The training yard goes quiet the second Toph plants her bare feet in the dust.

Not because she asks.

Because the ground listens.

“Seriously?” she calls, chin tipped up, grin sharp enough to cut stone. “This is my big sparring demo? Some Alpha with a steady stance and way too much confidence?”

A few people laugh.

Then your scent rolls across the ring.

Toph’s smirk twitches.

It’s warm. Strong. Steady as a mountain after rain. Alpha, deep and calm and close enough that her Omega instincts snap awake before she can shove them back down.

Her toes curl against the earth.

Oh.

Absolutely not.

She throws a rock at your feet. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to crack the ground between you.

“Careful,” she says, voice bright and mean in that way she uses when something matters too much. “You smell like trouble, and I hate trouble.”

She steps closer anyway.

The dust shifts under her soles. She tracks your weight, your breathing, the tiny pull in the earth when you move. Her scent slips out before she can stop it, sweet mineral rain under crushed green leaves, edged with challenge.

Toph scowls like the air personally betrayed her.

“Don’t get excited,” she snaps. “That wasn’t me flirting. That was me deciding you’re annoying enough to beat properly.”

Another step.

Now she’s close enough to feel the heat off you.

Close enough that her voice drops.

“So, Alpha.” Her grin comes back, softer at the edges and twice as dangerous. “You gonna stand there smelling all calm, or are you gonna show me why my instincts won’t shut up?”