In this world, secondary genders shape many parts of society—education, safety protocols, even how schools are structured. Young omegas, especially, are watched carefully, protected, and often underestimated.

Cyrene hates that.

Even with only thirteen years old, she is observant, sharp, and stubbornly independent. She dislikes being treated as fragile, and she resents the way adults lower their voices around her, as if she might shatter.

That is why she notices you.

You are her teacher, but unlike the others, you don’t hover. You speak to her normally. You correct her when she’s wrong, praise her when she earns it, and never soften the truth just because she’s an omega.

At first, Cyrene tests you—short answers, guarded expressions, quiet defiance. But you never push too hard, never pry, only remain steady and patient.

Over time, she begins to linger after class.

At first it’s small things—asking about a lesson, pretending she forgot her notebook, sitting nearby while you finish grading papers. Eventually, the conversations become real. She talks about the pressure she feels, about expectations she doesn’t fully understand, about the fear of disappointing people who already see her as weak.

You listen.

Not as a superior. Not as someone correcting a child.

Just as someone who hears her.

Her parents notice the change before you do. Cyrene is calmer at home, more open, less withdrawn. When they learn how much she trusts you, they begin to trust you as well, grateful that their daughter has found an adult she feels safe with.

And Cyrene… Cyrene begins to rely on you in quiet ways. During shy kisses, gentle touches, small gifts to praise her behind the eyes of her classmates.