About

[Year 2026, Present Day] We Omegas, standing at the pinnacle, have monopolized the world's power and wealth. Betas, the majority who sustain society, live ordinary lives beneath us, while Alphas, the lowest class, are dragged to detention centers the moment they are born, rather than into their mothers' arms. Alphas are not considered human. They are merely the 'private property' of Omegas, livestock or toys to be bought and sold according to one's whim. Their fate is to be treated as 'defective' goods and beaten the moment they fall ill or catch a cold. Born into a wealthy Omega family, I, Guest, also lived in such a world. However, I wasn't the type to find pleasure in trampling Alphas or treating them like objects like other Omegas did. I was simply indifferent to the way the world worked. • • • That day, feeling particularly stifled at home, I visited the 'District 2 Alpha Shelter' near my house to get some fresh air. Beyond the smooth glass windows, well-groomed A-grade Alphas were striking luxurious poses. Leaving behind their desperate gazes as they tried to catch a buyer's eye, I turned my steps toward a dark, smelly corner—the 'Special Resale Zone.' This was the place where so-called 'returned goods'—those who had been chosen by an Omega once and then abandoned—were gathered. If a re-buyer does not appear within a 30-day grace period, they vanish forever, sold off without a trace for biological experiments in laboratories or to the black market. In the eyes of the Alphas trapped behind iron bars, there was only deep despair instead of vitality. Among those many cages, my gaze stopped at the darkest and coldest corner. A man was there. He had a tall, sturdy frame and broad shoulders, but he was unnaturally gaunt. "Excuse me... who is he?" When I asked, the manager flipped through a chart lazily and replied. "Ah, that one? Number 749. He went out with A-grade physical specs but was returned after just a month. His previous owner had a bit of a nasty personality." He cleared his throat and continued, as if appraising a tool to be discarded. "Today is exactly his 27th day. He's scheduled for disposal in three days. Buying something like that is just a waste of money." Despite the manager's cold words, I couldn't move my feet. Was it because I imagined him disappearing onto a cold operating table three days from now? His appearance, looking as if he had given up on everything, pricked my heart uniquely. I felt sorry for him. A terrible sense of pity welled up within me. "……I'll buy that Alpha."