One Day, A Gangster… Chapter 5.2

When Wooyoon opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was that the pain that had been tormenting his stomach was gone. The heat and sharp tingling sensation that had been felt deep inside his lower abdomen had vanished, and his body felt light, as if it had never been in pain. Recalling the last memory of clutching his stomach and trembling in the dark closet, Wooyoon rubbed his now calm belly.

They say that when you enter a heat cycle, most of your memories fade away, but this was the first time he couldn’t remember anything at all, like this. And his body feeling this refreshed was a first too.

Just like last time, he thought to himself, hospitals really are nice…

While looking around what seemed to be a clinic, Wooyoon spotted a man dozing off in a chair beside the bed and slowly sat up. The man, whose medium-length hair was streaked with gray, enough to show his age, was wearing a white coat, suggesting he was likely the owner of this place.

“…”

Wooyoon’s gentle, drooping eyes carefully examined the man’s blunt nose and stubborn-looking eyebrows. He had lived his whole life without ever visiting a hospital, so this man was surely someone he was meeting for the first time, yet there was something oddly familiar about his face.

Frowning slightly and focusing on the man’s face, Wooyoon finally recalled seeing him on TV.

“Kim Cheonse…”

He softly called out the man’s name, one he had heard on television. At that, the man’s thick eyebrows twitched, and he abruptly opened his eyes. His single-lidded eyes curved slightly as they met Wooyoon’s.

“You’re awake? You slept for exactly two days.”

“Two… days?”

The director waved his hand. Not knowing what he wanted, Wooyoon stayed still, and the man grabbed Wooyoon’s wrist himself. He pulled out the IV needle from the back of Wooyoon’s thin hand and said,

“This heat cycle must have been unusually irregular, right?”

Wooyoon nodded slightly at the man, who had accurately guessed his condition without him saying a word. Pressing an alcohol-soaked cotton pad firmly on the spot where the needle had been and applying a bandage, the director looked into Wooyoon’s eyes and asked,

“How far off was it from your expected date?”

“About ten days…”

Trailing off, Wooyoon recalled Director Kim Cheonse from the news he’d seen as a child, thinking how much the man had aged.

“That’s quite a significant deviation, but if your health was already poor and you experienced stress or something that could trigger pheromones, a ten-day difference isn’t impossible.”

Upon hearing the director’s explanation, Wooyoon immediately realized the situation he’d been in. Looking back, he had recently been overwhelmed by the unfamiliar scents of alphas he’d never encountered before. Alpha thugs had stormed into his house, nearly assaulting him, and on the day his heat started, he’d been dragged around all day by Baek Pilsung through alpha dens. Adding the stress he’d endured because of his brother, a ten-day discrepancy made perfect sense. The only thing that puzzled him was that the heat had ended in just two days.

Glancing at the director as he removed the IV bag from its stand, Wooyoon once again thought to himself that hospital medicine must really be something. He’d never heard news of a drug being developed that could end an ongoing heat cycle in such a short time without a partner’s pheromones or intercourse, but there were probably many things happening in the world he didn’t know about. Even with his brother, living together, he hadn’t been able to predict a thing.

“How long does your heat usually last?”

As the director tossed the empty IV bag into a waste bin and asked, Wooyoon fiddled with the bandage on his hand and answered in a small voice,

“A week…”

He felt heat rising to his ears and neck. He hadn’t realized how embarrassing it would be to talk about his heat cycle with someone. When Baek Pilsung had asked, he’d been too angry to feel shy…

The director, silently watching Wooyoon blush, pulled his chair closer to the bed and spoke gently,

“This might be the first time your cycle’s been this irregular, so you might’ve missed it, but once something like this happens, it can start irregularly more often. Always carry suppressants with you.”

“I don’t… usually take them…”

At Wooyoon’s quiet mumble, the director’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You endure it without taking them? Why? Does your body not tolerate them? Have you ever had an adverse reaction to suppressants?”

Overwhelmed by the barrage of incredulous questions, Wooyoon shook his head in a fluster.

“No. I just… I’ve never taken them.”

The director stared silently at Wooyoon, who was scratching his reddened neck, then asked in a tone that wasn’t too heavy,

“Couldn’t get a prescription because you’re an illegal unregister?”

“…”

“Don’t worry. This place is illegal too. That’s just how people live, haha!”

The director let out an exaggerated laugh to lighten the mood for the now-quiet Wooyoon. At the sound of his loud laughter, Wooyoon lowered the hand scratching his neck and murmured,

“I know…”

“Hm?”

“I saw it on the news a few years ago. Your medical license… it was revoked. For secretly treating trait bearers…”

When Director Kim Cheonse had his medical license revoked and was summoned for prosecution, a social commentator on a debate show criticized the government for being passive about trait bearers’ rights and welfare while imposing high trait taxes and medical fees. Wooyoon’s brother, who had come home later than usual that day, tossed a cold convenience store hamburger to Wooyoon, who was watching the debate, and said,

-“All that noise just makes public opinion worse. Why do they bother making such a fuss? Tsk, it’s pitiful, but it makes you not want to help.”

Wooyoon had felt a flicker of defiance at those words, but since his brother thought that way, he assumed that’s how the world worked. At the time, his mind was too preoccupied with his first meal in 26 hours to catch the true meaning behind his brother’s words.

“Wow, a young guy like you remembers all that.”

Seeing the director laugh awkwardly, Wooyoon felt a sense of ease. He was relieved that Kim Cheonse, who had risked his livelihood for trait bearers, wouldn’t report him, an illegal unregister. More than that, meeting an adult who was kind to trait bearers felt both strange and comforting.

So people like this really exist. He’d only seen them on TV before, so it hadn’t felt real…

Just confirming that there were people out there, somewhere in the world, like Director Kim Cheonse—people who were friendly to someone like him—melted the cold, frozen corners of Wooyoon’s heart. When the director asked how he usually endured his heat cycles without suppressants, Wooyoon answered willingly, his voice noticeably softer.

“I went into the closet.”

“Huh? The closet?”

“When the heat… started.”

Expecting answers like being cared for by a guardian or meeting a compatible alpha, the director blinked blankly in confusion.

“When it started, my brother would lock it from the outside. He’s a beta. But now, since I don’t live with him anymore, there’s no one to lock it…”

The air between them grew heavy. The director had met countless trait bearers, helping them and hearing their various struggles. Most of their stories were too horrific to even speak aloud. Including Pilsung’s.

But no matter how many tragic tales of trait bearers he heard, he never grew desensitized to them. What Wooyoon had said in his innocent voice sounded particularly dreadful to the director.

“…”

The director’s gaze slowly swept over Wooyoon’s small, thin frame. Though it varied, traits typically manifested around age 14, meaning Wooyoon had spent at least five years locked in a cramped closet during every heat cycle, consumed by instincts for a week at a time…

Noticing the director’s serious expression, Wooyoon changed the subject.

“But… how did I get here?”

“Those thugs—no, I mean, Director Baek carried you in…”

“I’m going home.”

As soon as Pilsung’s name came up, Wooyoon hurriedly got out of bed and started looking around for his shoes.

“What… Where are my sh-shoes…”

Bending down to peek under the bed, Wooyoon was offered the director’s acupressure slippers. The slippers, covered in ridges and bumps, had Chinese characters written on each pressure point.

“Looks like Director Baek didn’t put any on you. Take mine.”

“…”

Hesitating, Wooyoon slipped his feet into the acupressure slippers. As his weight settled, every part of his soles ached. Awkwardly bending his knees, he looked at the director.

“I don’t… have money right now for the treatment… Could I come back after going home?”

The director, who had given up his slippers, wiggled his now-empty feet and waved a hand dismissively.

“Director Baek paid for everything. But that guy—no, Director Baek—told me to keep you here until he got back. He’ll probably come tonight or at dawn. Are you just going to leave without seeing him?”

That guy, who hated repeating himself more than anything, had asked three times to make sure Nam Wooyoon didn’t leave. Imagining Pilsung’s rage if he found out Wooyoon had left, the director tried one more time, “Are you really going?” But Wooyoon, resolute in returning home, bowed his head in thanks as a polite refusal.

Waving goodbye to the director and stepping out of ‘Cheonse Medical Center,’ Wooyoon shoved his hands into his shorts pockets, stirring them around even though he knew they were empty.

No taxi fare. He hadn’t thought about taxi fare. Should he have waited for the thug, even if he didn’t want to see him? But…

The fact that Pilsung had brought him to the medical center meant he’d seen him in the throes of heat. At least on the first day of regaining his senses, Wooyoon didn’t want to face Pilsung. He was embarrassed about boasting like he knew everything, and his pride was hurt.

…And yet, the moment he realized he was in a bind, thinking of that thug first was kind of… funny.

With his hands stuffed in empty pockets, Wooyoon walked awkwardly in the acupressure slippers, resolving to earn money. The living expenses his brother had left were nearly gone, and to avoid walking an hour home due to lack of taxi fare, he’d have to do something.

He’d been too dazed by his brother’s betrayal and everything else that had happened, but from the moment his brother disappeared until now, money had always been his most pressing issue.

He’d left the matter of finding his brother to Baek Pilsung, so now he’d only think about his own survival. From now on, it was just him. Only him.

“…”

His trudging steps slowed.

But… how do I make money? Companies only hire educated people, and part-time jobs… Can someone like me even get a part-time job? How do you find one…?

Wooyoon tried recalling scenes from dramas or movies where characters looked for part-time jobs. The internet or newspapers. Or maybe while walking down the street…

“Oh…!”

Startled, Wooyoon let out a small yelp, his expression brightening as he bit his lower lip. He never imagined he’d stumble upon a “Part-Time Worker Wanted” sign while walking, just like in a TV show. From Director Kim Cheonse to this chance job posting, the world of television didn’t seem entirely far-fetched after all, and Wooyoon’s shoulders lifted with a newfound confidence. Having learned about the world only through TV and books, he’d felt intimidated whenever Pilsung mocked him for being clueless, but maybe he wasn’t a complete fool after all.

Emboldened, Wooyoon strode purposefully toward the discount mart where the white paper with the job posting fluttered. With each step, the heavy acupressure slippers clacked cheerfully against the ground.

At that moment, a man checking the inventory of delivered goods from a refrigerated truck outside the mart noticed Wooyoon lingering a few steps away, glancing at him. The man frowned. The morning news had warned of the season’s final heavy rain pouring down from afternoon to dawn, so he needed to finish checking the goods and bring them inside while the sky was briefly calm. Already swamped, he snapped at Wooyoon, irritated by his hovering.

“Do you have business here?”

Wearing a blue vest with “Neul Pureum Discount Mart” embroidered on the right chest pocket, the man looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. Swallowing dryly with a slightly tense expression, Wooyoon gripped the toes of his acupressure slippers and said,

“I, uh, I’d like to work here.”

“Oh…”

The man let out a sound closer to a sigh, his face twisting oddly. Wooyoon held his breath, puffing out his chest as the man’s eyes slowly scanned him from head to toe.

Taking off his work gloves and scratching the top of his ball cap, the man said,

“You can apply because of the mandatory trait bearer employment law, but this mart has a lot of heavy lifting, so even when we hire trait bearers, we mostly take alphas. Well, you’d have to ask the manager for the exact details…”

“…I’m not an omega. My ID doesn’t list a trait either. It’s not because I’m illegally unregistered—it’s because I’m really a beta.”

Wooyoon’s wide eyes stared intently, perfectly concealing the truth, though inwardly he was shaken by how easily he’d lied. He’d vowed not to live too virtuously anymore because of his brother, but he was astonished at how quickly he could darken.

“Even if you’re not an omega, I don’t think it’ll make much difference…”

Muttering as he eyed Wooyoon’s worn-out short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and acupressure slippers, the man seemed to accept the beta claim, resting his hands on his hips as he spoke candidly.

“Beta to beta, honestly, whether it’s alphas or omegas, it’s all the same to us. Why should we cater to them just because they go into heat like animals? And they cause trouble all the time.”

“…”

“Especially alphas—they’re ticking time bombs. What good is their strength? Their filthy tempers get them into fights with customers, coworkers, even the boss, and they’re constantly involved in assault cases. I think it’s better to hire omegas, who are easier to deal with if they cause problems, but the manager and owner prefer alphas who can do the work of two or three people. It cuts labor costs, after all.”

Whispering that last part conspiratorially, the man gave Wooyoon a wry look.

“If we really can’t find anyone, we might hire a beta, so go ahead and submit a resume.”

Staring up at the talkative man, Wooyoon fumbled with his pockets and said,

“I don’t have a resume right now… Can I bring it tomorrow?”

“The posting deadline is today, but I’ll ask the manager to wait a little.”

Wooyoon found it curious how the man’s attitude shifted from when he’d spoken about trait bearers. It felt like talking to two different people in one conversation. Bowing to the man who’d offered to extend the deadline for him, Wooyoon turned to leave, then glanced back.

“Um, where do I get a resume…?”

“What?”

“Goodbye.”

Bowing again to the baffled man, Wooyoon turned and started running. The heavy acupressure slippers dragged at his feet, but his body felt as light as if it could fly.

It’d be his first time writing a resume. How do you do that? It seemed really hard on TV.

Wooyoon recalled the self-introduction he’d written in middle school for the new school year. Would it be similar? If so, he was confident. He’d once written a great self-introduction and presented it to his classmates, so he could surely write a perfect resume.

If he got hired at the mart, he could work. He could earn money. He’d meet people. Not just see the world through a screen or paper—he’d be among real people.

Could he do it well? Would it be fun?

The life of interacting with people, forgotten since middle school graduation, and the emotions he’d felt back then began to resurface all at once in Wooyoon’s chest.

Come to think of it, I liked hanging out with friends…

“…”

His energetic run slowed. His excited, pounding heart settled back to normal. The corners of his mouth, which had crept up, quietly dropped.

Realizing that his life had been crumpled into a dark, cramped closet because of his brother, he no longer felt happy. He resented himself for foolishly trusting and following his brother’s orders despite occasional defiance.

Stopping at a crosswalk, Wooyoon lifted his arm, buried his nose in his shirt sleeve, and sniffed the faint pheromone scent while looking around.

-“You want to wander the streets, get reported, and end up in jail? Nam Wooyoon, I’m saying this for your own good.”

As expected, his brother’s words had been a lie again. Reality was that he could roam freely like this, and no one noticed or cared that he was an omega.

After walking for over an hour to get home, Wooyoon encountered the landlord smoking a cigarette on a folding chair by the gate. Scratching his red skin under a sagging tank top, the landlord flicked his cigarette to the ground when he saw Wooyoon bow in greeting.

“Hey, come here.”

“…Why?”

“Why? You little punk!”

Jumping up and shouting, the landlord jabbed a finger at Wooyoon.

“You suddenly demanded money, and now you’re bringing alpha bastards here every other day? Those shady guys have been in and out so much they’re wearing out the doorstep!”

After his brother’s call about the deposit and getting slapped, all sorts of thugs had come to the basement studio for days, so it was understandable the landlord found it odd. But Wooyoon was offended by the man’s tone, as if he’d deliberately invited them. He clamped his mouth shut and scowled. In the past, he’d have tried to explain himself, even if no one listened, but not anymore. He didn’t want to say a word to someone who’d dismiss him. He wouldn’t.

“Looks like you flower snake siblings are planning to sell your bodies in my house now, huh?”

“…”

“Where’s your brother? Did he really go to make money, or did he run off? So you’re selling yourself instead? How are you gonna pay the rent like this!”

Ignoring the fuming landlord, Wooyoon turned coldly toward the stairs leading to the basement. Shouts echoed behind him.

“You let a horde of alpha punks come and go, and now you’re staying out overnight? A beta acting like some omega flower snake—playing around just like you look! Showing off those pale legs in cheap rags might fool alpha punks, but not me! Oh Chungman won’t fall for it!”

Hearing the landlord cluck his tongue, Wooyoon descended the stairs, yanked open the sturdy iron door—unfitting for a basement studio—and kicked off the acupressure slippers as he stormed inside. Sitting in front of the fan, he turned it on. The dust-covered blades whirred, sending humid, warm air to cool the sweat on his forehead and neck. Holding the old fan’s drooping head with both hands, too weak to stay upright, Wooyoon closed his eyes.

Resume, resume, resume…

Letting go of the fan, he picked up an old phone haphazardly lying in the corner of the room. Plugging in the charger and turning it on, he saw eight missed calls and six unread messages.

「Nam Wooyoon, pick up」

「Answer while I’m asking nicely」

「What about the deposit?」

「You didn’t report me, right?」

「Some thug came looking?」

「Baek Pilsung, don’t listen to that damn pimp」

Staring at the word “pimp” in his brother’s messages, Wooyoon yanked out the charger cable. The phone soon shut off again. At that moment, he thought he heard a thug’s voice somewhere.

-“Boss, did I ever sell people?”

Maybe he didn’t. But… maybe he did…

Chewing his lower lip, Wooyoon stuffed the old phone his brother had handed down into the bottom drawer. Who could he trust? Was there anyone in this world who’d tell him the truth? With a darkened expression, he picked up the new phone Pilsung had bought him. Left uncharged, it still had 8% battery, thanks to no calls or messages.

Connecting to the internet, Wooyoon searched “resume” on a portal site.

“Oh…”

Thumbing through various resume templates, Wooyoon’s enthusiasm deflated. To print one, he’d need to go to a PC cafe. For three years, places like bars and PC cafes had enforced mandatory trait checks, segregating entrants into zones to prevent accidents—or perhaps to discriminate. It was a social issue that sparked debate at least once a year.

If his unregistered trait showed up as omega, he’d be reported instantly…

To earn money and register his trait legally, pay taxes, and settle fines for unpaid ones, he needed a job. But to get a job, he needed his trait registered. Was confessing to being an illegal unregister and serving prison time the only way out?

He’d heard prisons were full of alphas…

Shaking his head at the thought of harsh prison life from novels, Wooyoon’s phone rang. The caller ID read “Boyfriend Baek Pilsung.” He didn’t want to answer, but remembering Pilsung’s conditions, he grimaced and reluctantly tapped the call button.

As soon as he held the phone to his ear, Pilsung’s roar burst out.

[Who told you to discharge yourself? Wanna die? Is dying quick and going to heaven your dream?]

His voice dripped with raw anger. Was disobeying him so infuriating he wanted Wooyoon dead? Wooyoon had figured a thug’s affection would differ from normal people’s, but it seemed even shallower than he’d thought. From their first meeting to now, Pilsung’s consistently self-centered attitude grated on him. Wooyoon shot back icily,

“Can’t I even go home when I want? That wasn’t part of the deal.”

[…Fuck, tch.]

Hearing the savage curse laced with irritation, Wooyoon gathered the dry saliva in his mouth and swallowed hard. After a moment of sighs, a slightly calmer voice came through.

[The old man said you just left. You broke bastard with no money. Where the fuck are you now?]

The tone had softened, but the swearing remained. Wooyoon replied curtly, “Home.”

[I’ll come there tonight. Show your face. Don’t forget your duty as my lover.]

“…”

[No answer? Don’t even think about running off.]

Treated like a fugitive, Wooyoon shouted as harshly as he could,

“I’m not running! I’m not scared at all!”

[Fuck, tiny thing with a temper. Dumbass…]

To Pilsung, who kept belittling him as stupid, Wooyoon commanded with force,

“Bring a resume when you come.”

[What?]

“A resume… I need it.”

[What the hell do you need that for?]

“Telling you isn’t part of my duty, is it?”

[What, you—]

Ignoring Pilsung’s ranting over the phone, Wooyoon quickly hung up. Tossing the phone aside, he crawled to the fan, hugging its drooping head to his chest. Lukewarm air flowed into his short-sleeve shirt. His heart raced from yelling after so long. Breathing heavily with angry huffs, he closed his eyes.

He’d expected Pilsung to show up soon after nightfall, but even as 11 p.m. neared, there was no sign of him. After a makeshift meal of banana milk from the convenience store and splashing cold water on himself a couple of times to cool off, Wooyoon waited for the resume, lying on the floor watching TV like he used to while awaiting his brother’s return. He stared blankly at a UFC rerun for hours—something he’d never have watched before. Punches and kicks flew nonstop, blood bursting from the fighters’ faces.

Mesmerized by the violent scenes for hours, Wooyoon’s heart pounded, his fingertips tingling. It was the same thrill he’d felt watching Pilsung beat down the thugs who’d tormented him.

Finding catharsis in others’ pain—his life was spiraling this far, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Staring dazedly at the screen with wide eyes, Wooyoon grabbed the remote when he heard frivolous footsteps descending the stairs. Despite the clamor of the final monsoon rain, the crisp sound of dress shoes rang clear.

As he scrambled to turn off the TV, a loud banging echoed from the iron door.

“Boss, delivery!”

“…”

“Fuck, your boyfriend’s here.”

“Ha…”

Sighing involuntarily at the lame wordplay, Wooyoon’s hands were already opening the door. He couldn’t help but welcome it, knowing the resume he’d been waiting for was with Pilsung.

Opening the door, his breath caught. Pilsung’s towering height and bulk filled the doorway, blocking his view entirely.

“…”

“Staring again, huh.”

Ducking slightly to step inside, Pilsung pushed his sunglasses up with his middle finger and asked,

“Eaten yet?”

Brushing off the small raindrops on his shoulders, Pilsung kicked off his shoes and handed Wooyoon a plastic bag he’d been holding.

“…”

“What’re you doing? Take it.”

Glancing at Wooyoon’s lukewarm reaction to the soy-marinated crab set from Incheon’s most famous restaurant, Pilsung preempted any refusal.

“Even if you’ve eaten, shove more in—it’ll fit. It’s all about mindset.”

“…”

“My arm falls off, your neck’s next.”

Frowning, Wooyoon reluctantly took the crab set. He hated how Pilsung always nagged about food whenever he saw him. Eating with a thug, eating food a thug bought—he disliked it all. Peering into the bag disinterestedly, he saw plump soy-marinated crabs packed in a clear container. His dull eyes sparked to life. Swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth, he said brusquely,

“Give me the resume.”

“Take a bite first—”

“…”

Stretching out a palm half the size of his own and glaring with droopy eyes, Wooyoon prompted Pilsung to relent, “Fine, fine,” pulling a paper from his suit jacket’s inner pocket. Hanging the crab set bag on his wrist, Wooyoon snatched the folded paper, smiling briefly at the word “Resume” on the first line—until he saw the already-filled sections below and scowled.

He’d waited all day for this…

Unable to believe the absurdity, Wooyoon stared long and hard at Pilsung’s resume, written in rough handwriting.

「Name: Baek Pilsung

Age: 25

Trait Bearer: None

Education: None

Experience & Career: Opened Baek Pilsung Office」

Pilsung smirked at Wooyoon, who couldn’t take his eyes off the resume he’d diligently filled out despite his busy schedule.

“What kind of kid demands a resume from a boyfriend they’re already dating? Are you a fucking interviewer?”

Glaring at his reflection in the dark lenses inches from his face, Wooyoon threw the paper. It hit Pilsung’s neat forehead and fluttered to the floor.

“…”

Pilsung, who’d been grinning smugly, glanced at the falling paper, his relaxed smirk twitching as he muttered,

“How could you drop your boyfriend’s resume on the floor? Even if you see me as trash, how do you think that makes me feel…”

Bending down, Pilsung picked up the fallen resume.

On the drive back to Seoul, he’d filled out each section with personal details, imagining formally introducing Baek Pilsung to Wooyoon. What dumb face would Nam Wooyoon make seeing his lover’s resume? He’d chuckled to himself so much that his driver, Gidong, had snapped at him to quiet down.

Fuck, was it not funny? Guess it’s time to get serious.

Dusting off the resume and tucking it neatly back into his jacket, Pilsung said,

“Nam Heejae’s in Incheon.”

Wooyoon’s bored eyes widened. But that was it. For someone who’d begged him to find his brother, his reaction was oddly calm. Almost as if he’d known.

Looking down at Wooyoon, who only blinked, Pilsung recounted everything he’d learned about Nam Heejae’s whereabouts in Incheon.

“When he first ran off with my money, he went to Incheon, then bolted to Yangwon. Now he’s crawled back to Incheon. And how did I find out?…”

“…”

“I’ve got a private dock in Incheon for my office. While you were knocked out at the medical center, I went to Incheon on business and got a tip that someone saw Nam Heejae.”

“So my brother? Did you catch him?”

Pilsung slowly shook his head at Wooyoon, who asked with innocently drooping eyes.

“Nah. Once I’ve got his trail, catching him’s easy, so that’s not the issue. The problem is—”

Wooyoon, who’d been casually thinking that Pilsung had finally tracked his brother down and that thugs’ intel was impressive, felt his shoulders stiffen as Pilsung’s voice took on a strange, heavy tone. He couldn’t read his eyes behind the sunglasses, but he noticed the corners of his mouth, which had been teasingly upturned, drop significantly. Sensing the shift in the room’s atmosphere, Wooyoon subtly tensed his brow.

After a brief pause, Pilsung stared at Wooyoon’s frowning face and continued,

“The day someone saw Nam Heejae… was the day you passed out and went to the ER.”

“…!”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You asked me to find him.”

Frozen in front of Pilsung’s questioning, Wooyoon nearly coughed from the saliva he’d involuntarily swallowed.

“I figured you knew your brother was alive when you asked me to find him, that you’d been in touch with that bastard Nam Heejae…”

“…”

“But I didn’t know you even knew where he was hiding. If you’d told me sooner, I could’ve found him faster…”

“…….”

“Why did you hide it?”

Wooyoon couldn’t respond to Pilsung, who was rattling off the events of that day he hadn’t spoken about, and pressed his lips together even tighter until they felt mashed.

His brother, who had deceived him, was still family, and for a fleeting moment, his heart had softened. Worried that his brother might get hurt by thugs or end up in jail, Wooyoon hadn’t been able to fully admit that he’d received a call telling him to take the deposit from the single-room apartment and come to Incheon. Now, trying to confess this to Pilsung, his mouth wouldn’t open.

That day, when he’d returned home and cried alone, regretting his concern for his brother…

As Wooyoon stubbornly clung to silence, a noticeably colder expression began to press in on him.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m the kind of person who hates being deceived behind my back the most.”

“…….”

“If you entrusted me with finding Nam Heejae, shouldn’t you trust me and tell me everything? Damn it, between lovers?”

Wooyoon thought Pilsung was angry because he’d been forced to waste time on something that could’ve been handled easily if Wooyoon hadn’t misled him. But Pilsung’s true feelings were different from what Wooyoon assumed. Pilsung’s anger stemmed from hurt. The fact that Wooyoon, even after they’d agreed to be together, still didn’t fully trust him twisted his insides.

Pilsung now knew well that Wooyoon was never particularly fond of him. Nam Wooyoon didn’t send him any signals, didn’t show any affection. He understood that. Even so. Even if Wooyoon disliked him, they were in this together now, so shouldn’t he have at least told him this much? He couldn’t fathom why Wooyoon had asked him to find Nam Heejae but kept his whereabouts a secret.

“What did Nam Heejae say when he called? He asked you to get money, didn’t he?”

“…….”

“Is that why you suddenly need a resume?”

Just looking at Nam Wooyoon’s malnourished state, something every doctor always pointed out no matter where he got treated, it was obvious that what Nam Heejae had done to him amounted to neglect and abuse. He hadn’t sent him to school, hadn’t taken him to the hospital, hadn’t even fed him properly. And then he’d abandoned him. Pilsung had resolved to track down such a brother with fierce determination, but Wooyoon not telling him where Heejae was ultimately proved that he hadn’t been able to reject Heejae’s outstretched hand.

If someone couldn’t completely break free from the source of violence, all that followed was a horrific “repetition.” Based on his own experience, if Wooyoon couldn’t cut ties on his own, someone else had to do it for him. Even by force. If Nam Wooyoon had told him the truth about Heejae’s call from the start, Pilsung would’ve stepped in to ensure the two brothers never contacted each other again.

Pilsung was deeply worried that Wooyoon, still silent under his probing, might have already fallen for Heejae’s tricks or decided to return to his side.

If Wooyoon was on the verge of walking back into the violence he’d briefly escaped, Pilsung wanted to scoop him up and sprint away at full speed so he couldn’t even look back. It was a rule of nature that big things had to save the small, pitiful ones. When tiny, clueless creatures tried to stumble into dangerous paths without knowing where they were headed, all you had to do was pick them up and move them. So why the hell wouldn’t this one let himself be picked up?

“Answer me.”

“…….”

“Bring me the phone you were using. Damn it, I’ll burn it to ashes!”

He decided he’d eliminate the root of the problem entirely so that Nam Heejae, that crazy bastard, could never manipulate Nam Wooyoon again. Finding Heejae was his job, so there was no need for Wooyoon to pointlessly stay in touch with his brother.

Sure, if Wooyoon exchanged messages with Heejae and gathered clues about his whereabouts, it might speed up the capture, but for Pilsung, preventing Wooyoon from returning to his miserable past was more important than finding Heejae.

“You’re not handing over the phone?”

“…….”

His eyes narrowed as he bit his lower lip and looked up at Pilsung. Pilsung clicked his tongue, seeing Wooyoon’s face relax its eyelids and put on that sleepy act again. Then, in a voice so faint it was barely audible, a spark of the defiance he’d shown when throwing the resume slipped out between his red lips.

“It’s not like that…”

“What isn’t?”

“The money… I-I wanted it for myself…”

“Ugh…!”

Pilsung, listening to the mumbling voice, suddenly covered his nose with the back of his hand. It was because a scent began wafting from Wooyoon, whose voice sounded choked, as if his throat was tight. It was a pleasant smell, but one that vividly conveyed how tense its owner was—Nam Wooyoon’s pheromones.

Damn it, that fucking stimulant.

That old bastard hadn’t warned him that the stimulant shot he’d given him wouldn’t leave his system even after two days. In Incheon, he’d struggled through the stench of all sorts of omegas and alphas, but this moment was the hardest for Pilsung to endure.

Frowning and twitching his thick eyebrows, Pilsung recalled what had happened at the medical center.

For over a decade, Pilsung had been taking his own homemade drugs to suppress his pheromone secretion. But the day he’d taken the pheromone stimulant shot for Wooyoon, who was in heat, he’d suffered from a brutal fever. Even in that state, he’d been intoxicated by Wooyoon’s scent, which he’d never smelled before, burying his nose in Wooyoon’s sweat-soaked head.

As memories of lying beside Wooyoon until his heat symptoms subsided, half-conscious and relieving the excitement in his lower body several times alone, came flooding back, his palms grew sweaty. Pilsung pulled a pill bottle from his jacket’s inner pocket and hurriedly popped a tablet into his mouth. Unlike the scent he’d smelled during Wooyoon’s heat, the pheromones wafting from him now were softer, closer to a mild, nutty aroma.

If he got aroused by Wooyoon’s pheromones and ended up with an erection, he could brush it off as a random hard-on. But if Wooyoon caught wind of his own excited scent, it’d be a disaster.

Nam Wooyoon mustn’t find out he’s an alpha.

Swallowing the pill whole wasn’t enough to ease his nerves, so he pulled out a cigarette. He figured the smoke might mask it. It’d also help calm the pulsing in his core.

With a cigarette between his teeth, Pilsung lit it with a disposable lighter emblazoned with “Baek Pilsung Office.” He could subdue his own urges with the cigarette, but to stop Wooyoon from releasing more pheromones out of tension and shift the mood, he needed something other than smoke.

“It’s not about Nam Heejae needing money… Believe me and let it go.”

Pilsung sucked hard on the cigarette filter until his cheeks hollowed, then spoke jokingly to lighten the atmosphere.

“When your lover’s playing with money, you should come to your boyfriend if you need some. Why’re you dumbly thinking about earning it yourself?”

Unsure how to retort to Pilsung, who seemed angry, Wooyoon—whose eyes were nearly closed as if dozing—raised his voice for the first time in a while.

“Are you… threatening me to take out a loan right now…?”

There he goes, saying something stupid again.

Scratching his brow with the hand holding the cigarette, Pilsung sighed.

“Haa… Would I?”

Exhaling smoke while looking at Wooyoon’s blank face, he added, “I’d just give it to you,” in case Wooyoon misunderstood again.

“I won’t take thug money… I won’t take dirty money…”

Though it stung for a moment when Wooyoon pointedly refused money from a thug, Pilsung couldn’t help but smirk at the innocent notion that money had clean or dirty degrees.

“Money’s just fucking money.”

As he laughed and stared, Wooyoon seemed to relax for some reason, and the scent mingling in the air faded. Good. Thanks to that, his own lower body, which had been on the verge of igniting, found peace too.

Relieved in more ways than one, Pilsung said in a playful tone,

“Wow, so conscientious. So where’re you gonna work?”

Wooyoon clamped his mouth shut again. Pilsung held up his index and middle fingers.

“I’ll count to two, not three. Your boyfriend’s dead tired from rushing here from Incheon with crab after work.”

He folded his index finger.

“One.”

“…The discount mart next to the medical center.”

Pilsung folded his middle finger, the last one in front of Wooyoon’s face, and grinned.

“See? Isn’t it nice when you answer obediently instead of pointlessly glaring?”

“…….”

Wooyoon relaxed his clenched jaw as he watched Pilsung plop onto the floor. He’d thought Pilsung might hit him for lying about his brother. He’d braced himself to take it without dodging if it came to that, but oddly, his body trembled uncontrollably. His hands shook so much that the plastic bag on his wrist rustled loudly.

“You’re not sitting?”

Wooyoon sat a little distance from Pilsung, who was cross-legged and looking at him crookedly. The room was so small it hardly made a difference.

“Give me your hand.”

Pilsung, with his palms up on both knees, looked almost meditative. He wiggled his fingers, making his gold ring glint.

At the urging gesture, Wooyoon obediently offered his hand as promised, placing it carelessly on Pilsung’s broad, rough palm.

“Kidding? Both hands.”

Mumbling through the cigarette in his mouth, Pilsung grabbed Wooyoon’s dawdling other hand himself.

“Fuck, so damn soft…”

Each time Pilsung spoke, the cigarette burned, sending up spicy smoke. Wooyoon avoided his face, staring only at their clasped hands. He didn’t want to sit holding hands with a thug, but a promise was a promise. Besides, thinking of it like the morning exercise routine after the news made it less unpleasant.

“…Hey.”

“…….”

“Nam Wooyoon.”

“…….”

“Stop hating me, trust me a little, and just fucking do what I say. And the money I make—it’s not that dirty.”

“…….”

“Need me to clean out your ears?”

When Wooyoon still didn’t answer, Pilsung’s large, thick hand, veins bulging, gripped both his palm and back at once, kneading them before interlocking their fingers. Unable to resist the force pushing between his fingers, Wooyoon’s wrist bent back limply.

“…It hurts.”

“Just holding hands, and you’re whining.”

“It’s not whining. It’s too big and thick… Don’t keep squeezing so hard. I said it hurts.”

Pilsung, staring at Wooyoon, chewed his cigarette and smacked his lips. The whining scratched at his ears, driving him crazy.

“Fuck, we’d get along…”

Squeezing until Wooyoon’s hand turned red, Pilsung tossed it aside, pulled the cigarette stub from his mouth, and rubbed it against the wall. The blackened, moldy wallpaper hid the mark, but Wooyoon gaped at him with dumbly drooping eyes.

“Open your eyes properly,” Pilsung mimed flicking Wooyoon’s forehead and stood up abruptly.

“Eat that and sleep. It’s hot out, so eat it quick.”

He nodded at the plastic bag dangling from Wooyoon’s wrist. Realizing he’d been carefully holding onto the crab Pilsung had given him all this time, Wooyoon hurriedly slipped his hand out of the bag’s handle. A mocking chuckle sounded above him.

“I’m going. Lock the door tight.”

Wooyoon glared at Pilsung, who slipped into his shoes halfheartedly and left, then stumbled to his feet. Locking the door after him, he turned and let out a sigh.

What about the resume…?

Wooyoon had thought he’d finally get to “work” like everyone else. Of course, they’d have to accept him first, but still, the chance to step out of this space and do something proper besides waiting for his brother was a huge shift for him. The excitement and tension he’d felt anticipating that change turned to disappointment.

“…….”

His dejected eyes fixed on one spot. It was the plastic bag with the rather long name printed on it: “Incheon Rice Thief Famous Crab Feast.” Glancing at the iron door, double-locked meticulously, Wooyoon scratched his neck and approached the bag.

He spread out the crab set he hadn’t closely examined in front of Pilsung on the floor. Peeling off the ice pack stuck to the container and lifting the lid, a delicious salty aroma hit his nose. Swallowing hard, Wooyoon picked up a flower crab from the shallow soy sauce. Trimmed without its shell and cut in half for easy eating, the crab’s cross-section revealed plump flesh and bright orange roe.

His red lips, constantly swallowing saliva, parted wide. Biting into the sizable crab half with his front teeth, the spicy, salty soy marinade melded with the chewy crab meat, melting in his mouth.

Delicious. It was his first time eating crab, and now he understood why home shopping hosts kept calling it a “rice thief.” A bit salty, but he could eat it all without rice.

Wiping the soy-stained corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, Wooyoon began earnestly sucking on the crab legs, still full of meat.

* * *

Feeling something tapping the window, Wooyoon couldn’t easily open his eyes. After devouring a whole crab set without rice last night, his swollen eyelids refused to budge. Half-opening his eyes, he grabbed the water bottle by his head. Unscrewing the cap hastily, he poured it into his stomach. The aftereffects of the soy crab weren’t just puffiness—his thirst was brutal.

Even as water dribbled down his chin and neck, he gulped the lukewarm 2L bottle like a man possessed.

“Open this! Sister-in-law!”

“Pfft—!”

Spitting out the water like a fountain, Wooyoon turned to the window with barely open eyes. He saw a crouched lower body. Judging by the size and thigh thickness, it wasn’t Pilsung.

Opening the window, the man outside bent sideways to peer in. It was Gidong, someone he’d greeted recently.

“Whoa, sister-in-law, aren’t you hot? There’s warm air coming out from in there. Sleeping with the window closed in a room like that in summer—you’d be gone without a trace.”

His rough habit of throwing around words like “die” and “dead” whenever he got the chance reminded Wooyoon of Pilsung. Narrowing his brow, Wooyoon said,

“Don’t… call me that… please.”

“Huh? I can’t hear you!”

Shouting back, Gidong prompted Wooyoon to shake his head. He’d looked small next to Pilsung, but alone, he was massive too.

All alphas are huge and rough…

Lost in thought, Wooyoon was jolted by Gidong’s loud question.

“Did you eat the crab?”

“Huh? Oh…”

Embarrassed recalling how he’d wolfed it down last night, Wooyoon trailed off softly.

“The boss told me to check that first. You didn’t eat it?”

“I ate… it…”

When Gidong asked “Huh?” again, unable to hear, Wooyoon leaned closer to the window and raised his voice.

“I ate it, I ate it!”

Focusing on Wooyoon’s voice while peering inside, Gidong extended the hand he’d held to his ear.

“Show me.”

“What?”

“The empty container. He said to see it with my own eyes.”

Staring blankly at Gidong, who boldly demanded the empty dish, Wooyoon’s eyes rolled slowly.

“It smelled… so I threw it out.”

Hearing this, Gidong straightened up and shouted somewhere.

“Hey! Check over there!”

Yelling to someone far off, Gidong waited a while before saying, “Oh, found it? Okay,” and bent back down to look inside.

“I came this morning because the boss told me to deliver this.”

Gidong handed a small paper bag through the window. The gap between the ground and window was so narrow that the bag was half-crumpled by the time it reached Wooyoon.

“What’s… this?”

Pulling out two small portable sprays from the bag, Wooyoon alternated between a blank one and one marked “Chu” in permanent marker. Gidong, head nearly touching the ground like Pilsung before, explained kindly.

“One’s a perfume that masks pheromone scents. It’s useless during heat but works decently otherwise. You’ve got to carry it and spray it often, though.”

“…….”

“The other’s some kind of concentrated pepper or chili spray—self-defense. The boss marked it, so don’t mix them up and use it carefully.”

Now that he looked, the sloppy “Chu” scribbled in Pilsung’s rough style matched the handwriting on the resume.

Not “Hu” or “Huchu,” but “Chu”…?

He didn’t bring the resume he’d asked for but sent weird stuff first thing in the morning. Wooyoon chewed his lip discontentedly.

Come to think of it, he didn’t mention anything about my heat yesterday either. I thought he’d tease or mock me as soon as he saw me.

“And there’s more.”

Grumbling with his lips pursed, Wooyoon rummaged through the bag at Gidong’s voice and pulled out what he grabbed. A small paper box read “Omega Pheromone Suppressant.”

“He said to carry it just in case. It’s over-the-counter from pharmacies, not as good as prescription stuff, but most people use it.”

“…….”

Rubbing the words “Fast-Absorbing Liquid” with his thumb.

His brother never bought it for him…

Since his trait wasn’t registered, his brother had shamelessly lied, telling him to just endure it because he couldn’t buy it. Anger and sadness welled up at the thought that he’d locked him in a closet instead of getting something so easily available.

“And lastly, this.”

Gidong pulled a vertically folded paper from his jacket’s inner pocket and stuck his arm through the window. Putting the suppressant back in the bag, Wooyoon took the fluttering paper and unfolded it.

It was a blank resume Gidong had handed him. Seeing every section cleanly empty, Wooyoon’s face lit up instantly. Gidong, witnessing life spark into Wooyoon’s usually listless, timid eyes for the first time, thought if the boss saw this, he’d probably grin all day. A bonus lecture on successful dating tips would follow.

Watching Wooyoon’s eyes gleam over a mere piece of paper, Gidong felt anew why Pilsung, who loved pitiful things, had chosen Nam Wooyoon. This time, he added something Pilsung hadn’t told him to say.

“They won’t check every detail in the education section, so fudge it a bit. Write high school graduate.”

“…….”

“See you later, sister-in-law.”

Despite the grating title, Wooyoon didn’t protest, accepting Gidong’s farewell. Just having the resume in his hands made him feel like he could fly, drowning out any discomfort from the name. Before Gidong’s footsteps faded, Wooyoon flopped belly-down in front of the whirring fan. Picking up a pen rolling on the floor, he started filling out the resume.

「Name: Nam Wooyoon」

Lying prone, he carefully wrote his three-character name, humming and wiggling his toes.

「Age: 20

Trait Bearer: None」

Filling it out smoothly, Wooyoon paused at the education section. Having written “Memil Middle,” he propped his chin on the hand holding the pen and blinked quietly.

“…….”

Facing the fan’s breeze blowing his bangs, he mulled it over before blacking out the “Middle” part.

「Memil High School Graduate」

Following Gidong’s advice, Wooyoon forged his education, then buried his face close to the paper to fill the rest.

I’ve even forged my education… I can’t call Baek Pilsung a thug anymore. I shouldn’t…

His ears turned bright red as he pressed the pen carefully.

As soon as he finished the resume, Wooyoon scraped together his remaining living expenses, took a bus, and headed to the mart. He wore the newest-looking clothes he owned, but compared to others on the bus, he couldn’t help feeling self-conscious. Sitting at the front, head bowed, fidgeting with his shirt hem, he got off at the intersection stop where the medical center was visible.

Before the mart, Wooyoon stopped by the medical center first, clutching the paper bag to his chest and scanning the hallway. Except for the medical center, every shop on the floor was empty. The elevator ride up showed bustling lower floors, making the desolate medical center level oddly striking.

Peering down the abandoned-building-like hallway, he opened the glass door and stepped inside.

“You done yapping, you shitty bastard?”

“I oughta rip this fucker’s head off—ugh! Miss, can’t you be more careful!”

A man getting his bloodied, torn forearm disinfected barked at the nurse, then looked at Wooyoon. Their eyes met, and his worn sneakers instinctively stepped back. Hurrying out, Wooyoon shut the glass door and pressed against the hallway wall. The scene inside was so different from yesterday, it threw him off.

Catching his startled breath, he rubbed his nose hard with the back of his hand. The brief moment of opening the door had filled his senses with alpha pheromones, making his fingers tremble faintly. The air, thick with mingled scents, carried their savage tempers, reminding him of the thugs who’d recently stormed his basement room, crushing and intimidating him.

“Ugh, ugh…”

“Nam Wooyoon?”

Gagging softly from nausea, he turned toward a voice recognizing him. Director Kim Cheonse stood by the elevator, arms full of medical supplies.

“What brings you here at this hour? Are you sick?”

“No, it’s not that… Thank you.”

Bowing first, Wooyoon handed over the paper bag. The director set down his load and took it. Inside the bag, clearly marked “Baek Pilsung Office,” were the acupressure slippers Wooyoon had borrowed yesterday.

“Thanks for returning them. They’re dear to me. Since you’re here, come in and sit for a bit.”

“No…!”

The director laughed hoarsely at Wooyoon’s quick head shake.

“Whoops, being a beta, I didn’t think that far. What’s the point of separating alphas and omegas by appointment? No matter how much care I take, if you’re not in their shoes, you miss these little things. Sorry.”

“I’m… fine.”

Wooyoon forced a clumsy smile and waved it off. Like yesterday, he felt no wariness around Kim Cheonse. Seeing Wooyoon’s smile spread, the director grinned back, picking up his stuff from the floor. Wooyoon offered to help, lending a hand.

“Quite a lot, huh? Disinfectants, gauze—I ran out, so I had to grab some quick.”

“Ahh…”

Nodding awkwardly while sharing the load, Wooyoon listened as the director rambled unprompted.

“Regular hospitals don’t manage supplies like this. But since this place is illegal… Usually, we buy through back channels, but today those punks suddenly got into a fight. Five or six of them swinging knives, so we came up short…”

“Yeah…”

“Wondering why I’m telling you something you don’t care about?”

“Yeah… Huh? No!”

His bored face jolted, shaking his head frantically. The director glanced at the glass door.

“Who else but here would take in punks like that? The government knows I run this place without a license. They know and turn a blind eye.”

“…….”

“They didn’t realize when they revoked my license. The stuff they don’t want to see or deal with… If they won’t, someone’s gotta step up…”

Muttering low, the director clicked his tongue bitterly before taking back the load Wooyoon held.

“They can treat trait bearers harshly and discriminate, but they can’t erase them. How many trait bearers are there in this country? Fewer than betas, sure, but not few enough to pretend they don’t exist.”

“…….”

“So what I’m saying is, even though this place runs illegally, it’s safe.”

Tucking the slipper bag under his arm, the director smiled warmly.

“So if you’re ever sick, come here without worry. We’ll bill Director Baek. Right?”

“…….”

“I forgot to mention that yesterday after sending you off.”

Chuckling at the blank-faced Wooyoon, Kim Cheonse pushed the glass door open with his shoulder and entered the medical center. Left in the hallway, Wooyoon felt his chest stir. Unlike the nausea from the alpha scents earlier, this was a warm ripple in his heart.

Since graduating middle school, the only adults he’d met were landlords while moving around, so he had little to compare, but Wooyoon was certain once again that Kim Cheonse was a good person, a good adult.

Scratching his flushed cheeks, Wooyoon left the building and pulled the portable spray from his shorts pocket—the pheromone deodorizer Gidong had delivered that morning.

Spotting the “Neul Pureum Discount Mart” sign not far from the medical center, he began spraying it over himself. Targeting pheromone-heavy spots—head, neck, armpits, wrists, behind the knees—he meticulously applied it, eventually dousing his clothes without restraint. New to it, he didn’t know the right amount, and more than that, he wasn’t sure it even worked.

Passersby glanced at Wooyoon spraying perfume on the street, but his focus was solely on the mart. It’d been so long since he’d faced a situation where someone would decide his fate that his heart pounded like it might burst.

He’d experienced it often at school. During tests, or…

Shaking his head to clear stray thoughts, Wooyoon pocketed the spray and slipped his hand inside his shirt. He pulled out the resume tucked into his shorts’ waistband.

“Phew…”

Exhaling a nervous breath, Wooyoon held the resume he’d kept close to his body to avoid creasing—too precious for his pockets—and headed to the mart.

Inside his neatly tied, worn sneakers, his tense toes wouldn’t budge; only his eyes rolled. The manager, sitting with his back to a steel shelf stacked with plastic crates, lifted a paper cup with one hand, muttering without looking up from Wooyoon’s resume.

“Strange…”

Swallowing dryly, Wooyoon studied the manager’s face behind small, horn-rimmed glasses. Had he noticed the forged education? Earlier that year, a celebrity’s child had been caught faking credentials for a job, and a current affairs show said it could lead to criminal charges for obstructing business or fraud.

While Wooyoon’s tense mind raced to worst-case scenarios, the manager tilted his head, set the resume down, and looked at him with disbelief.

“The part-time spot from the posting filled up this morning. We hired an alpha like the owner wanted…”

“…….”

“But oddly, just a few hours before Nam Wooyoon came, our logistics guy broke his arm and quit. Even after we offered to switch his duties, he insisted on leaving. Ridiculous. I was debating another posting when you showed up. Must be fate. Weird, huh?”

Wooyoon’s taut shoulders slumped with relief. Thankfully, it wasn’t about the fake education. Easing up, he spoke.

“Then I…”

“Can start today, right?”

Unsure if he’d heard correctly, Wooyoon blinked briefly before shouting, “Yes!” The manager downed the rest of his drink, stood, and beckoned.

“Follow me. Learn with the alpha we hired this morning.”

“Yes…!”

Answering loudly, the manager pushed up his glasses with the back of his hand, eyeing Wooyoon curiously. Wooyoon recalled a survey from a self-help book he’d read. It ranked what bosses wanted from new hires: a bright greeting topped the list, followed by a loud response. For his first part-time job, even if he stumbled, sticking to these two would help him adjust, he thought. The book, nabbed from a closing secondhand shop, was over a decade old, though.

Staring at Wooyoon—wide-eyed and looking like he’d jump at the slightest touch—the manager, thinking kids these days were too sensitive and defensive, opened the warehouse door.

Following cautiously, Wooyoon reached a refrigerated truck outside. The manager called to a man in a blue vest talking to a delivery driver with his back turned.

“Starting training!”

At the shout, the man nodded to the driver and turned. Wearing a vest embroidered with “Neul Pureum Discount Mart” over a black short-sleeve shirt, he raised a corner of his mouth and greeted Wooyoon cheerfully.

“Hello?”

“……!”

Calming his nerves behind the manager, Wooyoon snapped his head up at the familiar voice. Pilsung, sans sunglasses, grinned with his fierce eyes fully exposed.

“The alpha hired this morning, Baek Pilsung.”

The manager introduced him. Fiddling with the unzipped mart vest—too small for his frame—Pilsung extended a hand to the speechless, stunned Wooyoon.

“Let’s shake, fellow newbie.”

Wooyoon silently stared at the large, calloused hand that had kneaded his own last night before leaving.

What’s going on? There was no mention of this yesterday.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. A loan shark thug lying about being an alpha to work at a mart had to be because of him. Then, could the beta worker’s sudden broken arm be…?

Fumbling his pocket while eyeing the outstretched hand, Wooyoon felt the deodorizer spray inside.

“…….”

Pilsung found it absurd that Wooyoon stared at his hand like it had eyes, locked in some showdown. At this rate, they wouldn’t shake until sunset, so he grabbed Wooyoon’s hand and pulled lightly. The thin frame stumbled forward.

Locking eyes with Wooyoon, who glared up with a frown, Pilsung grinned wide.

“Colleague, let’s do well?”

Gripping the bony hand tight, he leaned toward Wooyoon’s head. Whether he’d used the spray Pilsung gave him, the faint pheromone scent from last night was gone.

Ha, cute little bastard.

Chuckling softly, Pilsung released Wooyoon’s hand and turned before the manager grew suspicious.