AGAINST THE RULES: their scentless omega-Chapter 52: i hate him

’Ryven Alexander

Age: 24

Occupation: Art Major

Background:

Limited information is available about his early childhood, but he was reportedly orphaned at a young age before being adopted by a wealthy family that owns several hotel agencies. The adoption exposed him to travel and diverse cultures, which later influenced his artistic style. He attended a top preparatory school where his talent in visual arts became evident, then progressed to a prestigious university for art and crafts. Despite his privileged upbringing later in life, he is known to be quiet, observant, and strongly focused on developing his skills through personal effort rather than family influence’

Lucian’s thumb slid slowly across the surface of the tablet as the profile scrolled upward, line after line revealing... almost nothing. No criminal records. No prior participation in Reagent events. No disciplinary notes. No scandals. Just a clean, almost polished history that felt too neat to be real.

Honestly... nothing important, he thought, exhaling quietly through his nose.

He searched again, filtering older tournament archives, underground races, even unofficial circuits. Still nothing. No footage. No aliases. No hidden tags. For someone who rode with that level of precision , that instinctive control , it didn’t add up. Skills like that weren’t born overnight. They were carved through years of relentless training, bruises, broken bones, and sleepless nights. The worst part we are not from the university or would had been easier learning about him he thought

Lucian leaned back slightly, brows knitting together.

But with that kind of family income... he wouldn’t have needed it. No desperation. No survival motive. So why?

The question lingered with no answer.

With a soft sigh, he locked the tablet and let it rest on his thigh. Whatever Ryven’s story was, one fact remained unavoidable , he was on Timothy’s team.

The screen across the garage continued to loop the lineup:

Purple Team: Ryven — Timothy

Red Team: Ethan — Hunter

Blue Team: Spike — Bulldozer

Orange Team: No top dogs, but the highest average player ranking overall.

Balanced on paper. Dangerous in reality.

The garage door slid open with a metallic scrape that echoed off the walls. Cool air drifted in, followed by Hunter’s tall silhouette stepping inside. Mason, who had been lounging on the couch moments earlier, straightened immediately. His expression softened into an almost automatic smile.

Hunter came here? Mason thought eagerly , this might be my chance to shoot my shot

"Hey," Mason greeted lightly, voice warm, hopeful.

Hunter didn’t even spare him a glance. He walked past as if Mason were part of the furniture , invisible, irrelevant. The air shifted instantly, the casual calm replaced by something brittle.

Mason remained standing for a second too long, smile frozen before it slowly fell away. His fingers curled into his palm.

Calm down... he told himself silently. It’s your first proper meeting. Of course he’s cold. Soon he will start to notice you just like everyone else

Hunter dropped into the chair opposite the television, eyes locking onto the team outline replaying on the screen. His jaw tightened ever so slightly.

"Quite the statistics," he muttered, voice low but edged. "Makes you wonder which bastard set those teams up."

No one answered.

The tension thickened, stretching across the room like an invisible wire pulled too tight. Lucian kept his gaze forward, unreadable. Hunter’s eyes remained fixed on the screen. Mason stood between wanting to speak and knowing better.

"I’ll... go buy some drinks for all of us," Mason said finally. Before i make a fool out of myself in front of my target, forcing a casual tone that didn’t quite mask the discomfort. Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed his keys and headed out, the door sliding shut behind him with a dull clang.

Silence settled in his absence , heavy, suffocating, filled only by the distant roar of the stadium broadcast and the unspoken thoughts none of them were willing to voice.

Lucian cleared his throat, the sound small but sharp in the thick air. He straightened slightly in his chair and reached for the remote, switching the screen from the team lineup to the map projection. Colored grids expanded across the television — red, blue, orange, purple — each section blinking with its designated spawn point.

"Well... it is good that you are here," he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, anywhere but Hunter. "There are four sections on the map. Four spawn points. By now you already know which teams you should watch out for."

He zoomed into the blue quadrant. The terrain opened into wide, exposed land with only scattered barricades and steel ramps.

"The blue team," Lucian continued, regaining composure with each analytical word. "Their spawn point is in the open. On paper it looks vulnerable, but that’s a trap. They have a strong lineup. You won’t reach their flag without getting crushed by Spike. He thrives in open spaces , speed, intimidation, control. Bulldozer backs him with raw force. It’s a wall disguised as a field, and we don’t know their team members yet, so those two might not be the only threat"

The screen shifted to purple. Tighter lanes. Industrial ruins. Blind corners.

"Purple team... I don’t have full data on all of them," he admitted, fingers tightening around the remote. "But watch out for Ryven. He was one of the preys in the last event. His speed isn’t normal. He doesn’t ride like he’s chasing victory , he rides like he’s erasing distance itself. That makes him as dangerous as any top dog, you might have not had a chance to see him on the field, well maybe that his strategy , to be unnoticeable." He said " Timothy is also on that team , with him being paired up with that biker , it could be a deadly combo"

Another click. Orange flooded the display. Elevated terrain, narrow access routes, overlapping ramps.

"Orange team doesn’t have top dogs," Lucian said, voice measured. "But numbers compensate for that. Their spawn is positioned in a complex structure , high ground, layered entries, choke points. Invading them won’t be easy, even if you are able to get inside, also getting out will be quite a challenge. They’re not strong individually, but strategically... they’re a fortress."

He finished and lowered the remote slightly, shoulders tight. He still hadn’t looked at Hunter once. Especially how tense things were the last time they were together

Silence followed , not empty, but watchful.

"How’s the dog?"

The question cut through the room like a blade, sharp and unexpected. Lucian froze mid-motion, the pen in his hand suddenly feeling too heavy, the papers before him blurring.

"Huh?" he muttered, blinking as if the words alone might reset reality.

He’s really asking that kind of question after everything I just said in that presentation? Was he even listening, or was I just talking to a wall? Lucian’s thoughts raced, tangled with disbelief. His voice, when it came, sounded awkward even to him.

"Oh... Coco?" He scratched the back of his neck, trying to buy time as his mind scrambled. "H-he’s doing better than before."

Hunter didn’t respond immediately. He just stood there, posture casual but every inch of him taut, eyes sharp and unblinking, reading Lucian like a book Lucian had never wanted to open. The question, seemingly mundane, now carried weight, dragging the air into a strange, heavy stillness.

Then Hunter moved. Just a subtle step forward, but it closed the space between them enough to make Lucian shift on his heels, instinctively tilting his chin upward. There was a pause, pregnant and deliberate, as if the words he was about to speak had been rehearsed in the shadows of his mind, though the venom was real and unfiltered.

"I hate him."

Lucian’s stomach dropped. "Huh?" The word escaped before he could stop it, sharp and loud in the silence.

Hunter leaned down, just enough to let his voice slip into something low and intimate, the kind of tone meant only for Lucian. Venom laced every syllable, but beneath it, there was more, jealousy, bitterness, raw intensity.

"Ethan," he said, jaw tightening, eyes darkening like storm clouds. "I fucking hate him."

The words didn’t need volume. They carried the force of a sledgehammer in Lucian’s chest. The hum of the broadcast, the chatter of the garage, the distant roar of engines, all faded, leaving only the weight of Hunter’s confession pressing down like gravity itself.

Lucian could feel it, visceral and sharp. It wasn’t just hate. It was resentment for the attention Ethan had taken, envy for something Lucian hadn’t even realized he had been keeping track of, a silent, scorching possessiveness he had never dared confront until now.

Hunter straightened, the dark flicker in his gaze smoothing into that familiar, controlled mask. Cold. Distant. Untouchable. But Lucian had seen it, the fracture beneath the surface, the raw, human pulse of feeling he didn’t hide well enough.

Lucian’s chest heaved slightly. For a brief, fleeting moment, his heartbeat betrayed him, not from fear, but because part of him understood. He understood exactly why Hunter hated Ethan. And in that understanding, a creeping unease took root, deeper than any fear, colder than any rational thought: he realized just how much that hatred could consume, and why that realization scared him far more than the confession itself.