* * *
After his Beta classification, home was no longer the warm, familiar place it had once been.
His parents no longer cared about his everyday life or emotional ups and downs.
Even when he talked about school at the dinner table, they responded half-heartedly, or continued chatting among themselves with words only they understood—like he wasn’t even there.
Being treated like he was invisible.
That was the reality of a Beta son.
The boy who was once the family’s pride and joy had become an awkward, uncomfortable presence.
And sometimes, indifference cut deeper than the sharpest words.
“Mom! Dad! I’m an Omega! A Dominant Omega, even!”
Years later, Yeonhee blossomed into a radiant Dominant Omega, and the situation worsened.
Their parents showered her with the love and attention they’d once reserved for Yoonwoo—maybe even more.
Everything they’d hoped Yoonwoo would become—his beauty, sensitivity, sociable charm, artistic talent, and above all, his expected Omega presentation—Yeonhee seemed to have it all.
Now, it was as if they were trying to fulfill their perfect family dream through her.
A delicate and graceful Omega daughter.
The house became lively again—but that energy only flowed between the three of them: Alpha father, Omega mother, and their Dominant Omega daughter.
They communicated and bonded through pheromones.
At the table, they’d share subtle conversations Yoonwoo couldn’t understand, conveyed through scents alone.
If the father expressed a mood through a specific pheromone, the mother and Yeonhee would catch on instantly and respond.
But Yoonwoo could only sit there, confused.
In the living room, they’d be happily intoxicated by each other’s pheromones, laughing in perfect sync.
They looked like the picture-perfect Alpha-Omega family.
There was no place in that perfect picture for Beta Yoonwoo.
Even in the same room, he felt like he was behind a thick pane of glass—a stranger, unable to sense or share their world.
As their laughter grew louder, Yoonwoo’s loneliness deepened.
“It’s like… I live in a different world.”
He often left meals halfway through or slipped out of conversations, quietly returning to his room and locking the door behind him.
The silence in his empty room was the only thing that stayed by his side.
Yoonwoo grew increasingly hollow.
With his parents’ indifference and the complete exclusion from family life, he began to forget how to express his emotions.
He shut himself in, pouring everything into his art.
Only in front of the canvas, with a brush in hand, could he fully focus and feel truly alive.
But there was no longer anyone to show his paintings to with pride.
Once, he finally gathered the courage to show a piece he’d stayed up several nights to complete—a work he believed to be his best yet.
Trembling, he waited for his father’s reaction.
But his father, eyes glued to the newspaper, glanced over and mumbled, “Yeah, looks good,” before returning to his reading.
His mother didn’t even glance at it.
She was too busy on the phone, talking about Yeonhee’s future.
“Oh, teacher! You won’t believe it—our Yeonhee just won a prize at the National Student Art Competition! I guess that’s what makes a Dominant Omega different, huh? I’m thinking of enrolling her in an arts high school so she can get the support she deserves. She’s going to be big someday—just wait and see! Hahaha.”
Yoonwoo’s painting didn’t even register in her world.
At that moment, Yoonwoo felt something shatter into pieces deep within his heart.
Was it true that even his talent, even all his blood-sweat-drenched effort, meant nothing in the face of being a Beta?
Crushed by despair, he returned to his room and tore apart the painting he had just completed.
The sound of paper ripping echoed hollowly through the room, like the sound of his heart breaking.
From that day on, he never showed his artwork to his parents again.
Things weren’t any different at school.
The news that Yoonwoo had been classified as a Beta spread instantly through the elite private academy, a world that existed solely for children of Alpha and Omega parents.
“No way… Hey, Seo Yoonwoo’s a Beta.”
“What? Not even a recessive type? Just plain Beta? But aren’t both his parents carriers?”
“Exactly. That’s why there’s chaos at his house right now. What a disgrace—our school producing a Beta.”
One by one, the friends who used to hover around Yoonwoo to win favor with the “future dominant Omega” began to fade away like a mirage.
No one cared about his talent or good looks anymore.
The friends he always ate lunch with started sitting at different tables.
When they passed him in the hallways, they avoided eye contact or whispered among themselves as if he didn’t exist.
Some even looked at him with thinly veiled disgust, as if asking, “How could a Beta come from Alpha and Omega parents?”
Realizing how superficial and conditional their kindness and interest had been was yet another wound—another painful confirmation of how alone he truly was.
Gradually, Yoonwoo became completely isolated, treated like some kind of infectious outcast.
An empty home.
A cold school.
Yoonwoo felt abandoned by the world.
No one saw him for who he truly was.
He was judged solely through the lens of his classification—Alpha, Omega, or Beta.
And then, he understood: in this world, Betas—especially Betas born to Alpha and Omega parents like himself—would always be outsiders.
If you wanted to be loved, acknowledged, and accepted as a full member of society, you had to be either an Alpha or an Omega.
That was the cruel reality.
Within the depths of that pain and loneliness, Yoonwoo closed the doors to his heart. He decided he would no longer rely on anyone.
Especially not Alphas or Omegas who changed their attitudes based on genetic traits—like his parents and so-called friends had done.
He began to doubt and keep his guard up against any kindness that approached him.
To protect himself from getting hurt again, he chose isolation.
Without showing his emotions, without giving his heart to anyone, he confined himself to the world of his drawings.
And so, he spent a dry, solitary adolescence.
The once dazzling beauty he carried began to lose its light, overshadowed by sorrow and resignation.
Eventually, high school graduation drew near.
And in the frozen corner of Yoonwoo’s heart, a faint spark still remained: following the path of fine art, just like his mother.
Ever since he was classified as a Beta, painting had become his one true refuge—his only outlet to connect with the world.
Even without his parents’ support, his talent continued to shine on its own. In his final year, he won another major award at a national art competition.
Holding the award plaque and the piece he was most proud of, he stood before his parents with a final glimmer of courage.
Maybe—just maybe—these results might open their closed hearts even a little.
More than anything, he wanted to be acknowledged for his skills, regardless of his classification.
If only he could receive, just once more, the warm gaze and praise they used to give him as a child.
With trembling resolve, he carefully told them the news of his award and expressed his wish to major in fine art at university.
But that final hope was crushed—far too easily, far too cruelly.
His mother glanced at the winning piece for a moment, then turned her eyes away with little emotion.
“Yoonwoo, it’s not that you don’t have talent… But fine art—especially pure art—requires emotion. Things like innate inspiration. That’s not something effort alone can make up for.”
Her voice was soft, but her words cut like a blade. It was as if she were saying, “Unlike me, an Omega, you—a Beta—lack something essential.”
“It’d be better not to choose such a difficult path. For your future, why don’t you just learn a stable trade?”
His father was even colder.
Without sparing a glance at the award, he jumped straight into practicalities.
“Fine art? And what exactly do you think you can do with that? Can you even support yourself?”
His voice carried no concern—only blatant distrust and the burden of expectation.
“We’re already stretched thin taking care of your younger sibling. You’re an adult now—you need to take responsibility for your own life. How long are you planning to lean on us? We’ll cover your university tuition, but don’t expect anything more. Living expenses, everything else—you figure it out.”
In that moment, Yoonwoo realized: he would always, now and forever, be nothing more than a “failed product” in their eyes.
His talent, his hard work, none of it could overcome the wall of being a Beta.
Their love had always been conditional—and he had failed to meet those conditions.
With a deep, gut-wrenching despair, his final sliver of hope shattered.
There was no need to strive for their approval anymore.
No reason to beg for their love.
Without a word, he turned away.
The tears threatened to spill, but he bit his lip and held them back.
From that day on, Yoonwoo barely spoke to his parents.
In his heart, his relationship with his family was already over.
To protect himself from further hurt, he built a wall first.
And when it came time to apply for universities, he boldly chose to apply to a design program.
Not the fine art his mother had claimed only those with “innate inspiration” could pursue, but the design field his parents had dismissed as just “a stable trade.”
But his choice wasn’t to follow their wishes.
“In the place you dismissed, I’ll rise to the top—through skill alone.”
It was a declaration that he had completely let go of his lingering attachment to fine art, a vow of total escape from their world, and above all, the beginning of his cold, unwavering resistance—a promise to be judged not by genetic traits, but by ability alone.
* * *
