Hidden-No rules

Prologue

In this world, it's not enough to be born. You have to be born correctly. From a young age, they're taught that there are three subcastes, though no one says it out loud in front of an omega.

The alphas are at the top of the pyramid. Natural leaders, dominant, confident. It's said they come into the world with their destiny already decided: strength, presence, influence. Where they tread, others step aside. They don't need to ask for space; they take it.

The betas live in the middle, comfortable, invisible in the best sense of the word. They don't carry the pressure of leadership or the stigma of weakness. They walk through life without biological chains defining them. They are the majority, stability, normality.

And then there are the omegas. The last rung. Omegas are looked at with a mixture of desire and pity. They are considered fragile, emotional, susceptible. Too sensitive for a world that only respects strength. And yet, they possess something that disrupts the entire balance of the system: pheromones.  Alphas and omegas share that gift—or that curse.

Alphas emit dense, heavy pheromones, designed to dominate, to subdue, to mark their territory without words. Omegas, on the other hand, exude a different scent. Subtle. Seductive. Capable of attracting even when they try to go unnoticed. It's an invisible language that governs decisions, desires, and hierarchies. A chemical dance that asks no permission.

That's why they are so important.

That's why they are so closely watched.

That's why they are never truly free. Aiko learned this far too soon. He hated being born an omega.

Not because he believed himself to be weak—he knew he wasn't—but because the world insisted on reminding him of it. Comments disguised as concern. Teachers who spoke more slowly when addressing him. Alphas who smiled as if they already knew something he didn't. Being an omega meant always being at risk of becoming a resource. An object. Someone else's need.

But Aiko had one advantage.  His pheromones were unusually weak. So weak that, combined with regular inhibitors, they were almost imperceptible. For him, it was an opportunity. With the right inhibitors and enough discipline, he could pass as a beta. He could walk down the halls without anyone smelling him before they saw him. He could sit next to an alpha without feeling that invisible pressure that forced them to lower their gaze. He could exist without being categorized first for what he was.

The world believing he was a beta gave him something more valuable than pride: it gave him time. Time to survive.

Because in a system built on instincts and hierarchies, feigning normality was the best strategy.
Aiko didn't want to seduce. He didn't want to be dominated. He wanted to be able to choose.

And if to achieve that he had to hide his true nature, then he would. He would swallow pills, endure the side effects. He would build an identity solid enough that no one would doubt it.

"Let them think I'm a beta," he thought every morning in front of the mirror. "Let them underestimate me. Let them ignore me."  Because as long as the world keeps looking upwards —towards the alphas—, no one will suspect the omega who learned to hide without leaving a trace.