The final day of an exhibition was never as hectic as the opening. Depending on the show, artists and buyers were sometimes invited to a closing party, but since this was a group exhibition with multiple artists, coordinating schedules was difficult. The plan was to wrap things up with the Director and the Teacher hosting a separate reception off-site for the artists and key clients who could make it.

As a temporary part-timer, I didn't need to be there from opening. I arrived just before closing to help Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung pack up the gallery. Unlike last time, the task was simply to take down all the artwork and move it to the underground storage room.

Perhaps because we had already worked together once before, we finished moving everything to storage and repacking it properly before ten o'clock. Most of the pieces were scheduled to be delivered to their new owners starting Monday. Buzzing with excitement, the two of them even broke into some strange impromptu dance in the storage room — apparently the sales rate had been near record-breaking, and a substantial bonus was expected this month.

The work had been fast-paced, but we were completely exhausted once it was done. It was the kind of exhaustion that follows an all-out sprint.

We sat spread out around the office conference table, leaving plenty of space between us. Juhan hyung had his head down on one arm, face resting against the table, while Yuni nuna loaded two capsules into the coffee machine and brewed herself a strong iced coffee, which she downed in short order. I felt the tiredness too, so I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair.

"You really must love stripes, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

It wasn't that I hadn't understood — it was a reflex, catching me off guard at an unexpected moment. Yuni nuna had already worked through more than half her large tumbler of coffee and looked somewhat revived.

"You wore a striped T-shirt on the VIP opening day, and the day before. I honestly didn't think you'd show up in stripes again today. Thanks to you, I lost the bet."

"Thanks to you, Ihyeon-ah, Baek Yuni owes me a meal."

Juhan hyung, still slumped over with only his head turned toward us, flashed a V-sign with his fingers from that position and grinned.

"Ah... I'm sorry, nuna."

Yuni nuna had gotten up and was passing behind me; she patted my back with a laugh.

"If I had won, would you be apologizing to Kwon Juhan instead?"

"Ah..."

Come to think of it, that was true.

"You'll feel even sorrier after you receive this. Oh dear..."

Yuni nuna placed a small shopping bag on the table, retrieved from the desk area. The small black bag, lettered with the words Old Future, was decorated with a black ribbon.

"What is this?"

"A gift. You seemed like a total stripe fanatic. The moment I saw it, I thought of you."

Inside was a black-and-white striped T-shirt. When I shook it out, it was a loose, short-sleeved tee with a slightly wide neckline.

"It's not something I bought separately — it's from the store we run, so don't feel any pressure about it."

"No — do feel pressure. Take it, feel pressured, and come work with us. Yeah?"

Juhan hyung had moved to the seat across from me at some point; he reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and put on his most earnest expression. His plea for me to stay was sincere enough that it made me genuinely happy and grateful — but I could only manage an ambiguous smile, my mind drifting to the image of the man who had stressed "peace and safety" to me with all the intensity of someone from the back alleys, saying, Do we understand each other, Seo Ihyeon-ssi?

"But... you run a store?"

"It's a bit different from what you'd usually call a store, but if you had to categorize it — yes. We haven't been open long. About half a year now?"

Yuni nuna glanced toward Juhan hyung as she finished, as if double-checking her own memory.

"Our taste is just like this, you know? It's hard to find clothes we actually like in Korea. We thought it would be nice to open a website for people with similar tastes. Most of what we carry we pick up here and there on work trips abroad, so there's usually only one or two of anything — the margins aren't huge. But we're not in it for the money. It's just something we both love doing."

Juhan hyung said it so lightly, like he was talking about going for a bike ride near his place when he had time. To me, though, it seemed like a genuinely impressive thing. Regardless of how successful they'd become, I knew that turning an idea into action wasn't easy.

"But then, aren't these clothes you're supposed to be selling?"

"Even so, they're not expensive — wear it without feeling pressured. Kwon Juhan and I are both the type who don't give gifts that burden the other person."

Yuni nuna perched on the edge of the table with her coffee and lightly ruffled my hair. Just the clink of ice against the cup each time she drank felt cooling.

"Thank you. I'll definitely wear it often."

There was no particular reason or stubbornness behind only wearing striped T-shirts. I had no eye for choosing stylish clothes, and I wasn't especially interested in fashion to begin with.

The logic had been simple: stripes wouldn't look too dull, but they wouldn't stand out too much either. Before I knew it, all the tops in my closet had become stripes. In truth, I didn't even own that many clothes to justify saying I exclusively wore striped T-shirts. When I left my grandfather's house, I'd only packed two or three thin long-sleeves I needed immediately — so I'd been meaning to pick up a few short-sleeves anyway, with the weather growing warmer.

But the joy wasn't purely from receiving something I'd needed.

It was the realization that someone had been watching me closely, had figured out my taste, and had thought of me even when I wasn't around. That unexpected kindness sent a faint, quiet tremor through the edges of my heart.

The warmth of people who had thought of me over something as small as a striped T-shirt felt like a quiet reproach for my self-imposed seclusion — my tendency to shut out everything beyond the narrow circle made up only of Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung.

Looking down at the T-shirt in my hands, I found myself caught up in a rather grand thought: perhaps salvation wasn't found only in noble and sacrificial affection.

The two of them pushed me behind the partition in the office, saying they wanted to see it on me. I pulled off the old long-sleeved shirt I was wearing, draped it over the partition, and slipped the new one over my head. The design was more stylish than what I usually wore — it felt a little awkward — but their reactions were enthusiastic.

"Does one T-shirt really change the whole vibe like that?"

I let out a quiet laugh at Juhan hyung's slightly exaggerated reaction; he'd been playing a game on his phone.

"Now — bow to the impeccable eye of this Baek Yuni."

Yuni nuna said this smugly, arms crossed, chin tilted up. Juhan hyung, still seated, made a face.

"Baek Yuni-nim, Ihyeon was pretty even when he was just wearing plain black pants and a plain T-shirt."

"He was pretty before, but now he's even prettier. Admit it, you little punk."

"Ah, when did I ever not admit it? I admit it, I totally admit it. Baek Yuni is the best."

Their praise, throwing the word "pretty" around so freely, felt just as awkward as the T-shirt I was wearing. I was absentmindedly touching the back of my neck when I remembered the old shirt still draped over the partition; I went and got it, tucked it into my bag along with the shopping bag.

"How tall are you?"

I searched through my memories from the military in response to Yuni nuna's question.

"Last time I was measured, I was about 181 centimeters."

"I thought you were taller... maybe because your face is small and your limbs are long."

Yuni nuna scanned me with her eyes from across the table, as if gauging my height.

"It's perfect, honestly. You're not going to model, so being any taller would just make it harder to find clothes that fit. 181 that looks like 183 or 184. Just right. I'm jealous."

Juhan hyung, who looked about five to seven centimeters taller than me, was already tapping rapidly at his screen again, seemingly mid-game. In my eyes, he was the one who looked like a model — I'd felt that way since the first time I saw him in the basement storage.

"Good proportions and a good face — just swap out that T-shirt over black jeans and you'd look exactly like a model. Ihyeon, you must have had people ask if you were an Alpha."

Yuni nuna said it almost as a certainty, but no matter how much I searched my memory, I couldn't recall ever being mistaken for one. At least, no one had ever said it to my face.

"No, not at all..."

"Ay, Ihyeon is less like an Alpha and more like..."

Juhan hyung had lifted his eyes from the screen and was looking at me with a slightly subtle expression — a gaze that pressed down gently, like a hand resting with weight — when a commotion erupted outside the office door.

The main entrance was locked from the inside, so only someone with a pass could get through. Everyone exchanged glances, expressions asking the same question: Who could that be?

"Hello, babies!"

The person who burst through the office door like a musical actor making a grand entrance — after cutting through the hall and corridor — was the man from the passenger seat. Upon seeing his face, Yuni and Juhan let out unmistakable sighs.

It felt less like a reaction of genuine hostility and more like the playful greeting that comes naturally between people who are close.

"My Juhan and Yuni, greeting me so warmly as always. Is that any way to treat someone who came to take you all out for a good meal?"

"Director, why did you bring Inwu ssaem?"

"I didn't bring him. This guy insisted on coming, so I had no choice but to be dragged along."

The Director stepped into the office, pushing the man aside with a look of exhaustion.

"Dragged along? Who dragged who? I left because I'd rather come buy something nice for the babies suffering here at Phantom than sit there forcing smiles at people I have nothing in common with — and you're the one who followed me out."

He complained loudly at the Director's back, then — without giving him a chance to respond — came straight to me, bending slightly at the waist until his face was close. A very faint trace of wine. Nothing strong.

"Ihyeon, have you been well?"

"Yes. Hello."

The Director had moved past the table and was brewing himself a coffee at the machine by the window, one hand resting on his hip. Seen from behind, he looked a little worn out.

"You said you came to buy us something delicious, but you really came to see Ihyeon."

Juhan hyung grumbled, and the man threw an arm over my shoulder, turning to face where Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung were sitting.

"So what if I came to see him? I'm still the one treating today."

"Then let's get going. Give us ten minutes."

That was Yuni nuna's crisp reply after checking her wristwatch.

· · · · ·

The bar, tucked into a narrow alley deeper inside a bustling entertainment district, felt like a perfect hideout. It specialized in Spanish tapas and wine, with no more than four or five tables inside.

The atmosphere was neither solemn nor stiff. The way the other patrons were dressed, the pitch of their conversations, the music drifting through the room — taken together, the effect was surprisingly casual.

For someone who'd spent the last five or six years in a fishing village without even a franchise pizza place, a Spanish restaurant felt almost awkwardly sophisticated.

The man from the passenger seat was clearly the most familiar with the place. The moment the menu arrived, he ordered for the table without much deliberation — two or three dishes to start, and wine.

All four of the others seemed to know the restaurant's owner personally. That alone said something — at minimum, they were close enough to share a regular spot.

"Mind if I call you Ihyeon?"

I had been nervously sipping water; I quickly set the glass down and nodded at the man across from me.

"Feel free to call me Inwu hyung."

I knew his name was Choi Inwu — I'd checked the artist's name on the painting at the VIP opening.

"How is he supposed to be your hyung? Maybe uncle, but hyung? Let's just go with Inwu ssaem."

Juhan hyung said it with a slight needle in his voice, and the man rested his crossed arms on the table with a frown.

"I'm not Ihyeon's doctor — why should I be called ssaem? I hate it."

"Then why do we call you ssaem? You're not our doctor either."

Tsk. The man clicked his tongue at Juhan hyung's retort. He seemed to concede reluctantly, but a new complaint wasn't far behind.

"I hear ssaem enough at the hospital. Do you know I feel twenty years older every time I hear it? And you guys call all the other affiliated artists 'Artist-nim,' but with me it's only ever ssaem?"

"Ah, but we see you so often because of the Director. Calling you Artist-nim would feel too formal."

Juhan hyung, leaning fully sideways against the window, was grinning with easy composure and turning his long, thin fingers over in his hands.

"That's right. It's a term of affection."

Yuni nuna backed him up. The man, however, wasn't ready to let it go.

"What about Shushu? You call Shushu Artist-nim."

Shushu. I'd heard that name before.

I still remembered that word — how sweet it sounded coming from the Director's low, husky voice, as if it didn't belong there at all.

Feeling a slight thirst, I drank some more water.

Our group had taken the window seats closest to the entrance, but with five of us, one person had to sit with their chair facing the aisle. Juhan hyung and Yuni nuna took the innermost seats, and I sat next to Juhan hyung in the order we'd entered. The seat facing the aisle — perhaps the most awkward one — ended up, somehow, as the Director of Phantom's.

Because he was right next to me at the corner of the table, I pulled my feet in tight beneath my chair, worried that our legs might brush or I might step on his foot under the long tablecloth that covered everything below our thighs.

He seemed to have no real interest in being there. He had one arm draped over the back of his chair and one hand turning an empty wine glass in slow circles, letting the conversations around the table drift past him. Like someone who wasn't sure why they'd come.

Then why had he? According to what the man across from me had said, it didn't even sound like he'd been invited.

"Shushu is... someone the Director is personally acquainted with. We don't really have much private interaction with him."

Yuni nuna lowered her voice, the playful energy she'd maintained dropping slightly as she spoke with a note of caution. Whether it was my imagination or not, she seemed to be watching the Director's expression.

The conversation paused as the owner — a man with an open, approachable face — brought out the wine. Five empty glasses were gradually filled with dark red. It was my first time having wine.

Once the glasses were full, someone clinked theirs lightly against the next — no toast, no announcement. The wine was more fragrant than beer, but the lingering aftertaste was stronger than I'd expected. The way the flavors seemed to layer in my mouth with each sip was something new.

I noticed I'd already drunk half my glass and quietly set it down. The three of them — everyone except the Director — were still debating what to call the man across from me. If I didn't step in, this was going to go on all night.

"I'm not a Phantom employee... so if it's alright, I'll just call you hyung."

I said it without much thought. It didn't seem like I'd have many occasions to address him anyway.

Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung looked as though they'd lost a game. The man across from me had the expression of a child who had finally gotten the toy he wanted after a long and fierce battle.

"Then go ahead and say it. Inwu hyung."

The table wasn't very wide; his face, leaning forward from directly across, was quite close. It was a face that wore its eagerness too openly to let down.

"Inwu hyung... you're a doctor by trade, right?"

He broke into a wide smile — the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his pupils seem to shine — teeth perfectly aligned. It was an objectively attractive smile.

"Don't you think you're being a bit like an ahjussi right now? Why are you so fixated on being called hyung?"

The Director shook his head as he said it, then tipped his wine back like he was pouring it straight down.

He was draining his glass faster than anyone at the table — for someone who seemed so indifferent to being there at all.

The thought crossed my mind that maybe my presence was keeping him from relaxing fully, but I dismissed it just as quickly. When it came to him, I found I could afford to be fairly bold.

"It's cute. When someone keeps going 'hyung, hyung' like that and begs — it makes me want to give them anything they ask for."

Inwu hyung said this with a distant, wistful look on his face. He was a gastroenterologist by profession — and, as it turned out, an artist affiliated with Phantom.

Though a specialist, the Director, Yuni nuna, and Juhan hyung had filled in the rest: a born slacker of a doctor who spent most of his time out enjoying himself, belonging to a small general hospital where his parents served as director and deputy director respectively.

Phantom had aggressively marketed him as a "doctor-painter," and it had worked — his pieces sold out almost as soon as they were hung. Both of his parents were passionate collectors, so he'd grown up surrounded by art. He'd been painting as a hobby for years before the Director suggested he enter the art market. He might not have been a full-time artist, but the fact that he sold his work for money already made him a professional.

Remembering that I'd once recommended one of his own paintings back to him at the VIP opening, I felt heat rise to my face. I downed my wine to suppress it, and when my glass was empty for the second or third time, Inwu hyung reached into the steel ice bucket beside the table and refilled it for me.

"I apologize about that day. I didn't even know you were the artist... I know almost nothing about painting, so I just said what I felt. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"Not at all. Why would I be offended? You didn't say anything unkind. I did feel a little exposed — like my naked body was on display — but your interpretation resonated far more strongly than the pretentious words of critics. Honestly, I felt like it was fate."

If he hadn't put on such an exaggerated, playful expression when he said that last line, I would have been completely at a loss for how to respond.

"Ah, that cursed fate... You really do have a lot of fate, hyung."

Juhan hyung sighed and added that last line, which thankfully lightened the mood.

"This might sound presumptuous, but... I think I understand why your work is popular, hyung. Most people struggle with that — wanting to be honest but not quite managing it..."

I hadn't been thinking of anyone in particular, but strangely, my gaze drifted toward the Director at the end of my sentence. Embarrassed by where it had landed, I brought the glass I'd been fidgeting with to my lips.

I realized for the first time that alcohol could serve as a rather useful shield for concealing one's expression and gaze.

"Honestly, after hearing what you said that day, Kun and I both assumed you must have studied art in some capacity. We only found out otherwise after Manager Han told us."

Kun.

Most people seemed to address him by his title, but I had heard him called Kun a handful of times — an exotic sound, unlike anything else.

Even after three separate occasions helping out at Phantom, I still didn't know his actual name. I could have found out easily enough if I'd tried, but I didn't want to ask — not the Teacher, not Yuni nuna, not Juhan hyung. And I didn't feel like typing "Gallery Phantom" into my phone's search bar. Not as if anyone would see it, anyway.

"Regardless, thanks to you that day, I was genuinely happy. Paintings can be appreciated in any number of ways depending on the person and the moment, but still — it's something special when someone sees the 'me' I didn't even realize I'd poured into the work, isn't it?"

His words, delivered with a smile, sounded sincere, so I smiled back. I thought I could vaguely imagine the feeling he was describing. Perhaps overwhelming, exciting — maybe even the sense of fate he'd mentioned. Like discovering the one person who had decoded your own secret language.

"Ah, speaking of Ihyeon — aren't you curious what he'd say about the painting in your living room?"

Inwu hyung set down his wine and nudged the Director's arm. At the question, the Director's gaze turned slowly toward me.

From the very beginning, I hadn't been able to shake the feeling of being taken apart and assessed under his gaze. It carried a calm, undisturbed indifference — and precisely because of that, it could dissect a person most ruthlessly. Beneath that gaze, I felt an awkward discomfort, and a tension that stirred something like thirst.

But at the same time, it was also a stimulus that brought out a rebellious streak I hadn't known I possessed — the realization that even someone like me could squirm when pushed.

His eyes — pale, a faint grayish-blue — gave the impression of some fragile emotion on the verge of breaking, as if they might shatter. It softened, slightly, the cold edge of everything he'd said until now.

But that was only a visual impression created by the color of his irises.

Before his parting lips could form any answer, his phone on the table vibrated lightly.

The moment he glanced down to check the caller, a smile touched his lips. Faint, but genuine.

He excused himself with a small gesture, picked up his phone, and walked toward the entrance as the call connected.

"Hey, it's me... Yeah, went well. Now? No, I left with Choi Inwu. We're at an after-party with the Phantom people."

His back was to us and only his profile was barely visible, but I could tell he was smiling. Not the mechanical smile he used with clients at Phantom — something sweeter, more private.

A private smile. Like when he said the word Shushu.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. If you came, you'd just get pulled in every direction and end up exhausted. You don't have to worry about any of that."

The dishes arrived all at once, the owner offering a brief explanation for each, but my hearing was drawn more to the conversation happening several steps away than to anything being said at the table.

"It doesn't matter how few pieces you make, so don't push yourself. You're Shushu. People are already lining up to reserve work they haven't even seen yet."

No one holds themselves the same way across every relationship — I knew that well enough. But as far as I knew, he was the one who presented the most varied faces to the world.

The Teacher. Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung. Inwu hyung. Phantom's clients. Me. There were differences, large and small, in how he dealt with every one of us.

And now — leaning his shoulder against the open doorframe, face alight with a smile as he focused entirely on the call — he completely overturned the impression I'd had of him: that he would remain unmoved, with no emotional highs or lows, even with a lover.

Shushu. The sweetness that name evoked might not have been simply the sound of the word.

"Ihyeon, try some of this. You could stand to gain a little weight."

At Inwu hyung's voice, I drew back my gaze — it had been stealing glances at the Director's back from behind my wine glass.

Inwu hyung served a dish onto my plate — Iberico pork jowl, slow-cooked at low temperature for a long time.

"Don't let appearances fool you, ssaem. He's got substance. He does part-time work at a moving company," Yuni nuna said, chewing on a slice of melon topped with thinly sliced jamón.

Inwu hyung looked at me with wide eyes, as if genuinely surprised, then slowly scanned my upper body above the table.

In reality, anyone could do moving work. Even the actual movers tended to be average in build — nimble rather than bulky, more often than not.

"Did you know? That Ihyeon here works part-time at a moving company."

Inwu hyung looked up at the Director as he returned to his seat after finishing his call.

The Director gave a small shrug, said nothing, and sat back down to his wine. Inwu hyung, seemingly unsurprised by the lack of reaction, turned his attention back to me.

"No matter how I look at you, you seem like the artistic type... but a moving company. It just keeps getting more interesting, Ihyeon."

He used the phrase jeomipgagyeong — a word for a situation going from bad to worse — as a term of genuine fondness, shaking his head with a smile.

"Speaking of which, Ihyeon, your vibe is a little different today... Last time, you looked like a well-behaved student who'd come to the gallery holding his parents' hands. Today, there's a slight touch of decadent charm to you."

It was a compliment unlike any I'd heard before. I lowered my head and looked down at myself, then tugged at the hem of my T-shirt and let it fall.

"Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung gave me this T-shirt."

"Ah, Old Future?"

The words came directly out of his mouth. It was the phrase printed on the shopping bag Yuni nuna had handed me — most likely the title of the website she and Juhan hyung ran.

"Come to think of it, Ihyeon, Old Future would really suit you. Better than on these two — something a little less obvious. Leaves a bit to the imagination."

"What is that supposed to mean, ssaem?"

Yuni nuna placed a hand on Inwu hyung's shoulder and leveled her fork at him.

"You two — your whole thing is just aggressively punk. No element of surprise."

"Wow... ssaem, that's really harsh. Even if you like Ihyeon this much, still. And you weren't this forward when I first came around — I'm quite hurt."

Juhan hyung joined in cornering Inwu hyung.

Judging from what the two of them were saying, this wasn't the first time Inwu hyung had expressed this kind of interest in someone of the same gender — whether that interest was sincere or half in jest.

Still, he hadn't done anything that would have required me to actually turn him down. On the way here, he'd asked for my number in the car, but that alone was too vague to classify him as someone to be wary of.

His characteristic playfulness — the way he stripped the weight from everything he said — also made it easy to take his expressions of interest lightly.

Even so, Inwu hyung raised one hand toward Juhan hyung, palm out, with an exaggeratedly grave expression.

"My aesthetic standards are simply high. I apologize."

"Seeing you act like this even after how Ihyeon handled you that day — you really are something. I'd have avoided him."

Juhan hyung wasn't the type to just let things go. He drank his wine with an easy expression and brought up the VIP opening incident again — the moment I had said something about "honesty" in relation to Inwu hyung's painting.

"Avoid him? That's probably exactly why you got more interested in Ihyeon, ssaem."

At Yuni nuna's remark, Inwu hyung smiled ambiguously. His gaze drifted toward me over the rim of his wine glass. There was something in his eyes: a smile, and behind it, something that could have been a hidden signal — or just the easy warmth of a drinking table. I genuinely couldn't tell.

As long as he didn't ask me something that needed a real answer, I had no intention of thinking too hard about what that look meant.

Setting his wine glass down, Inwu hyung spoke as if something had just occurred to him.

"You're an Alpha, aren't you, Ihyeon?"

His tone implied it was a certainty he was merely stating aloud, not really expecting confirmation. He sounded so confident that it took a moment for my answer to surface.

"...No, I'm not."

At that, the smile dropped from Inwu hyung's face. The Director laughed — a short, involuntary sound, like the release of held breath — and drank his wine with the most genuinely pleased expression I had seen from him yet.

Then, with an air of vindication, he said:

"I told you he wasn't."

Had the two of them been talking about me? First whether I'd studied art — now whether I was an Alpha?

"That's strange... Even if pheromones are being suppressed, there's no way I'd fail to recognize an Omega... So, Ihyeon — are you perhaps something like a Diamond Omega, one level above a Golden Omega? The kind no one can detect if you decide to hide it?"

"A Diamond Omega — where does something like that even exist?" Yuni nuna scoffed. Inwu hyung bristled. "Can you not tell when I'm joking?"

It seemed necessary to correct him. His certainty appeared to rest entirely on the premise that if I wasn't an Alpha, I was obviously an Omega.

"Um... I'm not an Omega... either."

"......"

This time, the expression that crossed everyone's faces was even more rigid than when I'd denied being an Alpha. Even the Director — who had been rocking back in his chair with the relaxed smile of someone who had already won — went still and looked at me.

Inwu hyung narrowed his eyes and asked.

"Then... a Beta?"

"Yes..."

Inwu hyung and the Director exchanged a glance. The next moment, the Director turned back to me — his eyes full of suspicion and something like bewilderment — the expression of someone confronted with something that simply shouldn't be possible.

"Are you certain?"

If anything, I wanted to ask him the same question. On what grounds had he been so absolutely convinced that I was an Omega?

The test I'd taken in middle school had returned a Beta result. Since then, I had never experienced anything resembling a heat, and I had never gone into rut triggered by an Omega's pheromones.

I was a Beta beyond any doubt — to the extent that I had never once felt the need for a retest. One of the most common beings in this world. Like water, like air, like dust. Just one of them.

Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung, both Betas, had simply accepted me as one without question. As far as I knew, the Director and Inwu hyung were both Alphas. Inwu hyung had thought I was an Alpha. The Director — a Golden Alpha — had been convinced I was an Omega.

And now, his profile as he drank his wine with the face of someone who had suffered a serious humiliation still seemed to refuse the reality that I was not an Omega.

"Never mind me — the fact that you were wrong. What happened, Mr. Golden Alpha? Huh? Lost your touch? Don't pheromones need to actually circulate to work? Go on, release some, breathe in some Omega pheromones — do something. Or are you trying to become a Beta altogether?"

Inwu hyung was poking him in the side with his elbow, teasing. The Director twisted one side of his mouth and let his displeasure show openly.

"I've never had trouble finding partners without relying on pheromones."

"Hmm... whether you used them or not, only the people who've actually been with you would know that."

"Don't lump me in with those other Alpha bastards who go around leaking pheromones everywhere."

He narrowed his eyes, genuinely displeased.

I recalled what Juhan hyung had once explained — that Golden Alphas could control the release of their own pheromones.

"That's a kind of compulsion, you know? This whole situation happened precisely because you control your pheromones too much. This isn't just a monkey falling from a tree. Who is Liu Weikun? Aren't you supposed to be a more accurate Omega identifier than genetic analysis? Ah... the dignity of a Golden Alpha is in tatters."

The Director tried to shut Inwu hyung up, telling him not to make such a fuss over nothing — but his face was the most openly unsettled I had ever seen it.

Why was it such a shock to him? That I was a Beta. That I wasn't an Omega. That he had mistaken a Beta for one.

Was it simply because, as Inwu hyung had put it, his otherwise flawless track record of identifying Omegas now had a blemish?

I didn't know the reason. But if I had wanted to unsettle him, it turned out that simply confirming I was a Beta would have been far more effective than any absurd declaration about being gay. Perhaps his reluctance about me moving into the Teacher's place had also stemmed from his mistaking me for an Omega.

Either way — the reason he was now furrowing his brow and emptying his wine at a rapid pace was me.

Perhaps it was all the wine I'd drunk, but my body felt like it was swaying, as if riding on waves. The warmth rising through me wouldn't settle, and I needed more wine to hide it.

"Ah, I'm sorry."

The careful guard I'd been maintaining faltered, and I bumped someone's leg under the table. I immediately pulled my foot back under my chair and apologized to the Director.

His face, still carrying a fierce expression, turned toward me — and then Inwu hyung reached across from the other side and tapped the edge of the table.

"Ihyeon — that was my foot, actually."

Inwu hyung looked at me with a lingering gaze, brought his wine glass to his lips. Then, very slowly, let his eyes move between me and the Director.

"I'm sorry."

I offered another apology to Inwu hyung — unsure whether it was for stepping on his foot or for directing the first apology at the wrong person.

From that reaction alone, Inwu hyung had almost certainly figured out who I'd been paying attention to. My throat went dry. There was nothing to do but drink more wine.

The night stretched past two in the morning. Between the five of us, we worked through six or seven bottles of wine; I alone had drunk just over one. Everyone had a flush on them, and Inwu hyung, Yuni nuna, and Juhan hyung were louder and more animated than usual.

"Director-niiiim, I love you."

"I don't. Why are you so clingy? Get off."

Even as he pushed away Juhan hyung — who was hugging him tightly and puckering his lips — the Director was smiling. His face hadn't flushed and he hadn't grown talkative, but it was clear that he, too, had softened.

The wine had me floating too, tasting it for the first time like this. My body felt light and untethered, the edges of my focus softening. I was staring down at my feet, blinking slowly, when a hand closed around my wrist and shook it gently.

"Ihyeon, where do you live? I'll take you home."

It was Inwu hyung.

"No no no, ssaem, you take us home. The Director will take Ihyeon."

"Hmm... why can't it be the other way around?"

Inwu hyung stroked his chin and narrowed his eyes at Yuni nuna, who was shaking her index finger side to side. His expression was so playful that a small laugh escaped me.

"If you search your conscience, you'll know the answer right away. Come on, let's go — the designated driver is here!"

Juhan hyung, buzzing with energy as if he'd downed an energy drink, grabbed Inwu hyung's wrist and started running toward the car parked by the roadside.

"Director, please take good care of Ihyeon!"

They waved enthusiastically and disappeared into Inwu hyung's car. The street went instantly quiet. Only then did I notice that most of the surrounding shops had already closed, and there wasn't a single person walking past.

The Director, who had also called a designated driver, checked his wristwatch and spoke.

"I just need to drop you off at Manager Han's place, right?"

"Not really... I'm not that drunk. I can take a taxi."

He looked down at me without a word — hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly, steady. The weight of it was too much to hold, so I looked away.

My gaze moved down: his wrists, firm below the rolled cuffs of his shirt. The fine color of his trousers, naturally creased. Good leather loafers.

I wasn't drunk to the point of being unable to stand. I had only swayed for a moment, losing my balance as I shifted my weight forward and back. But he seemed to have decided I wasn't in any state to judge my own level of intoxication.

He closed the distance quickly, his hand gripping my arm as I swayed, and pulled me along with a faint sigh.

"Let's go."

On the drive home — after surrendering the driver's seat to the designated driver and sitting side by side in the back — there was no real conversation. The extent of our exchange was him asking permission to smoke and me answering.

The breeze coming through the window I'd cracked open to sober up felt pleasant. My hair fluttered and tickled my face; I let out a small laugh. He looked over at me, and I kept laughing even as I looked back at him. I just felt like laughing. Then I laughed again at how silly I was being. He must have found me a little baffling.

I wondered why he was heading down to the underground parking lot instead of dropping me off at the apartment entrance. After we got out of the car, he sent the driver away.

"Can I come up for a moment?"

"......"

"I have some things to pick up from Manager Han's place."

Since he'd said that, I had no reason to refuse. I was living there, but it wasn't exactly my home either.

In the elevator, I gripped my bag strap to keep my head from drifting.

He stepped out before me, punched in the security code as if it were his own home, and walked in. Then, slipping on the guest slippers, he went straight to the kitchen — humming something low under his breath — and took out an electrolyte drink.

From where I stood blankly at the edge of the dining table, he shook the bottle in my direction and raised his eyebrows — an offer. Even though he'd been drinking straight from it. He had seemed like the type to be fastidious about personal hygiene, but apparently that wasn't entirely true.

I wanted cool water more than an electrolyte drink, so I filled a glass from the water purifier. Since he had taken a seat at the table with his drink in front of him, I had no choice but to sit across from him rather than going to my room to change and shower.

"Manager Han will probably come back quite drunk tonight. There's a group among the people gathered today that she really clicks with. Please take good care of her in the morning."

"Yes, I'll do that."

The Teacher was a smoker too, and ashtrays were always kept out on both the coffee table and the dining table. He asked if he could smoke; I nodded and got up to open the kitchen window.

"How tall are you, Seo Ihyeon-ssi?"

He asked as I returned to my seat, tapping ash from his cigarette. For some reason, a lot of people had asked about my height today.

"About 181 centimeters."

"Taller than I expected."

Completely the opposite of what Yuni nuna or Juhan hyung had said. But even though he'd brought it up himself, he didn't seem particularly interested.

The long, narrow dining area — where the table sat between the living room and the kitchen — was mostly in darkness. He had entered the apartment before me and only switched on the light above the dining table, so the glow in the large interior was concentrated entirely on that one spot.

It felt less like a space meant for eating and more like one designed for drinks and conversation with close company. The Teacher had chosen bulbs that cast a soft, warm orange glow.

The light fixture hung low enough that standing up quickly might mean hitting your head; it threw deep shadows across his face. He drew on his cigarette with a movement that seemed, just slightly, uneasy, and looked at me sideways.

"Those drawings you used to make — could I see some of them?"

"......"

Unlike the indifference he'd shown after asking about my height, this question was sincere. I had never expected that the person who had been so consistently cold — almost hostile — toward me would be curious about my work of all things.

"No... I don't have any with me."

"Not even photos?"

I shook my head.

I shook it several times, gripping the water glass in front of me tightly.

Between drags, a faint buzzing pressed through the quiet. His phone, sitting on the table, hadn't moved. He flicked ash and nodded toward me.

"Answer it. It's fine."

It was Inwu hyung.

He said he'd just gotten home after dropping Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung off, and asked if I'd made it back safely. I thanked him for the evening and for the meal, and ended the call. It hadn't even been a minute.

"You two are already in touch?"

He said it while grinding out the nearly finished cigarette in the ashtray. There was no sarcasm in his voice.

"No... not really, not like that... We just exchanged numbers earlier today..."

"You said you were gay, but it seems Seo Ihyeon-ssi isn't entirely indifferent to Choi Inwu either."

Since the claim about being gay had been a lie — or at minimum, an impulsive, unverified declaration — I didn't know how to respond to that.

He turned the electrolyte bottle over in his hands, opened the cap, and took another sip.

"You haven't dated much, have you."

"......"

It was a relief that he'd moved on from the subject of my paintings, but relationships weren't exactly a comfortable topic either.

He leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, posture loose against the backrest, and looked at me across the table while tapping the bottle against its surface. From what I'd observed so far, he didn't make much of an effort to sit up straight.

"Choi Inwu isn't a bad guy as a friend, but I wouldn't call him a good guy as a man."

I found myself wondering whether he had enough interest in me to worry about me getting hurt by a bad man. Lost in the thought, I found myself staring blankly at his eyes — still oddly arresting, even now, used as I was to darker ones.

Perhaps reading my lack of reaction as a failure to grasp the seriousness of what he was saying, he leaned his upper body forward across the table and made a more pointed expression.

"He's not on a level a novice like Seo Ihyeon-ssi can handle. From what I can see, you seem like someone who values taking things slowly, building understanding over time... and that kind of relationship is worlds away from what he does."

"What about the Director?"

"......"

He was talking to someone sitting directly across from him — and yet he frowned as though my responding had genuinely caught him off guard.

Whether it was the alcohol or that particular nerve I seemed to develop only around him — my own small version of pushing back — I was asking a bold question, even by my standards.

"Is the Director a good man, then?"

He dropped his gaze to the table and let out a short laugh. Then he lit a new cigarette. Exhaling a long stream of smoke from the first drag, he spoke.

"Does a 'good man' even exist... I've never seen one."

There was something in his tone — a nuance that suggested he'd been badly hurt by someone once. Or maybe he was simply defining himself as the worst kind of man there was.

But I couldn't ask for the specifics. In the very next moment, that self-deprecating smile had already vanished from his face.

"I'm saying this because I feel something like a sense of responsibility, having been the one through whom you met Choi Inwu at Phantom. Don't take everything that guy says to heart. Well... that said, I can't comment if Seo Ihyeon-ssi actually has feelings for him."

If that was his intent, then it was, as he'd described, only something like responsibility — not the real thing. He had no intention of actively talking me out of anything, but this was a thin preemptive shield to ease whatever lingering discomfort he'd feel if something went wrong and it could be traced back to him.

As if to signal he had said enough on the subject, he pushed the hair falling over his forehead back with the back of his left hand — the one holding the cigarette — and changed the subject.

"I'd like you to come work at Phantom officially. We've taken on more artists lately, and the number and scale of our exhibitions have been growing, so the staff has been struggling. I'd been thinking about hiring more people, but I'm somewhat... particular about who I bring on, which has made things harder for the team. I'd be glad if Seo Ihyeon-ssi came to work here. That's what I came up to discuss. Manager Han will fill you in on the details."

He said it in a quick, decisive tone — like a man ready to stand and leave the moment the conversation was over — and yet he kept smoking even after he finished.

The alcohol had slowed my brain.

I hadn't expected him to want to hire me as an actual employee. Or maybe somewhere deep in my subconscious, I had suspected this was where things would end up.

I didn't know what to make of any of it. I wiped the condensation from my glass and asked.

"May I ask... why you changed your mind?"

"My mind hasn't changed. I based this on what I observed — your work ethic, your results. Manager Han and the staff want you here too."

"Is it not because you found out I'm not an Omega?"

My brain, slower than usual, seemed to have also lost its sense of direction. The questions came out without much hesitation, one after another. For someone who usually chose his words more carefully than necessary, this was quite bold of me.

Was he making this offer because, now that he knew I wasn't an Omega, he figured I'd cause less trouble? And if so — why had his supposedly accurate ability to identify Omegas malfunctioned in my case to begin with?

He was quiet for a moment after my question — the kind that could sound impertinent depending on how it was taken — and took two or three quick successive drags from his cigarette.

"On that subject — are you really not an Omega?"

Between the light bearing down intensely from overhead and the cigarette between his fingers, it felt like being interrogated by a detective.

"Yes. I received a 100 percent definitive Beta result in middle school, and again during my pre-enlistment physical."

"Then what are you?"

Then what are you. He'd muttered it like he was asking himself, but his gaze stayed fixed on me. He still seemed unable to accept the fact that I was a Beta — or more precisely, that I wasn't an Omega.

"I told you. I'm a Beta."

"Are you truly a Beta? Unless you're a Golden Omega or come from money, it isn't an easy world for a male Omega. If you've been passing as a Beta to protect yourself — you don't have to."

A breeze drifted in from the open kitchen window. Mixed in with the cigarette smoke carried on the air was an unfamiliar scent — something that must have been his cologne.

The cigarette had burned nearly down to the filter; he didn't seem to notice, or didn't care. He simply kept staring at me, looking like someone who hoped I would confess — that I was, actually, an Omega.

His grayish-blue eyes slowly shifted back and forth between my left eye and my right, beneath narrowed lids.

My body felt heavy from the alcohol — no, not heavy exactly. My joints had gone loose, as if the whole of me was dissolving, and at the same time I felt like I was floating, drifting on nothing.

I was lethargic enough to want to lie down immediately, and yet somehow exhilarated enough that I also wanted another drink. I was definitely not in a normal state.

I drank some water to collect myself, bit my lower lip once, and let it go. I wanted him to give up on this already.

"No. I am a Beta. Even if I were an Omega... I wouldn't hide it for the reasons you're suggesting."

Even after that, he kept his gaze fixed on me for a while longer. The sensation of my body floating, like being carried on waves, made it increasingly difficult to stay seated.

Finally, he crushed out his cigarette. As the acrid smoke dissipated, the scent of his cologne grew stronger. It was an intense scent — strange that I hadn't noticed it when we were this close at the bar, or in the back of the car.

Pleasant, or unpleasant — it resisted the distinction.

It was a scent like a complex equation, impossible to reduce to something simple.

If I caught this scent on someone passing me on the street, its sheer distinctiveness would make me look back. It pulled at the nerves in a way that was hard to ignore.

"Hah... what am I even..."

He shook his head as if chiding himself. I couldn't tell what he was blaming himself for. The scent that had been hovering near me seemed to scatter on the breeze from the window and drift away.

He stubbed out his cigarette, stood, and picked up his half-finished electrolyte drink. He told me to go to Manager Han with any questions about starting — she'd help me, as I probably already knew. That was the last of it, businesslike to the end, and then he was gone through the front door.

Perhaps because of the alcohol, a strong sexual desire surged through me. For my age, feeling desire several times a day was perfectly normal — but for me, this kind of intensity was something I had almost never experienced.

I stopped mid-shower and touched myself under the running water. It was nothing like my usual habit — the mechanical kind, friction and pressure, a means to an end.

The pleasure that swept through me was overwhelming, electric across my skin, and my legs trembled badly enough that I had to press myself against the tiled wall to keep from going down. The sheer force of it frightened me — the intensity I had never felt before, a surge of lust so powerful it seemed to swallow every part of who I was.

I let out broken moans, gripping myself helplessly as my body refused to calm even after the first climax.

Excessive drinking was bad for health in any number of ways, but the greater danger, I was learning, was this: the sudden, overwhelming kind of want that had no clear place to go.

Even though it had been more intense than anything I'd ever done before, when I finally collapsed onto the bed — utterly spent — what I felt was more thirst than relief. I twisted the sheets in my fist, then let them go, and swore out loud for the first time in years.