St Mary's private school [Alltake]
14
Takemichi woke in darkness.
For a moment, he didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just lay there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, feeling the warmth of Yuzuha's body beside him. The hideout was silent except for her soft breathing and the steady tick of a clock somewhere in the shadows.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound seemed to mock him. Each tick a second passing, a moment closer to morning, a moment closer to Mikey finding him. He could feel it in his bones—the inevitability of it. The certainty that no matter where he ran, no matter how well he hid, those dark eyes would eventually find him.
He turned his head slowly, carefully, and looked at Yuzuha.
She was beautiful in sleep. Ginger hair spread across the pillow, yellow-orange eyes closed, face soft and peaceful. She looked nothing like the monster who had dragged him to this hideout, who had kissed him without consent, who had promised to love him forever whether he wanted it or not.
But she was still a monster.
They were all monsters.
Takemichi's hand drifted to his neck, to the bandages wrapped around where his scent gland used to be. His fingers traced the rough fabric, felt the wound beneath—still healing, still tender, still empty.
On impulse, he began to unwrap them.
The bandages came away slowly, carefully, making no sound. Layer after layer, until the cool air of the hideout touched bare skin for the first time in days.
He couldn't see it clearly, but he could feel it. A hole. A crater. A scar in the shape of an almost perfect circle, right where his scent gland should be. The skin around it was puckered, healing, but the center was gone. Just empty space where something vital used to live.
Takemichi's fingers traced the edges, and he felt nothing.
No fear. No pain. No regret.
Just emptiness.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock was getting louder. Or maybe that was just his heartbeat. He couldn't tell anymore.
He knew there was one way out of this shithole.
Moving carefully, silently, Takemichi slid out of bed. Yuzuha stirred slightly, murmured something in her sleep, then settled back into stillness. He waited, heart pounding, until her breathing evened out again.
Then he moved.
The hideout was small—he'd learned its layout over the past few days. Bed in one corner, small table with chairs, shelves of supplies, and a kitchen area tucked behind a partial wall. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious.
But Takemichi knew this game. Knew its secrets. Knew that Yuzuha's character had a hidden room—a torture chamber where she dealt with anyone who threatened the people she loved.
He'd played her route. He knew where the switch was.
Between the counter and the fridge. A hidden panel, almost invisible, triggered by pressure in just the right spot.
Takemichi's fingers found it easily.
He pressed.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft click, a section of the wall slid open.
The smell hit him first.
Blood. Old and fresh, layered over each other in a symphony of decay. Rotting flesh. Excrement. The sweet, cloying scent of death that no amount of cleaning could ever fully erase.
Takemichi gagged, covered his mouth with his hand, forced himself not to vomit. He couldn't make noise. Couldn't wake Yuzuha. Couldn't—
He stepped inside.
The room was worse than the game had described.
Torture devices lined the walls—things Takemichi couldn't name, didn't want to name. Restraints stained dark with old blood. Tools designed to cause maximum pain with minimum death. A drain in the center of the floor, still wet with something that gleamed in the dim light.
And in the corner, propped against the wall—
A body.
Takemichi's eyes were drawn to it against his will. A student, by the look of the uniform. Young. Male. His face was frozen in a scream, his eyes wide and glassy, his body already beginning to rot. The smell coming from him was the worst of all—sweet and foul and utterly wrong.
Takemichi knew him.
He was one of the students who had tried to assault Takemichi that first week. One of Kazutora's hangers-on, part of the group that had grabbed him, touched him, hurthim.
Now he was here. Dead. Rotting. A trophy in Yuzuha's collection.
Takemichi should have felt something. Horror, maybe. Gratitude. Something.
But he just felt empty.
That's not why I'm here anyway, he thought. So why bother?
His eyes scanned the room, searching. The game had mentioned a rifle—Yuzuha's emergency weapon, kept in case things went wrong. Hanging on the wall, above the corpse, within easy reach.
There.
Takemichi crossed the room, stepping carefully around the blood and the tools and the body. His hand closed around the rifle's stock—cold metal, solid weight, real.
He pulled it down.
The rifle was old but well-maintained. He checked the chamber, half-expecting it to be empty. But no—there was a bullet there. One single bullet, waiting.
Takemichi felt something that might have been relief.
He raised the rifle. Felt the cold metal against his lips. Opened his mouth and pressed the barrel inside.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock was still mocking him.
He thought about Mikey's dark eyes. About Izana's lavender gaze. About Draken's betrayal and Hina's obsession and Taiju's gentleness and all the monsters who loved him in ways that felt like cages.
Tick
He thought about the students who had died to make his body. About the gland Mikey had torn out and swallowed. About the endless, terrible forever that waited for him if he stayed.
Tick
He thought about Yuzuha, sleeping peacefully in the next room, dreaming of a love that wasn't real.
And he pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The sound was enormous in the small space. It echoed off the walls, rattled the torture devices, drowned out the ticking clock completely.
Takemichi's body jerked. The rifle fell from suddenly limp hands, clattering to the floor. He felt himself falling, felt the cold stone meet his back, felt warmth spreading beneath him—blood, his blood, pouring from the wound in his head.
He couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Could only feel, dimly, distantly, as the world faded to black.
It's over, he thought. Finally. It's over.
And then—
Nothing.
"No, no, NO!!"
Yuzuha's screams tore through the hideout. She'd woken to the gunshot, to the absence of warmth beside her, to the horrible certainty of what she'd find.
She found it.
Takemichi lay in a pool of blood, the rifle beside him, his beautiful face destroyed beyond recognition. His eyes—those ocean-blue eyes she'd dreamed about for months—were open but unseeing, staring at nothing.
"Why?" she sobbed, collapsing beside him. "Why did you do this? I was going to protect you! I was going to love you! I was going to—"
She couldn't finish. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything except hold his cooling body and weep.
"I loved you," she whispered against his blood-soaked hair. "I loved you so much."
The clock ticked on.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
RING.
RING.
RING.
Takemichi's eyes snapped open.
He was staring at a ceiling—but not the hideout's ceiling. This one was white. Clean. Familiar.
His ceiling.
His real ceiling.
He sat up so fast his head spun, hands flying to his face, his head, his mouth. No wound. No blood. No bullet hole. Just his ordinary face, his ordinary body, his ordinary—
His hands.
They were small.
Takemichi stared at them, turning them over, flexing the fingers. These weren't his hands. Not the hands he'd had in St. Mary's, not the hands of his twenty-something self. These were younger. Smaller. The hands of a child.
He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over unfamiliar blankets, and stumbled to the mirror on his closet door.
The face that looked back at him was his—but younger. So much younger. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. Black hair, blue eyes, the same features he'd had his whole life but softened by youth, unmarked by the years he hadn't lived yet.
"What the—"
"TAKEMICHI!"
His mother's voice from downstairs, sharp and irritated. "WHY AREN'T YOU AWAKE YET? WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"
Takemichi's brain short-circuited.
His mother. Alive. Here. In his childhood home, the one his family had moved out of when he was sixteen, the one that had been demolished years ago to make way for an apartment building.
He was fourteen.
He was fourteen.
"TAKEMICHI!"
"I'm coming!" The words came out automatically, years of habit taking over. He grabbed the uniform laid out on his chair—a middle school uniform, the one he hadn't worn in over a decade—and pulled it on with shaking hands.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Akkun: Dude where r u??? We're gonna be late for orientation!!!
Takemichi stared at the message.
Akkun. His middle school friend. The one he'd lost touch with after graduation, the one who'd moved away, the one whose face he hadn't seen in years.
Alive. Here. Fourteen.
Takemichi started to laugh—a hysterical, half-sobbing sound that he couldn't control. He clapped a hand over his mouth, forced himself to stop, and typed back with trembling fingers:
Sorry! Overslept. On my way!
He grabbed his bag and ran.
The dormitory was exactly as he remembered it.
Small room, four beds, shared bathroom down the hall. Akkun was already there, dark hair messy, grin wide. Yamagishi was perched on his bed, glasses slightly askew. Makoto was unpacking his things with methodical precision. And Takuya—tall, quiet Takuya—was leaning against the window, watching the other students arrive.
"Finally!" Akkun grabbed Takemichi in a headlock, ruffling his hair. "Thought you'd died or something!"
Takemichi laughed—a real laugh, this time, light and free. "Sorry, sorry. Overslept."
"Typical." Yamagishi adjusted his glasses. "We were about to start without you."
Makoto looked up from his unpacking. "Don't do that again. We're roommates now. We have to look out for each other."
Takuya nodded silently, a small smile on his face.
Takemichi looked at them—his friends, his real friends, alive and young and here—and felt tears prick at his eyes.
"Hey, you okay?" Akkun's voice was concerned. "You look like you're about to cry."
"I'm fine." Takemichi wiped his eyes quickly. "Just... happy. To be here. With you guys."
Akkun grinned. "Soft. But yeah, me too."
The orientation assembly was massive.
Hundreds of students packed into the school auditorium, chatting, laughing, shoving. Takemichi sat with his roommates near the back, scanning the crowd with a nervousness he couldn't quite explain.
He was looking for someone.
No, he told himself firmly. That was a dream. A nightmare. It wasn't real.
But his eyes kept searching anyway.
The principal took the stage—not the Principal from St. Mary's, just an ordinary middle-aged man with a boring speech about excellence and opportunity. Takemichi tried to listen, tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering.
Then the student council president took the stage.
Golden hair. Dark eyes. A smile that was sweet on the surface and empty underneath.
Takemichi's heart stopped.
"Sano Manjiro, everyone! Our student council president!"
The applause was thunderous. Mikey smiled and waved, that perfect, practiced gesture, and his dark eyes swept across the crowd—
And kept going.
Didn't stop. Didn't pause. Didn't even flicker in Takemichi's direction.
He didn't know him.
He didn't know him.
Takemichi let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His heart started beating again. His hands stopped shaking.
It was a dream. Just a dream. He doesn't know me. None of them know me.
He started to laugh—quietly, under his breath, but real. Genuine. Relieved.
"You okay?" Akkun whispered. "You look kinda pale."
"Fine." Takemichi's smile was radiant. "Better than fine. I'm great."
The secondary gender results came out a week later.
Takemichi stood with his friends in the crowded gymnasium, watching as names were called and designations announced. Betas, mostly. A few alphas, met with cheers and backslaps. A few omegas, met with... something else. Something quieter. More complicated.
"Yamagishi!"
His friend stepped forward, nervous. The nurse checked his results and smiled.
"Beta."
Yamagishi sagged with relief. Beta was safe. Beta was normal. Beta meant he could live his life without the complications of alpha or omega dynamics.
"Makoto!"
"Beta."
More relief. More safe, normal designations.
"Akkun!"
His best friend bounced forward, grinning. The nurse checked, then grinned back.
"Alpha! Congratulations!"
The crowd cheered. Akkun pumped his fist, laughing. Alpha was good—alpha meant power, respect, opportunities. His family would be proud.
"Takuya!"
The tall, quiet boy stepped forward. The nurse's eyes widened slightly.
"Alpha."
Another cheer. Takuya nodded calmly, accepting, and returned to his friends.
Three betas, two alphas. A good spread. A lucky group.
Then:
"Hanagaki Takemichi!"
Takemichi's heart hammered as he walked forward. The nurse checked his results, and her expression flickered—just for a moment, just enough to notice.
"Omega."
The word hit him like a physical blow.
Omega.
He was omega.
The crowd's reaction was muted—polite applause, but with an undercurrent of something else. Pity, maybe. Or calculation. Omegas in this world were... complicated. Respected, but also desired. Powerful in their own way, but also vulnerable.
Just like in his nightmare.
Takemichi walked back to his friends on legs that felt like water.
"Hey." Akkun grabbed his shoulder. "You okay? Omega's not bad, you know. It's just—"
"I know." Takemichi's voice was steady, even if his hands shook. "I know. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine. Because in his nightmare, being omega had meant being prey. Had meant being claimed and owned and torn apart by alphas who called it love.
Was that going to happen here too?
No. No, this was different. This was real life, not a game. The people here were ordinary, not monsters. His friends would protect him. He would protect himself.
He had to believe that.
That night, Takemichi called his mother.
"Mom?"
"Takemichi! How's school? How are your roommates? Did you get your results yet?"
He took a deep breath. "I got my secondary gender."
A pause. Then, gently: "What is it, sweetie?"
"Omega." The word came out small, scared. "I'm omega."
His mother was silent for a moment. Then, softly: "Oh, honey. That's—that's okay. That's perfectly okay."
"But—"
"No buts." Her voice was firm but kind. "Omega is just another way of being. It doesn't make you less. It doesn't make you weak. It just makes you you. And I love you exactly as you are."
Takemichi's eyes filled with tears. "Really?"
"Really. Now, tell me about your friends. Are they treating you well?"
He told her about Akkun's alpha result, about Yamagishi and Makoto's betas, about Takuya's quiet alpha strength. He told her about the dorm, the classes, the ordinary, wonderful normalcy of it all.
And when he hung up, he felt lighter than he had in weeks.
It was just a dream, he told himself. A horrible, vivid nightmare. But it's over now. I'm safe. I'm home. I'm free.
The weeks that followed were the happiest of Takemichi's life.
He fell into a routine—classes with his friends, meals in the cafeteria, late-night study sessions in the dorm. Akkun's boisterous energy, Yamagishi's quiet intelligence, Makoto's methodical kindness, Takuya's steady presence. They were his pack, in the best way—not claiming, not owning, just... being. Together.
They made a pact one night, sitting in their dorm after lights-out.
"We stick together," Akkun declared. "No matter what. Alphas, betas, omega—we're a team. We protect each other."
"Agreed." Yamagishi nodded.
"Always." Makoto's voice was soft but certain.
Takuya just smiled and held out his hand. The others piled theirs on top.
Takemichi added his hand to the pile, feeling warmth spread through his chest. "Together," he whispered.
"Together."
Class assignments came out.
Takemichi scanned the list, looking for his name, his friends' names. Akkun was in a different section—alphas had separate classes for some subjects. Yamagishi and Makoto were together in the beta track. Takuya was with the alphas.
And Takemichi—
Takemichi was alone.
Omega classes were smaller, more specialized. He'd known this, intellectually, but seeing it on paper was different. He'd be walking into a classroom full of strangers, no friends to cushion the experience.
It's fine, he told himself. I'll make new friends. It'll be fine.
The classroom was quiet when he entered.
Twenty other students, all omega, all watching him with expressions he couldn't quite read. The teacher—a brisk woman with sharp eyes—nodded at him.
"Ah, you must be Hanagaki. Take a seat anywhere."
Takemichi chose a seat near the window, trying to make himself small, unobtrusive. The other omegas went back to their conversations, their whispers, their careful observations.
He was alone.
But that was okay. He was used to alone.
The teacher began the lesson with an overview of the school's hierarchy.
"St. Mary's Private School operates on a clear system of designations," she said, writing on the board. "White collars are for alphas—our leaders, our protectors, our dominant class. Black collars are for omegas—our nurturers, our heart, the ones who keep our society balanced." She paused. "And gray collars are for betas—the majority, the foundation upon which everything else is built."
Takemichi's blood ran cold.
St. Mary's.
The name echoed in his mind like a death knell.
St. Mary's Private School.
This was the school from his nightmare.
No. No, it couldn't be. St. Mary's was a game, a fictional place, a horror story his mind had invented. It couldn't be real.
But the teacher kept talking, and the words washed over him like ice water.
"The dormitories are separated by designation, of course—alphas in the east wing, omegas in the west, betas in the central building. You'll receive your room assignments at the end of class."
Dorms. Separated by designation. Just like—
No.
"No," Takemichi whispered, but no one heard.
After class, Takemichi ran.
He ran to the beta dorms, to his friends, to the only safe place he knew. Akkun was there, laughing with Yamagishi about something, and when Takemichi burst in they both turned with concern.
"Whoa, what's wrong?" Akkun grabbed his shoulders. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I need—" Takemichi gasped for breath. "I need to know—this school—what's its name?"
Akkun blinked. "St. Mary's? You know that. We all know that."
No.
No, no, no.
"What's wrong?" Yamagishi's voice was concerned. "Did something happen in class?"
Takemichi couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything except stand there, shaking, as the nightmare he'd thought was over wrapped its chains around him once more.
"It's nothing," he managed. "Just—just nerves. First day and all."
Akkun's expression softened. "Hey, it's okay. We're here. We've got your back, remember?"
Together, Takemichi thought. We're together.
But even as his friends surrounded him with warmth and concern, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
That night, Takemichi's phone rang.
His mother's voice was bright, cheerful. "Takemichi! How was your first day?"
"Mom." His voice was strained. "This school—St. Mary's—what do you know about it?"
"St. Mary's? It's one of the best private schools in the country! We're so proud you got in." A pause. "Why? Is something wrong?"
"No. No, nothing's wrong." He couldn't tell her. Couldn't explain. "I just—I'm nervous, I guess. New place, new people."
"That's perfectly natural, sweetie. You'll make friends. You'll do great." Her voice softened. "And remember, you'll be staying in the dorms there. It's a long commute from home, so we arranged for you to live on campus. Isn't that exciting?"
The dorms.
On campus.
In St. Mary's.
"Exciting," Takemichi echoed hollowly. "Yeah. Exciting."
They talked for a few more minutes, mundane things—what he'd eaten, what his teachers were like, whether he'd met anyone interesting. Takemichi answered automatically, his mind elsewhere.
When he finally hung up, he sat in the darkness of the beta dorm and tried to think.
It was a dream. It had to be a dream. The nightmare, the torture, the gun—none of it was real.
But St. Mary's was real. The collars were real. The designations were real.
And somewhere in this school, golden-haired and dark-eyed, Sano Manjiro was waiting.
No, Takemichi told himself firmly. He doesn't know me. None of them know me. This is a fresh start. A new life. I can be ordinary. I can be safe.
He repeated it like a mantra, over and over, until he almost believed it.
But in the darkness, he could have sworn he heard a voice—soft, sweet, utterly insane—whispering in his ear.
"Tick tock, my love. Tick tock."
Takemichi shivered and pulled the covers tighter.
It was just his imagination.
Just his imagination.
Just his imagination.
The next morning, Takemichi woke to sunlight and birdsong.
For a long moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the fear to subside. But the fear didn't come. The terror didn't come. Just... calm. Peace. The ordinary quiet of a normal day.
He laughed at himself, softly. What was I so scared of? It's just school. Just life. Just—
His phone buzzed.
Akkun: Hey! Breakfast in 10. Don't be late!
Takemichi smiled and typed back: On my way.
He dressed quickly, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.
But as his hand touched the handle, something caught his eye. A small box on his desk, wrapped in brown paper, with a note attached.
He hadn't put it there.
Takemichi's heart hammered as he approached, as he picked up the box, as he read the note:
Welcome to St. Mary's private school.here is your collar.
The box fell from suddenly numb fingers. It hit the floor and burst open, spilling its contents—
A silver pin. A camellia. An M.
Takemichi stared at it, frozen, as the world he'd thought was safe crumbled around him.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The clock on his wall seemed to mock him.
It's ok...
they do not exist here and they are not the same person.
It was just a dream nothing else.
Takemichi calmed himself down.Tomorrow he had to go to the nurse to ask about the pin.
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