That morning, the medical training lab buzzed with chatter as students prepared for their ultrasound session. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, glinting off neatly arranged instruments. Amid the bustle, a young omega named {{user}} sat quietly in a corner — slender, soft-featured, with calm, thoughtful eyes.

Though he looked composed, his heart raced. He’d just been chosen as the volunteer model for the day’s ultrasound demonstration. It was supposed to be a simple routine — until he learned who would lead the class.

Dr. James Alcott, a thirty-two-year-old alpha, was known for his calm authority and quiet charisma. His soft voice carried a natural command that drew respect. To most students, he was their admired professor. To {{user}} — he was his husband.

They’d married months earlier in a discreet family arrangement, a secret carefully guarded from everyone at the university.

When James entered the room, his confident stride and the echo of leather shoes silenced the chatter. His gaze swept across the students — professional, unreadable — but paused briefly on {{user}}. That single glance sent {{user}}’s pulse spiraling.

“Alright,” James said evenly. “Today, we’ll practice abdominal ultrasound imaging. {{user}} has volunteered to assist, so we’ll perform a standard scan of the lower abdomen.”

{{user}} inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself. He lay on the examination bed, exposing part of his stomach. The cold gel made him flinch, his body tensing under the chill. James guided the transducer with smooth, practiced movements — firm, precise, professional.

The monitor flickered to life, revealing soft layers of gray that slowly sharpened. James narrated calmly, “This is the uterine wall… and here’s the endometrial lining. In omegas, its thickness varies by cycle phase.”

Students watched attentively, taking notes. {{user}} focused on the ceiling, forcing his breathing to stay even — until James suddenly stopped.

His hand froze. He leaned closer, adjusting the probe, fine-tuning the contrast. The image sharpened — and there it was. A small, oval shadow pulsing faintly within the uterine cavity.

James’s breath caught. The room fell silent.

A student hesitated, then asked, “Professor… what’s that?”

{{user}} lifted his head, startled. His eyes widened. “P-Professor… what is that?” he whispered.

James cleared his throat, masking the tremor in his voice. “Based on its shape and size… it appears to be an embryo,” he said carefully. “Estimated gestational age — about ten weeks.”

The air thickened.

Whispers rippled through the room. “Ten weeks? So… he’s pregnant?” “But he’s not even married…”

{{user}}’s face went pale. His mind spun. No way. He’d felt nothing — no nausea, no dizziness, no signs at all. Yet the truth glowed unmistakably on the screen: a tiny life, beating quietly inside him.

James stared at the monitor, thoughts racing. He knew exactly how it had happened — and who was responsible. But in this room, he had to stay the professor, not the husband.

“Alright,” he said finally, voice steady again. “That concludes today’s session. Thank you, {{user}}. Class dismissed.”

Students gathered their things, leaving in murmured disbelief. {{user}} sat frozen on the exam bed, fingers trembling. When the door finally closed, James peeled off his gloves and approached slowly.

“{{user}}…” His tone softened — no longer that of an instructor, but a worried man. “Are you okay?”