Ethan Brooks yanked the test paper over with annoyance: “Do you have eyes on the back of your head?”

“No, bro, with you two shooting those icy glares at me, I’m about to catch a cold—do I even need to look…”

Henry Clark looked aggrieved.

Ethan Brooks waved his hand impatiently: “Turn around. Don’t let me see your face for the next two hours.”

“Aye.”

Ethan Grant wrote his name on the test paper and gave a slight smirk: “You should be glad you’re not an Omega.”

Ethan Brooks thought about it and agreed.

If he were an Omega, today’s script would probably be the cold school heartthrob and the cheeky school bully’s forced love in the classroom.avi.

No, that’s not right.

He simply couldn’t be an Omega; that scenario just doesn’t exist.

It’s not that Ethan Brooks is sexist—he thinks Omegas are soft, sweet, and cute. For example, his mother, Ms. Tang, and his good friend Logan Reed are both very likable.

It’s just that he’s naturally dominant, used to standing at the top, fighting for and protecting what’s his, with an instinct for leadership and control much like an Alpha.

Someone with his personality just isn’t suited to be an Omega.

Besides, where would you find an Omega who’s over 1.8 meters tall, has an eight-pack, is top in sports, and fights like a wild beast?

Simply doesn’t exist.

Ethan Brooks finished most of his science test paper while letting his mind wander like this.

Science is way too easy for him—he can solve problems just by intuition. He used to make small mistakes, but ever since the second year of high school, during the review phase, he’s never scored below 290 on science, and getting a perfect score is a regular thing.

He does science papers as fast as a dog chasing a rabbit.

When he switched to the third test paper, out of a sense of competition, he glanced at Ethan Grant.

Ethan Grant was about half a paper behind him.

He curled his lip—this guy’s science isn’t that great.

Weak.

Before he could come up with a well-crafted taunt, there was a “thud” as something hit the wall from outside.

Judging by the sound, Ethan Brooks figured it was a ball, thrown pretty hard. If it had been a little off, it would’ve smashed right into the glass window next to him.

Two possibilities: one, it was on purpose, just to mess with him during the test; two, someone’s just clumsy and missed.

Either way, it’s not with good intentions.

Ethan Brooks pressed his tongue against his cheek, the corner of his mouth curving into a half-smile, half-smirk, his dark eyes tinged with a bit of menace.

Henry Clark turned around and saw Ethan Brooks like this, almost scared enough to dial 120 on the spot. But Ethan Brooks just spun his pen and went back to his test as if nothing happened.

Ethan Grant noticed he started writing even faster.

When the second “thud” sounded, he had just finished the last question. He pressed the paper with his fingertip and pushed it toward Ethan Grant: “Hand this in for me.”

With that, he pushed open the window, braced one hand on the sill, swung his long leg over, and jumped out.

The movement was smooth and crisp.

The teacher on duty and the students from Class One stared blankly at the figure disappearing into the rainy night for three seconds, then lowered their heads and went back to what they were doing.

Whatever, they’re used to it. This guy’s even jumped from the second floor before—jumping from the first floor is just exercise.

Ethan Grant glanced out the window after him.

The rain had eased up a lot, just a light drizzle, tickling rather than soaking—no way to catch a cold.

He withdrew his gaze and continued the test.

The kid’s probably been holding in some anger these past couple of days. If someone clueless comes along to let him vent, so be it.

Anyway, that clueless guy is just a loser.

When Ethan Brooks climbed back in through the window, there were still twenty minutes left in the test.

Ethan Grant was playing on his phone, not even lifting his eyelids.

But Henry Clark in the front row turned around and asked in a low voice, “Song-ge, who was it this time?”

“Tieniu.”

“Tieniu, huh? That bastard’s been pretty cocky lately. I heard he’s got connections in the US and already secured a spot, so he struts around on the second floor, flaunting his Alpha status, spreading his pheromones everywhere—what a nutjob.”

“Doesn’t matter, I can’t smell it anyway.” Ethan Brooks packed his bag, clearly not bothered by the guy.

“But how did that bastard dare mess with you? He can’t even beat you.”

Ethan Brooks zipped up his bag, nonchalant: “He brought two other Alphas.”

Ethan Grant finally lifted his eyelids to look at him: “So it took you half an hour?”

No wonder—he thought dealing with that Tieniu guy shouldn’t have taken Ethan Brooks so long.

But to Ethan Brooks, this sounded like a provocative challenge—just three Alphas, and it took you half an hour?

He snorted coldly: “Then how long does our Lord Grant think it should take?”

Ethan Grant thought seriously, and, sticking to honesty, replied, “A minute, I guess.”

“……”

Honestly, that was his conservative estimate.

Because when Alphas go up against each other, the simplest way is through pheromone suppression. With strong enough genes, you can make the other side surrender in an instant.