The sedan left the airport expressway, crossed the Banghwa Bridge, and was now just entering Gangbyeonbuk-ro.

Across the Han River, the Yeouido skyline came into view. He had only been away for barely a week, yet the scenery outside the window looked different.

Travel had been a part of Liu's life since childhood, but whenever he returned to his home city after being away, it was always this subtle, slightly off sensation that bothered him more than jet lag.

It felt as though someone had secretly altered a part of the city while he was gone. Changes so minute you would barely notice them, yet enough to make the familiar city feel like somewhere else. Or like returning home to find someone had gone through the place — a lingering unease that wouldn't go away.

Gazing indifferently at the approaching cluster of buildings, Liu Weikun swept his hair back and clenched it in his fist. A strange stubbornness rose in him, a desire to find the exact metaphor for this peculiar feeling he had carried since childhood.

He ran his fingertips over the stubble that had grown rough during the more than twenty hours of flight time — including the layover at JFK — and furrowed his brow.

It was like seeing the face of a former lover he had once loved intensely for years, only to find they had become a complete stranger. Someone who had once seemed inseparable from him, utterly his — yet who now had no influence on either of their lives.

He scoffed at the overly grand comparison and released his hair. He had never experienced a love that lasted that long, after all.

As he reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette, he glanced at the seat beside him. Seeing Ihyeon's face, buried deep in the seat, asleep, he put the cigarette back and returned his gaze to the window.

He could no longer believe that only enduring love could forge such an unbreakable bond.

"The only material I could find regarding the existence you described is this."

What Marcus had handed over was a diary so old the word "old" barely covered it — a relic that appeared to date from at least the nineteenth century.

In the roughly two months since Liu had first spoken to Marcus about Ihyeon over the phone, Marcus had gone to great lengths to dig up even the smallest scrap of information. Partly out of personal and academic curiosity, but also because it was the first time he had ever seen Liu so distraught, so desperately seeking answers — Marcus had known he was in serious trouble and wanted to help however he could.

Marcus was a known eccentric, a fervent devotee of the Ghost among Europe's major antique dealers — a legend that remained unpopular, treated mostly as the delusion of a small niche. Because of this, whenever even a minor Ghost-related item surfaced on the market, Marcus was always the first person contacted.

This time, Marcus had acquired the diary from a dealer in Vienna, Austria, for a relatively reasonable price of 1,000 euros. For Marcus and Liu, it was invaluable, tangible evidence. But for dealers who regarded the Ghost as nothing more than the fantasy of a handful of enthusiasts, it was merely an old, anonymously written novel of little worth.

Marcus suspected the diary's owner had been one of Liu's ancestors. His father's maternal family — a fallen noble house entangled in political strife — had indeed used a Ghost from their lineage as a means to restore their wealth and honor sometime during the mid-to-late nineteenth century. The dates in the diary overlapped with that period.

After the harsh medieval hostility that treated Alphas and Omegas as aberrations or demons had completely faded, they had become highly sought after in European royal courts. Nobles and royalty across Europe were desperate to have their sons or daughters become Omegas to secure advantageous political marriages.

According to family lore, the house's resurgence owed to an exceptional sense of timing — reading international trends a step ahead — and the audacity to extend their social reach beyond England to royal courts across all of Europe. But in reality, their wealth and influence were built through a different form of transaction: producing Omegas through sexual intercourse.

Now that the family had fully recovered its former status, even if a Ghost appeared among the lineage, there was no longer any need to sell themselves as before. And yet the ability to transform a Beta into an Omega could still serve as a secret commodity among the more perverse members of the upper class. It was, at minimum, excellent material to be used as a symbol of power and dominance.

To Ihyeon, Liu could only explain it as protection from those who desired an exceptional Golden Alpha as a successor. But the real reason his parents had chosen divorce was to protect him as a Ghost.

To the world at large, Ghosts were little more than a dubious legend occasionally covered on programs like Truth or Dare. But to Liu's father's maternal family, they were a tangible reality and a source of secret pride. They believed a Ghost could emerge from their descendants at any time. His parents, wanting assurance that their son was free from that possibility, had visited Marcus — with whom they had long maintained private contact — immediately after his Alpha test results came in.

And the results were the exact opposite of what they had hoped for. The odds of someone winning the lottery three times in a row, surviving three near-death experiences in succession, and then dying from something as trivial as tetanus. Their son had beaten those near-zero odds. He was a Ghost.

If the diary was indeed his ancestor's trace, as Marcus suspected, and if the summarized contents Marcus had relayed were true, then Liu could no longer simply condemn his parents' choice as an extreme defense mechanism.

The diary, which never filled a complete volume, recorded events sporadically over about a year. Its owner, traveling across various European countries doing "work" for the family, had been dispatched to Austria during its turbulent period — where he experienced a powerful attraction to a male Beta servant who belonged to the man he was contracted to turn into an Omega.

A noble guest who had come from England for a secret transaction, and a lowly Beta servant — the difference in their status alone made any relationship between them impossible. And on top of that, the person the diary's owner was supposed to be Changing was the servant's master.

Yet, perhaps under the influence of pheromones, the two were consumed by a fiery passion. Even knowing that if it were discovered that the Changing was being attempted more frequently on the servant than on the contract target, both could lose their lives — they could not exercise even a shred of reason.

When Austria lost the Austro-Prussian War and the family that had commissioned the Changing faced collapse, the arrangement became meaningless. The diary's owner was treated as a troublesome burden and essentially driven out of the country. If not for that — if he had not been cast out of Austria amid that chaos — he would have met a disgraceful death there, together with the one he had named his "Diamond Dust," his "Didi."

The phenomenon Ihyeon had described — ice crystals sparkling in sunlight within the atmosphere — had not yet been given the name "Diamond Dust" at that time. And even if it had, that was not why the diary's owner had bestowed that name upon his lover.

"According to the diary, as long as you are by his side, resisting the pheromonal force trying to bind you two is impossible. That would be even more true if, regardless of the pheromones' effect, you are drawn to his human charm itself and love him spiritually."

Recalling Marcus's worried face, Liu glanced over at the passenger seat again. Ihyeon's face, eyes closed, was peaceful. Watching him — watching Ihyeon change into an Omega because of him — Liu felt a simultaneous rush of overwhelming, irreplaceable joy that made every cell in his body tremble, and a painful, heart-wrenching ache, as though his heart were being compressed to squeeze out its lifeblood.

He could endure any pain. As long as Ihyeon didn't push him away. As long as he didn't lose him.

Hmph. He let out a breath like the groan of a mortally wounded beast and reached his arm toward Ihyeon's cheek. He wanted to feel just a little more of that warmth, that touch — the warmth of someone still beside him, who said he loved him.

His hand, almost at Ihyeon's cheek, stopped when he felt the vibration of his phone in his pants pocket. The caller was Shushu.

[You're back?]

The first words out of Shushu's mouth, the moment the call connected, were aggressive — exactly as expected.

[We need to talk in person. I know you're tired, but make some time. I'll come to you.]

"Can't this wait until tomorrow at least? I'm... really exhausted right now."

Liu leaned his elbow against the window and rubbed the bridge of his nose, bowing his head.

[I waited while you were enjoying yourself in Boston so I wouldn't ruin the mood. You must have rested well enough in first class. Just a moment, that's all.]

The voice on the other end sounded resolute, as though it had been building for some time. Recognizing that refusing wouldn't resolve anything, Liu answered stiffly.

"Then let's meet outside. I don't want to... make anyone uncomfortable by bringing you here."

Shushu didn't ask who that "anyone" was. He didn't seem interested.

Just as Liu ended the call and was about to turn his weary gaze back to the window, a careful voice came from the seat beside him.

"Who was that?"

It seemed he had woken Ihyeon despite trying to be quiet. Liu composed his expression and turned his head. Ihyeon was looking at him with a stiff face.

"It was Shushu. Seems he's been waiting for me to get back."

"Could he have... found something out about..."

Watching the concern deepen in his lover's eyes, Liu gave a small shake of his head.

"Probably not. Hong Seon-yu isn't foolish enough to think he could get what he wants from me by telling Shushu now. Besides, all that would do is earn him more resentment from Shushu."

He stretched his arm across and kneaded Ihyeon's shoulder, which seemed to ease a little, then changed the subject.

"I'll hire someone separately to pack the things that need to go to New York, so don't worry about any of that — just focus on your painting. You seemed to do a lot of sketching on this trip."

Ihyeon stroked the arm resting on his shoulder and managed a faint smile. He looked as though he still couldn't quite grasp that in two weeks, he would be leaving this city.

"For work reasons... I think I'll have to tell Manager Han in advance. How do you want to handle Yuni and Juhan?"

"I'd like to tell them myself..."

"Then let's all have dinner together Friday evening, the day after tomorrow. I'll ask Manager Han not to say anything to the others until then."

"Should we invite Inwu hyung too?"

Liu hesitated at the name, licking his lower lip and rolling his eyes. Then he took out the cigarette he had been holding back the entire time Ihyeon was asleep, put it between his lips, and spoke in a light, casual tone.

"Ah... that one would just egg Yuni and Juhan on. Let's meet him separately later. For now, let's take care of the Phantom family first."

Facing Ihyeon, who nodded, Liu smiled with the unlit cigarette still between his lips. He felt the effort of feigning ease in front of him becoming increasingly burdensome, and he clenched the cigarette pack tightly in his hand. Behind them, the western end of the city — similar to before he left, yet somehow distinctly changed — watched the autumn sun, suddenly shorter, begin to set.

· · · · ·

Seated at the table farthest from the entrance, by the window, Liu looked out at the drizzling autumn rain. In the roughly five days he had been gone, Seoul's temperature had dropped considerably. The trees in the hotel garden below were already in full autumn color.

Seasonal changes always felt abrupt. Especially the transition from summer to autumn. Just the day before, the high temperature could still exceed thirty degrees, making September feel like a lie — only to plunge overnight to the point where you'd need a trench coat. And before you could properly enjoy the foliage or the high, clear skies, winter would rush in.

And this time, he would leave this city before even that short autumn deepened. He hadn't expected to leave in this way, at this time — but it didn't matter. As long as he could safely get Ihyeon out of this place, the destination didn't even have to be New York. What came next could be figured out afterward. He was prepared to absorb any material or temporal loss.

He had been resting his arms on the armrests of the cube-shaped minimalist sofa, hands loosely clasped over his crossed knees, gazing out the window — when someone stepped silently across the dark carpet and stopped in front of his table.

"Help Seon-yu have a solo exhibition at Phantom."

"......"

When he looked up, Shushu was standing there with a grim expression. Liu turned his gaze away and gripped his glass.

"Sit down."

After signaling the waiter for another glass, Shushu poured from Liu's whiskey bottle and downed half of it before the ice could even begin to dilute it. Unusual for Shushu, who didn't care for strong liquor — but Liu made no comment.

"Did Hong Seon-yu call you and whine about something while I was in Boston?"

Since the other party didn't seem inclined to draw things out, Liu brought up the name immediately.

It wasn't an unexpected development. Hong Seon-yu, who had "requested" a solo exhibition in Seoul from Liu in the Chicago hotel library, had looked desperate enough to sell his soul. If he was desperate enough to seek Liu out, finding Shushu as his next step wouldn't have been difficult.

Shushu, who had been sitting in quiet thought with his lips pressed shut despite Liu's aggressive remark, stared hard at the glass in his hand before speaking.

"The gallery he's currently with is penalizing him. They've been excluding him from exhibitions consecutively, and on top of that, demanding revisions during the early conceptual stage of his work — disrupting the creative process itself. That's insulting interference that violates an artist's creativity. It's essentially pressure for him to leave on his own."

Hmm. Liu closed his mouth and exhaled deeply. He pressed his eyelids as if applying acupressure, but managing his emotions was proving difficult.

Hong Seon-yu's moves were entirely predictable. But he hadn't expected Shushu to come forward like this about it. He didn't want to let out the emotions beginning to boil in his already heavily sinking mind. Even without doing that, he was already at a dangerously high emotional level.

The high-ceilinged lounge bar had tall rectangular windows reaching what seemed like three stories — creating an old-fashioned, antique ambiance. Liu ran his fingers absently along the long satin curtain hanging from where the window met the ceiling, trying to cool his head.

"Do you know how he ended up receiving that kind of treatment? Is that why you're saying this?"

Shushu didn't answer. But the way his gaze briefly met Liu's before sliding away was enough for Liu to understand: Shushu knew the whole story, and was asking for his help anyway.

Liu let go of the curtain, scoffed, and shook his head.

"So you know, and you're still saying this. What is this — is Phantom a charity? No. A charity wouldn't help someone who sold himself to succeed. Leaving aside the fact that he destroyed his own life, how does the word 'help' even come out of your mouth? What are you, some kind of saint?"

As if regretting the emotion he had let slip despite himself, Liu bit down hard on his lower lip until it went pale and searched for his glass.

"Wasn't it you, Liu Weikun, who said that for a work to be properly recognized, the work alone isn't enough — that management to present it attractively is essential? Not every creator is lucky enough to find a gallerist who will faithfully take care of them."

Liu, who had been staring down at his shoes with one arm resting on the armrest, turned his gaze sideways toward Shushu.

"In my opinion, Hong Seon-yu has already received more than enough generous recognition — and more than enough good fortune from that alone. All thanks to offering his ass to the gallery's old owner."

"......"

"Jeong Se-in, no matter how important a gallery's role is in promoting art, not everyone uses their ass to gain recognition."

Hong Seon-yu had been in a relationship with the owner of his gallery. He was likely one of several young lovers kept by the wealthy old man. He was still passing for his twenties by Western reckoning, but in Korean age he was already thirty. Liu neither wanted nor needed to know why Hong Seon-yu had fallen off the old man's list of favorites.

If his talent had been solid, galleries would have wanted to work with him even after the old man lost interest in his body. But no gallery would recruit a vain artist who overpackaged paintings worth less than five thousand dollars — dressing them up with clever slogans and strategic promotion — and sold them for fifteen thousand. Liu could not see marketing that built a genuine foundation for fair evaluation and marketing designed to inflate value for blind profit as the same thing.

Some people moved around the piano near the entrance, and soon a live jazz performance began. It was a gentle tune, soft enough not to disrupt conversation, and all the other guests seemed to be enjoying the jazz on a rainy autumn night — but the sweet melody reached only these two people.

After staring hard at Liu's face for a long stretch of silence, Shushu's lips moved several times as if about to speak, each time holding back.

"Seon-yu became so pathologically obsessed with success because..."

Listening to Shushu cautiously unfold Hong Seon-yu's past and family circumstances — completely unaware that Liu already knew all of it — Liu was forced to painfully confront the guilt he had carried as part of himself for years.

And yet, surprisingly, as he listened, a thought began to take shape: perhaps Shushu and Hong Seon-yu had shared more stories than he had imagined — and perhaps even a deeper connection. Liu had long known about the father's business failure, but the subsequent, more severely twisted obsession with success that followed it was an epilogue he had never known and had never cared to know.

Shushu was speaking about the concrete, individual history of Hong Seon-yu as a human being — the kind of depth that could only exist if both sides had genuinely opened themselves to each other.

He was talking about the hidden side of a person's soul. The kind that only becomes accessible when one side opens up their own darkness, and the other listens with deep affection, trust, and patient non-judgment — the kind that requires an intimacy close to lovers.

Whatever the initial motive for their contact may have been... perhaps during the time he spent with Shushu, Hong Seon-yu hadn't treated him with nothing but pretense and performance. Perhaps the more than three years they had been together hadn't been nothing more than a cruel and tragically clumsy scripted show.

Liu did not want to think that way. Not now. He did not want to understand Hong Seon-yu in any way.

"That... doesn't seem like sufficient justification for trading his body with a gallery owner for success."

As soon as Shushu's story wound to a close, Liu stated his conclusion immediately — like someone wanting to shut the door on a possibility he had sensed. When he saw disappointment and resentment harden across Shushu's face, he repeated to himself that this choice was for Shushu's sake. And he pressed the point home.

"And it's even less of a reason for what he did to you."

"......"

"When I think about what that bastard did to you... I simply cannot understand why you're coming forward like this. Jeong Se-in, in case you've forgotten — he didn't love you. For all that time, in that filthy way, he... used you."

Even as he watched Shushu's face twist with pain, Liu didn't stop pushing. He told himself he had to force him to face reality if he was ever going to stop being swayed by Hong Seon-yu.

"Why are you doing this? Whether Hong Seon-yu gets kicked out of his gallery or expelled from the art world — what does that have to do with you? Do you still have feelings for that bastard? Don't tell me you still love him?"

"Do you think only the love between you and your genius boy has value?"

There was no mockery in Shushu's voice — if anything, it sounded like words that had passed through reason rather than emotion, delivered without any strain. But the content alone was enough to scratch at Liu.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip and looked at Shushu with eyes that had gone cold.

"Why bring that up now?"

In contrast to Liu's aggressive display of emotion, Shushu looked at him with steady, calm eyes, as if he had anticipated this reaction.

"Not only relationships where two people approach each other with the same depth and direction remain as love."

Liu's gaze hardened further. After a brief pause, Shushu continued.

"If Ihyeon were the one to turn his back on you first — do you really think that alone would let you cleanly sever your feelings for him? Could you label him a traitor and just rename what you feel?"

"......"

He couldn't say anything.

He couldn't say anything, but his mind was boiling. He wanted to shout that this and that were different things entirely — but for a moment, he wasn't sure. Whether they really were that different.

He licked his lower lip, then bit down hard. He turned his gaze toward the window, let out a heavy sigh, picked up his glass, and drained it.

Shushu had hypothesized Ihyeon's betrayal — but in the actual relationship between Liu Weikun and Seo Ihyeon, the traitor was Liu himself.

He wanted to argue that what he had done was nothing like what Hong Seon-yu had done to Shushu. But since that night — the second time he had performed a Changing on Ihyeon, an act that could no longer be called a mistake — the existence of another self within him, one who observed every situation with cold clarity and regarded him as nothing but trash, was undeniable.

How Ihyeon would receive his betrayal. The moment he started thinking about that, he couldn't answer Shushu's question.

Because it was Liu himself who was clinging to hope — hoping that Ihyeon would forgive him, even after every accusation, curse, insult, and blow of resentment had been spent, even after being beaten and broken until there was nothing left. Liu was pinning everything on those words Ihyeon had once said: that he loved him.

"I'm not saying that what Seon-yu did — past or present — was right. I'm not trying to cover for him either. But... strictly speaking, he didn't commit any crime or break any law."

"You call that a defense..."

"But that's what our relationship looks like from his side. What doesn't change is that regardless of what Seon-yu was thinking when he was by my side, I loved him. Just because there was deception woven into his love for me doesn't mean my love for him has to become a lie, does it?"

Ha...

All Liu could do was rub his face hard with both palms and swallow a sigh. It was becoming unbearable to watch the clear line that had once separated Hong Seon-yu from everything that wasn't him — the line between right and wrong — grow blurred. He was already struggling under the weight of his own problems. Spending energy on anything related to Hong Seon-yu felt impossible. His nerves were stretched so thin now that they felt too fragile to bear even the weight of a feather.

"Yes. Back then."

Pressing his fingertips against his eyelids, Liu opened his mouth.

"Let's say you had no choice but to be fooled, because he approached you with the clear intent to deceive. But now you're willing to let him use you or me again? What if this isn't the last time? Don't you think he's more than capable of doing exactly that? Do you really want him swinging your life around again now?"

All that miserable time — the time he lost not only a lover, but was forced to give up dance because of it, the time he had to endure until he could pick up a camera and rise through it — had all of that faded within him now? Liu shook his head and looked at Shushu.

"I can understand your hostility toward Seon-yu as my friend. And it's true, as you said, that he received excessive praise through dishonest means. That's exactly why, now — even if it means a harsh evaluation — I just want to help him get the chance to start over and be assessed properly."

"......"

"Alright. If you won't help, I'll do it myself. Luckily, having met a sincere gallery director, I'm in a position where I can offer that much."

When had Shushu become this unyielding? Where had the sensitive, emotional, indecisive artist with delicate sensibilities gone?

Or perhaps Liu had already sensed it. The photographs Shushu had been producing had been quietly hinting at it: he was no longer the helpless victim of life's tyranny — hiding, running, turning away, crumbling.

Shushu drained his glass, thanked Liu for making time despite his jet lag, and rose from his seat. Liu drove the nail in. Just because Shushu had grown stronger, just because he had broken free — Liu couldn't stand by and watch him willingly step back into the role of victim.

"Don't bother with useless trouble. I could make sure Hong Seon-yu can't sell a single drawing in the Korean art scene."

"I thought you'd changed a bit, thanks to Ihyeon-ssi... Turns out you're just a different person only for him."

"......"

"I know this isn't your preferred approach. I know you see it as foolish. Even if you're worried about me... this foolishness is who I am, and this is the way someone like me loves. Don't I have the right to live my life foolishly?"

Shushu rose as if he had no lingering attachments. Even after he had walked away across the soft carpet and disappeared, Liu didn't try to look at him. He turned his head toward the rain-scattered window. His reflection wavered in the glass, floating in the darkness.

A man worn down and exhausted, driven into a corner — yet willing to throw away everything else just to hold on to the one thing in his hand.

No matter where he looked or what he faced, he could not escape it. The greed of that specter — the Ghost that lived within him, the one that looked exactly like himself.

· · · · ·

Juhan, who had been listening in silence to the conversation flowing across the dinner table for some time, took a long pull from his beer, set the bottle down, and grimaced.

"What are you talking about?"

It was less displeasure than confusion — as if he hadn't fully grasped the meaning. Liu, seated directly across from him, avoided the question by lifting his glass and drinking his wine.

"You're joking, right? How can you wrap everything up here and leave for New York in two weeks?"

Juhan scoffed as if the idea were absurd and looked around at everyone seated at the table. When he realized no one would meet his eyes, his face stiffened.

"What is this... Did everyone know except me?"

"I only found out while I was on the business trip."

"And you all just stayed quiet about it?"

When Juhan snapped at Yuni, she lifted her head and glared back at him. Sensing the tension rising between them, Manager Han placed a hand on Juhan's shoulder and pressed down firmly.

"Juhan, don't get emotional. This isn't the time for that. We set up this gathering to discuss things properly, and Yuni is hearing the details for the first time too."

"......"

He closed his mouth, but his expression remained defiant. His gaze wandered restlessly, as if he had been thrown into the middle of chaos. Liu looked down at Juhan's hand gripping the beer bottle so tightly his knuckles had gone white, then touched the slender neck of his wine glass and spoke in a strained voice.

"Before the Chicago trip, both the business trip team and the joint exhibition team were completely swamped. I held off on bringing this up until after the trip because I was worried it would unsettle everyone further and make it impossible to focus on work. I hope you can understand the timing."

"I can accept that you're telling us now. But leaving for New York in just two weeks... that's too sudden. Two weeks is..."

"Too short to accept the separation and prepare for it?"

"......"

Picking up on Juhan's tendency to take things personally, Liu clenched his glass as if it might shatter and bit his lip. Then, making a conscious effort to soften his voice, he spoke again.

"It's not always the best approach to wait patiently and keep working diligently. If you lack the judgment and drive to boldly seize an opportunity when it comes, Phantom wouldn't be what it is today."

"......"

Juhan stopped arguing, but the confusion and hurt were plain on his face. Looking at him — he resembled a child who had just been told his parents were divorcing — Liu pushed his plate aside, leaned his arms on the table, and leaned forward.

"I'm not leaving to start another company. Phantom is expanding. This isn't something to be upset about. Once things stabilize there, I can create new opportunities for all of you too. Instead of struggling to adapt from the bottom at another gallery, you could work at Phantom's New York branch. Isn't that exciting?"

"......"

Despite Liu's efforts to lighten the mood, Juhan's expression didn't ease. Liu turned his attention to Yuni, who was seated at the head of the table.

"Huh? Baek Yuni. I just said we're being called to New York. Cheer up, will you?"

Her face was just as stiff as Juhan's. But she seemed deeply absorbed in her own thoughts.

"I have something to say."

At the tension in her voice, everyone's attention shifted to Yuni. Staring down at her empty plate, she continued in a calm, measured tone that nonetheless carried a tremor.

"The Director went to the trouble of arranging this gathering and bringing up the New York branch... I feel like it would be dishonest to stay silent now, which is why I'm speaking up."

She raised her head and slowly looked around at everyone.

"I'm thinking of going to Paris."

Liu lifted his glass and let the wine wash over his tongue. He had opened a good bottle for this important occasion, but he couldn't taste it. Staring down at the dark red liquid swirling in the glass, he spoke.

"The Hands?"

His voice was quiet — closer to confirming something already known than expressing surprise. Yuni looked at him with startled eyes for a moment, then, as if realizing it wasn't strange for him to know, changed her expression and nodded.

"I received the offer when I was in Chicago. Unintentionally... the timing overlapped with the discussion about the New York branch, but that's not what solidified my decision."

As if she didn't even understand why she was making excuses, Yuni smiled bitterly and bowed her head.

For Manager Han and Juhan, who knew nothing of this, she briefly explained the situation in a calm but clearly strained voice. In truth, there was no need for a long explanation — the situation was clear.

"No one thinks that accepting that offer means you're betraying Phantom."

"Manager Han!"

At Manager Han's words, Juhan grabbed her shoulder roughly and raised his voice. But he swallowed his next words when he met her composed gaze as she turned toward him.

"This position was offered to you based on your hard work and everything you've built up. We know you've been working steadily because you wanted to work in a city where art is given more room to breathe. And if it's a global organization that doesn't borrow the identity of any single country or city — isn't that the best possible opportunity for you?"

"......"

Gently taking Yuni's arm, Manager Han looked deeply into her eyes, which were trembling with agitation.

"You've been preparing for this all along. So why hesitate now that you've received a good offer? By working as hard as you have here since joining Phantom, you've fulfilled every obligation you owed them."

At Manager Han's words, Yuni nodded — but her eyes still held a mixture of hesitation, guilt, and confusion.

"Director, say something!"

Juhan was far more agitated now than when he had heard that Liu and Ihyeon were leaving for the New York branch. Everyone in the room knew what Juhan and Yuni meant to each other — how the two of them, both cast out by their families, had leaned on one another throughout their shared history.

It wasn't difficult to guess that Baek Yuni had found it difficult to bring this up with Juhan before making her decision. Though he was reacting now with shock and anger, Kwon Juhan would probably come to understand her feelings in time.

"It's Yuni's life. What exactly do you expect me to say?"

Knowing this, Liu deliberately poured cold water on Juhan's agitation — even more coldly than before.

"It's because you're abandoning Phantom that Yuni is acting like this! It's your responsibility, so you need to fix it!"

At Juhan's fierce accusation, Yuni raised her voice this time.

"Kwon Juhan, what are you talking about? Do you really think I made this kind of decision out of some childish rebellion? That's not why I decided this. I don't even think the Director is abandoning Phantom."

"Oh, really? Because to me, it looks like both you and the Director are abandoning it. What am I supposed to think?"

Grinding his teeth and glaring, Juhan roughly pushed his chair back and stood up, snatching the jacket draped over the backrest.

"Is this what all these years were for — just to end up receiving a done-deal announcement? If you were all going to claim sole ownership of your own lives like this... then why didn't you keep things strictly professional from the start? If this is how it was always going to be, why pretend to be friends... like family all this time?"

No one could offer a plausible rebuttal to his words. Juhan's reaction was immature and emotional — but the people in that room, the people who had built this relationship together, couldn't use an objective standard to scold him and tell him to stop talking nonsense.

Faced with the raw, unrefined cry of someone who wanted to believe that life is lived with precious others... they could not pretend to be adults, claiming in measured voices that life is ultimately each person's own burden — as if that were a bitter truth granted by time and experience.

Liu spoke in a low, tightly controlled voice toward Juhan, who had picked up his phone and was turning to leave.

"At least take the travel gift."

Juhan glanced down at the shopping bag of miscellaneous souvenirs that had been handed out before the meal. Instead of picking it up, he looked at Ihyeon, seated next to Liu, and said forcefully, as if issuing a warning.

"I told you, didn't I? He's not the type to try to stop you if you decide to leave. He might be kind and affectionate, but he never really tries to reach the deep parts, and he never lets anyone in either."

"......"

"Think carefully."

Revealing the chill radiating from the raw surface of his wound, Juhan left the restaurant without looking back. Only after the sound of the door being deliberately slammed from the entrance beyond the living room faded did Liu exhale and rise from his seat.

Feeling Ihyeon's gaze following his profile, Liu offered a stiff, awkward smile and briefly squeezed his shoulder. He did it hoping Ihyeon would feel reassured — but the eyes looking up at him still held concern.

Liu gathered his cigarettes and lighter, walked to the window, leaned against the half-open frame, and lit up.

Gazing at the three figures reflected in the glass — a mirror image of the room — he inhaled deeper and exhaled lower. The memory of all of them laughing and chatting over a barbecue in the garden just a few months ago felt like a lie. He shoved his free hand into his pocket and let out a dry, cynical chuckle.

Ihyeon's figure in the dark glass, occasionally glancing his way, seemed like an elusive phantom. An image forms on the glass — but turn around, and it doesn't exist in the actual space.

Thinking his sentimental imagination had grown disproportionately, Liu let out a brittle, mocking sound and pressed his forehead against the glass.

In the silence where no one dared step forward, the sound of the front door opening and closing suddenly cut through the dining room. With a flicker of hope that Juhan had returned, everyone's gaze turned toward the entrance to the dining room.

"Kwon Juhan stormed out looking completely furious. What's going on with him?"

But it was Choi Inwu who appeared, shrugging his shoulders.

"What are you doing here."

Liu crushed the cigarette — barely half-smoked — and immediately showed an aggressive stance. The timing was terrible.

"I was about to ring the bell when Kwon Juhan came rushing out. So I just came in?"

"I didn't call for you. Why are you here?"

"Just heard rumors you were back and hadn't heard from you, so I got curious. What? Problem?"

Inwu looked up at Liu's face — scowling, leaning in close as if about to shove him at any second — and smirked provocatively. Then, spotting the three faces behind Liu's shoulder, he shook his head.

"Hmm... seems like there is a problem. This isn't the Phantom overflowing with love and happiness, is it?"

Manager Han, who had been lost in thought with her elbows on the table and a lightly clenched fist covering her mouth, stood up.

"Let's go, Yuni. I'll give you a ride."

Grabbing her trench coat and briefcase, Manager Han let out a heavy sigh before opening her mouth as if having made a decision.

"If Director Liu says Phantom is his, I can't argue with that. But the fact that the others are shocked and hurt — Director Liu has to accept that. The owner made the decision, and since he insists on it, we'll proceed as instructed. But as someone who helped bring Phantom this far, this isn't a situation I can fully accept either."

"I don't think of it as mine. If Manager Han hadn't come with me from Hong Kong, Phantom wouldn't exist."

Standing near the dining room entrance behind her, Liu spoke while roughly running a hand through his hair as if disheveling it.

"Yes, I don't doubt that. But fundamentally — and on paper — Phantom belongs to Director Liu. If we had taken more time and shown proper respect in preparing for this, no one would have had to get hurt. The reason it has to be pushed through like this, right now... honestly, I still don't fully understand it. You were never someone with that much ambition for success or influence. Or were there many things I didn't know about Director Liu?"

Manager Han paused and looked down at Ihyeon for a moment. Hearing that Liu intended to take Ihyeon — one of Phantom's contracted artists who hadn't even officially debuted yet — to New York, Manager Han must have confirmed the nature of their relationship today.

Guilt-ridden for keeping it secret, Ihyeon lowered his gaze — but Manager Han's eyes held not resentment but concern and worry. Staring at Ihyeon's bowed head across the table, Liu murmured weakly, like someone from whom all malice had been drained.

"You can never know everything about anyone... Like Kwon Juhan said, I'm just someone who can't let anyone get too close."

Ihyeon's face, unusually pale today, slowly turned toward him. Looking at that small face — trusting him, straining with everything it had to love him with a heart full of old wounds — Liu felt as though he were slowly sinking into an irredeemable abyss.

"Then it shouldn't be surprising if there are things I haven't told anyone here either."

He added this resignedly, his eyes and voice dull, then roughly shoved Inwu's shoulder and turned back toward the window to find his cigarettes.

Manager Han's voice followed him.

"Don't even think about dismissing Juhan's reaction as a matter of separating work and personal life. It's the result of Director Liu never treating the others as mere employees."

Before following Manager Han out, Yuni placed a hand on Ihyeon's shoulder, and Ihyeon silently gripped her hand tightly.

No one spoke until they heard the two of them leave the dining room, cross the living room, and disappear out the front door. All that remained under the table was the shopping bag of souvenirs they had left behind.

"Isn't this Kyubei sushi? What a waste."

Inwu collapsed into the seat Manager Han had occupied and looked around the table.

The luxurious omakase sushi, specially prepared by a regular shop that didn't offer takeout, had been set out for dinner — but everyone had barely touched it. The food sat mostly untouched.

"Just leave it."

Liu stopped Ihyeon, who had hesitantly gotten up and picked up a plate, with a low voice. Ihyeon looked between Liu and Inwu, then quietly set the plate back down and smoothed his sleeve.

"Then I'll... go downstairs."

At the suggestion of going downstairs, Liu felt a wave of relief and was about to crush his cigarette in the ashtray when Inwu called out to Ihyeon as he turned to leave the dining area.

"Ihyeon-ssi, how's your body feeling? It didn't get worse during the trip, did it?"

"Yes... thanks to you...."

Ignoring the precarious atmosphere, Inwu attempted casual conversation. Ihyeon gave an awkward expression and answered stiffly.

Liu brought the cigarette he had been about to extinguish to his lips and took a deep, heavy drag. Involuntarily, a strong tension gripped the hand holding the window frame behind him.

"You know psychosomatic conditions are harder to fully cure, right? If you lose your appetite or feel nauseous again, come to our hospital anytime. Even if I'm not there, I can see you personally for a consultation whenever you need it — so leave the medical advice to me. Okay?"

"Yes, thank you...."

Pretending not to notice Ihyeon's awkwardness, Inwu turned and took a sip of the wine someone had left unfinished on the table.

"There was a major incident at our hospital while the two of you were away on business. After going through that, I really felt it — you truly never know when or where something might happen to a person."

Holding the wine glass, Inwu turned back, resting his arm on the chair back, and smiled meaningfully, raising an eyebrow.

"Always be careful, Ihyeon. There's no harm in being cautious."

"......"

Though he couldn't quite grasp the intent behind Inwu's quietly emphasized words, Ihyeon nodded with a puzzled expression. Then he looked toward Liu, standing by the window.

Betrayed yet unaware of it, Liu groaned inwardly at the warm, worried light in those eyes looking at him. He stubbed out his cigarette carelessly and strode quickly toward him.

"You must be tired. Go down and rest for a bit."

He wrapped an arm around Ihyeon's shoulder and guided him out of the dining room. His mind was filled with nothing but the urgent need to separate him from Inwu as quickly as possible.

Glancing back at Inwu, who sat at the table behind them, Ihyeon hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave the two of them alone together.

"We'll have a drink together. It just so happens I'm in the mood to get drunk tonight, so this works out."

It took considerable energy to act unfazed by Inwu's visit, even to play it off as a fortunate coincidence. Stroking the nape of Ihyeon's neck as he nodded understandingly, Liu played with his grown-out hair and whispered low. At the top of the stairs leading down to the studio, he gave him a brief kiss.

Still clearly worried, Ihyeon glanced back at Liu several times as he descended, brushing the handrail. Liu leaned casually against the wall with his shoulder, watching him, and made a playful gesture of wiping away a tear. Only then did Ihyeon manage a faint smile.

The moment Ihyeon disappeared from sight, Liu dropped the smile and crossed the living room at a rapid pace toward the dining room. He immediately lunged at Inwu, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him upright. The wine glass in Inwu's hand tipped over, spilling dark red liquid across the table — but Liu didn't notice.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doing?"

Inwu didn't even try to shake him off — just lifted his chin.

"You find this situation amusing, don't you?"

"......"

"Yeah, you must. Why wouldn't my restless, pathetic state be entertaining to you?"

As if wanting to choke the breath from Inwu's throat in revenge for making him feel so suffocated, Liu tightened his grip and twisted the collar of his shirt further. His eyes gleamed with fear and madness in equal measure.

"But, Choi Inwu. If Seo Ihyeon finds out because of you — whether by accident or on purpose — and everything falls apart... you won't be laughing then, will you? Huh?"

He released the collar as if throwing Inwu away, shoved him aside, and stumbled back to the table, drinking wine straight from the bottle.

"I heard rumors about the New York branch."

"......"

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Liu turned back toward Inwu, who stood behind him looking prepared to do anything.

"Quite an elaborate event for the man who promised to tell Ihyeon everything after returning from Chicago, wouldn't you say?"

Seeing Liu's brows twitch and narrow, Inwu let out a slight smirk.

"I'm not treated as highly as Shushu, but I'm still a Phantom artist. And while we might not be as close as you are with Manager Han, Manager Han and I are friends. Or was this supposed to be a secret?"

In any case, how Choi Inwu had found out didn't matter. Liu brought the bottle to his lips again and tilted his head back to swallow more alcohol.

Inwu pulled a thick wad of napkins from the holder at the center of the table and roughly pressed them over the spilled wine.

"Everyone says it's strange that you're rushing the New York branch opening so much, worried that something might be wrong... but I think I know why. And it's not you I'm worried about. It's someone else."

Liu set the near-empty bottle down loudly on the table, gripping the neck, and scoffed — as if the idea of anyone other than himself worrying about Ihyeon were laughable.

"A patient who attempted suicide was rushed into the hospital."

"......"

Liu glanced back over his shoulder. Inwu had slumped heavily into his chair and was running his hands over his face several times.

"It's a hospital that calls itself a general hospital but in practice sends all but the most critical patients elsewhere. But this patient was too critical for that."

It was no longer the giggly or sarcastically provocative tone he'd used before. Liu turned fully around. Inwu's face was flushed red, and he looked somehow unsteady.

"He had ingested pesticide."

"......"

"It was a relatively mild pesticide — the kind mainly used for home gardening. Because his mother found him immediately and rushed him to the hospital, his life was saved... but it was a nerve-wracking experience. It reminded me I was a doctor, for the first time in a long while."

As if trying to shake off the dizzying memory resurfacing, Inwu forced his lips into a smile, but his eyes were saturated with fear.

"Acephate isn't a lethally toxic compound compared to other pesticide ingredients, but the problem was the quantity he had ingested. We had to pump over 3,000cc of lavage solution into his stomach. His body temperature dropped from the fluid, and he was shaking all over."

Blue veins stood out sharply on Liu's hand gripping the bottle. Surely Inwu hadn't sought him out at this specific moment just to unload the shock of the "major incident" that had occurred at the hospital while he was away on business.

"She was twenty-four years old. About Yuni's or Juhan's age. Seemed young to be getting married, but the wedding was scheduled for a month away."

"......"

"To another Beta male."

Liu's brow furrowed, and blue sparks seemed to fly from his eyes. He dropped the bottle, swept his hair back, then ran his hands roughly through it and snapped at Inwu.

"Fuck, so what!"

His voice wasn't loud — it sounded as if he were pulling the sound inward and swallowing it. But it was clearly a shout.

Staring straight at Inwu, who was looking back up at him, Liu strained his eyes as if wanting to burn through them.

"Too young to get married... but quite late to present as an Alpha."

"......"

Even standing still, his breathing was ragged, his broad shoulders heaving.

Inwu twisted one corner of his mouth into a contemptuous smile.

"You really never know what's going to happen."

"It has nothing to do with us."

Inwu shot to his feet and flung his resentment at Liu's retreating back as he tried to walk away from the situation.

"You know what I felt looking at that patient? Why should I feel suffocated over the trashy shit you've done?!"

Liu walked into the dark kitchen — lights off — and pulled a beer from the refrigerator, draining more than half of it on the spot like someone with a painful thirst. He tossed the can onto the wide island counter and leaned his head down, hands braced on the edge.

"Did you think that taking him somewhere with no connections, and confessing everything there, would lower the odds of him abandoning you?"

Inwu, standing before the counter, was clearly straining not to raise his voice, his face contorted. Liu turned his head and ran his tongue over his lower lip.

"I poured a massive amount of money into this, hurt the Phantom family — all to open a gallery in New York, all for him. And now you're going to throw all of that away and leave? Are you trying to burden Ihyeon-ssi with that kind of responsibility?"

"......"

"Whatever reason you have for wanting to take him to New York, it seems like you have absolutely no intention of keeping the promise you made to me. If that happens, then I — who believed your word and got myself tangled up in this whole mess — end up looking like a bastard too, don't I?"

Liu, who had been silently absorbing the criticism, finished the rest of the beer. Then he crushed the can in his hand and spoke.

"I don't care what you think. Whether you become a bastard or trash to Seo Ihyeon — that matters even less."

A sharp, blue gaze and a raw, unvarnished confession — so vivid it tasted of blood — flew toward Inwu, who let out a hollow laugh.

"Yeah. Getting Seo Ihyeon out of here as soon as possible — that's the only thought in my head right now. In a place where he has no one but me — no, in a place where he has abandoned everything else and has nothing left but me — I'm going to beg and cling to him for forgiveness in the most desperate and pathetic way possible."

"......"

"What other means do I have left? Is there any dignified, conscientious way to clean this up now that it's come to this?"

Liu, who had been pouring out words in a rapid torrent, suddenly shut his mouth. He stared down at the completely crushed, flattened can for a long moment, then threw it into the trash with a low curse.

"Any right to be by his side in a just and upright way — I already threw that away with my own hands the night Seo Ihyeon was waiting for me in front of this house."

He was talking about "that night" — the one Inwu neither knew nor could know. He was no longer conscious of his conversation partner. It sounded like resignation, like surrendering himself — and perhaps also like an excuse directed at Ihyeon, who wasn't there.

Inwu, who had been standing by the dining table watching Liu's large silhouette motionless in the kitchen darkness, slowly walked toward him. He stepped through the open folding door frame separating the dining room and kitchen and entered the dim shadow.

Standing across the counter from Liu, Inwu gripped the edge of the marble top and leaned forward.

"Even if Seo Ihyeon completes the Changing into an Omega, he knows nothing about Alphas and Omegas. Knowing things in theory is useless."

Inwu's tone had flattened, as if he had decided to stop provoking Liu emotionally. Instead it was now gentle, almost coaxing.

"The Ghost's instinct strongly drew me to you, and the Alpha's instinct stimulated the urge to become one with you... No matter how much you say things like that — he can't understand it. He can't accept it. Even if his body has changed into an Omega, he has lived his entire life as a Beta, and his mind is still Beta. Having lived twenty years as an Alpha — you don't know that a Beta can never truly grasp the power of pheromones?"

Liu, who had been silent and showing only his profile, turned his head and shot a look at Inwu.

Perhaps Inwu wasn't wrong.

Even though many Alphas and Omegas had risen into high society, the world still fundamentally revolved around Betas. In more open professional fields like the arts or entertainment, the situation was somewhat different — but unless they were Goldens, capable of regulating their pheromones to the point where Betas perceived them as nearly indistinguishable from Betas, the proportion of Alphas and Omegas entering politics was extremely low. That was true in any society.

Movies, dramas, and commercials exaggerated and highlighted only the romanticized aspects of pheromones. Even in corporations owned by Alphas or Omegas, marketing inevitably targeted the purchasing power of Betas, their primary clientele.

Alphas and Omegas who couldn't control their sexual urges. Underdeveloped beings who used pheromones to enjoy animalistic and promiscuous sex. Dangerous elements, essentially carrying legal narcotics...

Outside of romance films, the image of Alphas and Omegas portrayed to ordinary Betas remained at that level — and having lived in that world until now, Liu knew well that it was nearly impossible to make a Beta understand the actual power and function of pheromones, which tilted toward neither romanticism nor danger.

But for the same reason, Inwu could not understand the Ghost's powerful instinct pulling him toward his "Diamond Dust" — toward Ihyeon. Choi Inwu would understand even less about Marcus's remark: that it would be even harder to resist if he were also drawn to his human charm itself, and loved him spiritually.

A Beta, a regular Alpha or Omega, or even a superior Golden close to perfection — no one could understand it.

Something that slipped through the thick, solid defensive walls he had built as a Golden... like a ghost.

Just as no advanced science can stop the changing of seasons from summer to autumn, or halt the sunrise at the end of night and the fiery sunset at the close of day — an existence he could not ignore or resist.

Bending over the counter with both arms braced, Liu rubbed his face as if crushing it with one hand and spoke in a voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Seo Ihyeon isn't just a Beta."

"Then what is he?"

"......"

Liu said nothing. But the look he gave Inwu made it clear — not that he didn't know the answer, but that he knew it and had no intention of saying it.

"Have him get a thorough examination first — see how far it's progressed. If the Changing is only around twenty percent, we can stop it now. There's a way to stop it and go back as if nothing happened."

Liu let out a hollow, disbelieving scoff, his shoulders trembling faintly. Then he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, and looked at Inwu sideways.

"Go back? Where?"

His eyes looked faded, as if the color had been bleached out of them. His deep-set gaze narrowed, like someone standing under a harsh midday sun. Meeting those dull, ashen eyes — where all the blue vitality had long since evaporated and gray ash seemed to drift — Inwu spoke quietly.

"You said it yourself — that it would be impossible to show restraint next to Ihyeon. I suppose that means going back to before you met him."

Liu pushed himself off the counter, stepped back into deeper shadow — away from the faint light seeping from the dining room — and shook his head slowly.

· · · · ·

╭────

A few years ago, a young artist drew intense attention from the domestic art scene. Still in his mid-twenties — barely entering his late twenties by Korean age reckoning — he made a spectacular debut by signing an exclusive contract with a well-established gallery in New York, the forefront of contemporary art.

His body of work, which openly foregrounded his identity as a gay Beta male, was described as so raw that even an art world long desensitized to explicit sexuality found itself using the word "bold" again for the first time in years.

Following his successful debut in New York, it was only natural that a flood of offers came in from galleries back home. However, he declined every exhibition proposal from domestic institutions at the time.

On the surface, he cited scheduling conflicts due to other planned exhibitions. But his attitude strongly suggested that, having already succeeded in New York, he saw no reason to return to Seoul — an "art desert" — or to Korea, still considered a developing country in the arts.

In fact, this issue's Editor's Preface had been completed with more time to spare than usual. However, a few days ago, upon hearing from a reliable source that this very artist was scouting galleries in Seoul for a solo exhibition, I decided to revise the preface just before it went to print.

I do not know how he managed to wash away his arrogance and find the humility to return to what he once dismissed as an "art desert like Seoul." But as long as the galleries he previously rejected remain active — and remember that history — his return to the domestic scene is likely to face considerable resistance. At the very least, securing a show at one of the major galleries he once turned down and now desires seems impossible.

My years in this industry are not so few that I would be shocked to learn that the charm or completeness of a work doesn't necessarily align with the character of its creator. Still, I revised this preface in the hope that all artists in this country — including him — might deeply consider the fact that art, like all human endeavors, is a collaboration created when people meet people.

Perhaps it is simply my own poorly formed nature — but rather than bitterness, I find myself feeling a certain schadenfreude at the news of an arrogant artist's fall, bowing his head and searching for a place to land.

As for his work, which has nothing to say beyond its fixation on sex — perhaps because he was rejected in New York, it no longer feels quite so "bold," nor does it feel quite so "raw." In any case, I wish him luck.

╰────

· · · · ·

It was one of the periodicals he subscribed to regularly — published just yesterday and delivered to the house that morning. It was also one of the magazines Liu and Ihyeon enjoyed most, because it maintained a flexible perspective rather than asserting its authority through rigid orthodoxy. Having begun reading carefully from the "Editor's Preface" as he always did, Ihyeon set the open magazine on his lap and took a slow, deep breath.

Although Hong Seon-yu's name — or the name SEONEW — was never mentioned anywhere in the text, the further he read, the more certain he became that the piece was aimed directly at him.

If that was true, and if the "reliable source" mentioned in the article was Liu... then Liu was now concerned about Hong Seon-yu moving his base of operations back to Korea — and in doing so, closing the distance between himself and Shushu.

Thinking of Liu's rough face as he came home late night after night — meeting with affiliated artists, important industry contacts, and clients to personally announce Phantom's expansion into New York — Ihyeon glanced at the clock on the wall.

Just as he reached for his phone, he faintly heard a car entering the parking garage. Ihyeon closed the magazine and set it on the table. Feeling impatient, he opened the door before Liu could even enter the password himself.

"......"

Through the pushed-open door, he saw Liu's face — flinching back slightly, just as he had been about to press the keypad.

"It feels nice, like you were waiting just for me to get back?"

Ihyeon let his eyes sweep over Liu's body as he smiled playfully, then stepped back to let him in. After a brief kiss, he carefully approached Liu's back as he stepped into the studio.

"I heard from nuna. During the day... you had an accident."

"Ah..."

Liu's movements slowed as he set his briefcase and jacket down on the armchair in front of the sofa. He muttered, "That bastard, I told him not to say anything," and ran a hand over his eyebrow before quickly adopting a lighter expression and straightening up.

"And you heard that nothing major happened, right? It wasn't really an accident. I was just making a left turn to enter the straight road, and the other car was waiting to make a U-turn — so we were both moving very slowly. I'm fine, the other person is fine. No one was hurt...."

Then he placed a hand on Ihyeon's shoulder and lowered his head to look closely at his face.

"So relax. Okay?"

Ihyeon looked at Liu's face — as he tried to reassure him that the impact had been so minor the airbags hadn't even deployed — and did what Liu so often did with him: examined every feature carefully, one by one, as if searching for any sign of discomfort or endurance Liu might be hiding.

"Still... you should go to the hospital. They say you shouldn't take a traffic accident lightly just because there are no visible injuries...."

After finally extracting a promise that Liu would go for a checkup, Ihyeon stroked the arm resting on his shoulder. Feeling the warmth of the skin beneath the sleeve rolled up to his elbow, he bit and released his lower lip several times — like someone about to raise a difficult subject.

"And... until you leave, I'd like you to travel with the driver."

As expected, Liu frowned with displeasure and averted his gaze. Ihyeon firmly gripped his wrist.

"You've had so much on your mind lately... you're busy and exhausted... it's dangerous to drive yourself."

"......"

"I won't go out when Awi or the driver isn't here. So please don't worry about me... just agree to this..."

"Okay?" Ihyeon added, taking hold of Liu near the waist. Liu looked down at the unusually firm expression on Ihyeon's face — rare for someone who so rarely insisted on anything — for a long moment without speaking. He gently massaged Ihyeon's neck with the hand resting on his shoulder, then slowly pulled him close and held him.

"You're the only one who looks out for me now, Seo Ihyeon."

At the voice — hollow, as if leaking from an emptied interior — Ihyeon moved his hand to Liu's back, stroking it soothingly as he wound himself around him.

"You know that's not true."

"......"

Liu said nothing, continuing to stroke Ihyeon's neck as his gaze slowly drifted. It passed over the canvases of various sizes leaning against the wall with their backs turned, then stopped on a small framed piece on the sofa. It was a small work Suki Kim had gifted to Ihyeon in Hong Kong.

After it was confirmed that Liu was a Ghost, his parents' divorce had proceeded quickly. During the two years that followed — while Liu lived with Ellen and Marcus — Suki Kim had not painted a single thing.

Liu had known, even then, that both his father and mother carried guilt of no small weight regarding the fact that he was a Ghost. They never openly showed distress in front of him, but a parent's emotions inevitably transfer to their child.

It was probably something close to the self-reproach that torments most parents of a sick child. The sense that everything was somehow their fault.

But their guilt, unintentionally, had also poisoned Liu's sense of self as a Ghost.

Am I sick? Is this a disease — am I a carrier threatening others? Is that why my parents feel sorry for me?

His father's maternal family wasn't the only issue. The power to alter the very essence of a human body might be seen as a special ability depending on one's interpretation, but to those who actually came into contact with that person, it was nothing more than a fear to be avoided, or at least an unsettling factor.

Whether he revealed his Ghost status or concealed it, he was destined to live a life set apart — even within Alpha-Omega society.

Perhaps out of guilt for her son, she had felt the need to sacrifice something. During the two years she spent in Boston after securing legal custody of Liu, she devoted herself entirely to him. Everyone around her — including Liu's father, who understood better than anyone what painting meant to her — tried to persuade her otherwise. But it was no use.

Portraits rendered only in line and empty space, using ink infused with color. Within their seemingly simple structure — almost like a child's careless drawing — lay a concentrated power that held the viewer captive. Like masters who have the courage to confront their naked selves and draw that image out from behind the mirror to offer it to the world, she needed no elaborate technique or embellishment to package herself.

Liu remembered it too. Starting with that piece, she had brought painting back into her life. Through those two years of blankness, she had come to know — not with her head but through time and through her body, slowly and completely — that without painting, she could not exist as a mother, as Suki Kim, as herself.

That work — a crucial turning point for her — now belonged to Ihyeon, the artist behind Alienation, and hung there before Liu's eyes. And Ihyeon himself, the creator of Alienation, was in his arms as his lover and as a victim of the Changing. The confluence of it all struck him as strangely profound, and Liu stroked Ihyeon's hair with a quiet, bitter smile.

He felt as though all physical and mental energy had been cleanly exhausted — like returning to the exact point where he had first stood, after traveling a very long distance.

Rubbing his cheek against Ihyeon's hair as it tickled near his lips, he cleared his throat and released him from his embrace.

"About the materials to send to Bali — I think I should be able to get them within two or three days. Marcus has been taking great care of it, so when I get to New York, I'll need to make time to visit Boston again and say hello."

Liu tried to lighten the mood by playfully kneading Ihyeon's shoulders after pushing him back slightly, but Ihyeon didn't return the smile. Avoiding Ihyeon's gaze, which was still cautiously studying his complexion, Liu rubbed his jaw and walked toward the kitchen area. It was barely a kitchen — just a simple setup, enough to wash cups and boil instant noodles. He opened the built-in refrigerator beside the sink, pulled out a beer, and asked Ihyeon if he wanted one — but Ihyeon only shook his head.

He couldn't bring himself to look back. Standing in front of the refrigerator, drinking his beer, he was gripped by the anxiety that Ihyeon's careful, attentive gaze would eventually detect that he was hiding something — that his recent exhaustion wasn't just due to a hectic schedule and friction with the people around him.

Fingers that moved with a ticklish softness settled on his shoulders. In the space where Ihyeon couldn't see, Liu's pupils trembled imperceptibly. Lately, every time Ihyeon silently watched him or softly called his name, he felt the dizzying sensation of falling.

"Director."

"......"

"That isn't urgent — you can prepare it slowly after you get to New York."

He lightly placed his hand over Ihyeon's hand resting on his shoulder. Holding onto his fingertips, he turned to face him. Even that much required courage.

Looking down at Ihyeon's face — worrying about him while being cut off from information he should naturally have received, completely unaware of the situation he was in — Liu ran his tongue over his lower lip.

He had believed he could push things forward much more shamelessly. When he was about to leave for Chicago, he had believed he could ignore all guilt and remorse at least until he set foot in New York with Ihyeon. It had all been to keep him.

But whether the shell surrounding his conscience wasn't as thick as he'd hoped, or perhaps because anxiety had simply taken hold as the moment of revelation drew closer and he couldn't predict Ihyeon's reaction — lately, despite extreme fatigue, he had become so hypersensitive he could barely sleep.

He set the beer down on the narrow countertop and took both of Ihyeon's hands, pulling him close with arms spread wide. They played at pushing and pulling their interlocked hands like a contest of strength. Only then did Ihyeon's face soften a little into a smile, and Liu looked down at it before pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks.

Ihyeon was not the type to utter words of love while wallowing in sweet sentimentality, relying on feelings that hadn't yet fully solidified.

But what he loved was Liu Weikun — the Liu Weikun who had not Changed him. The moment he learned the truth, that Liu Weikun would no longer be the one Ihyeon thought he knew.

Every time Liu became conscious of that fact, it felt as though the rope barely supporting him beneath his feet was thinning to a thread.

His smoking increased. His drinking increased. He had told Ihyeon it was just a minor fender bender to reassure him — and in terms of the accident's scale, that was true — but it was also a clear mistake that would never have happened under normal circumstances.

The problem was that, just as his parents' guilt had transferred and sickened his Ghost self, his own anxiety was now quietly seeping into Ihyeon, coloring him gray.

Every time they kissed, every time they held each other, every time he reached a peak as an Alpha inside him — a peak he had never felt through anyone else — he felt simultaneously terrified that this might be the last time... and an impulse to completely derail, to confess everything to him, bare his throat, and accept whatever judgment he passed.

"Lately, why haven't you been painting?"

"Pardon?"

Liu gestured with his chin toward the inverted canvases stacked behind Ihyeon.

"It doesn't seem like you've been making much progress."

"......"

Ihyeon moved his lips slightly and lowered his gaze.

"Weren't there a lot of things you wanted to paint as soon as you got back?"

"It's just... maybe because my mind has been a bit scattered. But I'm still doing drawings."

Liu returned to the sofa, rummaged through the jacket draped over the chair, and took out a pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out, lit it, and took a deep drag, exhaling a long stream of smoke while staring down at somewhere on the floor. Ihyeon's feet, clad in indoor leather slippers, came into view.

"Do you want to go?"

"Pardon?"

"Paris."

"......"

The question was asked so casually, so matter-of-factly, that Ihyeon paused and studied Liu's face for a moment, wondering if he had misheard. From Liu's expressionless profile as he smoked, he could read no intention or emotion whatsoever.

How did he know? When did he find out? And even if he had found out — why was he asking whether Ihyeon wanted to go? Many questions surfaced in his mind, but they were all secondary and superfluous now that Liu had brought it up. If he already knew that Yuni had received an offer from The Hands, it wouldn't be strange for him to know they had made an offer to Ihyeon as well.

Instead of pursuing irrelevant questions, Ihyeon stepped closer to Liu and shook his head firmly.

"No."

"......"

Eyes that seemed unusually pale today slowly focused on Ihyeon's. Liu had asked if he wanted to go — but his eyes were saying he hoped he wouldn't.

"I already have a contract with a capable gallerist."

Ihyeon let out a small laugh and took the cigarette from Liu's fingers. He looked up to meet Liu's gaze as he held his waist and looked down, and took a deep drag. Liu's long, straight fingers slowly stroked the lips that were clumsily exhaling smoke.

Ihyeon handed the cigarette back to Liu, whose lips looked drier than usual, then hooked a finger into the loose knot of his tie and gently pulled. He worked the remaining buttons of the shirt — already undone at the top — free, and buried his lips at the base of Liu's firm nape.

To get a better look at Ihyeon's face as he slipped his hand inside the shirt, stroking bare skin and kissing various spots along his neck, Liu bent his head deeply. Stroking the small head, he kissed his hair and murmured heavily.

"We both need haircuts."

"......"

"I don't think we'll find time. Why don't we wait until we get to New York... and get them cut together then?"

Ihyeon rubbed his lips against Liu's rough, end-of-day jaw, then pushed his shirt off his shoulders and nodded.

The shirt, sleeves flipped inside out, fell away behind him. Liu, bare-chested now, pulled up the hem of Ihyeon's T-shirt and kissed him. He tossed the removed shirt roughly toward the sofa, then chuckled as he patted down Ihyeon's hair — tousled where the neckline had passed over his head — and ran his fingers through it.

Liu held Ihyeon's face in his gaze as he smiled back, then slowly slid his hand down the length of him, tracing over skin from his hair to his neck, his shoulder, down his arm to his wrist.

His own hands were dry, but intertwined with Ihyeon's warm, faintly damp fingers, he gently led him toward the bedroom. Liu closed the door, shutting out the studio lights. In the dim twilight, only the white sheets on the bed reflected a faint glow. Normally, seeing that would have prompted some suggestive joke about it being a room with obvious purpose — but even that thought didn't cross his mind right now.

Sitting on the edge of the tall bed, relying on the muted light filtering in from the garden-facing window, Liu gently placed a hand against Ihyeon's cheek. It was as if all surrounding sound had been sucked away. The silence was like that of a tomb. Only the gaze of Ihyeon looking straight at him and the warmth of his skin against his palm felt truly alive.

No kissing, no touching. Ihyeon, who had until now been overwhelmed just by receiving what Liu gave him as he led the way, tilted his head and came forward first. Tracing the clean lines of Ihyeon's face with his fingertips as he lowered his eyelids to look at Liu's lips, Liu parted his own in response.

Pressing their lips together as if to fill the gap between them, firmly enough to distort their shape, then pulling back — their dry lips clung together and separated slowly. In the unnervingly quiet room, the sound of friction made by the kiss was unusually sharp, grazing his hearing.

Spreading his hands to cup the space around Ihyeon's ear, tangling his fingers in the strands of hair, Liu tilted his head for a deeper kiss. The wet sound of their mouths gradually permeated the dry stillness.

After exchanging countless broken kisses, the two men removed their pants while sitting and moved onto the bed, leaning sideways against each other, stroking each other's bare bodies.

Without pausing the kissing, they used their hands to pull down each other's underwear. They stroked gently from the root outward with palms wrapped around each other's cocks, drawing out arousal. Their bodies, responding to each other's pheromones faster than before, grew hot in an instant.

"......"

"......"

In the silence and darkness, Liu pressed down firmly on Ihyeon's shoulder. Ihyeon knew what that meant. After holding Liu's gaze for a moment, he changed the direction of his head and lay down. The underwear that had been half-removed slid completely off, and the two buried their mouths between each other's legs without hesitation.

Liu's cock was already hard by then. Just seeing its distinct shape and breathing in the sexual scent of him made Ihyeon's insides grow urgent and his breath falter. Liu pulled him close, cupped his firm ass, and filled his mouth with the smooth, warm head. Lying on his side, he traced the curve of taut abdominal muscle under smooth skin, felt the line of Ihyeon's raised right knee, brushed his fingertips through the coarse hair, and savored every part of his beautiful body with his own.

"Haa, hah... ngh..."

Liu’s fingers, skillfully sucking and pressing against Ihyeon's cock, moved down between his cheeks, scratched along the cleft, and circled slowly around the entrance to his hole. Ihyeon spat him out and clung tighter to Liu's body as if holding on for dear life. The slow rotation of the fingers gently digging in and stretching the entrance made his hips twist. He rubbed his face against the rigid cock — already slick with thick pre-cum — and stuck out his tongue to lick up the heavy length of it.

The hands stroking and caressing each other felt less like acts of lust than like a desperate attempt to feel something invisible through touch. An effort to find in each other's bodies enough stimulation to numb an anxiety whose origin neither of them could name.

To confirm, and to be confirmed. That they were still by each other's side.

They pressed their lips wherever the other's scent intensified, breathing each other in, slowly revealing their own depths. Even while pushing their cocks against each other's faces and sucking on them, they seemed — if anything — unconcerned with the concept of sex itself. As natural as kissing lips to lips. They spread their legs and lowered their hips, rocking to go deeper into each other's mouths.

Liu withdrew his fingers from Ihyeon's wet hole and sat up. His cock was throbbing now, thoroughly slicked with pre-cum. He shifted position for penetration, settling between Ihyeon's legs, and pressed down on his chest to lay him flat.

The timing was earlier than usual, but every muscle in his body was already wound tight from fighting the urge to push inside. Ihyeon's wet entrance was also fully ready to receive him. Feeling Ihyeon's pheromones thick around him — wrapping so densely it was as though he were being drawn in and swallowed whole — Liu closed his eyes and trembled slightly, surrendering himself to that pull completely.

From the first time he had entered this body, the Golden's control had slipped from him — but with each time they came together, as Ihyeon drew closer to being an Omega, the density of the pheromones Ihyeon emitted grew so thick that Liu could no longer tell whether he was turning Ihyeon into an Omega or whether Ihyeon was turning him into an Alpha.

It was exactly as described in the diary: being dragged along helplessly, as if his wrists were tied to the back of a carriage pulled by six powerful horses.

Looking down at the disheveled Ihyeon, he wedged his knees under Ihyeon's thighs. He leaned forward, pushed the hair back from his face, then drew his full lower lip between his own and sucked achingly.

Ihyeon, letting out sweet moans as he cupped and stroked Liu's cheek, stopped Liu's hand as he positioned himself against the entrance to his hole.

"I'll... be on top," he managed.

"......"

Liu frowned, as if doubting whether he had heard correctly. Then, shaking his head as if in disbelief, he gave a low laugh.

"Is this because of the accident earlier today?"

"......"

"I told you, I'm perfectly fine."

Ihyeon pushed away Liu's chest as he tried to press forward.

"It's not entirely because of that... I just... want to do it. Are you against it?"

"There's no way I'd be against that. It's not that, but..."

Ihyeon pushed Liu's hesitating shoulders and sat up. He cupped Liu's face, kissing his lips and cheeks, then whispered in his ear.

"In Hong Kong... the first time we did it. I'll do it like that time."

"......"

If Ihyeon wanted it, there was no reason to refuse. Liu pulled back and wrapped his arms around Ihyeon's waist. Ihyeon straddled Liu's thighs on his knees, wrapped one arm around his neck, and with the other hand clasping Liu's cock at the base, slowly lowered his hips.

As his hand slid down Ihyeon's smooth, dry back, tracing the curve of his ass and grasping its full, fleshy weight, Liu buried his forehead in the chest before him, lips parting at the pressure of being pulled inside and squeezed by Ihyeon's body.

He fought the urge to thrust his hips up and drive into him all at once, to grip him and shake him loose. Instead, he bit at skin across Ihyeon's chest and neck, sinking his teeth in at spot after spot. He took the small, hardened nipple into his mouth and sucked deeply until his cheek hollowed — and felt Ihyeon's insides clench, pulling his cock deeper.

At the suffocating fullness crammed tight inside him and the crushing pressure squeezing him out, the two let out moans, arms wound around each other, rubbing bare skin together. Ihyeon stopped lowering his hips, leaving only a small portion at the base, and Liu began to thrust up against him instead.

Not quickly — but deeply enough to fill Ihyeon completely, letting their most vulnerable and sensitive places press fully together. The movements were accompanied by quiet moans that sounded almost like admiration, and the slow push and pull of it felt like a process of confirmation — finding each other through the point of contact. Careful and thorough, as if neither of them wanted to miss even the smallest sensation.

As Liu's cock dragged out and drove back in with each thrust, lifting Ihyeon's whole body, Ihyeon wrapped his arms around Liu's neck and lowered his head, a trembling breath spilling from his lips. The wet, slick sounds of their bodies — his length dragging against the tight heat inside Ihyeon, growing wetter with each pass — clung to their sweat-slicked skin, obscene and impossible to ignore.

Following Liu's rhythm, Ihyeon slowly rocked his hips back and forth to intensify the stimulation, then leaned in and kissed near Liu's ear.

"Do it for me..."

Ihyeon didn't name what he wanted, but Liu needed no object.

Liu sank his teeth into Ihyeon's collarbone — demanding to be knotted — and pulled his slender waist tighter. As the pleasure of each thrust grew sharper, Ihyeon clutched Liu's head and bit down on his lower lip.

"Back then... in Hong Kong. You lost control and ended up knotting, didn't you? Without Awi even knowing."

"......"

Ihyeon remembered Liu afterward — apologizing again and again, forcing himself to withdraw while still hard, trying to scrape the slick from inside him. And even now, Liu was looking at him with that same expression: clear, hollow eyes, like a helpless and fragile boy.

Ihyeon arched his back and hips, stimulating Liu inside him, and stroked his hair.

"Was that the first time?"

In the darkness, Liu slowly nodded. Ihyeon stroked the broad shoulders that had gone docile — like a wounded animal whimpering from a deep injury — and kissed him. The large man before him was indescribably lovely.

"Do it for me. Like that time...."

If previous knotting had been an experience of intense, burning heat that dissolved reason and set his body on fire, this time the pulse of the knotting struck his inner walls and resonated through his entire body with such clarity that it felt as though he had entered Liu's heart itself.

In a terrifying sense of unity — as if his own blood were circulating through the other man's heart — Ihyeon reached climax several times without even releasing. They held each other and mingled their tongues and shared their scents until the lingering pleasure completely faded. It felt as if there was nothing left to share between them.

· · · · ·

Standing in front of the closet, Ihyeon adjusted his grip on his phone. He was still in the middle of persuading Liu, who wanted to send a driver for him.

"Hyung said he'd come pick me up himself, so you really don't have to worry."

[...Kwon Juhan is coming? He acted like he'd never speak to you again.]

"Whether things are good or bad..." Ihyeon replied quietly, "we're going our separate ways in a week anyway."

His hand slowed as he reached into the drawer for a soft cotton T-shirt to use as pajamas. His voice softened too. Choosing to walk this path with Liu didn't mean that parting from others left no mark.

He's still young and quick-tempered... but he's not someone who stays cruel for long. Ihyeon had known that much.

He let out a quiet laugh, remembering Juhan's gruff voice when he'd called — reluctantly — to ask what time he should come to pick him up.

At Phantom, Juhan still seemed cold toward Liu, but he had started to open up to Yuni. According to Yuni, the two of them had spent three nights that week drinking until dawn — arguing, clashing, laying themselves bare, crying over and over again.

Thanks to that, they had reached something like eighty percent reconciliation. And so, on their only day off this week, the three of them were gathering at Juhan's officetel.

Instead of recruiting new staff to fill the gap, Phantom had already scouted an experienced director from another gallery. Liu wasn't stepping away from managing Seoul Phantom just because he was moving to New York. Phantom was still Liu Weikun's Phantom. But it was essential that he personally meet with affiliated artists, partners, and major clients to inform them of the situation. Because of that, even though today was Sunday, Liu had several meetings scheduled — while the staff got a day off.

Aside from the business trip when he had left home with Liu, this was Ihyeon's first overnight stay since moving into this house.

[Have fun while you're out. Just don't end up hugging each other and crying like you'll never see each other again.]

[Whether in New York, Paris, or Seoul — whenever I can, I'll make sure we meet a few times a year.]

To Liu's added promise, Ihyeon quietly closed the dresser drawer and turned around, offering only a faint smile without saying anything.

He knew Liu meant it sincerely. He knew it wasn't a significant financial burden for him to show such generosity. But there were also parts of life that required politely declining a kind offer and handling things on one's own — parts where you couldn't rely on someone else's kindness. Thinking this, Ihyeon walked toward the sofa.

Liu, Yuni. And Morae and Yeehan too. All of them had made certain decisions, accepting the disappointment of those around them and whatever guilt they themselves might feel. Perhaps only by taking full ownership of the negative consequences of one's own choices could one earn the right to call one's life truly one's own.

Setting the things he had taken from the closet onto the coffee table, Ihyeon rested a hand on his hip. Then, to brace himself for the awkwardness of what he was about to say, he ran one hand over his brow.

"Aren't you the one who can't sleep when I'm not around, Director?"

[......]

It was meant to make Liu smile — even just a little — imagining him barely pushing through fatigue with the occasional cigarette or sip of coffee. But there was no response. Had he done something out of character and only managed to embarrass him? Ihyeon shook his head, rubbing his reddening face, and hastily stuffed pajamas and underwear into his backpack.

"Uh... um... I was joking. It wasn't very funny, was it?"

[No... it's not that. You hit the nail on the head, so I was caught off guard for a moment.]

Ihyeon stopped what he was doing and straightened up. He tilted his head, listening closely to not miss even the slightest sound coming through the phone, while idly fidgeting with the leather handle attached to his backpack.

"Don't go to sleep... Should I just come over, even if it's late?"

[Yes. Please do that.]

"......"

Lately, it had not felt right to leave the house knowing Liu was teetering like someone balanced on a sharp edge — so it hadn't been an empty offer. But he hadn't expected such an immediate answer, as if he had been waiting for it. This time, Ihyeon fell quiet, and after a brief pause, he heard a stifled laugh from the other end of the line.

There was the sound of footsteps, then what seemed like the breath of someone dropping into a low chair, and then Liu spoke again in a noticeably more relaxed voice.

[I was joking. I might feel a little lonely, but I have things to take care of before I leave.]

"I'll be back early tomorrow."

[It's okay if you're a little late. As long as you come back to me. After monopolizing you all this time — one day won't matter.]

Smiling at the playful tone that feigned ease, Ihyeon ended the call. Liu was right. He was not the type to show mental or physical strain, not the type to complain. Given his recent state, leaving him alone was genuinely worrying — but at the same time, Ihyeon didn't want to treat his farewell with Yuni and Juhan carelessly.

After packing everything he needed for the overnight stay into his backpack, he went upstairs to also collect the Boston souvenirs that no one had taken last week. Four shopping bags — including one for Inwu hyung — stood lined up in a corner of the dining room. He was just about to pick them up, thinking he should stop by Inwu's on the way home tomorrow to drop them off, when the video intercom rang.

No contact, and at a time when Liu wasn't home — no one came to mind who might visit unannounced. He turned and checked the screen on the wall panel in the living room. It was Shushu.

"Hello, Shushu. Should I open the garage for you?"

[Ihyeon... No. I'm fine. I parked out front.]

His face and tone on the screen were slightly stiff. As soon as a few possibilities crossed his mind, Ihyeon felt his lungs seize. He ran his tongue over dry lips, unlocked the front gate, and went outside to meet him at the entrance.

Fortunately, Shushu's face as he climbed the steps from the gate toward the garden was not as bad as Ihyeon had feared. Looking up at him, Shushu even managed a faint smile.

"It seems he's not home with you."

"Yes."

"May I come in and wait?"

Ihyeon guided Shushu — who had taken off his sunglasses — into the living room. It felt a little odd to play host to someone who probably knew this house as well as he did. But regardless of his relationship with Liu, Ihyeon was the one living here now, and hospitality was his responsibility.

Instead of coffee or juice, Shushu asked for beer and ice. When Ihyeon returned to the living room carrying them on a tray, Shushu was looking up at Alienation, which was back in its original place on the wall.

"It's fine if I'm alone. I'll make myself completely at home — you don't need to worry about me, Ihyeon-ssi."

He said it lightly as he accepted the tray and settled onto the sofa, but Ihyeon felt it would be rude to simply leave him. Besides, there was nothing else pressing to do. There were still about two hours before Juhan said he would come, and the packing was already done.

"Of course, it would be even better if Ihyeon-ssi stayed with me."

Looking up at the hesitating Ihyeon, Shushu gave a subtle smile — one that understood it was easier for Ihyeon to stay than to leave him alone.

Shushu poured beer into the ice-filled glass, then handed the remaining half-bottle to Ihyeon. Taking it, Ihyeon settled into the single armchair across from him.

They weren't close, so the atmosphere wasn't entirely comfortable — but from enough time spent with him in Chicago, Ihyeon had learned that Shushu was not a difficult person to be around. He wasn't especially tense.

After the clinking sound of tilting the glass to drink, Shushu opened his mouth in his characteristically low, pleasant, soft voice.

"I have a feeling Ihyeon-ssi grew up in a stable home, with plenty of love."

The remark was unexpected — Shushu didn't seem like someone who would casually speculate about another person's background, even in a positive direction. But it didn't sound like idle chatter.

"At first, because you seemed so quiet and introverted, I thought you might be someone with a thick shell... But after watching you for just a little while, I quickly realized you're a very grounded person. Not because you're afraid of being disliked, not from some self-indulgent desire to be seen as good — you have a heart that genuinely considers those around you."

"When I was young, I didn't have a good eye for people myself, so I struggled a bit." He added this with a self-deprecating laugh. At that laugh, Ihyeon couldn't help but think of Hong Seon-yu.

"Weikun said the same thing. He said he felt like he'd finally found someone reliable after a long time, and that he was thinking of bringing you into Phantom."

Saying this, Shushu glanced at Ihyeon and offered a faint smile.

Even back in Chicago, Shushu had referred to Liu as Awi. Feeling a vague discomfort at the shift to "Weikun" now, Ihyeon took a sip of beer to ease his thirst.

"As Ihyeon-ssi knows well, Liu Weikun is not the type to easily let his guard down around strangers. And on top of that, Phantom is like a lover, a friend, a child to Weikun — something like that. So he was always extremely selective about bringing people into Phantom. Right now, due to unavoidable circumstances, he's loosened things quite a bit — hiring new staff, adding directors — but that wasn't how it used to be."

With a faintly bitter expression, Shushu pressed his lips together, raised an eyebrow slightly, and took a few more sips of his beer, which had lightened in color as the ice melted.

When it came to Liu's uncompromising nature toward others, Ihyeon was one of the most vivid experiencers of it.

He was not someone who actively cleared up misunderstandings, nor someone who made any show of his consideration or kindness. That was why Ihyeon hadn't understood it at the time — that the offer Liu had made that night, after they drank wine together at a Spanish-style bar, to bring him formally into Phantom, had been the highest form of recognition Liu Weikun could give.

"When you and I first met, Ihyeon-ssi. I think it was the day of my solo exhibition opening...."

Ihyeon nodded at Shushu, who was squinting as he reached back through the past. Shushu smiled faintly, as if something amusing had come back to him.

"I'm not sure if you remember, but it was shortly after you officially started working. Because of my shyness around new people, Weikun asked you to give us some space for a moment."

"I remember."

"The way he speaks... it's something, isn't it? He doesn't cross the line into outright rudeness, but he has no tact. Or rather — it's not that he doesn't know how, it's that he fundamentally has no intention of using wrapping paper in the first place. If someone seems displeased, he won't apologize. If it seems like he's been misunderstood, he won't explain. Because he thinks people who are quick to throw around 'thank you' and 'sorry' can't be trusted."

Perhaps it's a personality shaped by being surrounded by flatterers from childhood, Shushu said, looking at some point in the air.

His words were entirely true. At the time, Liu’'s remark hadn't been aimed at excluding him — it was simply an extension of work. Now that Ihyeon understood Shushu's sensitivity better, he could see it even more clearly.

But if it had been an ordinary day, or if someone else had said those same words, the remark wouldn't have left such a deep impression — not with Ihyeon's temperament. The reason it had shaken him wasn't simply because Liu spoke directly, without packaging. He had already been conscious of Liu by then — and he understood now that the words and actions of someone you are conscious of inevitably feel magnified.

Ihyeon wiped the condensation from the beer bottle with his thumb and spoke.

"At that time... the Director apologized."

"......"

Shushu frowned as if he couldn't believe it, then soon let out a small chuckle and shook his head slightly. It was a laugh that seemed to regret Liu wasn't there to be teased.

In the garden that day — the camera lens of Liu, which had abruptly inserted itself into the "Old Future" shoot as if to take Ihyeon apart piece by piece.

A single phrase, spoken in a voice just low enough for only Ihyeon to hear, from across the tension that had made it hard to breathe.

That it had been an awkward apology, in Liu's own clumsy way. That even one short sentence wouldn't have been spoken if it hadn't been sincere. There were many things he hadn't known then — and now he understood them. The experience of seeing even the past Liu in a new light, as he came to know him more, felt genuinely fresh.

"Thinking about it now, I suppose people who are meant to find each other always do. That man... who never let anyone close, met someone like Ihyeon-ssi all at once. Loneliness was Liu Weikun's sole deficiency — his only one — but now he has everything, doesn't he? Shouldn't he at least agree that the world is unfair?"

It didn't sound like something crafted to match the mood. It was closer to a murmur to himself, excluding the listening Ihyeon.

"Weikun hasn't had much in his life to regret. It's not just his background — he was born with exceptional gifts, and he's always been strict with himself, so he never let his effort slip. Because of that, he's had very few experiences of failure. As far as I know... perhaps not even once."

Not having experienced failure didn't mean he had lived a completely smooth life. But it was easy to agree that Liu had lived obtaining most of what he desired.

"That's why he has a strong tendency not to understand the clumsy and foolish parts of people. Since he's never truly wanted anyone, never truly loved anyone... it's only natural he doesn't understand the feeling of being swept off your own pace by someone else."

Ihyeon thought he understood what Shushu was getting at. Liu hadn't explained the details of what had happened since returning to Seoul, but Ihyeon could guess that the severed connections between Shushu, Hong Seon-yu, and Liu had found their way back into the present.

Perhaps Shushu had been hoping Liu would come to understand that feeling — being thrown off one's natural rhythm, that unavoidable foolish attachment. And it seemed that hope was now leaning toward disappointment.

Guessing that might be why Shushu had come to find Liu today, Ihyeon quietly tilted his beer bottle — and his gaze stopped on a magazine placed beside Shushu.

It was the only thing Shushu had been holding when he got out of the car. Rolled up when he'd come inside, Ihyeon hadn't recognized it — but now he did. It was the same magazine he had read a few days ago, the one whose "Editor's Preface" had made him think of Hong Seon-yu.

Even though he'd just been drinking beer, his mouth felt parched. He tipped the bottle again, but the beer he'd been sharing with Shushu was already gone.

"So... I hoped that someday, if Weikun truly wanted someone, he would experience the agony of a relationship that didn't go his way — forgetting his pride and fighting until both of them had stripped down to their very cores... that accumulated weight of time, those clingy, stubborn residues of foolish emotion that can't simply be erased as if they never happened. I wanted him to have that at least once."

Because that's not something you can understand by having it explained to you. It's something you have to live through yourself.

After murmuring that, Shushu finished the last of his beer, leaving only ice. Then, with a somewhat embarrassed look, he smiled at Ihyeon.

"Knowing that Weikun is genuinely devoted to you, Ihyeon-ssi... I honestly had high hopes."

"......"

"I wanted Ihyeon-ssi to make him experience all the things he himself would have called foolish and absurd — keeping him waiting anxiously, keeping him waiting even knowing it was reckless, keeping him up at night — and then... being consumed by the desire to be understood exactly as he is, exposing everything, placing the final judgment entirely in the other person's hands, trembling in fear of it... Things like that. Through Ihyeon-ssi."

After saying that, Shushu tilted his glass and let one or two small, melted ice cubes drop into his mouth. Ihyeon, who had been fiddling with the beer bottle while looking at Shushu's dark face — which seemed to feel stifled, as if confined in a narrow space — finally gathered his courage and spoke.

"I don't know about the Director... but I think that's how it was for me."

"......"

"I think I went through the very emotions you described — through the Director."

Shushu looked at Ihyeon in silence for a long time. Then, setting his glass on the table, he gave a faint smile.

"I think I understand why it had to be you, Ihyeon-ssi."

"......"

"It's nothing to boast about, but even though I'm really terrible with people, I felt comfortable around you from the start. That was true in Chicago, and it's true now — I've been chattering away as if my shyness were a lie. I understand why it had to be you for Liu Weikun. Because you're that kind of person... you were able to fill Awi's only deficiency. His loneliness, which had lasted too long."

If Liu's closest acquaintance could say that, it was a relief. But Ihyeon couldn't be sure whether he was truly filling that void in the way Shushu believed. He lacked confidence. This was especially true when he thought about Liu lately — enduring everything while carrying so many burdens.

He still hadn't been able to pinpoint exactly what that sole deficiency was — the very thing Shushu had mentioned — meaning he still hadn't fully reached Liu's core. He could only vaguely guess it might be connected to what he had learned about Liu's circumstances in Boston.

"Since it's such a big thing... and Ihyeon-ssi is still young, I was worried — just in case — that perhaps you might have made this decision emotionally, while completely swept up in how you feel about him right now. But it seems my worry was unfounded."

Shushu smiled with a look of relief, but to Ihyeon, neither the meaning of his words nor the meaning behind that smile was clear.

"You must have fully understood Awi's situation and his long-standing loneliness, and carefully considered the changes that will come in the future... and then decided to become an Omega, right, Ihyeon-ssi?"

"......"

Ihyeon turned the words over in his mind for a long time. But no matter how long he thought, the content seemed beyond his comprehension.

"...Pardon?"

Despite pondering intently, all he could do in the end was ask Shushu again.

"Because, to Awi until now, being a Ghost has always been like a distinct stigma visible only to himself — something that inevitably separates him from others. But if at least the one person most precious to him accepts it..."

"No... No, I — I don't understand what you're saying at all..."

Ihyeon shook his head sharply, as if trying to shake off a confusion that was rushing in swiftly and ominously like a dark cloud, cutting Shushu off. He felt as though he wouldn't be able to absorb even one more word of this.

The expression gradually faded from Shushu's face as he stopped speaking. Like someone who has just heard something unbelievable, Shushu let out a strained laugh as if denying the situation and blinked his eyes rapidly several times.

"Ihyeon-ssi... what is this?"

"......"

"You mean you have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about?"

The area below Shushu's eyes and his cheeks twitched slightly as he asked cautiously.

"In Chicago, on the last day, Awi's eyes clearly..."

His words broke off abruptly, failing to form a complete sentence. Shushu's gaze, which had been wandering through the empty air, urgently sought out Ihyeon.

"Ihyeon-ssi, you were definitely with Awi until that morning."

Shushu was talking about the day before they left Chicago. Liu and Shushu had attended Chloe Kent's lunch gathering, while Yuni and Ihyeon had gone sightseeing in Chicago by themselves... Ihyeon tried hard to recover the memory of that morning. But his mind was tangled so thoroughly it was nearly impossible to retrieve anything useful from it.

"That day. Didn't you see Liu Weikun's eye color?"

"Eye... color?"

"You must have been with him until morning — no, it probably wasn't just that day. You really didn't see his eye color?"

"That day, he seemed very tired..."

Ihyeon was the one who truly knew nothing — and even now, he didn't know what he didn't know. Yet Shushu, standing before him, looked even more strangled. His already pale face had gone further still — bloodless, parched.

He must have decided to become an Omega.

That incomprehensible statement — only those words — beat faintly against Ihyeon's chest like a distant, ominous drumbeat.

As if they were holding a bomb that would detonate the moment they broke eye contact, they stared at each other, forgetting even to blink.

"How could something like that..."

Shushu muttered it as if through ventriloquism — lips barely moving — then swallowed with difficulty, his dry throat working like someone with a needle in their mouth.

"Ihyeon-ssi."

"......"

"You should go to the hospital."