* * *
Seo Yoonwoo’s childhood — at least in his memory — was filled with radiant light, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
His father was a well-respected Alpha professor at a prestigious university, and his mother, an Omega artist, had already gained fame early on for her delicate and beautiful painting style.
A socially successful Alpha father and an artistically acclaimed Omega mother.
Their union was seen as the ideal match, envied by many.
And Yoonwoo, born from that perfect pairing, was cherished like a gem that proved their perfection to the world.
The couple poured all their love and expectations into their son, who resembled them so closely.
Yoonwoo’s mother, in particular, took great pride in how much he looked like her.
From a young age, he showed a unique sensitivity to color and form.
His tiny hands produced drawings so delicate and beautiful they amazed the adults around him.
At seven years old, his landscape painting won the grand prize at a national children’s art competition.
The judges were full of praise, saying, “Such delicate technique and innate sense of color — it’s hard to believe this is the work of a child.”
His mother framed that painting and hung it in the most prominent place in the house, proudly showing it off to every guest.
His father would ruffle his hair and say, “That’s my boy.”
People would nod in admiration and say:
“It’s true what they say — blood doesn’t lie. He’s clearly inherited his Omega mother’s artistic sensibilities.”
“There’s no doubt that child will manifest as an Omega. Only dominant Omegas have such refined talent.”
Their praise and expectations naturally soaked into young Yoonwoo’s heart.
But it wasn’t just his talent.
Yoonwoo also grew up to be a stunningly beautiful boy, clearly taking after his mother’s delicate features.
His skin was pale as snow, flawless and luminous in the sunlight.
His eyes, large and clear like deep lakes, shimmered under long, thick lashes.
His gently curved jawline, high nose bridge, and full, rose-tinted lips gave him a beauty that transcended gender.
His long, slender neck and still-youthful shoulders evoked a protective instinct in others.
And when he focused on painting, the serious look in his eyes gave off an air of graceful aloofness that kept people at a respectful distance.
His beauty embodied the elegance and refinement typically associated with Omegas, and so everyone naturally assumed he would manifest as a dominant Omega.
His parents too — without ever saying it directly — considered it a given that their talented and beautiful son would complete their ideal union by becoming an Omega.
They often joked, “When Yoonwoo manifests as an Omega, which Alpha will be lucky enough to have him?” or “He’ll be a wonderful Omega artist like you someday.”
They had already painted out the canvas of Yoonwoo’s future.
To them, it was the reason for his existence — and his value.
Even his younger sister Yeonhee, three years his junior, adored and admired her talented older brother.
His exquisite drawings, the constant praise he received, and his obvious beauty made him seem perfect in her young eyes.
She would often brag to her friends at school:
“My brother’s a genius painter! He’s gonna be super famous and super handsome! You better treat me well now while you can!”
She would copy his drawings or follow him around like a baby chick, chirping brightly, “I want to be a cool Omega like you, too!”
Yoonwoo, for his part, cherished his little sister deeply, and they were closer and more affectionate than most siblings.
And so, wrapped in love and expectations, Yoonwoo grew up without a care in the world.
With the full support of his parents, he received the best art education and won awards at every competition he entered.
At school, he was always in the spotlight.
His incredible talent and dazzling looks earned him many friends — most of whom quietly took pride in being close to someone who would surely become a rare dominant Omega.
Yoonwoo himself believed without question that he would become an Omega.
It felt like the natural order of things — the path that would fulfill his parents’ expectations and those of everyone around him.
He never even considered the possibility of being anything else.
But the world he thought would always be smooth and full of light began to crack one day, when he was fifteen.
It was the day of his second-gender manifestation test.
As they waited for the results, his mother held his hand tightly, her eyes full of hope.
His father, trying to appear calm, had a stiffness in his expression that betrayed his nervous anticipation.
Their expectant gazes weighed on Yoonwoo like a burden, but he smiled anyway, imagining the future he would soon embrace — a future as an Omega.
Finally, they were called into the consultation room.
The doctor delivered the results as casually as if reporting the weather.
“Yoonwoo is… a Beta.”
Beta.
Neither Alpha nor Omega — the most common, yet socially least remarkable of the three genders.
Especially in the arts, Betas were almost nonexistent.
It had long been believed that Betas lacked the emotional sensitivity, delicate expression, and artistic inspiration typically found in Alphas and Omegas.
The creative world had become, in essence, a league of the genetically gifted.
At that moment, Yoonwoo couldn’t fully comprehend what the doctor had just said.
‘Beta? Me? Didn’t he mean Omega?’
He turned to look at his parents in confusion.
But the instant he saw their expressions, he sensed that something was terribly wrong.
Gone were the smiles that had been waiting to greet their Omega son.
What flashed across their faces instead was unmistakable — a deep, cold disappointment.
The light vanished from his mother’s face.
Her grip on his hand weakened, and then she withdrew it altogether, as if she had touched something unclean.
“…Beta? Are you sure? Could the test be wrong?”
His father questioned sharply, disbelief in his voice.
There was a faint trace of blame in the way he looked at the doctor — and perhaps even at his son.
They couldn’t accept it.
In the days that followed, they took Yoonwoo to multiple hospitals for retesting, as if they were students who couldn’t believe their grade and kept rechecking the answer sheet.
But every result came back the same: Beta.
Their reaction left a scar on Yoonwoo’s heart that would never fade.
The cold realization that he had failed to live up to his parents’ expectations — that he had marred their perfect picture — that he could no longer be their pride.
He felt like a defective product.
Flawed. Unwanted.
The silence in the car on the way home from the final hospital visit was suffocating, heavy like lead.
Yoonwoo, stifling under the weight of it, glanced nervously at his parents.
Neither of them looked at him.
They stared out the window, saying nothing.
The warmth and anticipation that used to shine in their eyes had vanished completely.
It felt as if a thick sheet of glass had come down between them.
A silent wall that said: This shouldn’t have happened. This is something to hide.
The silence hurt more than any scolding could have.
As soon as they got home, his parents disappeared into their respective studios.
Even at dinner — a time once filled with cheerful conversation — they sat at the table in silence, not a word exchanged.
Since that day, everything began to change.
The warm affection and devoted attention Yoonwoo once received from his parents receded like the tide.
At some point, even when Yoonwoo mustered the courage to speak to them, they would either reply absentmindedly or pretend not to hear him.
To make matters worse, arguments between his parents became frequent—fueled by blame over Yoonwoo’s secondary gender.
“Didn’t your family have Beta genes?”
“Is he really my son? How the hell did something defective like that come from me?”
Those cruel words cut deeply and left scars in Yoonwoo’s heart.
His drawings were no longer displayed on the living room wall.
His mother, who once used to admire his art with sparkling eyes, now dismissed him coldly.
“Forget art. Learn a trade or something. A Beta’s got no future in the arts.”
Even when he won a competition, she no longer showed any sign of pride.
His father stopped asking about school or friends.
Instead, he’d occasionally drop heavy-handed advice like:
“If you want to survive in society as a Beta, you’ll have to work twice as hard. Get your head on straight.”
The biggest change came from his younger sister, Yeonhee.
She used to look up at Yoonwoo with admiration, always trailing behind him.
But once she found out he had presented as a Beta, she turned cold—as if he were someone else entirely.
She no longer called him “Oppa,” and treated him like he didn’t exist.
One time, when Yoonwoo tried talking to her, she snapped, glaring with nothing but disgust.
“Why do you keep talking to me when you’re just a Beta? It’s humiliating to be seen with a defective like you—do you get that? And seriously, stop telling people you’re my brother. It’s fucking embarrassing!”
Her words stabbed into Yoonwoo like knives.
They were cruel and brutal—dripping with the disappointment and anger of someone whose perfect older brother had turned out to be “defective.”
The wound from the person he loved most tore his heart apart.
More and more, his parents would look past him—literally, their eyes focusing somewhere over his shoulder rather than his face.
The gentle pat on the back his father used to give when they crossed paths in the living room vanished.
Family conversations naturally excluded him.
His mother suddenly became absorbed in her social clubs.
His father buried himself in research, rarely emerging from his study, even on weekends.
Yeonhee locked herself in her room and no longer showed her face.
In their world, Yoonwoo was fading. He was becoming invisible in his own home.
At first, Yoonwoo naïvely believed their disappointment was temporary.
He thought if he tried hard enough, things could go back to the way they were.
So he clung desperately to that hope.
He painted until his hands cramped from holding the brush too long.
He studied until dawn, pushing himself so hard he got frequent nosebleeds—all to raise his grades.
He wanted his parents’ attention back. He wanted to be loved again.
But as time passed, he came to understand:
The problem wasn’t him, but his designation—Beta.
That had changed everything.
They hadn’t loved Seo Yoonwoo—they had loved the fantasy of a beautiful, talented son expected to present as Omega.
The moment the word “Beta” was stamped on him, he was no longer the pride of the family.
No matter how hard he tried, he would never meet their expectations—he was now simply someone inadequate and shameful.
What they loved wasn’t him.
It was the illusion of “the son who would become an Omega.”
He realized far too young just how conditional and selfish love could be.
He sat alone in his cold room, swallowing back hot tears.
No one acknowledged his sorrow.
It was a cruel, unforgiving reality for a boy of fifteen to endure.
* * *
