ATGRA 1

“Hyung…”

“Pureum-ah, I’m really sorry. I’ve committed a mortal sin. I must’ve messed up my Prescription Formulation class in med school.”

“Hyung, you have to take responsibility for this…”

“How am I supposed to take responsibility for you? All I can do is brew you some herbal medicine to help with your rut. Or maybe give you some acupuncture? I’ll do that for free, just for you.”

It wasn’t the Precious Star Elixir (拱辰丹, Gongjindan). I made the Conqueror’s Elixir (攻進丹, Gongjindan) instead.

Sounds insane, right? If a bolt from the blue could strike this hard, it’d be Zeus-level. Even the pharmacists who accidentally invented Viagra while working on a heart medication probably weren’t as shocked as I was.

They say new discoveries often stem from a practitioner’s mistake, but I went and created something utterly ridiculous.

A guy who lived as a beta until nineteen suddenly turned into an alpha after swallowing a single pill of my Gongjindan. I definitely screwed up my Prescription Formulation class in med school.

I made that Precious Star Elixir in a sleep-deprived haze, agonizing for three days and nights over whether to shut down my oriental medicine clinic…

Honestly, I can’t even remember how much of what ingredients I put in it. The real problem? I thoughtlessly gave that Gongjindan as a gift to the kid next door, a high school senior prepping for the college entrance exam.

Korean flexibility means one wrong step can land you in violation of medical laws. The Korean Medicine Association would never forgive me.

I looked pitifully at the hulking figure sobbing about responsibility.

Watching that handsome face waste perfectly good tears made my heart ache. To think he took my faulty Gongjindan and turned into an alpha at the exam center… Secondary gender usually stabilizes in middle school, so this was beyond absurd. A real “what in the world” moment.

In my head, I thought, “You were all too happy to scarf down my Gongjindan when you thought it was some miracle tonic. Now you’re crying about responsibility? Take charge of your own life.” But if this kid, who became an alpha overnight, decided to sue me, I’d be in deep trouble.

“Alright, I’ll take responsibility. Stop crying.”

In the end, I blurted out words I didn’t mean, wiping the snotty tears off the kid’s face with the back of my hand.

Even though he’d awakened, it wasn’t as a recessive alpha but a dominant one, so his pheromones hit me—a recessive omega—hard. My body tensed instinctively, limbs stiffening, face scrunching up.

Having lived as a beta until nineteen, he probably didn’t even realize he was an alpha yet. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be plastering his pheromones all over me with that sunny expression, clinging to my empty promise of responsibility.

I took a half-step back on instinct, but the dazed young alpha grabbed my arm with lightning speed. What else would you expect from a sports science major?

“You mean it, right?”

“Hey, you… rein in those pheromones…”

“You’re really taking responsibility, right?”

Just moments ago, he was bawling pitifully, but now, having achieved his goal, he stopped crying instantly and flung himself at me, collapsing into my arms.

I flinched, trying to pull away, but there was no overpowering a sports science student who’d aced his college entrance despite bombing the exam. He’d gotten into university on his athletic merits.

Trapped in his embrace, I felt like a stuffed toy.

This… something was definitely wrong here.

Ever since I was a kid, my dream was to become an oriental medicine doctor. I never considered anything else. My grandfather was a doctor, my mom was a doctor, my dad was a doctor.

You could say I was a royal blood of oriental medicine. The tradition of Korean medicine coursed through my veins.

No one ever forced me to carry on the family legacy, but growing up surrounded by acupuncture kits and drinking herbal tonics instead of Western medicine whenever I was sick, becoming a Western doctor was never an option.

But even for someone destined to be a legendary oriental medicine doctor, trials came knocking.

If my life were a shonen manga, I’d have chuckled, “Hah, a trial prepared for the protagonist?” and brushed it off. But reality wasn’t a manga—it was out to make me suffer.

You can’t change the traits you’re born with, no matter how hard you try. I’d heard rumors of illegal alpha-transformation surgeries abroad, but in Korea, they were banned. Plus, those surgeries had a high mortality rate.

At least alpha surgeries existed. There wasn’t even a procedure to turn an omega into a beta.

And that’s where things got maddening. If life were a divine human simulation game, the player controlling it was clearly incompetent. The class and world-building were this unfair.

That’s why I faced an insurmountable trial. At fourteen, I manifested as a recessive omega. Of all things!

My grandfather was a beta, my dad was a beta, my mom was a beta. Even my long-deceased grandmother was a beta, or so I’d heard. I was the only omega. It defied genetics. I was furious. Western medicine was clearly wrong!

But it turned out a distant ancestor was an omega. A diluted omega gene had inexplicably bloomed in my generation.

Despite meticulously preparing offerings for ancestral rites every year, my ancestors didn’t pave my path—they laid landmines. I was dumbfounded. It wasn’t Western medicine that was wrong; it was me.

In this world, beyond male and female, there’s a secondary gender system.

Alpha, beta, omega—these are the “secondary genders.” In reality, ninety percent of humanity is beta, making alphas and omegas a minority. It’s like being AB blood type in a world dominated by A and O.

The real issue, unlike AB blood type which only matters during blood donations, is that alphas and omegas get ambiguous treatment.

Unlike alphas, who are celebrated for their physical prowess in sports, omegas get the short end of the stick.

Not only are omegas rarely physically exceptional like alphas, but they also endure heat cycles akin to an animal’s mating season. Even male omegas can get pregnant during these cycles.

High fertility was a plus in agrarian societies, but in a modern world with an exploding population, male omegas are just… awkward. Nothing more, nothing less.

Humans can’t selectively breed like bears or switch genders like clownfish when the alpha dies. Male pregnancy is an inefficient quirk for humanity to handle.

Worse, dominant omegas attract alphas like ants to sugar cubes.

No matter how much you control your pheromones, omegas go through a monthly heat cycle. During this time, it’s literally like being in heat, triggering ruts in otherwise normal alphas nearby.

That humanity adopted moth-like pheromone-based courtship for secondary genders… I can’t wrap my head around biology.

The only way to calm this beastly heat cycle is through the absurdly romantic act of imprinting. During intimacy, an alpha bites an omega’s neck to bond. Chomp.

Are we animals or humans? Why did we adopt moth pheromones and evolve this way? Humanity is clearly broken.

So, it’s no surprise that once or twice a year, a top-tier alpha sports star, at the peak of their popularity, gets “tied down” by a dominant omega, ruining their career. Omegas get scapegoated for “wrecking” these stars’ lives.

Imagine a world-class soccer player, the next big thing after “Do you know kimchi?”, suddenly retiring early to start a family with an omega.

The alpha announces the retirement, but the omega gets all the hate. Even if they don’t retire, if their performance dips, the omega spouse becomes the internet’s punching bag.

And male omegas? They’re exempt from military service. In Korea, that’s one of the most criticized issues! The sorrow of a divided nation! Even top-tier alpha idols can’t get that exemption!

There’s a whole truckload of people online demanding recessive omegas be drafted. With this kind of environment, it’s no wonder omegas face discrimination or get picked on. Some betas even think it’s justified, saying, “If you don’t like it, go to the army.”

Since betas can’t sense alpha or omega pheromones, it’s really just an alpha-omega issue, but society singles out omegas, accusing them of causing moral decay.

It’s so unfair.

It takes two hands to clap, but alphas are idolized while omegas are vilified. Bigots jump at any chance to discriminate.

So, it was inevitable that at fourteen, I’d go through a tumultuous phase of teenage angst after manifesting as a recessive omega. Becoming a socially stigmatized omega at that sensitive age? Even if a dark dragon were sealed in my left hand, it wouldn’t have been this shocking.

But I wasn’t about to give up my dream.

Luckily, I was a recessive omega, not a dominant one. If I managed my heat cycles well, I could live almost like a beta.

Plus, I was tall, with a cool demeanor far from the delicate stereotype of omegas. Most people, steeped in prejudice, assumed I was a beta—a fortunate misunderstanding.

Posing as a beta, I graduated high school with excellent grades and got into oriental medicine school.

Two years of pre-med, four years of main studies. I graduated in six years without failing a single course and passed the national licensing exam on my first try with a score of 304 out of 340—pretty impressive.

While my classmates became public health doctors or vice-directors at local clinics, I considered becoming a specialist at a university hospital. Instead, with my grandfather’s help, I opened a clinic in the heart of Seoul.

Everything was great at first. The location was prime, and patients flooded in. I wasn’t earning as much as a Western doctor, but it was enough to live comfortably.

But my joy was short-lived.

Other nearby clinics started sabotaging my newly opened practice.

Like lawyers or accountants swamped with private offices, there were too many oriental medicine doctors opening clinics. It was a cutthroat era of endless competition.

I shed tears of blood trying to get along with the other clinics, but life wasn’t that kind.

In the end, because a rival clinic spread rumors that I was an omega, my “Our Oriental Clinic” became a ghost town in just six months.

Damn competitors, damn bigots, damn era of endless competition… Strike three, I was out.

Closing the clinic and taking a job as a vice-director at a local hospital was an option, but my pride wouldn’t allow it.

More than anything, my grandfather had believed in me and helped me open the clinic. I couldn’t give up after just six months because things got tough.

“Damn it. Just you wait. I’ll make a deal with the devil if I have to and become the top oriental doctor in this area.”

You miserable peers in the industry. We shouldn’t be fighting each other—we should be competing with Western doctors. Muttering in rage, I set up a small research corner in my clinic.

I’d succeed, no matter what it took.

Looking back, I was a bit unhinged. Even I think I was a little crazy, but I’ll stop short of spitting in my own face.

The point is, they say when a person is consumed by rage, even the devil gets flustered and grants their wish. And that rumor? It was true.