Chapter 14: The Alpha's Appraisal
The afternoon sun on the Aizawa patio was a precise, geometric thing. It cut sharp lines across the black tiles, warming the perfectly arranged stones of the miniature zen garden Shouta maintained with monastic focus. The air, conditioned by the central air system and scented by a single stick of sandalwood incense burning in a slender holder, was utterly still. Here, the chaos of the city, the cacophony of Shouta’s office, was not just absent; it was forbidden.
Hizashi knelt on a soft, grey zabuton cushion, his needle a flicker of silver in the light as he worked on a section of his quilt. The fabric was a traditional indigo pattern, but the design was modern, abstract. His long blonde hair was tied back in a simple, elegant knot, exposing the graceful line of his neck. His movements were economical, practiced, a silent ballet of domestic artistry.
Across from him, Shouta sat in a stout, dark-wood chair, more a throne than patio furniture. He was reading a financial digest, his black brows drawn slightly together. He had changed from his suit into dark, comfortable trousers and a loose black linen shirt, but the aura of command was, if anything, more potent here, in his own domain, relaxed yet utterly in control.
Katsuki was a discordant burst of kinetic energy in the still scene. He stood barefoot on the tiles, having just finished a set of one-armed push-ups, his muscles coiled and gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. He shook out his arms, his crimson eyes scanning the fence line as if challenging the bonsai trees to a fight.
Izuku was curled on a wide, sun-warmed stone bench, one hand idly stroking the family’s old, fat Persian cat, Mochi, who purred like a distant engine. Izuku’s other hand held his phone, but his large black eyes were distant, fixed on a sparrow taking a dust bath in the corner of the garden. His mind, however, was churning with the day’s earlier events—the towering office, the loud American alphas, the feeling of being a fragile artifact in a warehouse of blunt instruments.
The sliding glass door whispered open, and Kenji stepped out. He brought with him a new scent—clean soap, a subtle, expensive woody cologne, and the inherent, comforting musk of a familiar, welcome alpha. He was dressed in dark chinos and a fitted, heather-grey t-shirt that showcased the defined lines of his shoulders and chest, the result of countless hours in a swimming pool. His black mullet was slightly damp, perfectly tousled.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice a pleasant, confident baritone. He gave a respectful, slight bow of his head to Shouta and Hizashi. “Traffic was insane.”
“It’s no trouble, Kenji,” Hizashi said, looking up with a warm smile. “Izuku saved you some of the matcha cupcakes.”
Kenji’s eyes found Izuku, and his expression softened into a private, charming grin. He walked over, the black tiles clicking softly under his shoes. He bent down, and for a moment Izuku thought he’d kiss his cheek, but he simply nuzzled his nose against Izuku’s temple, a brief, affectionate scent-marking that made Izuku’s stomach flutter. “Hey, sweet thing.”
“Hi,” Izuku breathed, tilting his head into the touch, a soft blush blooming on his cheeks.
“Sweating out your sins, Katsuki?” Kenji asked, straightening up and throwing a look at his future brother-in-law.
“Building strength, unlike some people who just float in a pool all day,” Katsuki shot back, a smirk on his face. There was no real heat in it; it was the standard, comfortable ribbing between alphas who respected each other’s different disciplines.
Kenji chuckled, taking a seat on the bench next to Izuku, close enough that their thighs touched. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, his fingers lightly brushing the ends of Izuku’s long, wavy black hair. It was a possessive, comforting gesture. Izuku instinctively leaned into his side, the last of the office-day tension melting away.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the chirp of the sparrow, Mochi’s purring, and the rustle of Shouta’s paper. It was Hizashi who broke the peaceful silence, his voice like clear water.
“How was your day at the office with your father, Izuku? It must have been quite an experience.”
Izuku sat up a little, his hand pausing on Mochi’s back. “It was… very big. And loud. Everyone was so… chatty.”
Shouta didn’t look up from his digest, but a faint grunt of agreement escaped him.
“Dad’s coworkers?” Katsuki asked, grabbing a towel from a nearby hook and slinging it around his neck. “They’re all a bunch of blowhards. All talk, no discipline.”
“Dave O’Connell asked if I was under ‘house arrest,’” Izuku said, the words feeling foreign and slightly offensive in his mouth.
This made Shouta lower his paper. His black eyes were unreadable. “He lacks subtlety. And cultural respect. His omega runs a business from their sunroom.”
The way he said it was neutral, a statement of fact, but the subtext hung in the incense-laden air: it was a peculiar, slightly distasteful arrangement.
“I can’t even imagine,” Hizashi murmured, his needle pausing. “An omega’s place is the heart of the home, not a… a commercial exchange. It seems so stressful. So unfeminine.”
“It’s disgraceful,” Kenji said, his fingers gently twining a lock of Izuku’s hair. His tone was matter-of-fact, final. “An omega’s power is in the sanctuary she creates, not in chasing capital. It inverts the natural order. Makes everything transactional.”
Izuku nodded, snuggling deeper into Kenji’s side. This was the truth. This was safe, solid ground. The conversation at the office had felt like walking on a glass floor over a dizzying drop; this was the firm, familiar earth of his family’s values.
“Speaking of disgraceful,” Katsuki said, plopping down onto the tiles with a disregard for the pristine surface, crossing his legs. “You hear about that shitstorm at school? With that omega girl in the junior class? Akane?”
The name triggered a shift in the atmosphere. The gentle hum of judgment focused, intensified.
Izuku’s face tightened. He had heard. Everyone had heard by now. It was all anyone could talk about in the hushed, scandalized corridors between classes. “You mean… about the pictures?” he said softly.
“That’s the one,” Katsuki confirmed, a curl of disdain on his lip. “Her nudes got leaked all over the school server. Apparently, she’d been sending them to every alpha who looked at her twice. Which was a lot, from what I heard.”
A cold, collective shame seemed to settle over the patio, but it was not a shame any of them felt for themselves. It was the shame they projected onto the absent girl, a thick, tar-like substance of collective disapproval.
Hizashi let out a soft, sad sigh, setting his needlework in his lap. “Oh, that poor, foolish child. What was she thinking? To give away something so intimate, so carelessly… to multiple boys? Her value… her purity…”
“She wasn’t thinking,” Shouta stated, his voice a low vibration of authority. He folded his paper neatly, placing it on the small table beside him. He steepled his fingers, his gaze fixed on a point in the middle distance, the stern judge presiding. “She was acting on base impulse, with no respect for herself, her future mate, or her family’s honor. It is the height of selfishness.”
Kenji’s arm around Izuku tightened almost imperceptibly, a reflexive, protective motion. “It’s more than foolish. It’s a violation of the bond. An omega’s body is a sacred trust, for her alpha and her family alone. To scatter it around like… like cheap confetti?” He shook his head, his black eyes hard. “She’s made herself into a public utility. A disgrace.”
Izuku listened, the words cementing his own swirling thoughts into solid conviction. He felt a shudder of revulsion, mixed with a strange, prickling fear. To be so exposed, so seen in that way by so many… it was a nightmare.
Katsuki snorted. “Disgrace is a nice word for it. She’s used goods. Completely ruined. What alpha in his right mind would want her now? Everyone’s seen everything. There’s no mystery, no exclusivity. It’s pathetic.” He spoke with the brutal, unassailable certainty of a young alpha who knew his own worth was constantly appreciating.
“Her parents must be utterly mortified,” Hizashi said, his green eyes full of a genuine, pained empathy that was nonetheless rooted in superiority. “I cannot fathom the shame. If she were my daughter…” He trailed off, unable to even complete the horrific thought. He looked at Izuku, and his expression was a complex blend of love, fear, and fierce expectation. “We raised you to know your worth, my treasure. To guard it.”
“I know, Mama,” Izuku whispered, feeling the weight of that expectation like a mantle.
“Shouta,” Hizashi said, turning to his husband. “Can you imagine? If she were ours?”
Shouta’s gaze swung to Izuku. It was not a harsh look, but it was heavy, imbued with decades of tradition and uncompromising standards. “I would be ashamed. Deeply. Not merely because of the social embarrassment, but because it would mean I had failed as a father. Failed to instill the core values of restraint, dignity, and fidelity. It would be a reflection of a fundamental breakdown in our household.” His words were a verdict, cold and absolute. “We would be obligated to remove her from that school. Perhaps send her to a stricter institution to attempt to repair the damage, though the stain is likely permanent.”
A heavy silence followed, filled with the profound gratitude that Izuku was not that girl, that they were not that family.
It was then that Izuku, seeking to align himself completely with the family’s judgment, to prove he understood the gravity of the sin, spoke again. His voice was still soft, but it carried a new, sharper edge. He’d seen one of the leaked photos, flashed quickly on a phone screen before it was snatched away. The image was burned into his mind.
“I don’t… I don’t even know where she got the confidence from?” he said, the statement tilting up into a question. He frowned, his nose wrinkling slightly as if smelling something spoiled. “To send pictures like that. I mean… her boobs were… they’re small and kind of… uneven.”
For a heartbeat, there was absolute stillness.
Then, a sound broke it—a short, sharp exhale of air from Shouta. It was followed by a deeper, rumbling chuckle that seemed to rise from his chest, a rare and startling sound of pure, unexpected amusement. He raised a hand to his mouth, his shoulders shaking once, silently.
Hizashi’s eyes went wide for a second before he too let out a soft, tinkling laugh, shaking his head. “Izuku!”
Katsuki barked a loud, incredulous laugh. “Holy shit, Izu! Going for the jugular!”
Kenji looked down at Izuku, whose face had now flushed a deep, mortified crimson, realizing the blunt, catty nature of his observation. But Kenji’s expression was one of delighted surprise, his own sarcastic humor tickled. He squeezed Izuku’s shoulder. “Well, I mean. Accuracy is important when assessing a catastrophic failure of judgment. If you’re going to crash the car, at least make sure it’s a nice car.”
This sent Katsuki into another snort of laughter.
Izuku buried his hot face in Kenji’s shoulder, overwhelmed. “I didn’t mean… I just…”
Shouta’s chuckles subsided into a warm, amused smile, a sight as rare as a solar eclipse. He looked at his omega son, who was usually the epitome of gentle compassion. “It’s quite alright, baby. You’re not wrong. Part of having something valuable is understanding its value. If one doesn’t even have that basic self-awareness…” He shrugged, the motion conveying a world of contempt. “It makes the transgression even more ludicrous.”
The mood had lightened, but the foundational judgment remained, now polished with a gloss of dark humor. They were a united front, fortified in their correctness.
“So what’s gonna happen to her?” Katsuki asked, leaning back on his palms.
“She’s been suspended,” Kenji said, his earlier amusement fading back into cool disdain. “Rumor is her family is pulling her out entirely. Probably shipping her off to some omega reformatory on the East Coast. Good riddance. That kind of behavior… it makes it harder for everyone. It makes alphas suspicious, and it makes good omegas like Izuku have to work twice as hard to distance themselves from that kind of… sluttiness.”
The word hung in the air, crude and devastating.
Hizashi flinched delicately. “Kenji, language.”
“It’s the accurate term, Mama Hizashi,” Kenji said, unrepentant. “Sugarcoating it doesn’t help anyone.”
Shouta gave a slow, approving nod. He appreciated directness, even when it was brutal. “He’s correct. Euphemisms dilute the lesson. She behaved like a slut, and now she faces the consequences. It is a textbook cause and effect. The world has rules. She broke them.”
The sun began its slow descent, stretching the shadows of the bonsai into long, grasping fingers across the black tile. The conversation gradually drifted to other things—Katsuki’s upcoming training weekend with Eijirou, a new investment Shouta was considering, Hizashi’s plans for the quilt. The scandal of Akane was settled, dealt with, categorized as a moral failing of tragic and slightly ridiculous proportions.
Later, as the first stars pricked through the twilight and the patio lights flickered on with a soft glow, Kenji prepared to leave. He stood with Izuku by the gate, away from the others.
“You were pretty fierce today,” he murmured, a smile playing on his lips as he tucked Izuku’s hair behind his ear. “Critiquing the merchandise like that.”
Izuku looked down, still embarrassed but warmed by Kenji’s tone. “It just… came out. It felt… wrong, what she did. In so many ways.”
“It was wrong,” Kenji said, his voice dropping, becoming more intense. His hand came up to cradle Izuku’s jaw, his thumb stroking the soft skin. “You understand why, don’t you? What you have,” his eyes swept over Izuku’s face, down his slender neck, a possessive, heated look, “is mine. To be given to me, when the time is right. To be cherished and protected. Not to be left lying around for any idiot to see. The thought of anyone else seeing you like that…” His thumb pressed a little harder, not hurting, but emphasizing his point. “It would drive me insane, Izu. I’d have to break them.”
A thrill, cold and hot at once, shot through Izuku. It was the promise of protection twisted with the threat of violent possession. It should have scared him. Instead, it felt like safety, like the ultimate proof of his value. He belonged to Kenji, and Kenji would guard that belonging with ruthless intensity.
“I would never,” Izuku breathed, his heart pounding. “Never, Kenji. I promise.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” Kenji said, his expression softening into something tender. He leaned in and this time did kiss him, a slow, firm press of lips that tasted like mint and certainty. “You’re a good omega. The best. My perfect, sweet thing.”
He left then, his tall form disappearing into the gathering dusk. Izuku touched his lips, watching him go.
He walked back to the patio where his family was clearing up. Hizashi was gathering his sewing, Shouta was lifting his chair, Katsuki was hosing off the tiles where he’d sweated.
Izuku looked at them—his strict, traditional father; his nurturing, perfect mother; his strong, arrogant brother; the beautiful, demanding future that was Kenji. He looked at the impeccable order of the patio, every stone in its place, every leaf on the bonsai accounted for.
He thought of the girl, Akane, whose life was now in ruins, a chaotic, humiliating mess splashed across public servers. He thought of her small, uneven breasts, the subject of his own surprising cruelty and his family’s laughter.
A deep, contented certainty settled in his soul. His path was clear, his worth affirmed. He was not, and would never be, a disgrace. He was an Aizawa. He was Kenji’s. He was cherished, protected, and judged to be perfect. The world had rules. And he, Izuku, would follow every single one.