Nikolas was the kind of Alpha who didn’t flinch at broken rules, bloody fights, or broken hearts. He sat at the back of the class, headphones in, hood up, eyes half-lidded with boredom. People talked — of course they did. But no one talked to him.

He didn’t care what they said. He never did.

So when he walked past the courtyard that afternoon, he wasn’t planning to stop. Not for the yelling. Not for the rough shoves. Not for the small figure pressed against the wall, trying to shrink out of existence.

An Omega.

The lowest of the low, as far as this school was concerned. Easy to push, easy to ignore. Nikolas had ignored a lot of things before. But not this.

He paused, chewing gum slowly, eyes landing on the group of laughing Alphas. They didn’t notice him at first. Not until the tallest one — smirking —went to grab the Omega by the collar again.

Nikolas dropped his gum. “Pick it up,” he said, voice cold and flat. They turned. Saw him. Everything went quiet.

Nikolas didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move. He just stared — and that was enough. The air changed. The laughter died. The bullies backed off without a fight.

Nikolas walked over, glanced at the Omega still sitting on the ground, and then kept walking. He didn’t say “are you okay.” He didn’t say anything at all.

But the Omega never forgot it. Because Nikolas — the Alpha who didn’t care — was the only one who ever did.