The World of Contrasts Vol. 2 Chapter 8

“Hmm. Is that so?”

When Mama first met Yukito, he was wearing a hospital gown. Mama searched for the hospital’s logo online but only found outdated websites prompting membership sign-ups via wired connections, offering no useful information. He assumed it was some failing hospital.

It wasn’t until much later, by chance, overhearing a conversation with a client, that he learned the place was a high-end nursing home frequented by wealthy individuals or foreigners.

That was when he thought that the man he had casually brought into his home might not be a Yakuza operating in Japan but perhaps a criminal from another country. After all, modern Yakuza didn’t limit their activities to their homeland.

Mama responded to questions with laughter rather than detailed explanations.

“I really like him. How should I approach him?”

“It’s probably impossible,” Mama said decisively.

The salaryman furrowed his brows. While he couldn’t compare to Yukito, he did have a reasonably handsome face.

“Not to brag, but I’m not only popular with omegas, you know.”

Mama chuckled at the salaryman, who blinked his double-lidded eyes with confidence.

“Haha, I know that too.”

Unfortunately for the man, Yukito had already imprinted on an omega.

When Yukito attempted suicide in someone else’s home and put Mama in a difficult position, Mama took him to a discreet private clinic. There, the doctor revealed that Yukito was an omega with exceptionally high levels, something modern tests could easily determine with a simple reagent.

When Mama first learned this, he had naively been pleased. He even considered making Yukito work at his bar in exchange for letting him stay. At the time, Mama was quite naive.

Then again, wasn’t it naive not to have such thoughts, especially when faced with someone so stunningly attractive?

Mama discovered that Yukito had imprinted on someone and was also an incredible fighter when his then-boyfriend Michael visited.

Recovering, Yukito greeted Michael briefly before retreating to his room, while Mama prepared dinner for them.

For some reason, however, Yukito’s pheromones began leaking from his room. Michael, a recessive alpha, was overwhelmed by the omega’s pheromones, flung open the door, and found Yukito in the middle of pleasuring himself.

Michael, driven by the pheromones, tried to assault him, but it was Yukito who subdued him, pinning him to the floor. Mama could never forget the moment blood gushed from Michael’s broken nose.

Terrified that Yukito might kill Michael, Mama tried to intervene but was powerless. Yukito, punching like a man possessed, only stopped when Mama threatened to call the police.

Humiliated and battered, Michael left, and their relationship ended there. Watching Yukito bow and apologize, Mama felt a strange sense of camaraderie.

He couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

“So, did you like Michael?”

“Not at all.”

“But you were… you know, doing that.”

“….”

“It’s okay, just tell me. It’s never happened before, so I’m curious.”

After hesitating for a long while, the words Yukito finally uttered… even now, they seemed uncharacteristically cute for him.

Thinking of that answer made Mama smile slightly. The salaryman, perhaps misunderstanding his reaction, frowned in mild irritation.

“Why, Tomoko-san? Why are you so quick to decide I don’t stand a chance?”

“Hmm… Yukito likes a bit of a… rustic style. Ryosuke-san, you’re too dandy for him.”

“Rustic? Like what, for example?”

“Like a checkered shirt, maybe?”

What had aroused Yukito, absurdly enough, was Michael’s outfit. Apparently, the sight of Michael in his drab checkered shirt had triggered his heat.

Seeing the guilt and embarrassment flood Yukito’s face as he apologized so earnestly made it impossible to stay angry at him. In the end, it was a stroke of luck that gave Mama the opportunity to break up with that foreign otaku who frequented the omega bar, mostly dressed as anime characters.

“Thinking about it now… it’s all just memories,” Mama said wistfully.

“But why would someone react to checkered shirts?” the salaryman asked.

“I have no idea. Maybe he’s a fan of Kubozuka.” (*An actor who frequently wore checkered shirts in the drama IWGP.)

“Ugh, just how old are you, Mama?” The salaryman teased, clearly amused by the reference to such an old drama.

Feigning ignorance, Mama replied, “I forgot.”

“Tomoko-san, did you come up with the name Yukito?”

“Yes,” Mama said, smiling as if recalling a distant memory.

Yukito’s image from their first meeting was still etched vividly in Mama’s mind. His jet-black hair, the blood seeping from his wounds, and his pale face—all of it felt as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Why couldn’t he bring himself to abandon someone like that?

“He looked like a pure white rabbit lying in the snowfield. A rabbit fleeing from a hunter,” Mama murmured to himself.

Their conversation ended abruptly as the door creaked open, and a group of drunken customers staggered into the bar. The salaryman settled his bill and rose from his seat, casting one last glance at the spot where the other man had been sitting earlier.

Having raised rabbits as a child, the salaryman knew they weren’t always docile creatures. Recalling their destructive tantrums when enraged, he superimposed that wild temperament onto the man from earlier. It left him salivating.

He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of scent that man, if he were an omega, might give off. Embarrassed by his erection, the salaryman hurriedly left the bar. It seemed wiser to return home to his waiting wife before he did something reckless. There were too many things he couldn’t afford to lose by playing with fire with someone whose origins and name he didn’t even know.

✽ ✽ ✽

Kabukicho, awash in year-end festivities, was desolate during the day but transformed into another world brimming with energy as evening fell.

At the entrance to a hostess club celebrating its 15th anniversary, photos of the hostesses adorned with fresh roses lined the walls. Rookie hosts, their hair and outfits meticulously styled, disappeared one by one into the brightly lit buildings.

Among these establishments was the club where Yukito worked—a long-standing venue nestled in a district dense with nightlife.

Despite occasional slowdowns due to new competition springing up each year, the club had survived recessions and maintained its reputation. It was a place well-known enough that most people had at least heard of it, and weekends were always packed with regulars and new patrons alike.

“Yukito-san, Table 19 in the west section,” a colleague called out.

Hearing the commotion, Yukito headed toward the table. A small group had gathered, whispering among themselves. Apparently, one of them, drunk, had tried to grope a woman. Judging by his attitude, he was likely an alpha flaunting his status—nothing truly dangerous. Real yakuza had a distinct air about them.

Yukito approached the drunk man in the Prada suit from behind, grabbed him by the back of the neck, and slammed his face into the table without a word.

Though Yukito was noticeably leaner than his larger colleagues, his ability to handle unruly guests was unmatched.

“What the—ugh! You bastard, I’ll kill you!” the drunk snarled.

“If you cause a scene, we’ll call the police, sir,” Yukito said coldly.

“The police? Are you kidding me?”

“If you apologize to the lady and take a taxi home immediately, we won’t call the police. What’s your decision?”

Yukito recited flatly, his expression devoid of emotion. At the same time, his grip on the man’s shirt didn’t loosen, continuing to constrict his neck.

When Mama first suggested this job to him, Yukito had been indifferent. But as time passed, he came to feel like it was his calling—as if, before losing his memories, he might have done something similar.

Among his many skills, what truly set him apart was his ability to distinguish between dangerous customers and those who were just loud. Yukito had a knack for identifying whether someone was an empty bluffing thug or a serious threat one shouldn’t provoke. Naturally, as a manager who wanted to avoid unnecessary trouble with gangsters, Mama welcomed Yukito’s sharp instincts.

“I’m sorry. My friend isn’t usually like this—he’s just really drunk,” said a companion of the man, his thin, heavily styled hair exaggerated into a voluminous puff.

“Will you apologize to the lady and leave, or should we involve the police?”

“I’ll apologize, okay?!”

The man, face pressed against the table, grumbled begrudgingly. When Yukito eased his grip, the man shot him a glare and swung a bottle at him.

Damn it. Yukito cursed under his breath, bracing himself to take the hit on his shoulder. Then, in a swift movement, he flipped the wiry man over and slammed him onto the club floor.

“Ugh!”

The man, stunned and sprawled out on the ground, quickly regained his senses. His friend dragged him up, practically carrying him out as the man continued to make a noisy exit.

“I’m gonna kill you, I swear!”

The female customer, who had been harassed, seemed to feel a little better after witnessing the man get what he deserved.

“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. Please accept this as a token of our apology from the house,” the manager said, bowing deeply at a perfect right angle. He even sent over a complimentary bottle of champagne, smoothing things over. The woman soon returned to the stage, immersing herself in the music again.

Grateful that the situation hadn’t dragged on any longer than necessary, Yukito slowly tilted his head to one side, then the other, cracking his neck.

✽ ✽ ✽

“You okay?”

Saito, the manager, approached him and asked.

“What do you mean?”

Yukito replied in his usual indifferent tone, his expression unchanging. The manager let out a small sigh of relief and began to praise him in admiration.

“You’re seriously fearless, Yukito. Most people would have frozen after seeing how much that table spent.”

“If they want to throw money around while behaving however they like, they should stick to private venues. Spend all they want on women who actually welcome it, and no one would complain.”

“Honestly, if you just toned down your sharp tongue, you could’ve been a top host. Heck, with the right crowd, maybe even a tsundere act could still work.”

Saito chuckled softly as he looked up at Yukito, who was a full head taller than him.

In truth, Yukito looked more like a guest meant to elevate the club’s prestige than an actual guard. It wasn’t entirely false to say he was strategically placed in visible spots to achieve a dual purpose.

His tailored suit was of much higher quality than the uniforms worn by the other staff, and his hairstyle—a compromise after much negotiation to avoid him shaving it all off—had been dyed blond to add a touch of sophistication.

“I’m not fond of alcohol or sex. Hosting’s a bad fit for me.”

“The clever ones make a fortune without relying on booze or physical favors.”

“I’m fine staying a pauper.”

At Yukito’s curt, unyielding reply, Saito let out a dry chuckle. Yukito, however, spoke again, cutting to the point.

“I need a favor.”

His expression resembled a threat more than a request. Sometimes, the disconnect between Yukito’s tone and his demeanor left Saito with an odd, indescribable feeling.

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow’s payday. Can you pay me a day early? I’m off tomorrow and don’t want to come in just for that.”

In Kabukicho, everyone had their own story. Yukito was no exception, though Saito didn’t know the details. When Yukito had been hired, he’d insisted on being paid in cash, which had been agreed upon.

“Yukito, if you’re going to ask for a favor, at least look polite.”

“I’ll kneel if I have to.”

Saito grabbed Yukito’s arm, stopping him before he could make good on the statement.

The faint sense of sarcasm that seemed to color Yukito’s manner wasn’t intentional; it was simply an impression created by his striking appearance. In truth, Yukito was diligent and reliable. He always delivered what was expected, and just by standing there, he drew attention, enhancing the club’s reputation. Saito figured he could afford to pay a month’s advance out of pocket if it came to that.

“I’ll have it ready. You can take it when you clock out.”

Without any further acknowledgment, Yukito headed back to work. It was time to earn his keep.

✽ ✽ ✽

At dawn, Yukito changed clothes and left the club. The pounding bass of the music still seemed to reverberate in his ears.

It was 5 a.m., and the dark navy sky lingered before sunrise. The nightlife district was still far from quiet. Passing a drunkard shouting at a taxi driver, Yukito quickened his pace.

“Hey, want to grab some ramen with us?” someone called out to him.

“Sorry, no money,” Yukito muttered without even looking at them.

“I can cover that much,” one of the women said.

“My fifty-three-year-old boyfriend is waiting for me at home,” Yukito replied.

The two women laughed loudly, joking about his unusual tastes. Yukito ignored them and walked past, letting their comments—like, “Wow, you’re really handsome!”—roll off him. Running a hand through his short, bristly hair, he sighed. No matter what he did to avoid attention, his striking looks kept drawing trouble. Even wearing a mask didn’t stop people—of all genders—from pestering him.

“Excuse me.”

Yukito, already irked, felt the weight of the cash envelope in his pocket and wanted to leave the area as quickly as possible. But today, it seemed like everyone had decided to bother him.

“What now?” he snapped.

Korean slipped out of his mouth instinctively. Though he had no trouble communicating in Japanese, he was always conscious of his Korean identity. Whenever someone addressed him in Korean, his native tongue naturally surfaced. The man who had called out to him lit up and moved closer.

“You’re Jang Jaemin, right? I went to the same high school—Song Han-gyeol.”

Yukito felt a twinge of discomfort and stepped back, frowning.

“Who are you? Do I know you?”

He unconsciously replied in Japanese this time, realizing a moment too late. Why did I do that? As he chewed his lip, Song Han-gyeol tilted his head, studying him.

“That’s strange. You look so much like him.”

“Like who?” Yukito asked, narrowing his eyes. Han-gyeol’s flashy outfit screamed “host.”

“Ah, never mind. Sorry about that,” Han-gyeol said hastily.

A luxury sedan pulled up behind him, and a Japanese man stepped out of the driver’s seat.

“Who’s this?” the man asked Han-gyeol.

“Oh, just someone I don’t know,” Han-gyeol replied, grabbing the man’s arm as if to drag him away.

“Hey, wait,” Yukito called out, reaching for Han-gyeol.

But the man with sunglasses—despite the early morning—stepped in between them.

“Do you have business here?”

“I wasn’t the one who started this. He called me,” Yukito retorted.

“It’s a case of mistaken identity. Let’s go,” Han-gyeol said, tugging at the man’s arm.

“Yeah, there’s no way Jang Jaemin would be doing this here,” Han-gyeol muttered as he turned away.

A faint scent of omega pheromones wafted from Han-gyeol, enough for Yukito to pick up. Moments like these reminded him of the unique sensitivity that came with imprinting. While people of the same secondary gender often found each other’s pheromones unpleasant, Yukito found all pheromones downright repulsive. The doctor had said it was a trait specific to those who had imprinted.

For a moment, a pang of sadness crept in. A fellow Korean omega working in the adult entertainment industry—it was a grim thought. But Yukito quickly brushed it off. What does it matter to me?

Still, does he really know me? Han-gyeol’s hurried retreat carried an air of discomfort, but with the imposing figure next to him, Yukito couldn’t press further. The luxury sedan soon disappeared into the distance.

Burdened by unease, Yukito trudged along the street. Does he know my past? Or was it truly just a case of mistaken identity?

His thoughts churned as he walked, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of his apartment building. It was a run-down complex, notorious for its dangerous residents. According to Mama, this was the only place in the area where the rent was affordable.

[Staying over at Shun-chan’s place tonight ♥ Yukki-chan, it’s your day off, right? Let’s have dinner together at home later.]

Sundays were Mama’s shop’s regular day off. Only after returning to the empty apartment did Yukito check Mama’s message and change clothes.

Mama claimed he didn’t bring guests home for privacy reasons, but Yukito knew the real reason—it was because of him. Mama’s lovers were all alphas, and he wanted to avoid any potential incidents.

All because of that one time when Yukito had lost control of his pheromones.

As he spread a futon in the cramped living room and lay down, his eyes wandered to a checkered shirt hanging on the wall. The memory of that time still made him flush with shame. It wasn’t the alpha pheromones clinging to that otaku-like bastard that had stirred him—it was the sight of the hulking figure in that outfit. Even now, recalling his reaction made him cringe.

Despite that humiliating incident, Mama had forgiven him. How incredible must he be to let it go?

Yukito blinked at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.

He was leading a rather unremarkable life, all out of gratitude to the person who had cared for him after he lost his memory. Not that he had any particular complaints about it—except for the nights when he woke drenched in cold sweat after being tormented by vague, indistinct nightmares.

Yukito guessed these nightmares were tied to his past, and he suspected that whatever lay hidden in his lost memories wasn’t pleasant.

The fact that he’d once attempted suicide was telling enough.

He didn’t even have to look far for proof—the scars that covered his body were clear indicators. The largest and most striking scar ran down his back, tracing the length of his spine. The first time Yukito saw it in the mirror, he’d felt a chill as if his body might split apart at any moment.

Better not to dwell on it.

That was the conclusion he’d come to after suffering migraines sharp enough to feel like knives stabbing into his temples and bouts of inexplicable nausea every time he tried to piece together his past.

If he couldn’t remember his history, there was no need to try. His job as a guard was tolerable, and aside from the occasional nuisance clinging to him, there weren’t any major issues in his current life.

The one thing that weighed on him was the knowledge that Mama, in debt to the yakuza, had to send them tribute money every month. Even so, Yukito considered it a small mercy—it kept him from slacking off or thinking of quitting work.

“Yukito, if you want to keep living with me, don’t start any fights here. If anyone asks, you’re my son. Got it?”

In this so-called “yakuza mansion,” few of the residents were involved in anything other than nightlife or illicit activities.

There was that one time when Yukito dragged an alpha out of the bar—a man who not only refused to pay his tab but also hurled abuse and caused a scene. Yukito had pinned him against the wall outside. After that incident, Mama had earnestly warned him.

Following Mama’s advice, Yukito lived as if he weren’t even there. He avoided unnecessary conflicts, both at Mama’s workplace, Lookie, and within the mansion.

“We live here like the monkeys. Be wise.”

Three monkey figurines stood neatly by the entrance to Mama’s apartment: one covering its eyes, another its ears, and the third its mouth. Yukito lived by those words, following Mama’s lead.

✽ ✽ ✽

Of course, there were plenty of unpleasant things to ignore. At first, pretending not to see or hear anything for Mama’s sake had been extremely difficult. The first year was grueling, the third year was bearable, and by the next year, it had become a habit—so much so that it felt easier to live that way.

Day by day, he ate, woke up, went to work, came home to someone who worried about him, and went to sleep. A monotonous yet comfortable life—just the kind of stability Yukito found strangely reassuring.

“…Damn it.”

As Yukito was lying down to sleep, he frowned and sat up abruptly, feeling a dampness spreading across his lower back. Muttering curses, he hurried to the bathroom, changed out of his underwear, and cleaned himself up.

The tepid sensations that followed self-gratification left only an overwhelming sense of discomfort. It was no wonder Yukito couldn’t understand people who stared at him with bloodshot eyes full of lust.

“Imprinting is romantic—it’s like a promise to have sex with only each other forever.”

“That’s just propaganda spread by the government to cover up the side effects experienced by marked individuals.”

“There you go, being cynical again.”

“Well, it’s true.”

Mama would sometimes laugh and say that Yukito’s having imprinted someone meant he, too, once had “passion.” But for Yukito, who felt nauseated at the mere scent of alpha pheromones, the idea of having sex with someone seemed impossible.

All he could hope for was the development of a procedure to completely eliminate the unwelcome heats that came around periodically.

And, as expected, today was the day he had to get his heat suppressant prescription refilled.

If it weren’t for the ridiculously expensive suppressants, he’d be able to hand over his entire paycheck to Mama.

Since the clinic wouldn’t open for a while, Yukito figured he might as well get some sleep. He tossed and turned, feeling unpleasant, but eventually managed to doze off.

✽ ✽ ✽

When he woke, it was already 2 p.m. After a quick wash and throwing on some clothes, Yukito left the mansion.

The third floor of a decrepit five-story building in Ōkubo housed the Congressman, a clinic frequented by those in nightlife or illegal trades. It was also the first hospital Mama had taken him to. Known for dispensing anything from stimulants to sleeping pills for the right price, it had a certain infamy.

“Are you having sex?”

“…What kind of question is that?”

Yukito raised an eyebrow at the silver-haired doctor, who simply shook his head.

“It’d be better to let a heat run its course than to keep using suppressants like this.”

The doctor’s tone was calm, almost dry, but his gleaming eyes betrayed his nature. An alpha, even in old age—figures, thought Yukito bitterly.

“You’re not my type, Doc.”

In the background, the radio was broadcasting a segment on a politician being considered as the next Japanese prime minister. The politician openly highlighted so-called “reverse discrimination” against alphas as a pressing issue. Despite nearly 20 years since Omega rights had come to the forefront, it was shocking how wide his support base was.

“I didn’t mean it that way…”

Watching the doctor, another apparent fan of this politician, Yukito clicked his tongue. To the man before him, Yukito probably appeared as nothing more than someone who should “naturally” serve and revere alphas.

“Just give me the meds.”

When Yukito gestured impatiently, the doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You’d be better off with an IV.”

The doctor who’d run his initial tests had been shocked by Yukito’s extraordinary omega markers. He’d even marveled at how there was no detectable scent. At one point, the doctor seemed about to press his face against Yukito’s unconscious chest, only for Mama to step in and stop him with an incredulous rebuke.

“I don’t have time. I’m leaving.”

“Isn’t today your day off?”

What are you, a stalker? Yukito snapped irritably.

“I have to cook.”

After leaving the clinic, he swallowed the pills dry and made his way to a Korean supermarket. Familiar signs and labels in Korean no longer stirred anything in him. When he first arrived in this area, even hearing Korean would leave him breathless, surprising Mama.

“If you buy one more, you can get the sale price. Would you like two?”

“Hmm…”

He hesitated briefly, holding a package of microwaveable drinking snacks.

While he’d picked out a few items for Mama, a Korean food enthusiast, they rarely had meals together at home unless their days off coincided like today. After deciding that buying too much would only lead to throwing away expired food, he shook his head.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Have a great New Year!”

The cheerful part-timer called out to him as he turned away. Yukito licked his dry lips and lit a cigarette as he stepped outside.

Despite being lightly dressed in a thin jacket in December, he barely felt the cold. If anything, it felt colder inside his home than it did outside.

Mama had once shared a story about nearly freezing to death while visiting Korea during winter, only to find the indoor heating so overwhelming that he ended up half-naked. It was moments like that which made Yukito certain he had once lived in Korea. But as his mind once again clouded like a fog, faint echoes of someone’s cries began to surface.

No, not cries—more like eerie laughter or grotesque wailing. Just recalling it sent a shiver down his spine.

Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, so much that his cheeks hollowed, Yukito quickened his pace.

Winter was, by far, his least favorite season.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite gasping and exhaling dramatically at the spice, Mama was thoroughly enjoying the bright red, marinated grilled intestines.

“Want some milk?”

“What am I, a kid? Stop talking nonsense. Give me some soju.”

“You drink every day at the bar. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“Alcohol isn’t about enjoyment—it’s a necessity. You don’t stop eating food just because you’re tired of it; otherwise, people would die.”

Listening to Mama’s absurd logic, Yukito brought a can of beer to the table and sat across from him.

“Thanks.”

After refilling Mama’s glass with ice and clinking their drinks out of habit, they both turned their attention to their phones at the small dining table.

Mama was busy scrolling through social media, following handsome gay men from all over the world. Meanwhile, Yukito mostly watched fight videos.

Whenever he got lost in highlight clips of past matches, time seemed to slip away. One particular video, where a small-framed man took down an opponent twice his size, was one Yukito must have watched over a hundred times.

“What’s up with your eye?”

After finishing an 8-minute video, Yukito finally broke the silence. He’d been holding back his question, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“Got an eye infection.”

Mama, wearing an eye patch over one eye, let out a sigh of admiration as he looked at his screen.

“God, he’s so handsome.”

Tilting his beer can back, Yukito casually asked, “Did you miss the payments this month?”

“Nah, if I had, it wouldn’t have ended with just this.”

Mama responded cheerfully. Dressed in a stretched-out T-shirt and shorts, he looked like an ordinary, chubby middle-aged man at home. Of course, his soft voice and habit of curling his eyes when he smiled gave away the fact that he was a gay alpha who was only attracted to men.

“If the yakuza didn’t hit you, it must’ve been Shun.”

Even though Yukito hit the mark, Mama showed no trace of embarrassment.

“Yep. But it’s fine—he’s good in bed.”

“You’re saying it’s okay to get hit just because he’s good in bed? I’ll kill that bastard myself.”

“Yukito.”

Mama stopped him when Yukito’s tone turned vicious. Moments like these always reminded Mama of the first time they met—when Yukito was barely alive, having lost all will to live, yet fiercely tried to strangle an alpha who attempted to assault him.

It was only when Mama lowered his voice that the dangerous glint in Yukito’s eyes finally dimmed.

“It’s because you’re too good to me, Mama.”

“Yukito, this isn’t something you should be involving yourself in.”

Mama was still smiling, but his tone was firm. Realizing he had overreacted, Yukito belatedly apologized.

“Sorry.”

The words left his mouth, but he couldn’t hide the bitterness within. Why on earth did Mama put up with being treated like that?

“Hm… it’s fine. But you’re oddly sharp today.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Pent-up frustration? Want me to take care of it for you?”

Propping one foot on the dining chair and scratching his thigh, Mama spoke in a playfully coquettish voice, completely at odds with his casual appearance.

“Ugh, please, don’t say disgusting things like that, even as a joke.”

To Yukito, Mama was almost like family. The kind of family who had no concept of shame.

“I’m really good at it, though. Michael, Shun-chan—they were all utterly helpless against my skills. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the irresistible omega, Tomoko. Thank you very much.”

Yukito didn’t bother responding, simply shaking his head as he replayed the now-finished video. The wind outside must have been strong, as the windows rattled noisily. Mama got up, pulled out a padded vest, and handed it to Yukito.

“It’s suffocating.”

“Your lips are turning blue. Not a pleasant sight for my eyes.”

The north-facing building with only a heater for warmth was indeed cold.

“Should we buy a kotatsu?”

“For how often we’re even home?”

“Still, wouldn’t it be nice? We could make hotpot, peel oranges…”

Yukito, silent, draped the vest Mama handed him over his shoulders. Even with just a thin layer, the warmth made a noticeable difference.

“It’s unnecessary, no matter how you look at it.”

“You can’t live only with what’s strictly necessary. That’s boring.”

Mama smiled warmly, his expression full of good-natured humor.

“Maybe I should give up electricity altogether and just get the kotatsu…”

Yukito sighed.

“What’s the point of a kotatsu without electricity?”

“Oh, right. Yukito, you’re so smart.”

“…”

Yukito wasn’t unaware of how lucky he was. No, he hadn’t realized it at first, but it became clearer over time.

How kind it was for someone to bring a stranger with a murky past into their space. How rare it was for Mama to kick out his deranged alpha lover, who had attacked Yukito during a rut, instead of blaming the intruder.

“Oh my, oh my. Why aren’t there alphas like this in Japan?”

Mama, who had just handed Yukito warm clothes, was now laughing while scrolling through his phone again, embarking on another global hunt for “hot guys.”

“Man, if I slept with a guy like this even once, I’d never forget it for the rest of my life.”

What Yukito liked about Mama was precisely this: the ability to show kindness in a way that didn’t feel overbearing.

“Korean guys do have amazing bodies.”

Mama tapped the side of his phone repeatedly, turning up the volume on a video. A news anchor’s voice, delivering Korean news, began to play. It was impossible for Yukito not to catch the Korean words.

“Yukito, what are they saying now?”

With a hint of annoyance, Yukito translated the anchor’s explanation.

“They’re saying a criminal is turning himself in.”

The anchor reported that a businessman, known to have ties to a domestic crime syndicate, was appearing for questioning by prosecutors. His animated voice explained that the investigation involved slush funds from the last election.

✽ ✽ ✽

― Meanwhile, Seoul Mayor Kwon Sangdo strongly criticized Choi Jiseon, the party leader embroiled in slush fund allegations, on his social media, stating that the outdated politics of collusion with organized crime must disappear into history.

“They’re calling him a gangster.”

Mama let out a disappointed sigh.

“So handsome, but a Korean yakuza.”

Yukito wanted to sarcastically ask if that was the best their lovers’ faces could do after being exposed, but he barely held back the instinct. Mama had warned him several times about his overly blunt tone.

Mama had also advised him to avoid eye contact and lower his head if a truly dangerous situation arose, as his sharp, arrogant-looking eyes might invite misunderstandings.

“With a face like that, he’s probably big down there too. I’m sure of it.”

And who’s the blunt one here?

Scoffing faintly, Yukito chewed on a spicy grilled intestine. A message notification lit up his phone screen. Without much reaction, Mama sent him the link to the video they were watching.

“Look, look. See the outline of his left thigh here? The comments are going crazy. Such lewd people.”

If Yukito didn’t humor him, Mama would surely keep this up for another 15 minutes. Yukito picked up his phone, opened the video Mama had sent, and headed to the fridge. He popped open a new beer with one hand and glanced at the phone screen. A man in a suit strode confidently through a barrage of camera flashes.

“Give me one too, Yukito.”

Yukito, who had been standing still, snapped out of his thoughts only when Mama called his name again. He handed over the bottle sitting on the sink.

“Thanks.”

Yukito gulped down his beer, sat back down, and casually dropped his phone onto the dining table. As he stared intently at the video, Mama smirked and asked, “Handsome, right? Isn’t he?”

“…He looks infuriating.”

Mama chuckled at such an odd impression, but Yukito was dead serious. Mama clearly had bad taste.

Calling someone “handsome” was a term better suited to the celebrities Mama adored. For the man on the screen, a simple “handsome” didn’t suffice.

The man’s presence was overwhelming, making the reporters next to him seem like dwarfs. His towering frame exuded a commanding aura that seemed to crush everything around him. Just watching him made Yukito’s blood boil, as if he’d been provoked.

What pissed him off wasn’t just the man’s superior physique. His face, ignoring all the reporters’ questions, was like a chiseled sculpture, but the expression was the problem.

There was none of the seriousness or humble pretense one might expect from someone summoned for questioning. Instead, he looked downright pissed off. He didn’t look like a criminal at all—more like someone out to catch one.

When someone blocked his path, it got even better. The camera caught him glaring at what appeared to be a reporter with his thick brows raised. Yukito felt his mouth go dry as if he’d made eye contact with the man, even though the man wasn’t looking at the camera.

Anyone who locked eyes with this guy would likely falter, just like the reporter on screen, who had boldly approached him but now hesitated.

“It’s like his pheromones are seeping through the screen. Look at this reporter’s face. Of all people, they sent an omega.”

Mama clicked his tongue, concluding the man must be a dominant alpha, then glanced at the silent Yukito.

“Yukito, are you hot?”

“…Why?”

“Your face is red.”

It did feel a bit warm.

“…It’s because I’m wearing too many layers.”

Mama chuckled, yawned, and said he was going to bed. He grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom. Yukito stared blankly for a moment before getting up to tidy up. He crushed the empty beer cans, tossed them into a bag, and scrubbed the dishes and chopsticks clean. Sweat trickled down his neck. The lightweight jacket Mama had given him was clearly overkill for indoors, so he took it off.

“Good night.”

After Mama went into his room, Yukito also showered and spread out his bedding in the cramped living room. Normally, he’d be working at this hour, so lying down at night made it hard to fall asleep. While Mama seemed to have the same problem, faint snores soon came from his room.

“…”

How much time had passed?

Unable to sleep, Yukito eventually reached for his phone. He clicked the link Mama had sent again and muted the volume. With the annoying announcer’s voice gone, the movements of the man on screen became even clearer. Yukito bit his lip as he stared intently at the tiny screen.

As he watched the man get out of the car, bowing his head and buttoning his jacket, Yukito’s heart raced a little faster. The man’s slicked-back hair fully exposed his forehead and temples, perfectly emphasizing his distinct features and jawline.

 

Even amidst the blinding flashes of cameras, the man didn’t blink an eye and just kept walking. He didn’t walk fast, but his stride was so wide that the reporters following him had to jog to keep up.

 

Yukito, holding his breath, watched him intently. The faint glow of the screen reflected on his face, and a lukewarm heat rose within him. Unconsciously, Yukito curled up under the blanket.

 

The man now faced a reporter blocking his path. He looked annoyed, but he didn’t respond to whatever the reporter said. Someone cleared the way, and the man quickly entered the building, ending the short video.

 

After mechanically replaying the video about ten times, Yukito tossed his phone onto the pillow. Feeling the constriction in his loose pants, he realized he was aroused. Instead of getting water, he grabbed his erection inside his underwear.

 

“…….”

 

It was clear that his heat was approaching. Whenever Yukito rarely masturbated, it was always just before his heat. Holding his erection, which was fully aroused despite the medication, Yukito slowly moved his hand.

 

However, the sensation was dull compared to the desire rising within him. It wasn’t unusual for his sexual sensitivity to be lukewarm, but today, his body’s response couldn’t keep up with his desire, which was particularly frustrating.

 

Frustratingly so.

 

Yukito raised his free arm and covered his eyes with the back of his hand. Whether it was willpower or instinct, the man from the screen appeared vividly in his mind’s eye. The features of the face he had replayed multiple times were as clear as if they were etched in his brain.

 

As the image of the man getting out of the car and walking slowly played in his mind, a slippery fluid began to leak from the tip of his penis, which had been unresponsive until now.

 

“Haah….”

 

Yukito remembered the man’s large hands buttoning his jacket. Unlike his flawless features, his hands were rough, with prominent knuckles and visible veins—hands that had clearly beaten someone before. Those hands now gripped his penis tightly.

 

Yukito’s well-defined jaw tilted upward as he masturbated. Sweat dripped down his neck and the back of his knees, and the blanket quickly filled with heat. The man’s hands stimulated his penis faster and faster. Yukito imagined him roughing it up as if to pull it out.

 

With an unusually intense grip, Yukito vigorously stroked himself. Feeling the fluid leaking from his backside, he had to bite his lip hard. Hot breath escaped through his clenched teeth.

 

He had often felt a tingling sensation in his backside while masturbating, but he had never wanted to insert something there before.

 

“Hng….”

 

To dispel the distracting thoughts, Yukito moved his hand even faster. The sound of his fist hitting the base of his penis echoed like someone punching his abdomen, but he didn’t care.

 

“Haah, haah….”

 

The simmering desire refused to burst, remaining just below the surface. The unfulfilled desire made his teeth grind. Yukito cursed softly and reached for his phone.

 

With sweaty hands, he replayed the video. The man walked, his well-fitted, high-quality trousers outlining his prominent bulge with every step. If that was his usual size, it was shocking; if he was aroused on his way to a summons, that was insane.

 

Yukito’s mind raced with unfiltered thoughts. The folds of his entrance twitched, making his backside tingle. A low desire surged within him to push the reporter aside and face the man’s gaze himself.

 

Imagining the man’s eyes meeting his, and his massive erection penetrating him, Yukito’s hips lifted, and his body convulsed.

 

“Hng!”

 

Even without having sex, he could imagine it vividly. He could picture how the man would move, how his penis would feel inside him, how breathless it would make him. Yukito’s trembling hand became hot and sticky with thick, viscous semen.

 

Panting heavily, Yukito wiped his wet hand on his already messy training pants.

 

What had he just done? Masturbating to someone in a video?

 

A hollow sense of self-loathing washed over him belatedly. Perhaps, as Mama said, he was sexually frustrated.

 

✽ ✽ ✽

 

At the same time, in Seoul.

 

“Does that make sense?”

 

Seol Daeyoung stared intently at Seonho as he asked. Instead of answering, Seonho started to bow his head but realized that Daeyoung disliked that gesture, so he silently met his gaze. Even just looking into those pitch-black eyes made Seonho feel like he was being strangled.

 

“I think it doesn’t make sense.”

 

Seol Daeyoung took a drag from his cigarette. In the past, his face would clearly show his emotions, but now it was different. His more masculine features and occasionally chilling gaze revealed the experiences he had been through.

Seol Daeyoung served over five years in prison for murder and was released on a special pardon a year and six months ago. During his imprisonment, his lawyer visited him weekly, and Chairman Jang poured all his power and wealth into securing Daeyoung’s release. Yet, it had now been four months since Chairman Jang went missing.

Although Daeyoung had been away on a business trip at the time, Seonho couldn’t help but suspect his involvement in the Chairman’s disappearance.

Of course, it was a suspicion he could never voice.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

Seonho spoke with a conflicted expression as he looked at the new master who had taken over in his father’s absence.

“I apologize, CEO.”

Seven years ago, after the incident had ended, Seonho finally understood the full extent of what he had done and what had happened to Jaemin.

While Seonho was setting fire to Seol Daeyoung’s house, Jaemin was being brutally assaulted under Chairman Jang’s orders. When Daeyoung witnessed the aftermath, he exacted revenge for Jaemin on the spot. Recalling the moment he learned of this left Seonho feeling cold to his core, even now.

The revelation that the woman he thought was Daeyoung’s mother was, in fact, Jaemin’s biological mother only added to his guilt. Seonho had always treated Jaemin as more than family, yet he had failed to protect him, playing right into Chairman Jang’s hands and contributing to Jaemin’s suffering. The realization drove him to the brink of madness.

“You smell like my mother.”

When Seonho visited Daeyoung in the holding cell under Chairman Jang’s orders, Daeyoung’s single comment was enough for Seonho to realize he had figured everything out. While it was true Chairman Jang had tipped Daeyoung off, Seonho believed Daeyoung would have uncovered the truth regardless.

Contrary to Chairman Jang’s expectations that Daeyoung would lash out at Seonho, he remained composed. Instead, Daeyoung entrusted Seonho with Jaemin’s safety. Even without the implied promise of protection, Seonho would have done so.

Following Daeyoung’s instructions, Seonho located Jaemin, who had been hidden away, and transferred him to an overseas care facility. As Daeyoung had warned, nowhere within the country was safe. He enlisted Shin Joohee’s help in the process.

Jaemin, who had been in a terrible state, underwent six months of intensive physical treatment. Once his body had somewhat recovered, he began psychiatric treatment for aphasia and severe depression, which lasted a year and a half. But no one could have anticipated that Jaemin would vanish without a trace from the highly secured facility two years after his admission.

Seonho still felt a chill down his spine when he recalled reporting Jaemin’s disappearance to Daeyoung during a visitation.

“Why do you think I kept you alive?!”

Daeyoung’s cuffed hands slammed against the translucent glass partition with a loud bang, his eyes filled with murderous intent as though he might kill Seonho on the spot. Had he not been restrained, he likely would have.

“Mr. Seonho.”

Daeyoung’s voice snapped Seonho out of his thoughts. The man, now known publicly as CEO Jang after his surname was changed while in prison, was looking straight at him.

“…Speak.”

“Do you have some kind of grudge against Jaemin?”

Seonho blinked rapidly, moistening his dry lips. Seeing the confusion and indignation in Seonho’s eyes, Daeyoung continued.

“If not, it doesn’t make sense. You burned down Jaemin’s biological mother’s house, killed his mother, then placed him in a supposedly safe location that turned out to be so insecure he got caught by Kwon Sangdo.”

The cigarette in Daeyoung’s hand burned down, forming a pile of gray ash.

“And now, Jang Jaemin is missing.”

“That’s not…”

Seonho swallowed dryly, his throat tightening. Would claiming it wasn’t intentional help in this situation? Daeyoung, fully aware of how trapped Seonho felt, was exploiting that vulnerability to tighten the noose around him.

“Then again, what can I expect from someone who knew the side effects but still pumped him full of illegal suppressants through an IV? A man should at least have a conscience.”

Daeyoung exhaled a long plume of smoke, twisting his lips.

“After all, Jaemin saved your family from financial ruin. The least you could do was let him live.”

Sometimes, when Daeyoung’s sharp words cut through him, Seonho found himself tracing traces of Jaemin in them. But Seol Daeyoung was undeniably a different person from Jang Jaemin.

“…”

“You’ve taken everything you could from him, and this is all you’ve got to show for it?”

Jaemin’s sharp words were both a defense and an attack. In contrast, Daeyoung seemed to derive satisfaction from seeing others falter after his verbal blows. Whether he realized it or not, Seol Daeyoung was unmistakably Jang Wonjung’s son.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Or are you acting this way because you know the day Jaemin comes back will be the day you die?”

Daeyoung stared at him, his expression calm and unchanged.

“I’m joking.”

Though Daeyoung chuckled lightly, the atmosphere didn’t ease. The gaze of someone who had killed before was inherently chilling.

“When a murderer jokes, only they find it funny. The rest of us are just creeped out.”

Seonho recalled a time when he had gone to the movies with Jaemin on his birthday. When the protagonist delivered this line, Jaemin had chuckled softly in the dark theater. It was a B-grade movie with an unremarkable plot, yet that moment remained vividly etched in Seonho’s memory.

“Do you have anything else to say?”

Seonho thought of Shin Joohee. After Daeyoung’s imprisonment, it wasn’t just Chairman Jang who worked tirelessly for the release of his perfect heir. Joohee had also secretly provided Daeyoung with significant information about Jang Construction, enabling him to prepare for his father’s downfall even before his release.

Seonho knew Joohee’s character well. She wasn’t the type to ally with someone like Daeyoung simply because he was her biological son. The reason she sided with him, someone she barely knew, was because she believed he was capable of delivering the blow to Chairman Jang that she couldn’t.

Daeyoung had a way of making people want to stand on his side. Conversely, being his enemy was terrifying. Despite being summoned by prosecutors over slush fund allegations, Daeyoung had faced no consequences. All the blame had been pinned on his missing father, even though Daeyoung had orchestrated everything from behind bars.

“I have plenty to say. Most of it’s profanity, though.”

Daeyoung smirked as he spoke. Seonho knew the only reason Daeyoung had kept him alive was to find Jaemin.

Even though Jaemin’s mother wasn’t his biological parent, Seonho had grown up believing she was. Killing her and losing Jaemin so carelessly gave Daeyoung more than enough reason to kill him. Considering Daeyoung’s ongoing acts of revenge against certain individuals, Seonho knew it was only a matter of time before his turn came.

“I sent a set of premium beef to your parents’ house and included one for your married sibling’s family as well. If your sister-in-law is pregnant, you should’ve told me earlier. I would’ve been more thoughtful.”

Though Seonho’s face had gone pale, Daeyoung remained indifferent. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled something out.

“I’ve registered a commercial property near your family’s home. Your family must be thrilled. Thanks to their dutiful son, the whole family gets to live comfortably.”

“…”

When Seonho hesitated to accept the envelope, Daeyoung flung it at him. The heavy packet hit Seonho square in the chest.

“Go. Get out there and give it a try. That effort of yours.”

“…”

“If everything you did to Jang Jaemin wasn’t just a sham, that is.”

Seonho clenched the envelope tightly in his hand. Finally, after ending his hesitation, he spoke.

“I have something to tell you.”

Before entering this room, Seonho had resolved not to say a word to Seol Daeyoung. He had planned to bide his time, escape Daeyoung’s watchful eyes, and follow the faint traces he had found of Jaemin.

But the moment he realized his entire family was being held as collateral, that resolution crumbled like a sandcastle. The envelope in his hands was Daeyoung’s way of driving the final nail into that realization.

“What is it?”

“I wanted to confirm it first before bringing it up, but… do you know someone named Song Hangyeol?”

Even if Seonho managed to locate Jaemin faster, he knew there was no escaping Seol Daeyoung’s reach in this land. Resigning himself to the inevitable, Seonho tried to console himself with that thought.

He didn’t have the ability to protect Jang Jaemin. He had already learned that bitter lesson once before.