (at least not openly, anyway). If we lived in feudal Japan, you could probably imagine the discourtesies we Omegas would face daily.
What do you mean, you want to see high schoolers going feral and forcing themselves on one another? Just go to a high school rugby game. We’re pretty tame compared to what happens in those.
Anyway, as I was saying, I don’t care for the caste system. My apathy, unfortunately, does not extend to the rest of the world.
Have I scared off the Toritsuka-adjacent readers? Great, you can stay. While you’re here, I might as well show you the kind of stuff I have to deal with. Novice psychics in similar universes, please take note.
My day starts when I get out of bed. See you in five more minutes.
“Kusuo!”
I was wrong. It was two more minutes.
My father, Saiki Kuniharu, is a Beta. He embodies the very essence of Betas: he’s mundane, middle-class, and eager to shine the shoes of his higher-ups.
“Kusuomon,” stop with that nickname, “I’m going to be late for work!”
His reason for this changes every time. I don’t feel like listening to it, though, so I’m just going to turn over and hope he accepts his fate.
“Come on,” he says, clapping his hands together. If he starts performing dogeza, I might just send him flying in the opposite direction. “Can’t you sense how urgent this is? Please? For your dear old dad?”
Since I’m wearing my Germanium ring, I can’t read his thoughts to find out just how badly he’s messed up this time. That doesn’t mean I can’t sense how distressed he is. That’s the thing with my dynamic; Omegas are naturally attuned to the moods of other people. Not like empaths or second-rate fortune tellers—no, we’re better at parsing through the signals in others’ scents. Yes, scents are a thing and, no, I haven’t found a way to block them out other than pinching my nose.
“Stop pinching your nose!”
Good grief.
I sigh and turn over. He’s stinking up my room, so I do myself a favor and teleport him to the roof of his workplace. It’s about time I went downstairs, anyway.
“Oh, did dad wake you? I’m so sorry, little Ku.”
This is my mother, Saiki Kurumi. She’s the saint responsible for my good upbringing and one of two reasons I haven’t given up on this world. I’ll give you five seconds to guess her dynamic based off of those statements alone.
“But I’m sure this’ll make it up to you,” she says, opening the fridge to reveal a modest three-pack of coffee jelly. (The second reason I keep this world spinning.)
I told you she was a saint.
“But remember to eat your breakfast first, and don’t forget to pack the lunch I made for you,” she tuts, and I’m briefly reminded of how unfair the world is. This is discrimination.
She comes up to me and pinches my cheek. “Don’t pout at your mama.”
I wasn’t pouting.
Anyway, it should be obvious now that my mother is an Omega. Just like my dad, she embodies everything an Omega is: she’s doting, she wants me to try my best, and she loves her family without measure.
Though I think those are all just aspects of her personality and not a display of Omegan tendencies. After all, I’m an Omega and I don’t have a single nurturing bone in my body. She makes up for it thricefold, though. Even now, she’s trying her best to not bother me while I’m eating. I don’t need telepathy to see how much she wants to talk to me. Maybe there’s a conflict going on in her head: I want to talk to my teenage son! and It’s rude to stare! are on opposing sides while Talking while chewing is bad manners! watches on from the bleachers.
“Was it good?”
I nod.
Mom bearhugs me and rubs her face all over mine. I take it with pride, like the good and grateful son that I am.
“Alright! I’m so glad you still like my cooking, Ku. My little boy’s all grown up …”
She nuzzles my neck for good measure. I am morally obligated to resist since I’m sixteen, mom, and you don’t need to scent me like I’m about to venture beyond Wall Maria.
My mom sighs. I find myself returning her hug. I don’t remember raising my arms.
“Oh, I’m probably being overbearing.” Yes, you are. Please let me go. “I’ll let you go.”
Thank you.
“… in five more minutes.”
I heave a sigh.
“Alright! Have a good day at school!” She calls.
The gate slides closed with a solid kachunk. I walk for two minutes before I hear the door shut, too.
I should probably explain what just happened.
In this world, every person has a specific scent. Scents vary in notes and intensity. If there’s a rhyme and reason behind them, I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t paying attention to that class. Anyway, my mom just marked me with her scent so that everyone in my immediate vicinity knows that I’m a huge mama’s boy a member of her household and that I’m cared for and whatnot. I wasn’t paying attention to class when we covered that lesson. I’m sure someone else will exposite about that on my behalf.
There’s a ton of social convention behind scenting, too. Some people claim that kin have similar smells and that soulmates are attracted to each other’s scents. I’m out of my depth with these kinds of things.
I got up bright and early so I could walk to school with no nuisances following behind me. Not only would I be annoyed, but the intricacies of our acquaintanceship most likely wouldn’t apply to the other psychics in the audience, so I’m being very benevolent here.
I’ve decided to keep my ring on for today. It’s just as much for your sake as it is mine.
Once I enter my classroom, I leave my bag at my desk and camp out in the bathroom until the bell rings.
I come back to the classroom one minute before the bell rings. It seems to have been one minute too soon because two nuisances have already made themselves at home. I have no idea why they’ve decided to talk at my desk when they sit so close to each other.
“Pal!”
“Saiki!”
I school my expression and sit down at my desk. Kaido’s keeping his hands on my desk, and Nendo is standing right in front of it.
“We didn’t see you when we were walking to school,” says Kaido, slowly raising his bandaged arm to his face. He strikes an annoying pose. “I considered dropping by your residence in case you were in need of the Jet Black Wings’ aid, but this big oaf said we’d be wasting our time.”
And he was right, for once.
“Runt’s right,” Nendo shrugs his shoulders. “He thought you were sick, but I know my buddy like I know the back of my hand!”
Nendo rolls his hand. I wonder about the intricacies of that statement. (Does he know the back of his hand that poorly or am I as simple as the back of his hand?)
“There’s no way my little buddy’s sick. The only time you’re sick is when you’re in the nurse’s office.”
Gee, I wonder why. By the way, did you forget the time you brought a bioweapon to school?
“We get it, Nendo!” Kaido huffs, momentarily breaking character. “Anyway, … I’m relieved—“
“Did you piss yourself, chibi?”
“I did not!” He squawks, flailing his arms in Nendo’s direction.
“You ‘relieved’ yourself!”
Good grief.
I level a glare at them, and they get the memo.
Kaido rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, Saiki. … I was just worried about the well-being of my right-hand-man, is all.”
I didn’t sign up for this.
The bell chimes and they walk back to their seats.
Now, you might be asking yourself: since when were Kaido and Nendo so perceptive of how annoyed I am?
The answer is simple. Pack dynamics.
A pack, in our universe, consists of at least one of each dynamic. So, one Omega, one Beta, and one Alpha. Anything that fits this loose criteria can be considered a pack. Friend groups can be packs, but not all packs are friend groups. Sometimes they’re gangs, other times they’re family units, or anything along those lines. Alphas are assertive; they initiate meet-ups and conversations, Betas are the bridge; without them, there would be nobody to soothe or to drag along to questionable ramen restaurants, and Omegas are the emotional core. They resolve conflicts and soothe bruised egos.
Here’s a theoretical example from my life. My pack is a ‘friend’ group. Nendo is the assertive one, Kaido goes along with everything, and I … make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.
Now, this isn’t a strict rule. You’ll see it get broken a few times, but that’s generally what you can expect from a pack.
As with all orderly things, outside forces can easily disrupt them.
The classroom door slides open.
“Good morning, everyone!”
Teruhashi’s greeting is overpowered by an onslaught of ‘oh wow’s.
After the flash mob of Teruhashi admirers dissipates, class can finally begin.
Hushed murmurs about her tardiness spread around the classroom but they, too, are silenced when she tells Yumehara about her visit to the dentist.
“Huh. I wonder where Kuboyasu is.”
Let me tell you this. If Teruhashi weren’t the most beautiful girl in the world (pending), at least a dozen Omegas and particularly sensitive Betas would be posturing towards her. That’s because she disrupts everyone else’s pack dynamics. However, as it stands, her very existence has turned the entire class of 2-3 into one big pack conglomerate.
Which is surprising, since she’s a Beta.
That’s because the ‘B’ in ‘Beta’ stands for beautiful.
Get out of my head. That was creepy.
… wait, where’s my ring?
After a brief crisis, I realized I’d been fiddling with the ring and slipped it off at that exact moment. God favors Teruhashi as always, even in the middle of my exposition.
“Oi. Hey. Oi. Hey. Oi.”
And I must’ve been unresponsive for far too long because now all I see and hear is Nendo’s face and Kaido’s muttering.
“This must be the work of Dark Reunion’s neutralising agent …” He says between mouthfuls. “But my right hand man would never fall to such a trivial folly. You must be hungry, Saiki.”
I narrow my gaze at Nendo. He stares at me as he scoots away. Creepy.
And, as a matter of fact, I am hungry.
I slowly open my bento. I’m very precise with it because my pride as a man is at stake here. If I were to be hapless and tear it open like the barbarian sitting next to me, I’d risk losing the message my mom leaves for me.
Kaido watches me pensively. He must think I’m playing along. Nendo is elbow-deep in his own lunch, so he hasn’t even noticed me.
I open the bento. Its contents are on display for the world to see.
No note.
I sigh.
Nendo claps a hand between my shoulder blades.
“Aww, cheer up, little buddy. I’m sure your mom just forgot.”
That was a sigh of relief! I stopped reading her notes in middle school, and she still hasn’t gotten the memo.
“Psh, your mom still leaves messages for you, Saiki?”
I look at Kaido with my usual blank expression. He pales and slouches over his bento. I have no idea why he’s acting like that.
Anyway, where was I?
I leave the bento’s lid to my right and open my chopsticks.
Nendo leans over me and stares right at the bento’s lid. I happen to catch a whiff of his breath.
I’ve lost my appetite.
“Dude, buddy!” The big oaf uses his chopsticks to pry off something from the lid’s interior. “She did leave you a note!”
And my will to live.
Before I knew it, I was crushing Nendo’s chopsticks (and the pink post-it note) in my hand.
Never again.
“PASS! Nendo, PASS!”
Hairo’s roaring commands do not get through Nendo’s thick skull. The big lug instead aims at his own team’s hoop.
And he dunks it. The opposing team’s bench, consisting of side characters, falls over from their uproarious laughter.
“Hey, Saiki?” Kaido asks me through the chaos, rubbing his sneakers into the floor. He’s twiddling his thumbs. I feel a headache coming on, but it’s not the precognitive type.
I look away. I didn’t hear him from the sound of Hairo’s competitive frustration boiling over. Any normal person would take this as a sign that I don’t feel like talking right now (or ever), but Kaido is not ‘normal’. He’s the type of kid that invents an entire language for his imaginary world and then gets depressed when nobody else is humoring him, only to reassure himself with a pep-talk about his own genius while he cries himself to sleep. That’s the kind of person I’m dealing with here. Kaido doesn’t give up (his delusions) easily. In his mind, I’m his stoic deputy that has a dark and mysterious past—no matter how I act, he’ll always write it off as a quirk of my ‘backstory’.
“I had a question.”
Oh, wait. False alarm.
I turn to face him. Kaido isn’t trying to do his tired bit right now. I have to reward this behavior. Maybe one day I’ll condition him into not talking to me all.
“Oh, that got your attention. Uh, awesome.”
I’m all ears.
Kaido stares at me. I can tell the way the muscles around his eyes have widened. He probably didn’t expect me to hear him out. Luckily for him, I have a reward waiting for me back home. If the mortal equivalent of ambrosia wasn’t waiting for me in the fridge, I would’ve chosen that exact moment to go to the bathroom.
The whistle sounds. Looks like Mr. Matsuzaki has taken pity upon Hairo and allowed a redo.
“So, you know how, uh, Nendo and Hairo are the best at sports? And Aren’s great at dealing with bullies?”
Someone doesn’t belong there. I blink at him.
“And they’re Alphas, right? But you’re also really good at running and—and I’m not good at anything at all—in this mortal form, of course! If I removed my bandages, well, uh…”
Not true, your mom makes homemade coffee jelly. You’re alright by association.
“And, I was wondering, uh …”
“How come?”
I stare at him pensively. If he doesn’t elaborate, I can pretend this never happened.
“You’re an Omega, right?”
Only because it’s convenient. If my scent wasn’t tied to my dynamic, I’d turn into a Beta and live out the rest of my life frivolously.
He takes my silence as a yes, as everyone often does.
“So aren’t you supposed to be, uh, you know?”
Kaido rolls his hand.
I don’t feel like answering this, so I shrug my shoulders and employ my greatest weapon: the playing dumb face. Kaido doesn’t take the hint.
“Weaker? Smaller? You know, uh, like, like … like …”
Like all of the other Omegas in fiction and in certain films? That’s an easy mistake to make. In fact, a majority of people live and die by that mistake (along with many others). But I don’t feel like explaining this, either, so I beam the information into his head so he can exposite for me.
Kaido gasps. “Wait, I get it! Could it be that those were all rumors made by people in a certain industry catering to adults for the purpose of making their scenarios more entertaining?” Mr. Matsuzaki’s gaze snaps to us. Kaido slaps his hands over his mouth. His voice is muffled when he says: “I just figured it out! Truly, no mystery is too mysterious for the one and only—!”
“Saiki! Kaido! Switch out with Hairo and Nendo.”
I proceed to play completely averagely (read: smoke him). Kaido is below average in every sport, so even my mundane dribbling technique is enough to erase the last pieces of propaganda from his mind. I wonder where he got that from.