* * *
The metallic taste of blood mixed with the salty tang of tears, creating a dreadful flavor.
From that moment on, he was constantly confined and under surveillance.
His drunken father would come home, blaming him for nearly destroying the family twice and beating him every day.
He tried begging and crying, but nothing changed.
He couldn’t even attend his graduation.
The deadline for tuition passed, too.
When life had become so hopeless that dying from a beating seemed preferable, his older brother took Junhee outside.
It was to the bar where his brother worked.
His brother, applying powder to Junhee’s bruised, blue-tinged cheek, said this:
“Listen carefully, Junhee. It’s not that Dad hates you specifically. It’s just that being born a recessive Omega is a sin. This world is made like that from the start.”
A world like that.
A world where being a recessive Omega is a sin.
Junhee had been a sinner from the moment he was born, though he never chose to be born this way.
“It’s true Dad got divorced because of you, right? But if you work hard here with me and earn money, he’ll soon feel better and even care about you.”
A life where causing family conflict and being abandoned was the norm, a life that seemed meaningless.
All of Junhee’s daily wages and tips went straight into his father and brother’s pockets.
His life, seemingly insignificant and drifting along, met a turning point.
One day, a new staff member started working.
“Hey? Are you… Junhee? Yoo Junhee, right?”
It was his older sister, who had been at the orphanage with him for a short time before disappearing one day without a trace.
Suddenly, memories of the people at the orphanage and the face of the director mom came back.
The director, who had always called his name with kindness, and the occasionally mischievous yet affectionate younger siblings.
Only then did he fully realize where he was.
The stench of the gutter he had already stepped into rushed into his nostrils.
Junhee trembled and bolted out of the bar, fleeing.
Fortunately, his brother was off work that day, so no one immediately chased after him.
Shaking uncontrollably, he returned home, only to find the house empty.
He would later learn that his brother and father had gone on a trip to Jeju Island.
‘How about we take a trip to Jeju once we get that money?’
Rummaging through the old wardrobe, a bankbook and a check card wedged between the pages fell out.
With trembling hands, Junhee opened the bankbook and checked the balance.
Five million won.
It was his self-support funds.
For some reason, it was still untouched, just as it had been.
Grabbing it, he left the house with nowhere in particular to go.
Hanbit Orphanage?
It was no longer his haven.
Just as his siblings had left, Junhee too had become an adult and had no place left there.
He had left without looking back, thrilled to have reunited with his family, without even properly saying goodbye to the director mom or his younger siblings.
In a day or two, his father and brother would be back.
And instead of looking for him, they’d look for the five million won first.
He resented his Alpha father.
But more than that, he hated his own existence as a recessive Omega.
Junhee wandered aimlessly through the streets until late at night and finally realized.
Until his life was extinguished, until his body was buried and decayed beyond recognition—
The nightmare would never end.
His closed eyelids trembled faintly.
As dawn approached, his mind, accustomed to waking up early, stirred, but he had no desire to open his eyes.
He would have remained that way had it not been for the sound of labored breathing nearby.
Beneath swollen eyelids, brown eyes opened.
Then he noticed something strange.
Yesterday, Taeryu had collapsed in the inner room of the master suite.
Junhee’s last memory ended there.
But here he was, neatly laid out on the bed as if someone had moved him.
The sound of heavy breathing echoed nearby.
“…Director?”
Junhee, puzzled, tried to get out of bed, only to see a figure sprawled at the foot of the bed.
“Director…!”
Taeryu was lying on the floor.
He looked similar to yesterday, but something was different.
He was curled up, covering his ears, groaning in pain.
Junhee hesitated, his hand reaching out towards Taeryu, then stopped mid-air.
‘How dare you come crawling in here without fear.’
The memory of being choked by his tie came flooding back.
Approaching recklessly might lead to a repeat of that incident, so he withdrew his hand.
The overwhelming pheromones Taeryu had exuded like a storm yesterday were now faint, barely lingering.
So faint that they seemed like mere remnants from the previous day.
‘Is something wrong with him?’
Junhee had only one person he could ask for help.
“The doctor…”
It was rational to call Kim Daeheon, but there was a problem.
He didn’t know his number.
Junhee hesitated briefly, then pulled out a business card from his inner pocket. It read:
[405 Atelier, Cha Yoonjae]
He took out his phone and carefully dialed the number.
Then he noticed the time displayed at the top and decided to send a message instead.
[Hello, this is Yoo Junhee. Would you happen to have Dr. Kim Daeheon’s contact number? I apologize for the early hour. It’s urgent.]
He sent the message but didn’t know what to do next.
Last night, Junhee’s rationality had been completely overpowered by Taeryu’s oppressive pheromones.
Taeryu, too, had acted purely on instinct, as if he wanted to consume Junhee whole.
With only impulses left, there was only one thing an Alpha and Omega would do.
But for some reason…
‘If I had been doing that all night, do you think you’d even be able to sit up like this?’
He didn’t know why that particular comment came to mind, but anyway… he was too fine.
Mentally exhausted as he was, his body was perfectly unscathed.
As Junhee hesitated, his phone vibrated in his hand.
He thought it was a message, but it was a call.
“…Hello, this is Yoo Junhee.”
-Junhee, it’s Yoonjae. Cha Yoonjae.
His voice was a little husky, as if he’d just woken up.
Junhee thought he might have been too rude, ready to apologize, but the other spoke quickly.
-I must’ve been quite a mess yesterday, huh? Sorry about that. I felt so bad when I heard you’d stepped in for me. Oh! You said it was urgent? I’ll put you through. You two talk.
Before Junhee could respond, another voice came through the speaker.
-Junhee, is something wrong? Yesterday, it really was…
Hearing Daeheon’s voice, Junhee snapped to attention.
He didn’t have time to listen to a string of apologies.
“Doctor, something’s wrong with the Director.”
Junhee tried to explain Taeryu’s condition in detail, but Daeheon’s low voice cut in.
-Hold on. I’ll be right there.
After administering a few emergency measures, Daeheon walked out of the bedroom.
He approached the table where Junhee was pacing, sighed heavily, and asked a question.
“What kind of patient do you think gives doctors the biggest headache?”
…Another quiz.
Last time, he couldn’t guess, but somehow, he felt he knew the answer now.
After a brief pause, Junhee answered.
“The kind of patient who doesn’t follow the doctor’s orders… I’d say that’s what he is.”
“Exactly. In that sense, Taeryu is the worst type of patient. If he doesn’t plan on listening to the doctor, he might as well treat himself for the rest of his life! He shows up on time to snatch away his meds as if he’s raiding a stash, but ignores all the advice I give him. If he’s going to act like that, I should’ve just skipped getting my medical license.”
Junhee’s eyes widened as he looked at Daeheon, who seemed quite animated.
When they talked in the break room earlier, they seemed like pretty close friends…
Was Junhee wrong about that?
Noticing the confusion reflected in Junhee’s brown eyes, Daeheon cleared his throat a few times.
“Ahem! No, it’s just… I’m only nagging him because I’m worried, as a friend.”
“…Yes.”
It felt a little too harsh to be mere friendly concern.
“I’m not just saying this casually. Taeryu really has no middle ground. Either he doesn’t take the meds at all or he overdoses. He’s truly the worst kind of patient, probably because of his insufferable personality. If it weren’t for our dear Jaejae, I swear, I’d—”
The sight of the doctor clenching his fist was more amusing than threatening, like a raccoon puffing itself up in front of a sleeping lion.
Junhee found himself nodding, reassured that they were indeed close.
“Anyway… I’ve administered a neutralizing agent, but the side effects might linger for quite a while, so we’ll need to keep an eye on him.”
“…What sort of side effects are we talking about?”
“That medication I gave you yesterday was extremely potent. It’s still in the clinical trial phase and not commercially available yet, so the side effects are hard to predict. Known effects include heightened sensitivity of the senses. In exchange for suppressing pheromones, other senses go into overdrive.”
Heightened sensitivity? Overdrive?
As Junhee tilted his head, confused by the unfamiliar terms, Daeheon elaborated.
“For instance, hearing a clock tick might feel as loud as a train horn for 24 hours straight, or dim lights could sting like a patient’s eyes right after LASIK surgery.”
Junhee unconsciously furrowed his brows as he listened. Just imagining it sounded torturous.
Even though Junhee wasn’t particularly sensitive, he had lived in basement apartments and tiny studio flats, enduring constant noise from neighbors above and around, so he could relate all too well.
“And to make matters worse, regular suppressants barely work on an extreme alpha like Taeryu. I prescribed the strongest medicine we had, and he swallowed three pills… not just one, but three.”
Noticing Junhee’s face darken, Daeheon offered some reassurance.
“Still, if it weren’t for you, Junhee, he would’ve suffered even more. I mean it. He usually takes just one pill, but yesterday… he must have been really out of it. How miserable must he have felt to down three of them?”
Daeheon had probably lectured Ki Taeryu countless times before, given his personality.
And yet, despite knowing the potential side effects, Taeryu had deliberately taken that medication.
For some reason, Junhee couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with him.
“Isn’t there… any other way?”
“There is. You know it, I know it, and Taeryu knows it too—that method.”
* * *
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