Chapter Text
South Korea always had a new obsession.
A new trend.
A new scandal.
A new person to place beneath the country’s collective microscope.
Last month, it had been the rookie idol who cried during an awards speech. Before that, the Dubai chewy cookie everyone suddenly couldn’t stop eating. Then the endless fascination surrounding the second family. Chaebol affairs. Political rumors. Celebrity divorces.
The country moved quickly from one fixation to another.
This time, it was Jeon Jeongguk.
Formula 1’s infamous alpha.
Everywhere Seokjin looked, he was there.
On television screens inside restaurants. Across billboards in Gangnam. On the covers of magazines stacked beside cashier counters. Even his younger cousins spoke about him during family dinners now, arguing over race clips and championship standings between bites of food.
Jeon Jeongguk.
Funny enough, the man had managed to capture South Korea’s attention despite technically being Korean-American. Hell, he didn’t even race under the South Korean flag in Formula 1.
And yet the country had claimed him anyway. Maybe because there had never been someone like him before.
Kim Seokjin, unfortunately, had been born into the kind of family that treated sports less like passion and more like inheritance. The Kim lineage practically lived inside Korean history books.
The country’s first Olympic gold medalist. Generals decorated after the Korean War. National athletes whose portraits still hung inside training facilities and military halls.
In every generation, there was always a Kim.
And because Seokjin’s father was the eldest son of his generation, the weight of that legacy had naturally fallen onto Seokjin next.
Which would have been fine if Seokjin had been born an alpha.
But he wasn’t.
He was born a beta inside a bloodline where firstborn sons were almost always alphas. An unfortunate technicality no one ever said aloud but everyone quietly remembered. Even now.
“Your posture.”
Seokjin lifted his gaze from his tea as his grandfather spoke from across the long dining table.
“Too relaxed,” the older alpha said coldly. “You represent this family whether you like it or not.”
Seokjin straightened immediately.
Around him, dinner continued in near silence beneath the heavy lights of the main estate dining hall. Silverware clinked softly against expensive porcelain while portraits of dead Kims stared down from the walls.
Athletes. Soldiers. Heroes.
Seokjin had grown up memorizing all their names before he had even learned multiplication.
Seokjin entered the hospital quietly, white coat draped neatly over his broad shoulders as staff bowed their heads in greeting while passing him through the halls.
He checked his schedule briefly on his tablet.
National wrestling team. Shoulder assessment. Possible ligament tear.
Another athlete.
Seokjin supposed it was ironic in a way.
If he could not become an athlete like the rest of his family, then he would simply find another way to remain useful to them.
A sports doctor. The first in the Kim lineage.
His father had not been thrilled about it initially. Much like the generations before him, his father had dreamed of raising another gold medalist son. Another alpha worthy of carrying the family legacy physically.
But Seokjin had presented as beta.
And no matter how disciplined he was, no matter how hard he trained growing up, his body simply could not keep up with alphas in elite competitive sports.
So eventually, Seokjin stopped trying to outrun biology.
Instead, he turned toward sports medicine.
Top of his class in medical school. Top again during residency.
And somehow, he became terrifyingly good at it.
Not just sports medicine either. Nutrition. Rehabilitation. Emergency medicine. Even surgery.
Seokjin had quietly built himself into something the country had never really seen before — a doctor capable of overseeing an athlete from injury prevention all the way to recovery and return to competition.
By thirty-two, he had already become the main physician consulted by several of South Korea’s national athletes.
Olympians. Professional fighters. Football players. Wrestlers.
Even the entertainment industry sought him out now. Production companies hired him as a consultant for action films and stunt-heavy dramas because Kim Seokjin’s name alone had become associated with precision. Competence. Perfection.
And while his father never said he was proud exactly—
He had at least stopped looking disappointed.
When Seokjin entered the rehabilitation room, the place was strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
Usually by this hour, the rehabilitation wing buzzed with movement — athletes complaining dramatically during stretches, physical therapists arguing over schedules, nurses rushing around with clipboards.
Instead, nearly everyone was crowded near the television mounted against the wall.
Including Dr. Min Yoongi.
“Oh shit— shit, shit—”
Seokjin blinked once.
The Formula 1 broadcast reflected brightly across the room while nurses practically leaned against each other in collective stress.
Of course.
Formula 1.
Onscreen, cars sliced violently across the track at impossible speeds while the commentators nearly yelled over the noise of engines.
And there he was.
Jeon Jeongguk.
“Come on, come on—”
Then the room groaned all at once.
“Holy fuck, third place?” one nurse cried. “Jeon is third.”
“I told you,” another nurse said dramatically, pointing toward the screen. “He already peaked last season.”
“No he didn’t,” someone argued immediately. “He literally won two world championships back to back!”
“And now he’s third!”
Onscreen, Jeongguk pulled into the pit lane, helmet still on, but even through the visor his displeasure was obvious. Sharp movements. Cold body language. The kind athletes carried after losing positions they believed belonged to them.
Dr. Min Yoongi calmly held out his hand.
“Alright,” he said flatly. “Pay up. I said podium finish.”
The nurses groaned louder.
“You’re actually evil.”
Yoongi only smirked faintly as bills started getting passed into his waiting hand.
Seokjin stared at the television for a second longer than necessary. Jeon Jeongguk looked infuriatingly beautiful even while pissed off.
“ He seems pissed off,” Seokjin commented lightly as Yoongi finally walked over, still counting the money he had won from the staff.
“Because he is,” Yoongi replied. “Third place bruises his ego.”
Seokjin glanced back toward the screen where Jeongguk was already pulling his helmet off aggressively while reporters crowded near the paddock entrance.
“Not exactly sportsmanlike,” Seokjin muttered.
Yoongi snorted. “That man? Please. He’s talented, but he’s cocky as hell too.”
Honestly, the entire country still remembered Jeon Jeongguk’s first Formula 1 victory interview.
He had only been twenty-two then — young, beautiful, already carrying himself like someone who genuinely believed losing simply did not apply to him.
One reporter had asked him what he would do if he didn’t win.
And Jeon Jeongguk had smiled lazily before answering:
“Everyone keeps asking what would I do if I didn’t win.” His grin widened slightly. “I guess we’ll never know.”
Cocky bastard.
“Exactly.” Seokjin answered
Seokjin crossed his arms beneath his white coat, clearly unimpressed.
“I genuinely don’t understand the country’s obsession with him.”
A nurse gasped dramatically from nearby. “Dr. Kim!”
“No, seriously,” Seokjin continued calmly. “He’s arrogant. Constantly involved in dating scandals. Picks fights with reporters. I heard he got fined last year for swearing during a live interview.”
“He did,” Yoongi confirmed.
“And wasn’t there a rumor he skipped some luxury brand event because he wanted to go clubbing in Monaco instead?”
“That was true too.”
“See?”
Seokjin gestured toward the screen like he was presenting evidence in court. “He behaves like an overgrown frat boy with a super license.”
Several nurses immediately burst into laughter.
“Doctor!”
“What?” Seokjin looked entirely unbothered. “I’m just saying. South Korea acts like he descended from heaven when in reality he’s just fast and attractive.”
“Fast and attractive is enough for most people,” Yoongi deadpanned.
The rehabilitation room collectively nodded in agreement.
Seokjin looked horrified by that answer.
“Look,” Seokjin said, rolling his eyes as the television replayed Jeon Jeongguk climbing out of the car, “if he actually grew up fully inside Korean sports culture, he would’ve been chewed alive here.”
A few nurses immediately looked scandalized.
“The way he acts? Please. Half the things he does would’ve gotten a national athlete buried in criticism already.”
“He’s not wrong,” Yoongi admitted casually.
“That’s exactly why it’s smart that he doesn't represent South Korea officially,” Seokjin said. “He knows.”
Onscreen, Jeongguk shoved sweaty hair back from his forehead while reporters practically chased after him for comments.
Seokjin scoffed softly. “People forgive him too easily because he’s an alpha.”
“Ah,” Yoongi mused. “There it is.”
“Alpha privilege is real.”
The rehabilitation room erupted into laughter again.
“One dating scandal after another, aggressive interviews, attitude problems— but because he’s talented and attractive everyone calls him passionate instead.”
“You’re speaking like the man committed homicide,” Yoongi said dryly, lips twitching slightly. “I’m pretty sure even you can recognize he’s good at what he does.”
Seokjin glanced toward the screen again.
Unfortunately, that part was true.
Even Seokjin, someone raised around elite athletes his entire life, could tell Jeon Jeongguk was exceptional.
Not just talented.
Exceptional.
The kind of instinct and control that couldn’t really be taught.
Which almost annoyed Seokjin more.
“Ah, really,” a voice said immediately. “Hate is honestly just one step away from being a fan.”
Seokjin didn’t even need to look up.
Dr. Jung Hoseok.
Pediatrician. Professional nuisance.
Hoseok walked in carrying an iced coffee, grin already spreading across his face as he glanced between Seokjin and the television screen.
“You’re suspiciously updated about him, Dr. Kim.”
“I’m not updated,” Seokjin replied flatly.
“You knew about the Monaco clubbing scandal.”
“That was national news.”
“You knew about the interview fine.”
“Also national news.”
“The dating scandals?”
“Literally impossible to avoid.”
Yoongi snorted quietly beside them.
Unlike Seokjin and Yoongi, Hoseok wasn’t even part of sports medicine. He worked upstairs in pediatrics and somehow still spent more time in the rehabilitation wing than his own department.
Seokjin honestly couldn’t remember how they had become friends. One day they had simply been strangers occasionally nodding at each other across the cafeteria.
Then suddenly they were eating lunch together almost every day.Now Hoseok practically appeared everywhere uninvited.
“Anyway,” Hoseok continued dramatically, staring at the television, “I support Jeon Jeongguk’s rights and wrongs.”
“You support attractive people with bad personalities,” Seokjin corrected.
“Yes,” Hoseok answered immediately. “And?”
“Your medical license should be reviewed.”
Yoongi hummed thoughtfully. “I agree.”
“Honestly, I love him,” Hoseok admitted shamelessly, sipping his iced coffee. “Because of him, pop stars across multiple generations have released iconic heartbreak albums.”
The room burst into laughter.
“That part is unfortunately true,” Yoongi said.
Jeon Jeongguk’s dating history was practically entertainment industry folklore at this point.
Models. Actresses. Influencers. Singers.
Especially singers.
For some reason, every artist Jeongguk dated eventually released the most devastating music of their career afterward. Breakup ballads. Chart-topping revenge songs. Entire albums filled with emotional destruction. One singer had won Song of the Year at the Grammys after dating him for barely six months.
Another wrote a heartbreak anthem so successful that people jokingly credited Jeongguk as co-producer.
At some point, the internet had even turned it into a running joke.
Thank you for your service, Jeon Jeongguk.
As if emotional devastation was somehow a public contribution to the arts.
Seokjin personally found the joke ridiculous.
“People treating heartbreak like comedy is concerning,” he muttered.
Hoseok shrugged.
“Counterpoint: the music was incredible.”
Seokjin’s shift ended earlier than expected that evening.
Which was rare.
Usually, sports medicine meant unpredictable hours, emergency calls, athletes showing up injured at midnight pretending torn ligaments were “just soreness.”
But today had been strangely calm.
And honestly?
He missed his boyfriend.
They hadn’t seen each other in days now. The relationship itself was… complicated. Secret, for one. Not because Seokjin was ashamed exactly. He had never really cared much about subgender politics personally. To him, love was simply love.
But somehow, despite claiming he had no preference—
He always ended up tangled with alphas.
Always.
Unfortunately, that was the exact problem.
Because despite being a beta, Seokjin was still the heir of the Kim main family. Which meant expectations still followed him everywhere. Including partnership.
The Kim family expected Seokjin to eventually bring home an omega. Someone who would carry the Kim name forward. Courtship was simpler with omegas too. Easier. More acceptable. Less questions. Less complications.
But if Seokjin brought home an alpha instead—
It would become an entirely different game.
Seokjin knew that well. He had spent his entire life watching the traditions passed down within the Kim main family.
Old rituals.
Old evaluations.
Old expectations built around strength and dominance.
Sometimes absurd ones.
Mud combat fights between alphas during gatherings. Endurance tests. Family interrogations that felt closer to military evaluations than marriage discussions.
The Kim family treated partnership like succession planning, and the most difficult expectation of all was that any alpha marrying into the Kim family would be expected to take the Kim surname instead of passing down their own. Because within the Kim family, lineage came before pride. The Kim name stayed. Always. It was an old tradition the family refused to abandon no matter how modern the world became around them. And if Seokjin ever brought an alpha home, that alpha would be expected to survive all of it. Especially the idea of carrying the surname of a beta. Setting aside his ego, his family name, and alpha pride for the sake of marrying him.
So instead, throughout his entire life, Seokjin simply let them believe what they wanted.
That he was focused on work. That he was too busy for serious relationships. That eventually, one day, he would settle down properly with an omega.
What they didn’t know was that Seokjin had almost always been involved with alphas.
Quietly. Privately. Carefully.
After all, none of the alphas in Seokjin’s life had ever been ready to face what the Kim family demanded. And maybe Seokjin understood why. Because loving him had never just meant loving him. It meant surviving everything attached to the Kim name too. .
Seokjin entered the apartment building lobby, exhaustion already settling into his shoulders. A few seconds later, he unlocked the passcode to the appartment door and immediately froze.
The noises became clearer now. Breathless groans. The unmistakable sound of an omega whining softly between broken breaths. Low alpha murmurs.
Seokjin’s stomach dropped.
For one horrifying second, his brain refused to process what he was hearing.
Then he stepped farther inside.
And saw them.
His boyfriend pressed against the couch, half-dressed, another omega beneath him while their mouths crashed together desperately. The omega’s hands were tangled inside familiar dark hair.
Seokjin stopped breathing.
The entire apartment suddenly felt distorted around him. Too bright. Too loud. Too small.
His boyfriend looked up first. Shock flashed across the alpha’s face instantly.
“Seokjin—”
The omega beneath him scrambled backward immediately, horrified. But Seokjin barely heard either of them. Because something inside him had already collapsed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just quietly. Like a building finally giving up after years of invisible cracks.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Seokjin whispered brokenly. “That I’m not an alpha… or that I’m not an omega.”
Hoseok tightened his arms around him immediately.
Seokjin sat curled sideways against Hoseok’s chest on the apartment couch, face buried against the omega’s shoulder while quiet sobs kept shaking through him. Hoseok brushed gentle fingers through Seokjin’s hair over and over, expression unusually serious now.
Across from them, Yoongi stayed silent.
Neither of them really knew what to say anymore.
Because this kept happening.
Every alpha Seokjin had ever dated eventually fell in love with an omega. Every single one.
And the worst part?
Seokjin always knew before the relationship even ended.
Sometimes it was subtle. A lingering glance. An unconscious scenting response when an omega passed nearby. A shift in attention so instinctive the alpha probably didn’t even realize it himself yet.
And every time, Seokjin would pretend not to notice until eventually the relationship collapsed anyway.
Usually with tears. Usually with apologies.
But always with the same explanation afterward.
It’s just biology.
Alphas were naturally drawn toward omegas. Omegas were meant for alphas.
As if that somehow made the heartbreak easier. As if instinct magically erased betrayal.
Which was exactly why most betas ended up partnering with other betas instead. To avoid all this biological hierarchy bullshit entirely.
Seokjin should have learned by now.
This was his fourth failed relationship with an alpha.
Fourth.
“You’re perfect exactly as you are, Seokjin,” Hoseok said quietly.
Seokjin laughed weakly against his shoulder, clearly not believing him.
“No, listen to me.” Hoseok brushed his hair back gently. “Someday someone’s going to come into your life and they’ll do it, you know?”
“Do what?”
“Everything your person is supposed to do.”
Seokjin looked up slightly.
Hoseok held his gaze this time, unusually sincere beneath the soft apartment lights.
“They’ll choose you every single time,” he said. “No omega scent, no instinct, no biological bullshit will ever make them hesitate.”
Yoongi stayed quiet beside them, listening.
“He’ll meet your family,” Hoseok continued, “and he won’t be scared of all the ridiculous expectations attached to your name. He’ll stand there and survive every interrogation your father throws at him.”
A small smile tugged at Hoseok’s mouth.
“He’ll love you properly. Publicly too, probably. Loudly.”
Seokjin stared at him for a long moment before mumbling softly, “Why do you sound so sure?”
Yoongi finally smiled faintly.
“Because it’s you, Seokjin,” he said simply. “You’re meant to be loved.”
Big love. The kind that changes the shape of someone’s life around it.
At the time, Seokjin didn’t really believe them.
But months from now, he would meet an alpha who would prove every single word true.