Keion

One Month Later

I sit in the VIP lounge high above the ice-cold arena, the chill seeping through the glass as the Falcon’s hockey team, our country’s alleged pride, clashes violently for the puck.

The air is sharp, filled with the roar of the crowd, every cheer and gasp vibrating through the steel bones of the building.

I would have preferred one of the heated booths, but my omega insisted we sit here, where no pane of glass could distort our view of the game.

The crowd gasps as an opposing player slams into Augi, crushing him just as he reaches for the puck. "Ouch, that one had to hurt," I whisper, leaning closer to Walter on my right.

Walter doesn’t move, his eyes remain locked on the Augi, his foot tapping against the floor in restless rhythm. "Shh," he hisses, flicking his hand dismissively at me.

I chuckle, sinking deeper into my seat. He may be the only one in this arena who still believes Augi can score. I know better. That won’t happen.

I’ve accepted the fact that Augi’s prime is over, I’m just for the vibes, for the spectacle, and to support Walter and Augi in their fantasies of victory.

The crowd erupts as Augi shoves the player off him, gliding forward with surprising strength, knocking the other opponent aside to claim the puck. For a man who spent three weeks in prison and was only released a week ago, he’s still remarkably powerful.

I laugh inwardly, remembering the chaos of that week. Tired of Oracle’s silence, Oril had finally broken down his door and dragged him out.

Oracle had looked like a vampire recoiling from sunlight, pale and furious, and he was in for more, Oril struck really hard for keeping quiet while Augi rotted in prison and the main reason he was hit hard was for marking Lorali. Oril had been livid. Truly livid.

The thought of his anger that day makes me shiver.

If Oril was that angry, we can’t even begin to imagine Torin’s fury when he finds out and that’s why we haven’t told him. We’re scrambling to bury this mess before he returns from his business trip, but it’s proving nearly impossible.

The plan is simple in theory: get Lorali out of the house before Torin comes back, protect Oracle, and cover his mistake before Torin’s rage consumes us all.

So we went all in on Yurena’s ridiculous plan to make Lorali leave on her own. For a month now, that little omega has endured relentless bullshit from every angle. Every single day, something new happens to her. A normal person would have broken by now and fled. But she insisted on suffering like there’s nothing binding her to this pack. Nothing. And yet she stays.

She stays, staring at us with those dull, lifeless eyes.

I wonder if it’s all an act, as Yurena and Walter insist. Their doubts make sense. If she’s suffering as much as she looks, why hasn’t she left? Omegas aren’t built for this.

Their tolerance for pain and emotional distress is very low. So why is she still here, enduring it all? Why does she linger, even edging closer to Oracle, standing near him all the time if they’re in the same room.?

I remember that night a month ago, when she caught me trashing the kitchen on Yurena’s orders. Even in the dark, I saw it, the drained look in her eyes, the exhaustion and quiet resignation. She looked ready to break, ready to leave. I thought she would. I couldn’t sleep that night, even though my omega’s dream was finally coming true. I should have been at peace. But my mind knew I was lying to myself.

Lorali didn’t leave. She was still there when I woke up and it was from that day her eyes became dull even her smiles both fake and real left.

And she’s still here.

"There you have it, folks. It is full time. Final scores are fifty‑nine to nine, with Oceanal leading. Congratulations to Oceanal for advancing to the next stage, and we wish you the best in your journey to win the Hockey Worldwide Championship, bringing honor to your country. Team Falcon, on the other hand, let us bid them farewell from the championship. Unfortunately, you do not qualify to advance to the next round, but do not be discouraged, you all played well tonight. Thank you."

The announcement blares through the speakers, dragging me out of my thoughts. Damn. I missed the whole thing.

The few Falcon fans scattered across the bleachers in purple and gold jerseys, their faces painted in streaks of loyalty, erupt in rage.

Hardcore Falcon supporters scream curses at the team as they glide off the ice. Most of the venom is directed at Augi. Bottles, wrappers, and insults rain down on him, the mob demanding he leave the team, spitting every horrible word imaginable.

Their fury isn’t just disappointment; it’s the bitterness of gamblers who lost a fortune. The screams are louder than the cheers; it’s the sound of money slipping through desperate hands.

The cameraman makes it worse, deliberately panning to Augi’s face and then to the mob. To anyone watching, it might look like their words don’t touch him. His expression is calm and unreadable. But I know better. Inside, he’s between raging and hurting.

I feel bad for him. To go from the apple of everyone’s eye, the star player, to the scapegoat dragging the team down must be unbearable.

"I think we should go," I murmur, pulling my gaze from the screen to Walter. But he isn’t there. My chest tightens instantly, dread clawing at me. Something’s wrong.

I rise from my seat, panic surging, ready to call the police and tear through this place to find him. Then I hear it, fighting. The sound of fists and shouts from the seats below.

Walter is locked in a brawl with a beta whose face is smeared purple with paint. They’re swinging wildly, blood already staining their skin.

"Augustus is a bad player! You’re in denial! He needs to leave the team! He had sixty attempts to shoot the puck into the net and flunked every single one!" the beta shouts, shoving Walter back, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

"That’s not up to you to decide, now is it?" Walter snaps back, equally exhausted, swiping blood from his nose.

The beta scoffs ready to fight again, but his girlfriend, another painted fan, grabs his arm, dragging him away with an annoyed glare.

I sigh, descending to Walter’s level, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jeans. "Why did you fight with him?" I ask, stopping in front of him.

"Because I heard him say they should kick Augi off the team," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but you can’t go around fighting people. You could get seriously hurt." My voice hardens. I don’t mind watching fights, it’s entertaining when it’s strangers. But when my omega is involved, when he’s bleeding, when he’s vulnerable, that’s where the line is drawn.

"Whatever," he pouts, turning his gaze back to the arena, stubborn as ever.

I exhale, frustration simmering. I’ll have to deal with this attitude later. For now, I need to focus on getting us home. The car ride is going to be long enough without another fight breaking out.

~....~

"I have won five championship trophies for this country. FIVE!" Augi huffs, steam practically rolling off him in the back seat, his massive frame swallowing all the space beside Walter. Walter, ever patient, entertains his meltdown, nodding and murmuring as if soothing a child.

I shake my head, forcing my focus back to the road ahead. We’ve been stuck in traffic for over an hour, trapped in this endless line of cars, and for every one of those sixty minutes I’ve had to endure Augi’s bitching about his loss. All because everyone, including us, decided to take this highway home.

"Now those fuckers are trying to kick me off the team. The team that wouldn’t even fucking exist without me!" Augi roars, his voice so loud I have to block my right ear with my finger.

"You’re just going through a rough patch. They need to understand that," Walter says, patting Augi’s broad back. The sight nearly makes me burst out laughing, tiny Walter, delicate and composed, trying to comfort Augi, who looks like a giant teddy bear with a foul mouth and a bruised ego.

The absurdity of it curls at my lips, but Walter catches the flicker of amusement in the rearview mirror. His eyes narrow, sharp, daring me to speak. "Is there anything funny here to you, Kei?" he asks, his voice edged with irritation.

I quickly shake my head, swallowing the laughter, and fix my gaze on the road. The traffic crawls forward, red brake lights stretching endlessly into the night. My chest tightens with the weight of it all, the noise, the frustration, the claustrophobic tension pressing in from every side.

This is going to be a long ride.