SPICY Chapter 1

I’m an Omega.

Society is harsh toward us, and it’s said that life is tough for Omegas. That’s why I pretend to be a Beta instead.

Most Omegas can’t keep up the Beta act for long before they’re found out. Their bodies struggle to build muscle, their voices are higher-pitched even if they’re male, and then there’s the telltale sign: the heat cycle that comes every three months.

It’s impossible to hide forever, and once you’re exposed, it’s like rolling down a hill—there’s no stopping it.

But for the past 18 years, no one has ever suspected I’m an Omega.

My first heat hit me during school, right after the entrance ceremony, and I was completely panicked. But even then, no one noticed.

In fact, right now, during math class, I’m in the middle of a heat.

Yet, no one around me has a clue.

“Yo, Sawamura, did you spill something again? It reeks in here.”

“Uh… yeah, I knocked over some mustard.”

“Man, you really love spicy stuff, huh?”

The Alpha sitting next to me chuckled quietly. I forced an apologetic smile to match his.

Apparently, my pheromones smell like spicy food.

In this world, aside from the chromosomal differences between male and female, there’s another classification: Birth.

There are three types: Alpha, Beta, and Omega.

Alphas, the natural ruling class, are often exceptional individuals who naturally accumulate wealth, power, and influence. They’re rare.

Betas make up the majority of the population. They’re, well, average—ordinary in every way. Most Betas marry other Betas.

Omegas are even rarer than Alphas. They’re often seen as the subservient class.

Male Omegas can get pregnant, and their three-month heat cycles have earned them the label of “existing solely to bear children.” Discrimination against them is deeply rooted.

When an Omega goes into heat, they release pheromones to attract Alphas.

Without suppressants, an Omega’s pheromones are said to be overwhelmingly potent—so much so that Alphas can’t resist their allure.

Once an Alpha bonds with an Omega as their mate, the pheromones will only affect that specific Alpha.

There’s also talk of “fated mates,” where an Alpha and Omega are genetically so compatible that they can recognize each other at a glance. But considering the world’s population, the odds of meeting your fated mate are astronomical. I don’t believe in it.

Generally, Omega pheromones are said to be sweet and pleasant, designed to attract Alphas.

But my pheromones? They smell like habanero, chili sauce, mustard, and chili peppers.

In other words, no one recognizes them as pheromones.

Since my pheromones don’t give me away, I’ve never once felt my chastity was at risk, which is rare for an Omega living at the bottom of society.

During my first heat, when someone said, “Something smells spicy,” I blurted out, “I spilled a bottle of chili sauce in my bag.” Everyone bought it without question.

I was also lucky that my pheromones aren’t very strong to begin with.

That flimsy excuse worked so well that I started carrying spicy condiments and seasonings regularly.

I’ve always liked spicy food anyway, so I didn’t deny it, and now everyone just thinks I’m a spice enthusiast.

Still, if I let my guard down, I could be exposed as an Omega.

So, I’ve made an effort to eat a lot of spicy food, study it, and become an expert.

I’ve also worked hard to build muscle, exercise, and even excel in my studies to avoid suspicion based on my appearance.

While many Omegas degrade themselves, flattering Alphas and resigning themselves to their “role,” I’ve managed to carve out a place for myself as an unremarkable Beta through luck and effort.

If I can make it through school without incident, I plan to find a job with minimal human interaction and live a quiet life alone.

As an ordinary Beta, I have two friends.

One is Kijima, whom I’ve been close to since our second year of high school.

We became friends because our seats were next to each other in class.

The other is Amami, who’s been my classmate since middle school.

Back then, we only knew each other by name, but when we ended up at the same high school and shared the same class for three years, it was inevitable we’d grow closer.

Kijima is the life of the party—loud, cheerful, and constantly getting rejected by girls.

I think he’d have better luck if he went for girls who match his personality, but he always falls for the quiet, shy, cute ones.

A pushy high school boy from another class who doesn’t even know them well? Of course, his confessions never work out.

Kijima openly identifies as a Beta and often talks about his dream of building a warm, peaceful family with one son and one daughter. It’s a simple dream for someone with such a flashy, carefree appearance. Sometimes I wonder if I should praise him for having such a humble dream or scold him for not matching his looks to his aspirations.

Still, I admire his straightforwardness and his earnestness in pursuing his dream, even if it’s a bit heavy for his age.

As for Amami, despite our long history, I feel like we don’t know each other very well.

While I bring curry bread for lunch every day, he’s into melon bread and cream bread.

When we go out to eat after school, we often swap foods we don’t like because our tastes are complete opposites.

Amami hasn’t publicly stated his Birth, but with his excellent grades, athletic prowess, good looks, and tall, well-proportioned build—he’s clearly an Alpha.

He’s neat, loves animals, and seems like he’d be popular, yet he’s never hinted at having a romantic partner since our first year.

Either he’s been in a long-term relationship this whole time, or he’s single… Kijima and I once tried to bet on it, but we both picked the former, so the bet fell through.

He’s the epitome of an Alpha.

Having an Alpha like Amami so close to me, an Omega, is probably not ideal. Kijima, being a Beta, is one thing, but Amami? That’s another story.