A barricade stood before the entrance to the building, along with a sign announcing the end of viewing hours, yet the massive main door, though closed, was not locked. Ihyeon pushed it open with almost his entire body—it felt heavier than he remembered—and stepped inside.

The interior was still overwhelmingly white, to a sickly degree. He paused for a moment in the entrance hall, slowly taking in the ivory-colored curved staircase and the high ceiling. Now that everyone had left and only Liu remained in the office, all other lights were off, leaving only the structurally designed chandelier hanging from the hall ceiling to cast a pale light over Ihyeon's head.

Phantom, which had always bustled with elegantly dressed guests like a wealthy noble's castle, now felt like a desolate, haunted mansion clinging to the remnants of its once-glorious past. But nothing had actually changed—it was merely a reflection of his own emotions. Hadn't he resolved to suppress sentimental reactions as much as possible? Clutching the shoulder strap of his backpack, Ihyeon took a breath and started walking toward the office.

"......"

Liu, whom Ihyeon was seeing for the first time in two days since they parted that morning, was standing behind his desk at the far end of the room, talking on the phone. As if sensing him, he turned, lifted the A4 paper in his hand in a small wave, and smiled. He hadn't changed at all—and for some reason, that felt almost disappointing.

Left alone in the office, Liu had loosened his tie and comfortably rolled his shirt sleeves up to just below the elbow. Ihyeon kept his gaze fixed on him and slowly walked toward the large conference table near the entrance.

He felt as if, even now, if he approached Liu pretending he didn't know anything, Liu would reach out, pull him into an embrace, and kiss him just as he had that morning. He was almost certainly going to do that.

Since first hearing the story from Shushu, up until this very moment—how many times had he felt that temptation? The temptation to pretend he had heard nothing, to simply entrust himself to Liu's judgment and remain silent. To abandon himself, ignore Liu's secret, and choose a future built on false hope, just as had been planned.

But a twisted impulse wanting to dismantle Liu in the cruelest way possible and viciously expose his hypocrisy immediately boiled up afterward, tormenting Ihyeon. The two opposing impulses had been snarling ferociously at each other until this very moment.

Ihyeon swallowed dryly and placed his backpack, stretched to its maximum, onto the chair. Liu put down the paper he was holding and picked up another sheet—he seemed to be discussing the placement of each work for the second-half joint exhibition with the person on the other end. Perhaps the conversation wasn't going smoothly; he tossed the freshly picked-up paper aside, scratched his forehead with that same hand, then placed both hands on his hips.

Even without this, there were so many things left to finalize. The reason he was personally handling tasks usually managed by Yuni was probably because he wanted to give his all to Phantom until the very end.

It wasn't that his attachment to the current Phantom had faded, nor had his conviction about Phantom's direction changed. And it certainly wasn't, as he had explained himself, that he had naturally shifted his operational approach for some greater purpose.

"You're here?"

After ending the call, Liu looked over at him and smiled. A surge of cruelty rose in Ihyeon—an urge to shatter that unguarded smile in an instant—and he made his best effort to twist his lips into something resembling a brief smile.

"It's been a while since you came to Phantom, hasn't it?"

Liu's eyelids drooped, the whites of his eyes faintly reddened, and he walked around the desk toward Ihyeon.

"Did you want to stop by once before leaving?"

He didn't have the composure to respond nonchalantly to the brief kiss and physical contact Liu offered, as he normally would. Instead of answering, Ihyeon walked toward the window and offered him coffee. After requesting it be brewed strong, Liu showed interest in the backpack Ihyeon had set down, grasping the handle and pulling it up twice as if gauging its weight.

"What did you pack so much for? You look like someone who's been on a multi-day trip."

He still believed they had held a lively farewell party at Yuni and Juhan's place until late last night. He probably assumed Ihyeon had spent a relaxed afternoon at their place before they finished work, then joined up with them again afterward—which was how it had gotten this late.

But Ihyeon had come from Liu's place, not Yuni and Juhan's officetel.

Not someone who had returned, but someone who would be leaving. To suppress the urge to mock him for bringing up everyday matters while completely unaware of the situation, Ihyeon bit his lip in front of the coffee machine. He had thought that seeing him face-to-face might settle his emotions one way or another—but the internal conflict was still raging.

Returning to the table with two mugs, he handed one to Liu. Then, to prevent another moment of physical contact, he introduced a topic he thought might catch Liu's attention.

"That's not it—on the way back from the studio, I stopped by home."

"......"

Just as intended, Liu's hand paused mid-reach for the mug. Ihyeon raised his cup to his lips, his tone flat as if it were nothing.

"I'm going to visit my father."

"Now?"

"Yes."

Liu stared at him for a long moment with a searching, unyielding gaze, as if trying to read through him. His scrutinizing look, which had once seemed rooted in affectionate concern, now felt stifling—like confinement.

"It probably doesn't feel right to leave without meeting him in person."

Liu nodded slowly in understanding as he spoke.

Like how Yuni had gone to see her family directly. He seemed to have concluded that Ihyeon had decided to visit his father before leaving for a faraway place, to set down at least a portion of his heavy burdens.

But Ihyeon scoffed inwardly—the reason he had decided to visit his father was neither voluntary nor constructive, unlike Yuni's situation.

"You don't need to worry too much about Mr. Lim. He seems to have calmed down since his eldest son and his wife had their first granddaughter about a month ago."

Liu paused, took a sip of coffee, and added as if speaking to himself.

"Maybe becoming a grandfather has changed his perspective on the world a little."

He set the steaming mug down on the table and turned his head. His gaze, directed at Ihyeon standing a few steps away on the other side of the table corner, sharpened. He might have noticed the subtly different distance between them and found it puzzling.

Just as Ihyeon was about to bring the mug to his lips, Liu suddenly stepped forward, closing the distance.

"Mm."

Standing to Ihyeon's right shoulder rather than directly in front of him, Liu made a strained sound as if lifting something heavy and wrapped his arm around Ihyeon's body. He interlocked his fingers over Ihyeon's left upper arm and applied pressure, then kissed Ihyeon's temple. Throughout all of it, Ihyeon's gaze remained fixed on the mug in his hand.

"...Will you be alright?"

"With what."

"Going back there alone. And... facing your father."

"......"

Tilting his chin, Ihyeon looked up at Liu's face. Liu had lowered his head to meet his eye level and was looking at him with a worried expression. Ihyeon tried hard to feel the same trust and intimacy he had once felt from him. But that effort soon twisted into hostility—a desire to stab through him, carve out a hole, and drag the murky secret hidden inside into the open.

"Shall I take you? We could see the ocean too."

He shook his head with a short laugh, dismissing Liu's words as a joke.

"Why not? Isn't it a good idea? Think of it as a short, impulsive trip together..."

Liu turned Ihyeon by the shoulders to face him. Clutching his mug, Ihyeon awkwardly dropped his gaze to somewhere around Liu's chest. Liu's arm wrapped around his waist as naturally as breathing.

"In Gangwon-do, near Inje, my mother occasionally uses a studio. The previous owner built it as a villa, so the view from the window is serene, there's a fireplace—it's quite cozy. If we leave now and drive slowly... rest there for two or three hours... watch the sunrise over the East Sea together..."

"You have so much to do here."

He interrupted the drowsily whispering voice that was kissing his temple, his cheek, and beside his lips in turn. Despite his efforts not to, he couldn't completely erase the chill in his voice. It seemed only a matter of time before Liu noticed.

Liu let out a light sigh and pressed his forehead against Ihyeon's.

"Ah... I really do have a lot of work. H&W is also pressuring me to set a date for the Pettybon exhibition soon, so I think I'll need to go to Hong Kong soon too. And even when I get to New York, I'll have to focus on handling that before the Phantom branch opening."

Ihyeon felt despair at the realization that Liu's breath—as he complained—no longer felt sweet to him, and he resented Liu for destroying that feeling.

"Then there's no need to rush like this."

"...What do you mean?"

A faint stiffness, a scraping quality, could be heard in Liu's voice as he asked.

"There's no reason you have to rush off to New York like this, pushing yourself so hard—no, there's no reason you have to leave Seoul at all."

His arms released Ihyeon's waist.

Although the suspicion in his eyes, as he tilted his head to study Ihyeon's expression, indicated he had noticed something was off, it was still closer to concern. He seemed to have concluded that Ihyeon was feeling serious tension and confusion ahead of his meeting with his father, rather than suspecting anything about the Changing.

"Did something happen?"

His voice, as he slowly stroked the edge of Ihyeon's shoulder while asking, was careful. The touch of his fingertips and the question mark at the end of his words—every detail was meticulous, exactly as Ihyeon knew Liu to be. It was almost unbelievable that this wasn't his whole self; everything he directed at Ihyeon seemed imbued with genuine feeling.

Unable to meet his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together, Ihyeon stroked the warm surface of the mug with his thumb before speaking.

"The New York branch—that's because of me, isn't it?"

Still not lifting his head, he couldn't see what expression Liu was making. Seo Ihyeon looked down at the firm forearm connected to the hand resting on his shoulder. The body he had caressed and touched as if it were part of himself just a moment ago now existed with a completely different meaning.

"When everyone who had known you for a long time found it strange, was shocked, and worried—I should have stopped to think about it at least once. I guess I just wanted to believe."

Being in a relationship where they had comforted each other's inner solitude—a solitude never shared with anyone else—didn't mean they knew everything about each other. Perhaps he had too easily overlooked the reactions of those who had been by Liu's side longer. His own selfish desire, wanting to see what he wanted to see and believe what he wanted to believe, had blinded him.

"Because of me, you're ignoring the convictions that have sustained you, causing concern to the people around you, losing trust... making choices that distance you from yourself..."

Ihyeon took a deep breath, trying to suppress his rising emotions.

"It was frightening to face... that our being together was making you sick."

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip.

"I appreciate that everyone thinks I've set some morally lofty goal and lived ascetically for it... I can't say I had no convictions of my own, but ultimately, business is business to me. As I explained, I unexpectedly had good conversations with the people I met in Chicago and judged it an appropriate opportunity to open a branch."

It was plausible reasoning, but Ihyeon could see the flaw in it now. Liu didn't mind getting his hands dirty with the so-called vulgar aspects just so the artists affiliated with him could receive the recognition they deserved—but that was completely different from using art as a business tool.

Ihyeon raised his head.

"If it's not because of me, you would still be going to New York on your own, wouldn't you?"

Liu's face hardened into a grim mask. Then, as if shaking off some ominous premonition, he quickly forced his expression back into place. Moving his hand from Ihyeon's shoulder to his neck, then to his cheek, he slowly studied Ihyeon's face.

"What's wrong? Did you hear something somewhere? Did someone say something? Hmm?"

He wanted to believe that only the eyes reflecting him and the familiar, gentle touch were Liu's truth. He wanted to shut his eyes and ears to any other truth.

But at the same time, resentment surged toward Liu for having built enough trust that he still wanted to believe him—even after confirming with his own eyes that Liu's body had changed—and for cultivating another truth behind that high, thick wall.

Ihyeon shook his head as if to say it wasn't that and lowered his gaze. He bit his lip. The coffee in the mug was trembling. Then, as if having solidified some decision, he suddenly snapped his head up and met Liu's eyes. A gleam burned in Ihyeon's gaze.

"I'm thinking of considering 'The Hands' proposal."

Liu's eyes narrowed. His blue irises seemed to fracture into gray, and his cheek twitched briefly.

"What does that mean?"

It was a question that seemed to search for some hidden meaning beyond the literal words.

Ihyeon ignored his unease and turned his shoulders completely toward the table. At that decisive movement, Liu's hands, which had been wrapped around Ihyeon's neck and shoulder, fell weakly into the air.

He placed his mug on the table and gripped the back of the chair tightly with both hands. As Liu stepped close beside him, agitation and excitement transmitted over. A large hand grabbed Ihyeon's shoulder and forcefully turned him to face him.

"No—that's not possible. You haven't forgotten that we signed an exclusive contract that included a one hundred million won deposit, have you?"

"Even setting aside that money... everything I've received from you until now—how could I forget that."

Separate from this situation, those words were sincere. He wasn't considering 'The Hands' to punish Liu. This was simply what should have been done from the very beginning.

Yuni was right. If they were truly in a serious relationship, if they truly trusted each other, he should have discussed it with Liu when he received the proposal from 'The Hands.'

Yet deep down, he had been afraid Liu might tell him to go. Even if he decided not to go, he worried Liu would feel guilty about it. The very act of trying to bury an opportunity he had earned through his own efforts just to stay by Liu's side had been wrong from the start.

He felt Liu's heavy sigh above his forehead. In a strained, forcefully softened voice, Liu shook his shoulders.

"Those were just words said in a panic—I didn't really mean to use that one hundred million won to stop you from leaving. You know that."

"Looking back... I've received, and I'm still receiving, so much from you, Director. I was surprised at how shameless I could be. Everything I am now was built by you. From the basic necessities—eating, sleeping, having a place to live—to being able to paint again and find comfort for my past... I was relying entirely on you."

Because he was in a dangerous situation where he could be pursued, because he was young and lacking in social skills, because Liu had assured him it was fine and not a burden—he had accepted every offer too easily. He had hesitated, but ultimately, it was he who decided to accept the kindness in Liu's persuasive words.

After another long sigh, Liu placed his hands on his hips and paused for a moment.

"Leaning on a lover, receiving comfort, getting help—what's wrong with that? It's the same for me. I was comforted because you were here, and if I could give something to you, that was my happiness. Is that wrong?"

"It wasn't just simple help for me. Relying on another person for even the most basic rights and responsibilities regarding oneself... is that love?"

"......"

As if searching for the reason behind Ihyeon's sudden confusion, Liu's eyes wavered uneasily as they scanned his face. Then he stepped closer, stroking Ihyeon's arm, and appealed in a low voice.

"Didn't you say you wouldn't leave? Hmm? You said you'd stay by my side."

I did. Before I knew you were turning me into an Omega.

Ihyeon imagined shattering Liu's entire world with just a few short sentences. The intensity was so overwhelming that even the imagination alone made his body tremble—he couldn't distinguish whether the feeling was rage or excitement.

He hadn't intended to bring up the topic of Changing today. His plan was to go to Donghae first, put physical distance and time between them, and calmly sort out his feelings and position. He had come here out of necessity, because he felt Liu wouldn't accept the story about visiting his father unless they spoke face-to-face—but perhaps it was impossible to keep all the chaos submerged while looking him in the eye.

"How many times have we knotted by now?"

"......"

Liu frowned at the sudden shift in topic.

"Ten times? Twenty times? Since we sometimes did it two or three times in one night... maybe fifty times, no, seventy times?"

Staring directly into Liu's eyes as the man moistened his dry lips with a red tongue, Ihyeon clutched a stone in his hand, ready to strike him and draw blood.

"Yesterday, I was at Inwu hyung's place."

"......"

Liu stepped back. In the late-evening light, he rubbed his bluish jaw broadly and shook his head slowly, as if trying to deny the reality looming before him.

"Today, I went to the hospital with hyung."

Watching him freeze without being able to utter a single word, Ihyeon felt the desire for revenge—the urge to destroy and inflict pain upon him—violently overwhelm and sweep away the part of him that still wanted to defend and believe Liu.

"...I'm pregnant."

Liu's eyes widened, his mouth falling open without a sound as he staggered forward. As if mocking that reaction, the corner of Ihyeon's mouth twisted into a cold smile.

"Did you really... want this kind of situation?"

Ihyeon curled his lip as he watched Liu stop, wearing a strange expression—unclear whether he felt relief or disappointment that there was no pregnancy.

"Did you ever dream of a day when you'd have a child through me?"

"......"

"Is that why you... tried to make me an Omega?"

"I don't need a child. I've never even thought that far ahead!"

Liu shouted desperately. After his protest, he glanced at Ihyeon's reddened, wide-open eyes glaring him down, then lowered his gaze. As if he couldn't believe what he had done himself, he licked his lips and wiped his face roughly several times. He swallowed dryly, shut his eyes tightly, and then looked back at Ihyeon.

"Seo Ihyeon."

"......"

The hand reaching toward Ihyeon's shoulder hesitated in mid-air.

"Ihyeon-ah."

His voice sounded like that of someone standing beneath a collapsing sky. Just like the first time he had heard Ihyeon say I love you.

Ihyeon dodged his reaching hand and turned his back.

"Don't... call me that."

To deny the damp pressure gathering at the corners of his eyes, Ihyeon forced them open wide, strode around the table, and turned to face Liu from a distance across the room.

"They said it's 50 percent complete."

"No... it can't have already progressed that far. At most, around 35 percent..."

"Thirty-five percent, fifty percent... what difference does that make!"

Since his mother's accident, or perhaps even before that—since he was old enough to think for himself—this was the first time he had thrown such unfiltered emotion at someone. His head spun from shouting. Ihyeon ran his hands through his long hair, fingers tangling as he dragged them down.

"I'm nothing right now. Not a Beta, not an Omega... just..."

He swallowed hard, then continued with even greater effort.

"A monster."

Just as he never consciously registered the existence of the sky, the earth, the air, or the sunlight every moment, he had never given his gender any particular thought. To Ihyeon, gender had been one of those fixed, unquestionable truths, like a mountain or a river, anchored firmly in place. Although there were rare cases of people manifesting as Alphas or Omegas after reaching adulthood, he had dismissed it as a world entirely separate from his own and had never even considered the possibility.

If he had been an Omega—capable of communicating with Liu through pheromones and becoming pregnant—what would their relationship have been like? He had briefly entertained that thought, but it had only ever been a vague hypothetical drawn up with the clear understanding that it was an impossibility; it was not a yearning to become an Omega. Even if he had wished for it, it would not have been in this way.

A person can ignore inner corruption and live on, but no one remains indifferent to physical pain or illness. When a single drop of blood wells up from a paper cut on a finger, you feel the pain, apply medicine, and put on a bandage.

Even someone who owns nothing in society still unquestionably owns their own body. When even the identity of that body and the ownership over it become unclear, the anxiety a human feels goes far beyond superficial trembling.

"No one would think that. And even if they did, they wouldn't dare say it in front of you. I won't allow it."

Liu stepped right up to the table as he spoke, his voice carrying a firm resolve that these weren't empty words but a promise he intended to keep. Yet Ihyeon couldn't feel any emotion from it. He let out a hollow laugh, his expression showing disbelief that Liu—of all people, the very person who had transformed him like this—was saying such things.

"Other people don't matter. Because I've already come to feel that way about myself."

Liu closed his eyes and brought his hands together as if in prayer, covering his nose and lips. He pulled his hands downward, dragging his skin with them, and knitted his brows tightly as if searching for the right words. But Ihyeon spoke first.

"Did you think things would turn out differently if you talked about it after going to New York?"

His voice trembled faintly as he struggled to suppress his agitation.

"By distancing yourself from the people around you, transforming Phantom in a direction you didn't want... and then, after leaving for a faraway place where I don't know a single person, you'd confess..."

"......"

"You calculated that if you did all that, I would have no choice but to accept the situation... to accept you?"

Liu, grinding his lower lip as if enduring pain, watched Ihyeon from across the table. Instead of approaching, he pushed the table away and leaned forward aggressively, shaking his head.

"That's not it. I wanted it to be proof that I had staked my life on you..."

"Watching you destroy everything you've built, for me—how is that supposed to be proof of love?"

"......"

Being active in the New York art scene with solid gallery support was an environment any painter aiming for 'success' would envy. He had cautiously questioned several times whether Liu had sacrificed recklessly and altered his management direction to provide such an environment for him, and had even gathered the courage to actually ask.

Perhaps the reason he hadn't felt completely relieved even by Liu's denial was that the source of his anxiety started from somewhere deeper. Back then, he didn't know the secret existed, so he simply couldn't guess any other reason.

Should he have dug deeper? Instead of accepting Liu's explanation as it was, should he have pressed until every doubt was thoroughly eliminated?

Even if he had learned the truth that way, only the timing would have been slightly different—nothing would have changed from how things stood now. Yet he couldn't stop himself from endlessly repeating these meaningless hypotheticals.

Shaking his head hard to clear the poison filling the core of his body, he slowly met Liu's gaze—the man who, as Shushu had said, had never experienced failure and seemed incapable of making foolish judgments that could breed regret.

"Why did you do it?"

Ihyeon's voice was low and muffled.

"You didn't like me because I was a Beta? Was I lacking?"

"Absolutely not."

The answer came instantly. Liu, who had seemed to possess the answer to every problem and incapable of facing anything unsolvable, could now only respond to Ihyeon's questions with the barest minimum of denial and affirmation—unable to offer any proactive defense of himself.

"Alpha, Omega, Beta... or even some unknown existence—it doesn't matter. It wasn't because I found you lacking as you are, or because I wished you were something else."

"Then why did you do it?"

As if Liu's answer to this question were the only hope that could pull the situation toward something better, Ihyeon's voice now carried a pleading quality rather than interrogation.

Leaning on the table and feeling his way along the edge, Ihyeon moved closer to Liu. Like new lovers still awkward with physical contact, his hesitant hands reached out and stopped, repeatedly brushing and letting go of the fabric around Liu's chest and stomach.

"Say something. Anything. That there was a reason you couldn't stop... that you had no choice but to..."

He hoped there was a hidden reason somewhere—something that, once Liu offered it, would make all his confusion, anger, and sadness vanish and let him love again.

When Liu's lips, which had trembled as if about to speak, clamped shut again, Ihyeon grabbed the waist of his shirt tightly.

"Tell me you were trying to stop—but I kept pushing you, kept begging for knotting until you gave in... that I seduced you! Give me any pathetic excuse, just anything!"

Liu, who had been swaying without resisting Ihyeon's shaking force, caught hold of Ihyeon's arm instead, as if embracing him. No will was visible in his unfocused eyes.

Like the first time they had knotted—like the day after the accident when their bodies had overlapped—his eyes were filled with a clear sadness that seemed ready to spill over, so transparent you could see straight through them, their depth impossible to gauge. His reddened eyes were fixed on some point in the air, his upper body swaying slightly as if he were drunk.

Liu took a deep breath, his chest and shoulders lifting, but even that offered him no relief. His unfocused eyes blinked slowly, searching for Ihyeon's. Following an old habit, he looked down, tracing every feature of Ihyeon's face as if memorizing each place he had kissed. His dry, cracked lips moved again as he attempted to speak.

"......I love you."

A single phrase whispered softly, like a breath, in a voice like a rusty nail scraping. It felt as if he had torn out the only truth remaining within him from his heart—there was no exaggeration, no hint of sentimental appeal.

Ihyeon stared at Liu for a long time with eyes that held not resentment or confusion, but something closer to the same affection as before—a heartbreaking concern. And slowly shook his head.

"That's... not an answer to my question."

Ihyeon pushed weakly against Liu's chest and turned away, his steps faltering slightly. From his upper arm to his elbow, from his wrist to his fingertips—Liu, who hadn't let go of Ihyeon until the very end, finally lost him from his grasp as the distance between them grew.

Liu stood there with his hands hanging awkwardly in the air where he had let go, then followed with his eyes as Ihyeon slung his backpack from the chair over his shoulder and walked toward the door.

The even teeth that had been gnawing at the rough, peeling skin of his lips finally let go the moment Ihyeon's hand touched the doorknob. Liu swept back his bangs, now grown long enough to prick his eyes, and cleared his throat.

"You remember we have dinner plans with the Phantom crew on Friday night, right? Be back on time."

In a voice that tried to reduce everything that had just been laid bare to nothing more than a passing lovers' quarrel—something that would settle on its own—Ihyeon paused with the door half-open and looked back.

Liu, stripped of the glamour he had possessed when they first met and all the seemingly impenetrable defenses he had built, looked like an unknown actor left alone in a waiting room with smeared stage makeup still on. Even if he were the same person as before, no one would believe it.

He swept his hair back once more and spoke.

"Don't forget to keep your phone on... no matter what."

"......"

"...Because I'll worry."

Ihyeon lingered for a moment, looking at him as he added those last words with uncertain hesitation, then withdrew his gaze and stepped out through the door. All that remained in the space Ihyeon had left was a cup of cold coffee, barely touched.

· A Grand Delusion ·

The cigarette, set down in the ashtray after two or three puffs, continued to burn on its own, sending up smoke without anyone to draw from it.

Inwu watched the growing gray ash finally give way under its own weight and collapse into the tray. He slowly lifted the glass in his hand, swallowed the amber liquid, and frowned.

The first cigarette he had tried wasn't as harsh as he had expected, so he didn't end up coughing pathetically. But it also wasn't appealing enough to explain why so many smokers failed so miserably at quitting. The smoke filling his mouth had none of the fragrant richness of whiskey, and going down his throat, it felt like swallowing smoke laced with poison.

Still, watching the long, dry white stick slowly burn down and release smoke wasn't entirely unpleasant. It didn't bring him peace, but it was a decent enough way to waste time blankly.

Around the time the cigarette had burned about halfway down, Inwu checked the time. About five minutes had passed since he had granted a visiting vehicle entry through the parking office. Is this what it feels like to be a Bestiarius—an untrained man thrown into a circular arena, waiting for the attack of a starved beast that would devour his flesh? A dry chuckle escaped him at his own grandiose metaphor.

Just as he was about to tilt his glass again, the sound of heavy, punctuating knocks came from the end of the long hallway—thump, thump. Inwu paused, then drank a little more. Only when the intervals between the blows shortened and the knocking grew loud enough to feel like it might break the door did he finally set down his glass and stand.

When he pushed the door open outward, Liu stood there, his long black trench coat thrown on carelessly, the hem brushing past his knees. He lowered the fist he had been about to raise again and let his arm fall.

"Didn't know where the doorbell was?"

Liu didn't answer. He shoved past him roughly, the sharp smell of alcohol washing over Inwu as he entered the hallway.

"You didn't drive here yourself, did you?"

Inwu asked with a scoff as Liu strode down the hallway, as if the concern were preposterous. Liu turned back and curled one corner of his mouth upward before swinging around to enter the living room, where he snorted at the smoke rising from the coffee table. He picked up the cigarette—burned down close to the filter—and took a deep drag until his cheeks hollowed, then exhaled sharply as he spoke.

"What's his condition?"

"What do you mean?"

"Seo Ihyeon. Seo Ihyeon's body."

A nervous, impatient reply came back, as if asking what else there could possibly be. When Liu turned toward him, his face was flushed and disordered with anxiety and alcohol. There was a brief flash of something before he swallowed, wiped his face, and steadied his voice.

"You ran the tests, right? How is he? He's fine... right?"

Liu crushed the cigarette he had just drawn from against the ashtray and avoided Inwu's eyes—like someone afraid of the answer to his own question.

"Everything's normal. His uterine position is stable, and the Omega Road connecting to it is healthy—ideal thickness and length."

Liu turned toward him with a frown. Because he had lowered his head while keeping his back straight, his disheveled bangs spilled forward and covered his eyes.

"Who's asking about that? I'm asking if there are any abnormalities anywhere else. Whether his health—if there's no problem."

"If you hadn't done the Changing, you wouldn't even need to worry about this, would you?"

"......"

Inwu let out a sigh as Liu's expression tightened further, his brows pulled in and his eyes wide.

"He's completely healthy. His ovaries haven't fully developed yet, so the uterus overall is only about halfway complete, but a typical Omega's pheromones are extremely faint at this stage—not enough to need suppressants yet. Though I can't say anything about that special pheromone that only reacts to you."

Only then did Liu's shoulders loosen slightly—but the rough, unstable energy radiating from him didn't fully settle.

Still standing, coat still on, he snatched the pack of cigarettes from the table and lit a new one. He muttered under his breath, taking a shallow first drag and exhaling sharply.

"It wouldn't be the uterus. It'd be the Triangle Zone."

"Did you think you were the only one who got sex education at Minton?"

"If you're an Alpha and a doctor, use proper terms even in conversation. Don't act like those ignorant Alpha bastards who don't care about any gender but their own."

Inwu walked to the opposite side of the coffee table and frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Is this really the moment you choose to lecture someone?"

Tilting his chin up and leaning his head back, Liu blew out a long stream of smoke and answered.

"What's stopping me from lecturing you?"

In front of Inwu, who clicked his tongue, a large dark silhouette in a coat stepped right up close.

"Why did you tell him?"

"......"

"You said hearing it from me directly would lessen the shock, even a little. Why did you tell him?"

He didn't raise his voice, but the suppressed fury leaking from it revealed the true intensity of his anger. His whole body was tense. His grayish-blue eyes were distinctly bluer than usual, as if sparks were flying within them. He took another step forward, twisting his lips into a sharp sneer.

"Did you tell him the truth just to ease your own guilt—then take him to the hospital, leave him trembling in fear, alone, holding everything in while he went through those tests? Was that how you planned to stay the 'good person' in Seo Ihyeon's eyes?"

"You're concerned that Ihyeon had to go through that examination alone? Now? After you're the one who put that fear in him!"

"At the very least, you should have told me before taking him to the hospital!"

Liu's index finger jabbed hard into Inwu's chest. Inwu slapped it away violently, thrust his chin forward, and confronted him.

"If I had told you? Do you really think Ihyeon would have wanted you holding his hand while he went?"

"......"

Liu ran his tongue along the corners of his lips and looked between Inwu's eyes. His bloodshot eyes were still burning, but he went silent for a moment as if struck. He turned his back on Inwu, took another drag from his cigarette, and flicked the ash. Because he hadn't aimed properly, most of the gray ash scattered across the table instead of falling into the tray.

Inwu stepped close behind him and whispered mockingly near his ear.

"Watching Ihyeon was truly painful. I wanted to do something for him."

Inwu's taunt, delivered in a deliberately bright tone to provoke, made Liu turn around sharply. Inwu's eyes, meeting his, gleamed with something close to madness. He curled his lips into a cold smile and squeezed out a laugh.

"He didn't happen to mention that we kissed, did he?"

"......"

The muscles in both of Liu's jaws tightened and twitched, and the flesh beneath his eyes spasmed. Without realizing it, he had clenched his fist so tightly the cigarette rolled up inside it—he didn't even feel the heat as he threw it away and lunged at Inwu, seizing his throat. Inwu's face turned red instantly. Staring straight at Liu with bloodshot eyes, he clawed at Liu's hands with his own, struggling to pry them free.

He was not controlling his strength at all. Only when Inwu began to choke, using both nose and mouth, did Liu finally fling him onto the sofa like something discarded. His shoulders heaved sharply, fists clenched as if he might lunge again and unleash relentless violence.

"You bastard... even so, as a friend..."

"Same goes for you!"

Inwu shot up, shoving his face right into Liu's.

"I won't deny I approached him carelessly, without thinking, like always. But who knows? If you hadn't seemed interested, maybe I would have become serious. Or maybe not—wouldn't it have been harder not to become serious while continuously watching someone like that up close? You're not the only one with eyes."

"......"

Inwu spoke heatedly about the Seo Ihyeon he knew. He described Ihyeon's pure sincerity—the way he faced every sensation life threw at him painfully and directly, without any pretense.

He confessed that such an attitude was especially captivating to people like himself and Liu, who had grown up with most things already provided for them, living with the pretense of ease without ever needing to be desperate or broken.

"Being around someone who shows themselves so plainly, without a single layer of protection to package and defend themselves—it makes you want to be honest too. And even if I were honest, Seo Ihyeon is the kind of person who would listen without laughing."

Liu, who had been listening in silence with his shoulders occasionally shifting, suddenly turned his body as if to flee. As he bent down to grab the glass from the table, Inwu roughly straightened him back up again.

"But it was you! Because you, who had never once seemed swayed or obsessive toward anyone, suddenly looked like you were destroying yourself, being dragged along—I gladly stepped back and watched!"

Liu shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. He pulled his chin down and looked up sharply, scoffing.

"So you're saying you yielded Seo Ihyeon to me? That if you had seriously gone after him, he would have chosen you?"

"That's something neither of us can know."

"......"

"And now that you've made things this messy, it's even more impossible to know."

Inwu raised an eyebrow and offered a sly smile. Liu squinted as if standing under harsh light.

"You probably chased me here to dump all your anger on me, but Ihyeon already knew by the time he arrived."

Liu's eyes narrowed further.

"He said he heard it from Shushu."

This time, his eyes snapped wide and his hunched shoulders spread back out.

"Of course, Shushu thought you and Ihyeon were going through the Changing together—by mutual consent."

Liu, whose face had stiffened as he tried to follow Inwu's words, turned his body without hesitation and strode across the living room toward the hallway.

"Where are you going?"

Inwu followed immediately, spinning him around with rough force. Liu shook his arm off at once. Undeterred, Inwu stepped in front of him and completely blocked his path.

"Now that you know it wasn't me—are you going to strangle Shushu next?"

"There's no reason I couldn't."

"Get a grip, Liu Weikun. No matter who you yell at or what you say right now—even if you beat me half to death and go after Shushu—in the end, the one who made Seo Ihyeon turn away is you yourself."

"......"

"Those ignorant Alpha bastards who are clueless about any gender but their own? You think you have the right to condemn them? Think about what you did to the body of the person you love, dragged along by those damned pheromones."

Crazy bastard.

Inwu spat out each word as if chewing it. For a moment, his face—holding nothing that resembled friendship—was filled with a cold, fishy contempt at a distance that chilled the back of Liu's neck.

Perhaps in that coldness, Liu felt the world's objective judgment closing in on his own actions. He stood there helplessly for a moment, both hands hanging loose as if the words had been knocked out of him. Then, keeping his disheveled eyes as they were, he moved only his lips and forced out an awkward smile.

"You seem to be laboring under quite a grand delusion, Choi Inwu."

"......"

"Until now, you've just been lucky enough to live with some dignity without becoming a Golden. You don't even need to go as far as the intensity of the pheromones that drew me to Seo Ihyeon. Merely being exposed to the pheromones of a Golden Omega deliberately releasing them would reduce you to nothing more than a toy your partner could control with a single finger. You'd lose your human dignity and will entirely—nothing more than a cock, crawling on the floor, begging to fuck and come, an ejaculation machine."

His words flowed without hesitation, as if he had prepared them in advance. With each phrase delivered with sharp definition, the flush of alcohol had completely drained from his face. He looked almost pale now—the only evidence of his agitation being the bloodshot veins in his taut eyes and a strange, fierce gleam within them.

Liu's face twisted as he stepped closer to Inwu.

"There might be people who think being an Alpha is some grand status, or that pheromones are some kind of superpower, but that is the true nature of an Alpha dominated by pheromones. You're no different."

The long-maintained distance between them—each staying within their own range, without revealing deep inner thoughts, without permitting or attempting closeness—was completely collapsing. They were invading each other with the cruelest words capable of inflicting damage.

"Yes, maybe you're right."

Inwu, who had been glaring at Liu with a stunned expression much like Liu's a moment before, swept his hand over his face and lowered his gaze.

"Thanks to good luck, and thanks to skillfully avoiding excessively dangerous worlds, I've probably never been severely affected by pheromones. No—that must be the truth. I've only ever dealt with opponents within a range I could defend against and handle... using pheromones as tools for sex, nothing more... never thinking deeply about what it actually means to be an Alpha or an Omega."

His gaze, which had softened as if tracing a regrettable past, hardened again as it met Liu's eyes.

"But thanks to you, I came to my senses."

"......"

"When I saw you living like some kind of ascetic, suppressing your pheromones, the warning never really landed for me. I thought—pheromones are a gift from heaven, so why act so restrained? But watching you ruin your life, enslaved by them, I finally understood."

This time, Inwu stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Liu's chest. His lips curled in a mocking sneer, full of venom.

"So? Did you fall on your knees and beg? Make excuses—you may not know it, but your powerful pheromones broke down the Golden Alpha's defenses and bewitched me so I couldn't resist, it was a mistake made out of overwhelming love? Did the great Liu Weikun really offer up such pathetic lines? Huh?"

Liu, who had been retreating and enduring the provocation as Inwu jabbed at his chest, suddenly showed a murderous glint in his eyes and slapped the finger away.

"You didn't... go and tell Seo Ihyeon that, did you?"

"Tell him what?"

"That Seo Ihyeon also has pheromones."

Inwu stared straight at Liu's face as he ground his teeth and lowered his voice, then shrugged and clicked his tongue.

"Liu Weikun, what are you doing? Did you choose not to tell him that, thinking you were doing something for Ihyeon? What difference does omitting that one thing make now?"

"What difference does that one thing make now?"

"At least it might slightly reduce the shock and pain he feels from believing you deliberately Changed him to satisfy your own selfish desires."

"......"

He looked like he had a hundred things to say—but Liu said none of them. He turned his head away instead.

If Ihyeon found out about his own unidentified pheromone that only worked on Liu, he might be even more confused, at least temporarily. And Inwu didn't believe that fact justified a Changing that had never been agreed upon.

However, if Ihyeon's greatest pain ultimately stemmed not from the Changing itself but from the weight of the crime committed by someone he loved, then that was currently the only available painkiller that might slightly alleviate it.

Putting everything else aside, Liu's stubborn silence—refusing to tell Ihyeon even that—made Inwu shake his head. That knowledge was Ihyeon's only thread of hope, however thin, and thin was still better than nothing.

He didn't want to admit it, but he knew Ihyeon too well. Liu was trying to protect Ihyeon—who would probably try to shoulder some of the blame, thinking he might bear some responsibility for the Changing.

Regardless of the right or wrong of the Changing itself, Inwu couldn't laugh at that choice anymore. The urge to throw it back in Liu's face—if you cared so much, why didn't you think things through from the start—had burned out, leaving only ash.

"You've already made enough of a mess. Stay out of this now. It's a matter between the people involved, and if you interfere and kick up any more fuss... you'll only confuse him further."

After a long silence, Liu spoke in a subdued voice and turned away. Inwu followed him hesitantly toward the entrance and spoke.

"Don't go to Shushu."

"Don't worry. I won't kill him."

He turned Inwu back by the shoulder as Liu answered indifferently without even looking back.

"You're not thinking straight right now. Isn't losing Ihyeon enough? Do you want to lose all your friends too? At least for today, hold back. Cool your head."

Feeling anxious because Liu didn't answer, Inwu tightened his grip on his shoulder and forced a bitter smile.

"You're not going to say something stupid like 'nothing else matters if I lose Seo Ihyeon,' right, Liu Weikun?"

"Who said that? Who said I lost Seo Ihyeon?"

Saying that with an impassive face, Liu shook off Inwu's hand and walked out through the entrance without delay. Contrary to the words themselves, his voice was hollow, like an empty shell stripped of its core, carrying no conviction at all.

· · · · ·

Seo Yeehan—Hani, as he was sometimes called—used to say it like a personal mantra: that even if he didn't want to be a fisherman, he could never give up a piece of fresh sashimi eaten right there on the boat with a glass of soju.

Anyone who had tasted that would have to agree, but for Ihyeon, something even more special was a cup of instant coffee drunk while standing at the bow of a returning fishing boat, watching the distant harbor shimmer as it slowly drew closer. Focusing on the bittersweet warmth spreading through his labor-weary body and the heat seeping through the paper cup, the weight of everything waiting on land felt a little lighter. For just a moment, he even thought that a life without resistance—simply swaying with the waves—might not be so bad. Like his grandfather and his uncle.

While it wasn't exactly a full catch, the haul was plentiful enough that he wouldn't have to hear his grandfather's rough, curse-laced complaints about "the sea running dry" on the way back. Late autumn was a good season—domestic mackerel grew rich and oily, making them popular. Even on a small boat, if one worked diligently and paid attention, there was enough to bring in decent money and help the household.

Even as his grandfather grumbled—his face more flushed than usual as he swallowed his coffee like soju, saying that even if their boat had a full catch, so would everyone else's, and prices would drop anyway—Ihyeon listened quietly.

"The scrawny kid has turned out to be quite capable."

His grandfather's weathered face, etched as if with salt and the biting wind in every wrinkle, turned toward Ihyeon and smiled.

"I figured you'd be even weaker after going to Seoul to paint."

"Ihyeon just doesn't have much flesh on him, but he's always been sturdy enough. His hands are nimble too."

His uncle, sitting on the storage hatch organizing small tools, chimed in. Though Ihyeon had only helped with tasks requiring no special skill—hauling nets or tossing the sorted fish into storage—the evaluation was generous, perhaps because expectations had been low.

"Then should I work on the boat?"

"Nonsense."

Though it had been a joke, his grandfather—the man who had once insisted so forcefully that Yeehan work on the boat—set his lips in a firm line immediately.

"If he has the talent to pay off that much of the family debt by drawing pictures, what business does he have on a boat? He'll be a bigger deal than his own father ever was."

With that, he glanced toward the harbor, crushed the ember of his cigarette between thick fingers, and slipped into the pilot's cabin. Following his grandfather's retreating back with his eyes, Ihyeon looked ahead and saw a familiar figure lingering on the pier.

His father was standing at the mooring spot where Ihyeon used to sometimes come and wait for the boat before he left the village.

"He doesn't show it openly, but he seems to be in a good mood lately since you arrived. He's not the type who usually comes out to a crowded harbor."

His uncle, loosening the ropes while preparing for docking, placed a hand on Ihyeon's shoulder with a faint smile.

Among the bustling sailors, his father's face—staring this way with his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets—was expressionless, without a single crack, contrary to his uncle's claim that he seemed to be in a good mood.

But Ihyeon had no intention of denying that his father had changed somehow, and that at least concerning his father, his immature act of running away that rainy dawn—turning his back on his father and leaving with Yeehan—had not been entirely pointless.

"We'll manage moving it to the fish market—you can go."

"But there's still a lot..."

"It's work we've done together our whole lives. You think we'd panic just because your hands are free?"

His uncle chuckled as if Ihyeon had said something silly and ruffled the back of his head. After an awkward smile, Ihyeon was the first to jump onto the pier, catching the rope his uncle threw and tying it tightly around a concrete pillar. His posture had become somewhat more competent after a few days of practice, but the rope still stung when it rubbed against his soft palms.

Since it was a good travel season, the area around the pier was busier than usual even on a weekday, with quite a few tourists gathered. The rough shouts of sailors hurrying to move their catch to the fish market, telling tourists trying to take photos against the backdrop of the romantic evening sea to move aside—all of it melted into the fabric of the pier. A vivid, tenacious grip on life, a vitality he hadn't felt even in the overcrowded streets of Seoul, pulsed everywhere like freshly hauled creatures.

Crossing through the middle of the fish market with his father to leave the pier, Ihyeon suddenly realized he didn't dislike this place as much as he had thought. Perhaps he even leaned closer to liking it.

One might click one's tongue and point fingers at someone who chose a passive death from boredom or listlessness, but no one could carelessly condemn the desperate struggle to live, as long as that person was still human.

It was better to desperately push forward than to let go and step back just to save face. That wasn't squalor—it was urgency for life, and that, precisely, was the intense, saturated color of living he had craved amidst the monochrome silence.

Hadn't he decided to leave this place, to leave his father's side, precisely because he was sick of the silence—trying to carve even a hairline crack into that empty peace where nothing ever happened?

Looking at it with that thought, every corner his gaze touched appeared different from before. The fish market, which had once seemed like a damp, sticky mire reeking of fish, now struck him as a fresh stimulus that stung his lungs and eyes. The expressions of the people, which had only seemed rough and blunt, were also varied and intense. People shouting as if they stood beneath a collapsing sky, yet laughing as if they hadn't a single worry in the world.

This place hasn't changed. It must be me who has come back differently.

Ihyeon, silently weaving through the bustling crowd with a bitter smile—a step ahead of his father—suddenly stopped. His gaze froze.

It was Mr. Lim, talking with the director of the fishery cooperative, whose face Ihyeon also recognized. Mr. Lim wore his usual serious expression.

He spotted Ihyeon too, and over the cooperative director's shoulder, his gaze fixed on him—eyes briefly widening.

Just as Liu had said—he was behaving himself.

He had clearly received news of Ihyeon's return, yet there had been no movement from him for days. Ihyeon hadn't paid him much mind either. Compared to the pain of what he was currently navigating, worrying about Mr. Lim felt laughable. Even if the man tried to physically threaten him, there was nothing to fear. If anything, if Mr. Lim tried to provoke him now, Ihyeon felt he might bare his teeth and lunge—it would be a perfectly timed outlet for the anger he had nowhere to put.

Mr. Lim looked at Ihyeon—who stood still and held his gaze without flinching—with a bitter expression, then averted his eyes first and walked off with the cooperative director.

"Let's go, Father."

Ihyeon nudged his father's back as he came to stand beside him, and they left the fish market.

It had been three days since he arrived here.

Using boredom as an excuse, Ihyeon had gone out to sea all three days, and when they returned to shore each evening, he went for a walk with his father before dinner. It was more like Ihyeon following his father than anything else—his father walked in silence, never waiting for him when he fell behind, never looking back to check the distance—but there was undeniably a crack there, a fine hairline, a sign of change that hadn't existed before. His father appearing on the pier today was part of that.

His father crossed the center of the village and walked without stopping all the way to the southern hill, where imposing villas and mansions stood, including Mr. Lim's house—the opposite direction from the northern village where his grandfather's house was located.

With both hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets and his head bowed, showing no interest in anything around him, not even glancing at the scenery, focused entirely on the act of walking, his father easily covered the steep uphill climb that would normally take a leisurely hour in just thirty minutes.

Because it sat at a much higher elevation than the northern village near the harbor, the summit of the southern hill offered an unobstructed view. But among the villagers, there wasn't a single idle person who would deliberately climb all the way up here just to gaze at the sea they called "dreadful."

Four or five benches were arranged haphazardly around the railing enclosing the cliff's edge—put there for tourists—and his father, who always climbed to that edge as though following some distant, calling voice, would sit on one of those benches and stare blankly at the water for anywhere from thirty minutes to a full hour.

Though Ihyeon had followed his father thinking he should at least try to throw something out there, at first he simply sat quietly, watching his father's profile.

But he soon realized it. Perhaps his father was the most suitable person to confide in.

Someone who would never relay what they heard to anyone else, and who wouldn't criticize any story told to them—that was the kind of listener everyone wanted.

Ihyeon began to recount everything since arriving in Seoul, skipping some parts and elaborating on others, speaking without much structure. He continued until his father finally stood up to leave.

Though his father showed no outward reaction, Ihyeon found himself wondering what was going on inside. At first he had hesitated, choosing and discarding words—but after confirming that his father showed no reaction even to the story of him falling for a man who was a Golden Alpha, he grew bolder.

He talked about meeting Manager Han again, and about Yuni and Juhan. He moved through encountering Alienation at Liu's house, the Hong Kong business trip where he had met Suki Kim, Liu helping Morae and Yeehan escape... and yesterday, he had spoken about Chicago and Boston.

Sometimes... he would have dreams that felt more achingly missed than his actual memories. When he traced those dreams back, as always, Ihyeon talked about Liu with a smile on his face.

Liu's confident ease as he shone among people. The pitiful confusion he had shown after setting that ease aside to use violence on Ihyeon's behalf. And then the mention of marriage—which had made Ihyeon's heart plummet—though he had barely managed to hold onto his composure and deflect it.

What had Liu been thinking when he mentioned marriage back then?

What was clear was that it had been a desperate choice—the kind made by someone carrying a problem far more tangled and vast than Ihyeon had understood at the time, something so enormous it had become unmanageable.

As the sun sank behind the mountains and the distant sea darkened, Ihyeon slowly clenched his fist on his thigh, watching his father's profile. Today was the day to talk about what came after that.

The evening sea breeze whipped against his entire body. His jacket flapped. His hair flew in all directions.

"Right now, I'm placing a burden on you, Father."

"......"

"I'm passing the weight of a story I should be carrying alone... onto you. Because some part of me resents you, and I want you to feel that weight too. I want you to understand what it feels like to suffer."

"......"

"But isn't that still... better than us sharing nothing at all?"

He had given up on speaking out of fear that the silence would be painful—but now that he had started, it wasn't as agonizing as he had expected. He wondered why he had been so afraid.

Ihyeon licked his lips, looking at his unresponsive father.

"Even if..."

His voice trembled.

"Even if I'm turning into an Omega... are you still not going to say anything?"

His father's gaze, which had been fixed on the open sea, finally drifted down to the waves crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliff—but there was no other reaction. Facing his father's silence, Ihyeon felt a strange calm settle over him. He pressed the palm of his right hand against his thigh for no particular reason and let out a short, self-mocking sound.

"They say I'm half Omega. Which means I'm half not Omega. Half Beta, and the other half not Beta..."

His own words felt like sophistry, and Ihyeon let out another weak, dry laugh.

The fact that he had once crossed the sea now spread before them and traveled to another continent alongside Liu. All those moments, memories, and emotions they had shared felt like an absurd lie he had come to believe after losing himself too deeply in his own imagination. It seemed like something no one would ever believe.

This time, it was Ihyeon's eyes—not his father's—that turned toward the horizon at the far edge of the sea.

"He told me, Father..."

"......"

"The first person I ever... loved..."

His vision began to blur. He tilted his chin upward, trying not to let the gathered tears fall—but he couldn't stop his voice from trembling.

He tried to stay calm. He couldn't. Anger rose when he looked at that face, but that wasn't all there was. If it had only been anger—if the cold, certain conclusion had been simply that he never wanted to see him again—perhaps it wouldn't have hurt so much.

"I... I don't know what I should do."

He couldn't forget it. The way Liu had looked at him—carefully, as though even looking was a kind of sin—tracing his face with such caution, finally forcing out the words I love you as though humbly surrendering to something immense and unavoidable, without any explanation or excuse.

"I want to forgive him... but I can't bring myself to forgive him... Even though I can't forgive him, I want to... I don't know what to do."

There was something almost absurd about confiding his most desperate need for forgiveness to the very person he could least forgive—the one he had walled off with the sturdiest silence he possessed. But this time, he couldn't even manage a sneer.

Ihyeon closed his eyes beside his unresponsive father. Because he had tilted his head back, tears slid down from the corners of his eyes toward his temples and ears. The tears that had burned hot at the corners of his eyes had already gone cold by the time they reached his ears.

· · · · ·

The fifty-something model, who had retired from the stage eight years ago and was now active as a choreographer and professor, moved with such grace that she could easily be mistaken for a dancer still in her prime.

On the studio's roughly thirty-square-meter backdrop, she drew lines and placed points in three-dimensional space, tracing ascent and descent, elation and despair—with nothing but her own body, without the aid of a single prop or tool.

In that moment, she was the absolute master of her own body, and everyone present was inevitably overwhelmed by the dominance and control she exerted over the space.

Even if limited to the physical body, mastering oneself was nearly impossible. Perhaps one's own self is the thing harder to control than anyone else. At least regarding himself—since meeting Ihyeon—Liu had to admit that much.

To avoid disturbing the work, Liu leaned his back against the wall in the area behind the staff and Shushu, where the light didn't reach. He held his breath, arms folded tightly across his chest, like an audience fully absorbed in a gripping film. He couldn't take his eyes off Shushu—who kept lowering his stance, climbing onto the photography steps, then lying flat on the floor to capture her breathing and create another rhythm in response—or off the interplay between the two of them, their rhythms tangling and separating.

"Her energy is incredible, isn't it? This is a piece she choreographed recently—about an hour and twenty minutes. This is the third shoot today."

Shushu's assistant approached Liu and whispered. Like someone roughly shaken awake from a deep sleep, Liu found it difficult to break out of his immersion and respond.

"As the Director knows best, Shushu isn't someone who rushes work just to meet an exhibition schedule. Still, if you say two or three pieces would be fine, I think we could manage that."

He seemed to assume Liu's visit was related to the joint exhibition in the latter half of the year.

"I thought he'd rest for a while after returning from Chicago, but his drive lately has been extraordinary."

Until now, Shushu had mostly worked by directing several models according to poses he had prepared in advance. This was the first time he had worked with a single model, attempting to capture the world that model expressed. It was inevitably more demanding than before—revealing the presence and dimension of an artwork within a single photograph.

Whatever had given Shushu this drive and inspiration, without Liu even noticing, he had stepped out of the shadow of his former self—a timid and fragile young man—and was steadily pursuing challenge and growth as a fine art photographer.

"It's probably because this is the last exhibition before you leave, Director. He must really want to feature in it."

Liu unfolded his arms, slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and let out a short, dry laugh.

"That's probably not the case."

The assistant, who had been working alongside Shushu for several years, glanced sideways at Liu with a flicker of curiosity at the unexpected response, but said nothing.

When the performance—which had lasted well over an hour—finally ended, the dancer froze in a pose that looked as if she were about to sprint off somewhere, her shoulders and back subtly heaving as she caught her breath. It was a posture far removed from any typical finishing stance, and precisely because of that, it stirred imagination and anticipation about where and how that unspent kinetic energy might flow next.

After the dance concluded, Shushu continued pressing the shutter a while longer, shifting the model's position and angles, before approaching her, placing a hand on her shoulder, and offering quiet words of thanks—marking the end of the shoot.

Like an actor unable to leave a scene even after the director calls it, both the dancer and Shushu remained still for a moment, carefully restraining their still-pulsing emotions.

Liu caught Shushu's eye—he had gone stiff the moment he spotted Liu—and gestured that he would wait in the private room, then walked away.

Shushu arrived about thirty minutes later.

"What is that look on your face? Our staff were worried, asking if something had happened."

Shushu spoke from the desk near the entrance, flipping through stacks of photo books, keeping a careful distance from Liu, who was sitting on the sofa deeper inside the room.

Over the past few days, he hadn't been able to eat or sleep properly, and even the act of standing before a mirror to check his appearance had felt absurd and pointless. But compared to the wreckage inside him, his outward appearance was, relatively speaking, holding up.

Liu skipped responding to Shushu's comment and brought up the question that had been tormenting him for the past few days.

"Tell me everything—what was said that day, and what kind of reaction Seo Ihyeon had."

A smirk slowly surfaced on Shushu's expressionless face as he set down the books and turned toward Liu.

"I didn't expect you'd want to talk about this. Isn't it a very unfavorable story for you?"

"It might be, where Seo Ihyeon and I are concerned—but why would it be unfavorable to me in your relationship? If anything, it would be unfavorable to you."

Liu rose from his seat and walked slowly toward Shushu.

"Why did you tell him?"

"Why didn't you tell him?"

Liu's frame cast a shadow over Shushu's face, and the atmosphere from his fierce blue eyes was oppressive—yet Shushu seemed to be waiting for exactly this, closing the distance and stepping right up to him.

"I naturally assumed... that you would..."

Shushu's eyes, which had flashed sharply for a moment, trembled slightly. He let out a sigh, scratched his forehead, and paced in place, looking frightened.

"How could I have possibly imagined... that you were doing something like that without saying a word to him?"

Liu grabbed Shushu's shoulder as he bit his lower lip and turned him around.

"You're the kind of person who wouldn't breathe a word about someone else's private affairs, even if you knew them. So why... did you act completely out of character that day?"

Shushu shoved Liu's hand off his shoulder—the grip that had been threatening to crush it. He dropped his gaze, as though regretting having inadvertently let the secret slip, and the venom in his voice softened.

"I was just saying how fortunate you were to have found someone you could show your ultimate solitude to—and that it was Ihyeon, you're a ridiculously lucky bastard. That's what we were talking about. I wasn't deliberately trying to expose anything."

"......"

Liu's shoulders sagged, his fists clenching around nothing. A hollow laugh escaped him, as if the target he had been aiming all his blame and despair at had simply vanished.

Not knowing what to do or where to begin—how to rebuild what had collapsed. Hating himself. He had endured the past few days by clinging to the idea that he could pour all the blame onto Shushu, that Shushu had ruined everything. Now he felt that madness draining out of him.

Shushu, looking down at the cluttered desk buried under photo books, portfolios, and notes scrawled in barely legible handwriting, quietly opened his mouth.

"No. Let me correct that. Even if I had known you and Ihyeon hadn't agreed to the Changing, I might have told him anyway."

He offered that conjecture in a voice calm enough to sound settled, then picked up a book from the desk and placed it down in Liu's direction, almost like a throw.

"Was this really the only way you could do it?"

Liu looked down at the book with steady, unreadable eyes. It was an October issue of an art magazine.

"I told you I wouldn't ask for your help—that I'd handle it myself. So isn't this a matter between Hong Seon-yu and me now? Something that no longer concerns you?"

"How can you compare that to this?"

"What's different?"

Liu clicked his tongue, his expression one of disbelief, and wet his lower lip with his tongue.

"Ah. Right. It is different." A pause. "Much more horrifying."

"......"

"Several times more horrifying than what Hong Seon-yu did to me."

"You don't know everything that happened between Seo Ihyeon and me."

At Liu's firm declaration—his attempt to cut the sarcasm short—Shushu burst out laughing. But his face was contorted.

"Liu Weikun. Hearing you talk like that, you really must be in love. You used to be so blunt and realistic it was almost unpleasant—you weren't someone who said things that were this wrong. But I suppose even you can't help it when you're blinded by love."

"......"

"After pulling something like that... you're telling me I don't know everything that happened between you and Ihyeon?"

Shushu's lips twisted grotesquely.

"And you? Do you know everything that happened between Hong Seon-yu and me?"

"......"

As if he had been lightly struck on the back of the head, Liu's lips parted instinctively—then pressed firmly shut, as though trying to hide the reaction.

The line he had drawn so firmly between the two—that what had happened with Shushu and Hong Seon-yu was an entirely different matter from what had happened between himself and Ihyeon—felt as though it had been carelessly smeared away with a single swipe of a dirty shoe.

Rubbing the lower half of his face roughly with his palm, Liu turned and braced himself against the edge of the desk. In the long mirror mounted above it—like a dressing room mirror backstage—a man in crumpled, wrinkled clothes, unshaven, stared back at him with filthy eyes.

"I haven't forgiven everything Hong Seon-yu did, and I haven't fully recovered from it. And I certainly have no desire to see him again or do anything. It's just that... a lot of time has passed. Now I can step back from the aftermath and look at it from a distance. And more than anything..."

Shushu met Liu's gaze through the mirror.

"...I can now see that Hong Seon-yu also suffered."

Liu lowered his head, keeping his mouth shut. His usually neat hair fell heavily, covering his forehead and eyes. His brow furrowed as he looked down at the sharply protruding veins and knuckles on the back of the hand braced against the desk.

The fact that he had not once been at ease throughout the entire process of Changing Ihyeon.

He wouldn't deny that, as an Alpha, his blood had surged with something he could only call elation each time he registered Ihyeon responding—becoming Omega. But for the vast majority of that absolute time, he had suffered pain and terror unlike anything else, as though trapped in a room with no exit, the walls bristling with dense needles closing in from all sides.

As long as he expected Ihyeon to take that into consideration, he had no grounds to stop Shushu, who was trying to lighten the weight of his own past for similar reasons.

In the mirror, Shushu moved away, walked to the coffee maker on the other side of the room, and poured from a half-filled glass carafe as he spoke.

"Back then, I was so submerged in my own pain that I couldn't see anything else. I told myself that Seon-yu's suffering was the deserved price for what he'd brought on himself, that thinking that way would give me peace... but it wasn't true."

Liu squinted, as though against a sudden brightness, staring at Shushu's back in the mirror.

"Facing the fact that while he was deceiving me, he must have been suffering just as much as I was—perhaps longer—and trying to genuinely imagine the depth of that pain... that helped me regain my composure and pull myself back together. In the end, isn't it the thought that only I was the fool, only I was damaged, only I was in pain, that truly tortures a person?"

Shushu turned back toward him and offered a wry smile, holding out a cup of coffee. Liu shook his head. What he needed now was alcohol, not caffeine—but Shushu's studio wasn't stocked with anything stronger.

"The things between us that you don't know, that no one else knows... He slept with others and deceived me, but that wasn't everything that happened between us. For a while, because of what he did, I tried to dismiss everything else as a lie and hate it all... but it didn't last. Because deep down, I already knew that wasn't the truth."

Shushu stroked the surface of his mug as he spoke, then wet his lips with coffee and continued.

"Understanding that Hong Seon-yu must have been tormented by guilt and anxiety throughout the entire time he was doing what he did... He chased a moment's pleasure—and because of that brief pleasure he couldn't bring himself to refuse, he had to carry guilt for all the time that followed. I understand that now. As someone with whom I once laid bare the deepest parts of myself, and who did the same for me... I simply cannot look away from his desperate struggle to somehow find his way through."

Either use this as a turning point—accept his position and collect himself—or completely ruin himself through uglier corruption. The choice, from here on, would be Hong Seon-yu's.

Having added that, Shushu took another sip of coffee and turned a calm gaze and voice back to Liu.

"You, who can't understand that—you shouldn't dare hope that Ihyeon would forgive you."

"......"

He had so much he wanted to say.

Not a single plausible word came to mind that might change Ihyeon's heart—but harsh words for shifting the blame onto Shushu, for venting every drop of his anger, were overflowing. Once he confirmed that Shushu had deliberately let it slip as revenge for interfering with Hong Seon-yu's activities in Seoul, he had been prepared to unleash every sharp word he had spent days honing.

He didn't know how else he would hold himself together. There was still so much to do. It was too soon to collapse and let everything go. He had to squeeze out a path back to Ihyeon, even if it meant sustaining himself on the strength of blaming someone else.

But before he could even reach for his weapon, the sight of what his opponent was holding shattered his will to fight. What Shushu had said held up a mirror to his own current state with brutal clarity. Just as Shushu had imagined Hong Seon-yu's pain and shed some of the weight of the past, Liu desperately, achingly hoped that Ihyeon would extend him the same leniency.

The worst part, though, was that even Shushu hadn't fully forgiven Hong Seon-yu—and had absolutely no desire to start anything new with him. This was a generosity only possible because it was now a distant past, unrelated to him.

Looking at Shushu's calm face, from which even the faintest trace of accusation had vanished, Liu slowly shook his head as though witnessing something he couldn't quite believe. He took his hands off the desk and rubbed his rough jaw broadly.

"You said what I did was worse than what Hong Seon-yu did. Even you—who forgave Hong Seon-yu—have no intention of starting over with that bastard."

"......"

"Don't worry. Seo Ihyeon won't forgive me either. Rest easy."

He said it as though discarding a useless husk, then roughly swept his hair back and spat out a short curse.

Over the past few days, he had dragged in every person he could find to blame—but in the end, the one he hated most was himself. The Ghost. The Alpha.

He had hated it from the very beginning. Being an Alpha, being a Ghost—he had never once considered it some kind of noble exceptionalism. If it was such a precious privilege, he wished it had gone to someone else who actually wanted it. He had repeated those useless complaints and self-denials more times than he could count.

He had never expected that the time would come again—after he had finally thought he had made peace with his own existence, back in boyhood—to dig all of that up and drag it out again. He had certainly never imagined it would happen because of a longing for another person.

"My belief that what you did was heavier than what Hong Seon-yu did hasn't changed... but you're not me. You said I don't know everything that happened between you two. Where did that confidence go?"

Noticing Liu grinding his lips and fidgeting with a cigarette pack in his jacket pocket, Shushu sighed, approached, and wordlessly set an ashtray in front of him. Shushu didn't smoke, but he didn't enforce a strict no-smoking policy even for visiting smokers.

Liu lit a cigarette and took a hurried first drag.

"He said he's going to Paris."

"Paris?"

And then he told Shushu about the offer from The Hands. He confessed everything—how he had suspected the offer had gone to Ihyeon and feigned ignorance, and his own reckless obsession with rushing the New York branch development, driven by nothing more than the need to keep Ihyeon close.

Perhaps, knowing that only a destructive end awaited him, he had been unable to stop once he had taken the first step. Like Ihyeon's cry—what's the difference between thirty-five percent and fifty percent—once it had begun, no matter when he might have spoken, the weight of it could never have been made lighter.

So perhaps, when Ihyeon came to him already knowing the truth... somewhere inside him, a quiet resignation had already existed. That what was coming had finally come. That he could end it all. That he would accept whatever punishment followed.

He hadn't had the courage to let Ihyeon go himself—so perhaps he had been waiting for someone else to stop him. For someone to smash everything and bring this reckless spiral to a halt, even if it meant destroying him in the process.

Shushu listened, his expression complicated, biting his lip and releasing it several times. Then, slowly, the tension left his shoulders. He set down his mug, came up behind Liu, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's true that it's... a remarkable opportunity for Ihyeon. But the opportunities you can open for him are no less significant."

"Jeong Se-in."

"......"

"Jeong Se-in."

"Yes, I'm listening."

Liu turned to face Shushu and shook his head. His tightly pressed lips and the glassy sheen in his eyes said he had already chosen resignation.

"It's unfortunate for me—but Seo Ihyeon isn't the type to welcome help from a lover. He's not someone who believes the best thing two people can do for each other is sacrifice their individual lives just to stay together."

"I know that."

"Just because I helped him start painting again doesn't mean he has any obligation to stay by my side at Phantom. In the first place... it was my own base thought, imagining I could tie him down with a sense of debt by pretending to help."

A bitter, short laugh escaped him. Liu took a long drag from his cigarette and turned away from Shushu. He stubbed out what remained, picked up the pack, and turned a fresh cigarette over and over in his fingers.

"Liu Weikun. You can't fool me."

He glanced at Shushu through the mirror and put the cigarette to his lips. The dry skin of his lips caught on the filter.

Shushu placed his hand on Liu's shoulder again. This time, there was force behind it.

"Ihyeon is the love of your life. It was a serious mistake—too serious to call a simple slip—but if you keep showing him your sincerity, Ihyeon... his heart will move. You can't let him go to Paris."

Liu, who had been about to light the cigarette, brushed Shushu's hand away with an irritated motion and turned around.

"Why? Because he needs me? Because he's the love of my life, and without him I'm just a Ghost who can't put down roots anywhere—who can't be accepted by anyone—so forgive me, give up the opportunity you earned with your own worth, and quietly accept the fate of becoming an Omega by my side? Is that what you want me to say?"

"......"

"To the love of my life. Just like you said."

Liu looked down at Shushu—who couldn't react rashly—then put the cigarette back to his lips and muttered coldly.

"How is that any different from a second Changing?"

"Going to Paris doesn't have to mean breaking up. Even if you can't meet often—if you went to Paris once a month..."

"Jeong Se-in. Why are you doing this, all of a sudden?"

Liu turned toward Shushu, voice rising. Heat flared back into his eyes.

"Wasn't it exactly what you wanted—for someone like me, trash, to lose the person I love, become miserable, and pay for my sins? Huh?"

Shushu held Liu's gaze without speaking. They knew each other well enough that there was no need to explain these words had been spat out from a place of being cornered. He had condemned the Changing itself—but he had never wanted Liu to lose Ihyeon.

"Before you were diagnosed as a Ghost and went to the States, you said you'd come back fixed. When I visited you in Boston halfway through, you said you were almost completely better. Awi—that's not an illness. You being a Ghost, this situation unfolding the way it did... I know it's a strange and difficult thing for both of you to accept. But Ihyeon... you have to hold onto him."

"It might be impossible now."

Liu's body swayed as Shushu gripped his shoulders. He muttered it and lit the cigarette.

"He said he felt like a monster. A monster that was neither Omega nor Beta—nothing at all. How can he forgive the person who turned him into that?"

He added it quietly, staring at his own miserable reflection in the mirror.

"I know better than anyone what it feels like to become a monster... How can I ask him to love me again?"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"......"

Instead of answering, Liu crushed the cigarette—still long, barely smoked—shrugged his shoulders, and offered a smile that was worse than crying. That was all.

· · · · ·

The clouds hung low and the wind was fierce, as if rain could pour down at any moment. As was usual on days when fishing was called off, his grandfather and uncle had already gone out separately to find someone to share soju with. Since both of them tended to come home late on days like this, his aunt had also taken the chance to visit the neighbors, leaving only Ihyeon and his father at home.

Ihyeon spent the day sketching. This was already his third drawing notebook since arriving here. Though it was something he had once abandoned to protect himself, he was now clinging to it even more fiercely.

What if I had made this choice back then? Knowing it was a futile regret, he still couldn't help feeling restless when he thought about the years he had let his hands go still—the time felt like such a waste.

He had to admit it: his desire to paint hadn't disappeared. It had only been unnaturally suppressed. It wasn't a relative desire—not the ambition to paint better than anyone else. What he wanted was the freedom to express the subjects he wished to paint, exactly as he envisioned them. For Ihyeon, who had never craved designer clothes or a generous allowance, painting was the only thing he had ever been greedy for, the only thing he had truly obsessed over.

No, it wasn't the only thing he had been greedy for.

At first, Liu had been someone he felt he would never even brush shoulders with. It was Liu, not him, who had closed the distance between them—Liu who had breathed certainty into what had been a hazy, undefined thing. Looking back, without much effort on his part, before he could even be tormented by the craving to have him or the pain of not possessing him, his heart had somehow already ended up in Liu's hands.

Though it had taken time for the wariness he had shown Liu to soften, he had been just as cautious about opening his own heart—and afterward, Liu had never acted ambiguously, had never caused him unnecessary anxiety or hurt.

The coldness that wanted to condemn him and the warmth that wanted to defend him still tumbled over each other dozens of times a day, unable to declare a final victor.

His hand slowed as his thoughts tangled. Ihyeon had been sketching the Boston scenery from a photo open on his phone when he heard his father—who had been reading by the wall—stand up behind him. His father was pulling a jacket off the hook and slipping his arms through the sleeves.

"It would be better to skip the walk today."

"......"

His father zipped up the jacket without pausing.

Ihyeon gently pushed the door ajar and peered outside. Jindol—the mixed-breed dog his grandfather had gotten from a neighbor while Ihyeon was away—was lying with half his body out of his doghouse. Seeing Ihyeon open the door, he perked up his ears and stood. He was an affectionate creature who had started following Ihyeon around barely a day after he arrived.

The weather had worsened in the meantime. But his father would not yield his stubbornness. Perhaps even this walk, repeated at the same time every day, held the meaning of self-punishment for his father.

Giving up on dissuading him, just as he was about to close the door and prepare for the walk, there was a knock at the main gate.

They rarely locked the gate unless everyone in the household had come home for the night, but it seemed the wind had managed to swing it shut on its own. Ihyeon pushed it further outward and raised his voice to ask who was there.

"...Is grandfather home?"

The answer, delivered after a brief pause, made Ihyeon falter. For just a moment, the awkward bitterness of having harbored a flicker of hope and then being disappointed by it settled over him—even though no one had seen it. Who had he been expecting?

With a wry smile, he slipped on his slippers and stepped down into the yard. When he pushed the gate open, Mr. Lim was standing there awkwardly, wearing an expression as if he had just swallowed something with an unpleasant aftertaste.

Ihyeon offered a brief bow, using his shoulder to hold the gate, which kept trying to swing shut, while squinting against the strong wind.

"Grandfather isn't here."

"Could you... spare me a moment?"

Mr. Lim, saying this while smacking his lips as if the taste were bitter, seemed to have come to see Ihyeon from the start—not his grandfather. Ihyeon stepped aside to clear the way. This was a moment he had steeled himself for since deciding to come here, so there was nothing to be flustered about.

He had intended to guide Mr. Lim to the room his grandfather used, but Mr. Lim said he had to leave soon for an appointment and sat down on one side of the wooden porch instead. The only beverage offered to guests was instant coffee, and Ihyeon almost offered him a cup before stopping himself. After opening the door to tell his father to wait a moment, Ihyeon also sat down on the porch, leaving a gap of two or three people's width between them.

The edges of the tarp covering the miscellaneous yard items—washbasins, buckets, brooms gathered in one corner to keep them from rolling around in the relentless sea wind—flapped fiercely. Watching the dog's innocent face, which merely tilted his head at the stranger rather than barking, Ihyeon fiddled with his loosely clenched fist with his other hand.

"Is Morae... well?"

"......"

"I'm not trying to do anything. I just want to know if she's healthy."

Mr. Lim glanced sideways at Ihyeon, who looked back with wary eyes, and added in a defensive tone.

"I'm sorry, but as long as I consider you a potential threat to those two, I have no intention of answering any questions."

Even as he felt Mr. Lim's gaze on his profile, Ihyeon kept his eyes fixed on the dog. After a long moment, Mr. Lim withdrew his gaze, let out a long sigh, and took out a cigarette to light it.

"My first granddaughter was born last month."

"......"

Offering congratulations felt absurd in this situation, so Ihyeon sat quietly, rubbing the inside of his fist.

"Normally... you can't know until secondary sexual characteristics develop during puberty... but the hospital said. The probability of her presenting as an Alpha is quite high."

"......"

Ihyeon stopped rubbing his hand. His head turned toward Mr. Lim on its own.

"They say some children are born with signs—though it's very rare—and a high probability doesn't guarantee she'll become an Alpha... but you can't ignore the odds either."

The bluish cigarette smoke Mr. Lim exhaled scattered wildly in front of Ihyeon's face like a phantom performing a frenzied dance. Mr. Lim, his brow furrowed deeply, stared at some point in the yard with a troubled expression.

"I'm trying to prepare myself mentally now, just in case."

It was Mr. Lim who, in this conservative fishing village—where a female Alpha was treated as a grotesque mutant—had hidden Morae's gender until now, and had opposed her relationship with Yeehan, a Beta male. For him to seek Ihyeon out specifically and reveal the family's secret was tantamount to asking him to convey a change of heart to Morae.

Ihyeon studied Mr. Lim's profile carefully—he looked aged and worn, as if years rather than a few months had passed.

"I don't know what kind of hardened resolve she made... but however I tried, the path was blocked, I couldn't follow her. She isn't the kind of child who's so cold-hearted... that she'd just leave her mother and father behind like that..."

As Mr. Lim trailed off and brought the cigarette to his lips, Morae's face superimposed itself over his.

"Won't your father forgive you someday, as time passes? He's always been so harsh about your affairs, ever since you were little."

Ihyeon remembered Morae's tears, which had finally burst forth at his uncle's words. She had chosen a path toward her own happiness, but that didn't make her so immature as to deny her parents' love for her.

Everyone loves in their own way. They make choices based on their own way of loving, and in the process, they sacrifice something. In all the real world Ihyeon had seen and heard up to that point, perfect love existed nowhere.

If he were to be honest, perhaps somewhere deep in his subconscious he had believed that only Liu's love was flawless and whole—that his grateful love, which had compensated even for Ihyeon's past, had no cracks or weaknesses.

"Could you... ask her to call, even just once in a while? Even if she hates me—she should do it for her mother's sake..."

Mr. Lim ground the cigarette—already more than half burned—against the side of the wooden porch with a hiss and stood up. For a fleeting moment, Ihyeon felt a weak impulse to at least let him know she was well, but it wasn't his place to interfere.

As Mr. Lim stood, the puppy came trotting over on bouncy legs and sniffed at his feet. Mr. Lim glanced down at the dog once, then hurried out of the yard as if he had lingered too long.

The puppy, which had followed Mr. Lim to the gate, came running back to Ihyeon and grabbed the toe of his shoe, shaking it. Ihyeon bent down to stroke the dog's fur, then rubbed his arms against the cold he was only now registering as he went back inside.

His father, who had been sitting against the wall waiting, stood up. Ihyeon quickly pulled on his jumper, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a worn muffler, which he carefully wrapped around his father's neck.

"The wind is harsh."

His father, standing there with an impassive gaze, turned around and left the room the moment Ihyeon removed his hands. Ihyeon took two umbrellas—his and his father's—and followed.

The wind, which felt as if it were blowing from all directions rather than just one, couldn't stop his father's march. Unfazed by its resistance, his father ascended the hill at his usual brisk pace and sat on the bench as always, enduring the biting wind that made one squint and hunch one's shoulders.

Ihyeon sat down beside him and looked out at the sea below the cliff, saying nothing. There was nothing further to add to the story about Liu—that had ended yesterday.

The sea, raging and foaming white as if howling fiercely, brought his blue and white eyes to mind.

His empathy—which had felt the pain of his past—and his love, which had opened the faint possibility of understanding his father and forgiving him... he could not believe that was all a lie.

Yet paradoxically, it would have hurt less if everything had been a lie. What made it so confusing was that Liu had given him love and betrayal, empathy and silence, all at once.

Ihyeon had half-wished for a heavy downpour, but the sky only rumbled low overhead as they descended the hill and passed through the center of the village. It was only when they reached the entrance of the northern incline leading to his grandfather's house—where the crude murals began—that Ihyeon felt one or two drops of rain on his cheeks and nose.

And then he spotted a white SUV parked in front of the mural depicting a family of sharks. Ihyeon's pace slowed. His father, who would normally have kept his own speed without a second thought, slowed to match him.

Liu got out of the driver's seat.

Despite all the confusion and conflict of recent days, the first emotion Ihyeon felt upon seeing him was relief. Stunned and deflated by his own reaction, Ihyeon lowered his head and let out a short, hollow laugh.

Blood will tell. Or perhaps: the body never lies.

Of course, neither phrase exactly described this situation. But setting aside the taut struggle between his head and his heart, Ihyeon found those words rising to the surface in response to the immediate, instinctive reaction his body showed toward Liu.

The next thought was how entirely out of place Liu looked here.

He was dressed in jeans, a plain T-shirt, a simple jumper, and sneakers—an ensemble that still looked noticeably refined by contrast with this place. The foul weather meant there wasn't another soul passing by, but his striking features and towering height alone were enough to draw the attention of any local who happened to glance out.

He hadn't come here to make Ihyeon anxious—he had come to do what needed to be done—but it would be a lie to say Ihyeon had never once imagined whether he might show up. In those imaginings, whenever he faced Liu, he always ended up averting his gaze, unable to reach a decision. The fantasy always stopped there.

But in reality, he could look directly at his face. It didn't feel real that this man was standing here—in this very spot where he and Morae and Yeehan had loitered every morning and evening on the way to school. He couldn't tear his eyes away, as if watching a character step out of a film screen.

Liu walked toward him at a pace neither slow nor fast and pulled the corners of his taut lips into an awkward smile.

"Have you been... well?"

He was cleanly shaved and his hair was neatly styled, but up close his face was a wreck. His skin was rough, his eyes sunken. And he had grown so thin that his jawline stood out even more sharply than usual.

"It's only been a few days—does that greeting sound strange?"

He said it while rubbing his jaw broadly, trying to project a calm, unremarkable demeanor, but he couldn't hide his tension and wariness.

"I thought you might not be able to come... so I canceled our dinner plans for tonight."

It seemed like a lighthearted joke offered in his own way, but Ihyeon couldn't laugh. Seeing his continued silence, Liu let out a small sigh and furrowed his brow beneath the dark, overcast sky.

"Can you spare me a moment?"

Ihyeon turned to look at his father standing beside him.

"Go on ahead. I'll talk with him for a bit and then come."

"......"

His father's gaze shifted toward Liu. No discernible emotion surfaced in that look.

Whether it was proper to offer a greeting, or whether such a gesture would be inappropriate given the circumstances—Liu seemed to be weighing it with a complex expression before he stepped slightly forward and bowed his head respectfully. It was the first time Ihyeon had ever seen Liu bow in greeting rather than extend a handshake.

"Hello. I am Liu Weikun, the director of the gallery where Seo Ihyeon is affiliated."

"......"

Ihyeon, who had been watching his father's expressionless profile, took the first step and spoke toward Liu.

"Let's go."

But before he could take even two or three steps, his wrist was pulled back from behind. Ihyeon's startled eyes turned back to his father. It wasn't a strong grip, but his father was pulling him back.

"......"

His father took one step closer, closing the small distance between them. He untied the muffler Ihyeon had wrapped around his neck and wrapped it around Ihyeon's neck instead.

In this moment, Ihyeon wasn't even conscious of Liu standing right beside him.

His father's eyes remained shuttered, impossible to read. He still hadn't spoken a single word. Yet he had been listening to everything Ihyeon had said. His father knew who this man with the sudden, overcast blue eyes was. And perhaps... he was worried about the wound Ihyeon might receive from following him.

His father's blunt fingertips squeezed the end of the muffler once before letting go. Then he took one of the two umbrellas from Ihyeon's hand, lightening his load, and slowly turned to begin walking up the incline.

Ihyeon couldn't take his eyes off his father's back until he disappeared around the corner.

This wasn't a resolution or a reconciliation. If anything, it might be the beginning of a fierce conflict. But that conflict was precisely the task he had long needed to pass through—physically, with his whole body—in order to reach resolution and forgiveness. Without it, not only resolution and forgiveness, but even the possibility of making the scar into something that defined him, would have been impossible.

"Let's go somewhere quiet where we can talk."

At the sound of Liu's voice, Ihyeon slowly turned his head. In this small village, Liu's appearance was too conspicuous. Wherever they went, he would draw attention. Ihyeon tucked his chin into the muffler and spoke quickly, in a calm voice.

"It would be better to talk in the car. Let's go somewhere else, not here."

The raindrops, which had been falling one or two at a time on the way there, had turned into a torrential downpour by the time they reached the coast. As if making up for lingering all day, the rain came down in sheets.

Liu pulled over at the shops near the beach entrance, ran inside a convenience store, and came back out with two takeaway coffees. Then, just as Ihyeon had told him, he slowed down and carefully turned onto the narrow road along the edge of the beach—the closest spot they could park to the water.

"Hyung and Morae nuna always used to surf here. I... would sit over there and watch the two of them."

Ihyeon said this while pointing toward the sandy stretch in front of the shops.

"You should have tried it once."

Shall I teach you?—Thinking of Morae's repeated invitations, Ihyeon smiled faintly and turned the coffee cup over in his hands.

"You're right. With so much time—I really should have tried it at least once."

Silence followed those words for a while. Ihyeon looked out at the beach stretching to his right, and Liu looked at Ihyeon's profile. Both of them brought the coffee to their lips only occasionally, as if remembering.

The silence wasn't particularly harsh or sharp. But it wasn't the same comfort they had once shared either—that ease of accepting each other without the pressure or awkwardness of needing to fill the space. They weren't in the grip of the raw, violent emotions from when they had clashed at Phantom, but those feelings hadn't entirely vanished, either; they couldn't simply look at each other and smile.

"The medication I took after seeing Choi Inwu—before I left for Chicago."

At the sound of Liu's voice breaking the silence, Ihyeon slowly turned his head toward him. The muscles along his jaw were tightly clenched as he looked down at the coffee cup resting on his thigh.

"Most of it was just supplements... but there were also very low-dose inhibitors mixed in. Just in case."

"I heard from Inwu hyung."

"......"

Liu's face turned back toward Ihyeon. It was a quick, involuntary reaction. As if he regretted it the moment it happened, he bit his lip and looked away again.

Liu had told him to keep his phone on—and then hadn't reached out even once. Ihyeon didn't want to understand or sympathize, but he could guess why Liu couldn't bring himself to call. So he hadn't waited.

Inwu, on the other hand, had called once a day. Ihyeon had wondered if Liu might not be answering because he wanted to focus entirely on the situation here—but he couldn't shake the curiosity of possibly hearing some news about him through Inwu.

He hadn't hoped Liu would visit or call, yet at the same time he was curious about how Liu was spending his days. The contradiction felt unfamiliar—like someone insisting they weren't watching, while glancing sideways anyway.

Inwu had apologized repeatedly for the unexpected kiss and expressed regret over having told Liu about it. Liu, for his part, reacted visibly to the name Inwu, but he didn't press the issue of the kiss or try to confirm anything.

The downpour showed no signs of letting up.

The rain, pouring down as if he were standing in it without an umbrella, brought back the memory of the evening after they'd returned from Hong Kong—the hot pot, the small gathering. The car that had taken him home that night had been this same SUV. His thoughts drifted naturally to Liu, who had shown up silently and pulled him into a hug after he met with his uncle.

After a long silence, Liu inhaled deeply, filling his chest, then let the air out slowly. Ihyeon stopped thinking and took a sip of coffee.

"I don't know if anything I say can ease your suffering even a little... but I also thought that staying silent just because I have no right to ask for forgiveness isn't exactly a sufficient response."

He deliberately avoided looking at Liu's face. He scratched the surface of the paper cup with his fingernail and waited for the words Liu had no doubt prepared in pain, without proper sleep or food.

"I couldn't stop."

"......"

"I knew it was a grave mistake, and unlike what Choi Inwu or Shushu might have thought, I didn't even have the confidence to make you understand. Yet why I couldn't stop—I couldn't understand it myself then, and I still can't now. I was that foolish and reckless."

A brief sigh followed before the story continued.

"I wanted to make you an Omega. But more than that... I wanted to be your Alpha. I know it will only sound like an excuse, but that's probably the honest reason."

Liu placed the paper cup back into the holder and rested his hands on the steering wheel.

"The intensity of an Alpha's response toward an Omega—a sexual hunger beyond anything a Beta could imagine, a blindly protective instinct like that of a loyal guard dog—I found those qualities barbaric and humiliating, so I drove myself harder than anyone else to become Golden. But if you were the one bringing that out of me... I would have gladly, willingly, put that leash on myself."

As if to prove these were words strained through many sieves until nothing remained but his bare, naked self, his voice trembled—yet it wasn't emotional. One could feel him forcefully restraining himself each time feeling threatened to flood in and mix with his speech.

"For the first time, I felt joy in being an Alpha who could be bound to someone from something more primal than conversation and the exchange of emotion—something deeper than what exists between Betas. But... while I was learning what love was, my own Alpha nature awoke. That was only my side of it. You are a Beta. You probably wanted to love me as a Beta."

The hand gripping the top of the steering wheel came into view. In response, Ihyeon's hand around the paper cup also tightened.

"I've spent my life scoffing at anything that presumes to be a lifelong promise—but like Shushu said, I suppose I can't help it either."

He let out a dry laugh and turned slightly toward Ihyeon.

"Everything I've said until now—it's all sincere."

"......"

"For my entire life, no one will ever know what my pheromone smells like. Only you can make me an Alpha, and only you can let me accept myself as one. My reason, my emotions, and even the very essence of my Alpha body beyond that—they are yours. Forever."

The content was grand, but he didn't speak like someone delivering a grand declaration. He was almost humble—as if this were the most trivial and meager thing imaginable.

Only then did Ihyeon raise his head and meet Liu's gaze.

"I'm not saying this to ask for forgiveness... I'm simply offering it to you. Even if you don't accept it, I have no choice but to give it..."

Unlike a moment ago, when he had hesitated as if pitying someone just out of reach, his eyes were now meeting Ihyeon's directly. The calm, ash-tinged blue held neither a plea nor a demand.

In that moment, he was entirely absorbed in the act of conveying love itself. Whether it was a magnificent love or a twisted one—just as it was.

Ihyeon's lips moved slightly. Liu, whose gaze had been fixed on that small movement, inhaled deeply. Noticing the way Liu's hands tightened on the steering wheel, Ihyeon quietly opened his mouth.

"I don't doubt the things you just said."

Though Liu seemed to be trying his utmost not to show it, Ihyeon could see his eyes waver with faint hope. Aware of how sensitively Liu was reacting to his every word, Ihyeon wrapped both hands around the paper cup.

"But separate from that... I'm still confused about how I'm supposed to accept the situation that brought us here."

Liu leaned forward as if about to say something, then bit his lower lip and pulled back again. His hands on the steering wheel were now clenched into fists.

"You said you wanted to love me even as an Alpha... but I don't know what it feels like to be controlled by pheromones."

"You have no reason or obligation to know that."

"......"

Ihyeon shook his head, looking at Liu, who had spoken quickly and decisively.

"I do have an obligation. Before I knew the Director was Changing me, I said I loved you—and believed it—but I never tried to understand you as an Alpha."

"My desire to Change you came from my Alpha nature, but I wasn't saying that my Alpha nature is something I can't help—I wasn't asking for that kind of understanding."

Ihyeon shook his head firmly.

"I'm talking about this separately from the Director having Changed me. The fact that I didn't try to understand the Director as an Alpha doesn't mean I'm therefore obligated to understand the Changing."

Liu, who had been watching Ihyeon in silence, swept a hand across his face, then turned toward the front and exhaled something close to a groan.

"...Right."

His voice was low, as if it might go out at any moment.

He leaned over the steering wheel, biting down on his lower lip, staring out at the sea being hammered by rain. He looked as though he were forcibly containing what was filling him up inside and threatening to overflow. Ihyeon felt the same.

Before coming here—when he had gone to Phantom to confront Liu—confusion, bewilderment, and simmering betrayal had been the dominant forces. Now that the initial wave had subsided somewhat, what he felt when he looked at the situation was closer to sadness. And pity.

"As a Golden Alpha, you must be nearly perfect when it comes to pheromone control. I don't know the specifics, but I just thought it was something like a Beta. That's how I understood it."

The same way he had never paid special attention to Morae's nature as an Alpha.

Ihyeon hung his head, staring down at the paper cup in his hands. His throat felt so tight that opening his mouth was difficult.

"I'm a Beta—so how did I stimulate the Director's pheromones?"

Liu's face, which had been aimed straight ahead, turned toward Ihyeon with a rigid expression.

"Inwu hyung said it, didn't he? He asked what the point was of suppressing your pheromones that thoroughly. He asked if you were trying to become a Beta. Someone who can exercise that level of control over their pheromones... why couldn't you do that for me—a Beta, not an Omega?"

Regretting the torrent of useless words that had come spilling out, Ihyeon turned his head toward the passenger-side window. He bit his lower lip and tensed against the stinging behind his eyes. He wished what he was holding were alcohol, not coffee.

After a long silence, he heard Liu quietly strike a match beside him and light a cigarette. The sharp scent of tobacco spread through the car. After two or three slow, deliberate puffs, Liu spoke in a tired voice.

"I was adept at defending against pheromones that stimulated me from the outside—but perhaps not against stimulation that came from within. The desire for the person I love begins from inside me."

"......"

"Since you're the first person I have ever desired this intensely, I can't give you a definitive answer... but perhaps I knew how to control others' pheromones without knowing how to control myself—how to engage in mature love."

He couldn't accept that. What he had received from Liu wasn't simply material comfort and a stable life. All the empathy, the advice, the fulfillment of being heard and understood when he had confided his past—those things still lived inside him. Liu was by no means an immature person.

But Ihyeon already knew from experience. Even mature people sometimes make immature mistakes.

His father, too—before his mother's accident—had been one of the most mature people young Ihyeon could imagine. Someone with a gentle center who didn't let other people's standards disturb his own life.

Following a slow drag on his cigarette, Liu's heavy voice continued.

"It went beyond immaturity. It was ugly and selfish. Perhaps it's one of the most terrible things you can do to someone you love."

It wasn't self-criticism meant to draw Ihyeon's sympathy. If anything, his tone sounded as if he were speaking about someone else.

Looking down at the coffee cup—already cooling, barely touched—Ihyeon recalled Inwu's ruthless coldness when he had compared Liu's Changing to rape. His clear-cut verdict, neatly separating Ihyeon as the victim and Liu as the one who had done the harm.

For the past few days, he had returned to the same question over and over, convinced there had to be a correct answer somewhere. But cutting Liu off entirely—or accepting him. Neither option felt wholly satisfying. He couldn't isolate the Changing and consider it alone, the way Inwu had—but he also couldn't completely cover it over with everything else.

"You're right. It was selfish, ugly, and terrible."

"......"

"But... that wasn't everything."

"......"

"Because I know that... that's why I'm stuck here, unable to move forward or back."

That was the honesty of it: the cycle of hesitation that came from being unable to coldly push him away, yet unable to fully accept him.

"Because it was my body the Director changed—in this matter, I'm the only one who can pass judgment on the Director. There isn't some objective right answer out there somewhere. The decision I make is the right one for me..."

Ihyeon pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Liu, who had quickly stubbed out his cigarette, took the paper cup from Ihyeon's hand and secured it in the holder. He turned toward Ihyeon and reached a hand out—but couldn't quite bring himself to touch his shoulder.

"Yes. That's right. You are the only one who can pass that judgment. The decision you make is the right one. No one can apply a different standard to it, or judge you for what you decide."

Ihyeon's face twisted as he struggled to hold back tears. As if he couldn't bear to watch any longer, Liu wrapped his hand around the back of Ihyeon's neck and drew him closer. His lips brushed Ihyeon's temple.

"Do you remember what I said back then? In Chicago. The moment we first told each other we loved each other."

The moment he had said I love you to someone for the first time in his life—and heard it said back—was not something he could easily forget.

"I asked you back then, didn't I? Whatever happens from now on, I hoped the sincerity of those words would never be doubted or tarnished."

"......"

"I don't dare even mention forgiveness in front of you. Just... know that I love you. I will keep my promise—that no one else will ever catch my pheromone. I will stay here..."

Ihyeon shook his head. He wanted to give up on cornering Liu and himself with nothing but venom, and finally be honest. That seemed like it would be far more bearable.

"I don't know... I truly resent you, Director, and I want to lash out, demanding to know why you put me in this situation... but if I leave... what will happen to you?"

Liu pulled back and gripped both of Ihyeon's shoulders firmly. He lowered his head to meet Ihyeon's eyes. His eyes were red-rimmed but no longer wavering.

"Ihyeon-ah."

"......"

"Even before you knew about the Changing, you already knew you had to go to Paris. Don't sacrifice the path you have to take... in order to forgive me."

The memories of finding comfort leaning against him—of confronting himself and his own past within Liu's love—hadn't been undone. But continuously expecting from another person a value that one cannot give oneself is not love. The Changing wasn't the only reason he had to leave.

Liu's touch gently pulled Ihyeon closer.

I'm fine. I'm truly fine. —he whispered it into his ear, again and again.

"I will keep loving you. If you suddenly feel like seeing me, even on a whim, I'll come running immediately. And if you then say you can't stand the sight of me, I'll disappear right away. I don't care how many times we repeat that cycle. So don't give up anything because of me."

Ihyeon took a breath. He gripped the front of Liu's shirt tightly.

"You've already changed enough... all because of me."

His voice, softly permeating, was the Liu Weikun he knew. But he hadn't wanted to take only softness from him.

"Paris isn't that hard a place for me to reach—you know that. I used to go once or twice a year anyway. With you there, couldn't I go once a month? Even once a week? Physical distance means nothing."

He knew Liu wouldn't come. But Ihyeon bit his lip and nodded. He curled his fingers, gripping his shirt even tighter. The sound of the rain—like tons of sand pouring down onto the roof of the car—was almost a relief. It felt as though they were sealed alone inside it, cut off from everything in the world, or having cut the entire world off themselves.

They simply listened to the rain, staying still until their emotions settled—or at least until they could conceal them well enough on the surface.

Ihyeon, who had been resting his cheek against Liu's neck, slowly pulled away, pushing gently at his chest with the hand that had been clutching his shirt, and sat upright. The car pulled slowly away from the beach.

Neither of them spoke a single word during the drive back to the small clearing at the foot of the incline. Ihyeon had an umbrella, but Liu unfurled the large one he always kept in the trunk—almost like a parasol—and held it over both of them as they walked up the slope.

Even after reaching the main gate, neither of them could easily turn away. Ihyeon stood close under the umbrella and looked up at Liu for a long time. Back when he had passed through this gate every day, he could never have imagined a day would come when someone would enter his life this deeply. It felt as if the present had thrust itself, abruptly, into a past that had long since gone still.

The look in Liu's eyes as he gazed at Ihyeon was subdued. His resolve was firm—he would not let Ihyeon waver by letting any tender longing show, any desire to reach out and touch him, any wish to stay and hold on.

"Drive... carefully."

Liu smiled faintly, as though hearing those words from Ihyeon's mouth was the greatest happiness in the world, and nodded.

After crossing the narrow yard and stepping onto the porch, when Ihyeon turned to look back, Liu's umbrella was still jutting up above the main gate. He tore his gaze away from the motionless umbrella and went inside—and found his father sitting by the floor lamp at the desk, looking at Ihyeon's painting. It was the first time this had happened, but he was so physically and mentally depleted that he didn't even have the energy to feel surprised or moved.

The emotions he had concentrated on suppressing while he was with Liu slowly began to seep out. He leaned his back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, and his vision blurred instantly, as if it had been waiting for him.

He pulled his knees up and rested his arms across them. As he bowed his head, tears that could no longer bear their own weight dropped onto his thighs. He clenched his fists, but couldn't entirely silence his sobs. Even so, his father did not turn around. But that didn't matter. If anything, he preferred it that way.

Perhaps his father—who had known what it was to be separated from someone he loved—understood that there was no adequate comfort for a moment like this.

If one kept calling the past into the present instead of burying it, perhaps someday the past could be reborn with a different shape and meaning. Perhaps a moment would come when the wound transformed into something that defined him. But for now, not even that hope could thin the pain.

He wanted to throw everything aside, run to the door, pull it open, and chase after him—he might still be at the gate, or not far beyond it—and just hold him. The sound of the rain took a long, long time to slowly subside.

· · · · ·

The two held hands tightly, their fingers interlocked. Their shoulders were pressed together without any gap between them. They didn't seem to be talking about anything particularly significant, yet enthusiastic reactions followed every word the other spoke. Even as he slipped his phone into the front pocket of his bag, the man never let go of the hand he was holding. It was mid-October, but a summer hat woven from raffia rested on each of their laps.

A couple at the peak of happiness. They looked like newlyweds heading off to a warm resort for their honeymoon.

After checking in, Ihyeon sat on a nearby bench in case he was called about an issue with his luggage. He had been gazing absently at the couple sitting just a few steps away, but as they began whispering sweet nothings to each other, he subtly turned his gaze elsewhere.

A family of four just entering the airport, pushing a cart piled high with suitcases. A group of friends who looked to be in their early twenties, chattering and joking excitedly despite the check-in line barely moving. A foreign businessman clutching his passport and ticket, hurrying as if he had arrived just in time. Ihyeon observed the various people around him with quiet interest, then bent forward, propped his chin on his thigh, and turned to look at Yuni sitting beside him.

She had been lost in thought with a slightly tense expression, but when she noticed Ihyeon looking at her, she met his eyes and smiled broadly. As Ihyeon smiled back, she reached out and ruffled his hair.

"The Director said he'd be at Phantom late tonight for the final check of the joint exhibition."

She probably assumed Ihyeon was waiting for Liu. But Ihyeon harbored no such expectation—which surprised even himself. He simply smiled faintly and nodded.

Yuni didn't know, but the previous evening, Ihyeon had gone to Phantom to see him.

When he went up to the second floor, Liu was standing in the center of the exhibition hall—directly ahead at the top of the stairs—contemplating the placement of the works. It was the exact place where they had first met. A strange sensation washed over Ihyeon, and instead of approaching him right away, he leaned against the railing and watched him for a moment.

When they first met, Liu had gradually come into view as he ascended those same stairs, and Ihyeon had been helping Yuni and Juhan from the very spot where Liu now stood. That intense, commanding presence and striking appearance—this person might be a Golden Alpha—had been his first impression. Back then, all Liu had asked Ihyeon was, "How do you know Manager Han?"

Watching him now—rolling up his shirt sleeves, skimming the list of works in his hand, absently fussing with his brow—Ihyeon couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at the sheer magnitude of change time had brought.

Liu noticed him too, and offered a slightly awkward smile as he set the file he had been holding down on the desk.

Ihyeon had come up from Donghae three days earlier and was staying at Juhan's officetel. This was the first time he had seen Liu since they parted in front of his grandfather's gate that day.

"When I get there... I'll contact you."

After exchanging a few words about the pieces submitted for the exhibition, Ihyeon had said that, smoothing a hand down his sleeve. Liu had nodded slightly, lips pressed tightly together. Just as Ihyeon had nodded—knowing that Liu's earlier words about coming to meet him in Paris had been a lie.

Ihyeon had been the first to kiss him, looking up at him from a tilted angle. When he gripped the back of Liu's neck and pulled him close, pressing their lips together, Liu's chest went rigid against his own in an instant. As Ihyeon turned his jaw and deepened the kiss, Liu finally shed his hesitation and wrapped his arms tightly around Ihyeon's waist. It was an embrace like someone casting everything else away just to hold on to Ihyeon alone.

As Liu buried himself deeper, his nose pressing hard against Ihyeon's, his breath trembled faintly and grew ragged. Ihyeon stroked his long hair and drew hard on his lower lip—just as Liu had always done for him. Beneath lowered eyelids, Liu looked back at him with a pained smile.

After sharing a kiss in a scent he knew he would never forget—a scent he already missed—Ihyeon left Phantom and wandered the streets until late into the night.

"Looks like there's no problem. Shall we head in?"

Yuni confirmed that more than five minutes had passed, slung her crossbody bag over her shoulder, and stood up first. Ihyeon, his backpack still on, took one last look around the still-crowded hall before following her toward the departure gate.

He felt as if someone were watching him from somewhere—wearing the sunglasses Liu always kept tucked in his chest pocket. Even if that were true, he had no desire to find him and confirm it. And even if it wasn't literally true, it felt no different from being watched by him.

The flight to Charles de Gaulle Airport, with layovers in Shanghai and Amsterdam, would take well over twenty-five hours. The economy seat was cramped and hard, but Ihyeon could feel neither boredom nor discomfort. With his left shoulder given over to the sleeping Yuni, inside the darkened cabin, he thought of only one thing.

· · · · ·

"I just took one last look around the exhibition hall. The layout was good."

"The gallery has been operating for years—what's so surprising about it now?"

Liu responded dryly to Manager Han's compliment, tapping ash into the ashtray before bringing the cigarette back to his lips. Manager Han looked at him—visibly exhausted—and offered a silent, wry smile.

It was the day before the VIP opening. After finishing her external work, she had stopped by Liu's place under the pretense of a report and a meeting, though in truth her concern for him was the greater reason. As expected, Liu had been buried in work without eating, only just getting home. He barely touched the hamburger she had brought. He had managed only a few fries.

"Since Yuni isn't here, I'll go in by nine tomorrow. Manager Han, you come around ten."

"But Juhan is there."

"How can I trust that guy? This is the first major event without Yuni—I need to be there from the start to oversee things."

Liu stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette, straightened from his loose lean against the table, and took a drink of beer. Having watched firsthand what these past few weeks had been like for him, Manager Han skipped any words of comfort and simply gathered her jacket and bag, rising from her seat.

"The painting—you moved it?"

Liu, who had been walking ahead, stopped in the middle of the living room and turned back. He looked up at the spot on the wall where Alienation had been hanging. He shrugged once, rubbed the back of his neck, and let out a hollow laugh. Then he turned and continued toward the entrance.

Manager Han had already put her shoes on but lingered instead of leaving, then reached out and lightly tapped Liu on the stomach.

"Want to go grab a drink?"

"Are you pitying me?"

"Is that not allowed? You have a face that requires considerable sympathy."

Liu let out a dry laugh, shoved his hands into his pockets, and leaned his shoulder against the hallway wall.

"I appreciate it, but I'm tired. I need to conserve some energy if I'm going to make it through the wrap party tomorrow."

After Manager Han left, Liu returned to the dining room, cleared away the leftover food, and set the cups in the sink. Moving through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room, he turned off the lights in sequence.

He climbed the stairs toward the faint light filtering down from the second floor, passed through the white-walled hallway, and entered the bedroom. He massaged the back of his neck and tilted his head back. His eyes closed, and a sigh slipped out. The only light in the room was the indirect glow spilling from the hallway leading to the bathroom, but he felt no need to make it any brighter.

Liu let his arms hang loosely at his sides and looked around in a kind of bewilderment, like someone suddenly relieved of everything they had been holding. Then, sweeping his bangs back, he walked over to the bar cart beside the sofa and poured whiskey into a glass, about halfway up. He sank onto the sofa and swiveled the high-backed armchair to face him.

He let the whiskey, neat, slide down his throat, and gazed for a long time into the darkness at the single painting hung on the wall directly across from the bed.