The Shadow Wolf's Second Life: They Bullied The Wrong Omega

Two Betas from the disciplinary staff closed in on either side of me, hands hovering cautiously the way one approaches a wild beast that might still bite.

​I let them think it. I stayed loose, stayed loud, snapping at anyone who got too close—a cornered animal putting on a show, because that was what Brianna’s body language sold better than calm ever would. Let them write me off as unhinged. Unhinged was just noise, but unhinged wasn’t dangerous.

Around us, the crowd was already backing away, whispers breaking out like wildfire through the cafeteria.

​”Is she actually going to attack the disciplinary committee?”

​”She really has a death wish today.”

​”Good. Maybe she’ll finally get expelled and get her weak, disgusting face out of this school.”

​I bared my teeth at a Beta who stepped half an inch too close, shifting my weight back. My body instinctively flared for a fight—ready to tear through anyone who moved first.

But then, the heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing from the corridor outside the cafeteria doors caught my attention. My ears perked up.

​Before I could spring, an overwhelming aura swept into the room—lethal, suffocating, and heavy enough to make my chest tighten from across the hall.

I noticed no one was reacting. It seemed the others couldn’t feel it... Maybe because they were dead in the perception department, but I felt it all too well.

Students outside the cafeteria scrambled backward, practically tripping over themselves to clear a path in the hallway.

​Whoever was walking by had a rank far higher than Vance. This wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

​Through the tall glass panels of the cafeteria doors, a tall figure in an instructor’s uniform swept past. He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down to take a look at the commotion. But as he passed, his piercing emerald eyes turned slightly, locking onto mine for a fraction of a second.

​A sharp chill ran down my spine. Decades of instinct screamed the same message: danger.

​This body was weak. My hands were bare. I couldn’t take him on and win—not today at least.

​I stopped snapping immediately. My wild posture vanished as I went dead silent, dropping my shoulders and lowering my gaze just enough to read as harmless.

​Rule one: never show your full hand to someone who can end you before you’ve picked your ground.

In a weak body like this, I hadn’t earned the right to be anything other than careful.

When the committee members noticed I had stopped resisting, they closed in on me to escort me out.

They didn’t resort to violence, probably cautious that I would snap once again, and instead escorted me out.

My eyes swept over the students in uniform, the building that seemed to be aged but still well taken care of, the tapestry, and how I was mocked even when my crime wasn’t even known to the students on the walkway.

​So this was Ravenhollow Academy. A war of connections wearing a school uniform. Alphas here weren’t classmates—they were future lords learning early who they’d owe favors to and who they’d crush. And Kano? From the way the room had gone dead silent when he walked in, his family name mattered even among Alphas.

It seemed like it didn’t matter what day and era it was, connections, wealth, prestige... It’s all anyone looks at when you walk into a room.

​More of Brianna’s memories fractured into my mind. Names, faces, mocking laughter, torn notebooks, torn uniforms... I catalogued them the way I used to catalogue my targets. Not out of the girl’s hurt, but out of habit—the cold patience of someone who had once waited four years to kill a man who thought he was safe.

​You people made a mistake chasing out the soul of the owner of this body. Now... It’s mine, and I don’t take humiliation lightly.

​I owed nothing to the girl who used to live as Brianna. But she had wanted to walk away from that rooftop instead of jumping. She’d thought of her family. It wasn’t sympathy I felt, but sort of like gratitude for letting me borrow her body and name to live again.

As a show of my gratitude, I would make sure every single person who made her want to die lived long enough to regret it.

​CLICK.

​The office door to the principal’s office opened before I could finish the thought.

I noticed this body’s father first, and the sight of him nearly broke my concentration. His coat was patched at the elbows, worn soft and threadbare. Beside Principal Ashford’s tailored suit, he looked like a man who had wandered into the wrong building and was too polite to leave.

​His eyes found me first. There was no anger in them. Just an exhausted, bone-deep worry.

​”Brianna,” he said softly, his voice trembling. ”What happened to you?”

​Principal Ashford didn’t stand. She didn’t even offer him a seat.

​”Mr. Wells.” She spat the name like it pained her to say it. ”I assume you understand the severity of what your daughter has done.”

Brianna’s father was already bowing his head. ”Principal Ashford, I’m so sorry—whatever the school requires, I will—”

​”Conduct,” Ashford interrupted, folding her hands. ”Brianna’s conduct today has damaged this institution’s reputation in front of visiting Alpha families. Do you understand what that means for a pack like yours?”

​A pack like yours.

​Brianna’s memories surfaced again—two years of humiliation, consistent bullying, and teachers who looked the other way. Every single time she had begged for help, she was told to grow thicker skin and be a wolf worthy of this school. It vexed me so much, even though it wasn’t my own memories.

​SLAM!

​I slammed my palm flat against the mahogany desk. Ashford flinched before she could catch herself.

​”Conduct?” I repeated, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. ”Funny. Nobody used that word when my head was getting shoved in a toilet. Nobody used it when a girl ’accidentally’ broke three of my fingers in gym class. That was always a small matter. Not worth the paperwork.”

​I leaned in, narrowing my eyes. ”But the second I stop taking it and grow thick skin, suddenly conduct is the most important word in your vocabulary? What changed, exactly? The bruises? Or just whose bruises they were?”