Novels by Sen_TLP

LEAH’S POV Something shifts in his expression. It is so slight that I might have imagined it. Not quite amusement. Not quite approval. Perhaps he simply finds my answer interesting.He leans back a fraction in his chair. “Then why are you eating it?”“Because the academy provides free meals.”“And?”“And because I am hungry.”For the first time, I see a faint change in his eyes. It disappears almost immediately. I am beginning to suspect that Uriel Thorne considers visible emotional reactions a personal failure.I would like to ask whether he was born like this or whether someone trained him to be insufferable. Unfortunately, I value my continued existence, so I keep my mouth shut. Uriel rests his hands on the table again. “Look at me, Bellmoore.”I am already looking at him. I consider pointing this out. Instead, I remain silent.His gaze sharpens. “Look at me properly.”My stomach tightens.The command is quiet. It does not need to be loud. I raise my chin a fraction, forcing mys

LEAH’S POV For one absurd moment, I genuinely wonder whether I have died and arrived in some unpleasant version of the afterlife.Perhaps the gods have decided that my brief period of peace was excessive.Perhaps they have concluded that two days of rest, expensive food, and relative freedom from disaster were more than I deserved.Or maybe I am simply being punished for thinking that the worst of the trial was behind me.Uriel rests his elbows casually on the wooden table, interlocking his pale fingers together.He looks perfectly comfortable. That is the most alarming part.He does not appear angry. He does not appear confused.He does not even look particularly interested in the fact that hundreds of students are watching him sit across from the unranked omega who has become the subject of half the academy’s gossip.He looks as though he has selected a seat in the cafeteria, decided it is satisfactory, and intends to remain there until he has finished whatever brought him here.I

LEAH’S POV A student at the next table stops talking. Someone near the center of the hall lowers his spoon. A chair scrapes against the floor. Then the steady hum of conversation in the cafeteria begins to fade. It does not happen all at once. It starts near the main entrance, a slow rippling silence that spreads outward from table to table like water freezing over in winter. Silverware stops clinking against ceramic plates. Whispers die in throats. Laughter cuts off mid-sentence. The sound of a glass being placed on a table suddenly seems far too loud. I keep my eyes glued to my phone screen, pretending to read an article about campus security patrols. My thumb remains suspended above the display. I am no longer reading. Something has changed. I can feel it in the way the students around me have gone still, in the sudden tension gathering across the room, and in the strange pressure that seems to settle over my skin. My instincts flare to life, screaming at the base of my s

LEAH’S POV For the omegas, who the administration apparently believes should maintain a fragile, slender physique and watch their caloric intake like caged birds, the menu is distinctly different. The kitchen server drops a wooden bowl onto my tray— steamed white rice, a handful of boiled corn kernels, and a small side of unseasoned, watery tofu. I look at the bowl. Then I look at the server. The server looks at me. Neither of us says anything. Perhaps she is waiting for me to complain. Perhaps she is hoping I will simply accept the meal and move along. As I pick up my tray, the light in my eyes dies a bit. Not that I have anything against tofu on principle. Tofu is perfectly respectable when prepared properly. It can be fried, seasoned, simmered in sauce, or combined with enough spices to make even the most stubborn person reconsider their prejudices. But this? This is not a meal. This is an insult that happens to be edible. Looking at it next to the memory of the alpha’s st

LEAH’S POV A few were clever enough to make their advances sound like jokes, leaving me to wonder whether anyone would believe me if I complained. The pattern never changed. First, they turned me into a rumor. Then they used the rumor to justify whatever they wanted to do to me. And if I fought back, they made me the villain. I survived those days. I survived them because I learned to keep track of exits, recognize the sound of approaching footsteps, and never assume that a friendly smile meant I was safe. I survived because I learned that some people did not need proof of anything. They only needed an excuse. The memory leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I do not miss my previous life. Not even for a second. There are moments when I wish I could reach backward through time and drag my former self away from every room where someone made me feel small. I wish I could tell that person that none of it was deserved. That being quiet did not mean consent. That being kind did not

LEAH’S POV I have heard insults about my appearance before. I have heard people question my intelligence, my background, and my right to occupy the same classrooms as students from the Great Packs. But used goods? That is a new level of stupidity. “What do you mean?” his companion asks. The first beta scoffs and shakes his head. “Are you blind? Look at what happened during the trial. It is very clear what Regis, Uriel, and Jakob used her for behind the scenes.” The third beta lets out a low whistle. “You think they actually did something to her?” The first boy gives him a look that suggests he has just asked the most obvious question in the world. “What else was an omega like her supposed to do on a three-day trek with three alpha heirs? She was clearly there to spread her legs and suck their cocks whenever they wanted.” A few students passing nearby slow down. One of them makes a face. Another pretends to be interested in the contents of her bag. The second beta laughs. “We

I would tell you all the other things we did that night, but I’m shy, and you’re all too nosy for me— why else would you want to hear about Miyamura bending me over? What a bunch of nosy bastards. Anyway…the world is changing. Little by little, but it definitely is. The good news is that omegas are no longer seen as objects for trade…there’s nothing like stocks anymore. Also, no one’s being forced to bow their heads to alphas anymore— all the leftover rules from the dark era have finally come to an end. The bad news is that no one knows what to do. There’s a tentative peace in the air, fragile but there, but no one knows how to make the first move. It’s like we’re all just waiting for it to be real. All the Omega Rehabilitation Centers in Japan have been torn down and renovated into actual open therapy facilities for omegas. Many of the broken omegas from the ORC have found a home in these places. Those who were sold by their families find peace in these facilities, an

“No Sorahiko, I’m stalking you”. His horror gives way to annoyance. “You’re currently wearing clothes I bought as a courting gift, but you’re still asking if I’m actually courting you?”. Oh, come on. “I thought you bought them…for fun”. I do my best to ignore Miyamura’s raised brow. “Besides, they’re soft! And you bought them for me, should I not have worn them?”. “No, you should wear them. I bought them for you because I wanted to see you in them, so keep them on”. He sighs heavily. “I’ve been courting you for a while, Sorahiko…your ignorance is honestly discouraging”. How am I being ignorant? How was I supposed to know he was courting me? “You’re always buying me stuff, Miyamura. Even when I was still your secretary, you would take me out to eat things that I liked, so how was I supposed to know?”. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, but it never occurred to me that those were courting gifts— thinking otherwise would have been very delusional. “You’re right…”. He scoffs.

“The Omega Rehabilitation Center has been unanimously stripped of its power as of today…wardens have been taken away to be tried in court for perceived foul play…”. Has the world lost its mind? Or have I lost mine? “Numerous crimes involving omegas have been brought to light…suspected omega trafficking under the guise of rehabilitation…the stock system has been broken as of today…”. “What is going on…?”. “I changed things”. Miyamura’s grip on my hand might be the only thing keeping me standing. “I put in effort and I changed everything… Misa and me.”. He changed things? He put in effort? This isn’t just changing things, nor is it the product of mere effort. He restructured the world for omegas— he’s changed everything. “Why? Why would you do all this?”. I won’t lie, a part of me had always resented him for having the power to change things and not doing anything about it. Back then, when he informed me of the gala and showed me the catalogue the ORC sent him, I was

“Give me some time, I’ll come find you”. It’s been two weeks and I haven’t even seen Miyamura’s shadow. I’ve called and sent texts, which he’s seen, but not replied to. He reads all my texts and sees my calls, but he doesn’t call back or text. So, I stopped reaching out. I decided to try therapy instead— on Sakura’s insistence. She made me realize that Aito tried to use my stupid paranoia to make me kill myself, and it almost worked. I was actually going to do it, if she hadn’t stopped me. I would’ve killed myself like an idiot and fallen to his schemes. I probably wouldn’t be the first, but I’d be the biggest fool out of the rest. So, I signed up for therapy, and I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to learn how to word my thoughts better and open myself up to my therapist— I just want to have a healthy mindset for once in my life. No more unreliable thoughts. No more unneeded stressful thinking…I’ll be better. I promise myself. “Delivery for Mr. Hagakure!”. I

TWO WEEKS LATER… “Thanks for having me”. She pulls off her shoes and walks into Misa’s familiar apartment. “I’m the one who should be thanking you for coming over”. Even after all that’s happened— all the dirty secrets that have been revealed— Misa still has that easygoing air around her. She wastes no time in guiding Sakura straight into the kitchen. “I think I’ve got it this time. It tastes good, I swear”. Sakura fights back a grin— Misa’s excitement already drawing her in. “I’m sure it tastes great, Misa”. She is unceremoniously pushed down to sit, while Misa cuts a slice of the banana bread cooling at the counter, plates it, and then places it in front of her. “Try it. There’s no way I didn’t get it this time”. Sakura has come to realize that Misa is very competitive, in the sense that she dislikes losing, not to herself, and not to anyone. This whole banana bread fiasco began when she mentioned while texting that she loved the snack, and Misa being a good b

“You deserve much better”. Miyamura’s heartfelt words fall like a rock, shattering the last of Rei’s defenses. The omega stops muttering to himself and looks up— face wet with tears. “I-I just want to…breathe”. He says, voice as low as a whisper. “I don’t want to b-be used anymore. I’m a man, not a woman, and I don’t want to dance ballet…I never wanted to…”. He looks down at his leg sadly. “M-my ankles always hurt, and my feet are always swollen. I never even wanted to do it, b-but I…”. His voice cracks. “I had no choice”. “I want to eat something d-different. I-I want to eat meat…”. Miyamura holds his gaze steadily— teary eyes meet tired, red ones. “I want to e-eat something that I like…do what I like…not what someone else w-wants me to”. He looks down, drawing Miyamura’s eyes to his shaking hands. “I want to live, Miyamura…”. “I don’t want to…I can’t spend the rest of m-my life in fear. I know what I did was w-wrong, and I know you really don’t want to forgive me”.