TATMFL - 61

The school, which she had returned to after nearly a week, was bustling with preparations for the upcoming festival.

“What’s with you? You’ve been out of touch for days. Where were you, and what were you doing?”

“Do you have any idea how worried Professor Yang and all of us were when the person who said they were sick didn’t respond for an entire week? Because of that, I couldn’t even focus on my art.”

Raon chuckled softly at the barrage of reproaches coming from all sides and replied lightly.

“Why are you blaming me for your inability to draw?”

After a long time, Raon tied her apron back on and stood in front of her easel. It felt strange, having gone so long without holding a brush—perhaps that was why the sensation in her hands felt somewhat unfamiliar.

As fervent gazes landed on her from all around, Raon finally picked up her paintbrush, saying,

“I was really sick after going home that day. Too sick to even think about contacting anyone.”

She didn’t mention that she had manifested as an Omega. Why would she go around broadcasting something like that? It wasn’t exactly good news, and there was no need to make a big deal out of it. Thankfully, none of her classmates who she saw every day were Pheromone Manifestors.

As Raon thought back to Hye-sung’s pale, shocked expression when she first came home, she couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

“[...Raon, isn’t that right?]”

Hye-sung had asked with a deathly pale face, and Raon had simply avoided his gaze—that was her only reaction.

Although Professor Yang had mentioned that her pheromones were embarrassingly weak for someone considered a Manifestor, he explained that they were still detectable enough for people nearby to recognize her as an Omega.

Hye-sung was no exception. He had come to the entrance upon hearing the door open, only to catch a whiff of her pheromones.

Though he hadn’t outright asked if this was an acquired manifestation, Hye-sung had looked at her knowingly. Given that he knew she had accompanied Do-kyung during his rut, it was impossible to hide the fact that her manifestation was acquired.

However, he didn’t press her further or demand answers. With a face full of concern, he simply asked if she was okay. Having known her for such a long time, Hye-sung was well aware of her family situation, so his response was understandable.

Only after relaying what Professor Yang had told her did Hye-sung show some signs of relief.

“[Even though she has manifested as an Omega, unless you’re standing right next to her, it will be difficult to recognize Raon as one. Since her manifestation was forced rather than occurring naturally, the concentration of pheromones she carries is minimal.]”

Professor Yang, deliberately choosing more explicit and provocative words, had shot a glare at Do-kyung as he spoke. The reprimand in his gaze was unmistakable.

“[Perhaps that’s why Raon also has trouble detecting other Manifestors’ pheromones. For instance, I’m emitting pheromones right now. Can you tell?]”

Raon sniffed slightly and shook her head. Just hours ago, she could have sworn she smelled something cozy, but now she could barely detect it.

Professor Yang nodded knowingly.

“[It’s because your sensitivity to pheromones has significantly decreased as your heat subsides. Moving forward, not only will you hardly sense an Alpha’s pheromones, but you’ll also struggle to detect those of other Omegas unless they’re in rut or heat.]”

“[...So, isn’t that pretty much the same as being a Beta?]”

“[Only if you remain cautious.]”

“[Cautious?]”

“[I’m referring to your heat. Even though you’re recessive and may not feel pheromones as strongly, you’ll still experience heat. Like you did this time.]”

“[...]”

“[The cycle will be unpredictable. Heat could return tomorrow, or it might not come again for a year.]”

With that, Professor Yang extended a bag he’d been clutching since entering the bedroom. Inside were dozens of small white pill bottles.

“[These are pheromone suppressants.]”

“[...Do I really have to take so many?]”

“[Not ‘so many,’ but daily. And this is only a three-month supply.]”

At that, Raon reflexively glanced toward Do-kyung.

He seemed to feel some semblance of guilt, his face ghostly pale as he stared at the bag of pills.

Professor Yang continued his explanation.

“[Taking these suppressants doesn’t mean your heat won’t come at all. They simply keep your pheromones in check when they start to act up. Additionally, they may help stabilize your otherwise erratic cycle to some extent.]”

“[...]”

“[Once you finish this batch, you must come back for another prescription. Understand?]”

Instead of answering, Raon asked him a question.

“[Can an Omega ever feel repulsed by an Alpha’s pheromones?]”

“...”

The look on Do-kyung’s face from that moment would never leave her memory.

That Do-kyung—the untouchable, unshakable Do-kyung—had crumbled. Was it despair? Futility? Pain? Self-reproach? Fear? Desperation? No single word could describe the expression she saw on his face that day.

If he hadn’t been physically kneeling, she would have sworn he was at her feet.

At the same time, a sharp jolt of electricity coursed through her chest, leaving Raon thoroughly flustered.

“[It’s unfortunate that I seem to react negatively only to your pheromones.]”

She delivered that line with biting sarcasm, her face devoid of any sympathy as she stared at him.

“[Go ahead, make an excuse if you can. First, you turned someone who was living perfectly fine into a victim, and then you made them manifest as an Omega.]”

Despite her taunts, Do-kyung remained silent, leaning against the wall. His expression was unreadable—a mix of tension, anxiety, or maybe anger—his eyes cold and hard.

After a long silence, the words that finally escaped his lips were an apology.

“[I’m sorry.]”

Raon hadn’t expected that. She raised her eyebrows in surprise before nodding curtly.

“[Let’s end this here.]”

“[...What do you mean?]”

Her voice, rough and strained as it clawed its way out of her tight throat, carried traces of impatience that Raon herself didn’t notice.

“[I think we’re even now. This settles the debt I owed you.]”

Judging by the way Do-kyung’s eyes widened, he clearly remembered the day she had said that.

Seeing his reaction, Raon gave a faint, lopsided smile.

“[Besides, it’s not like we can have sex anymore. Your pheromones are just too repulsive.]”

Watching Do-kyung’s body visibly tremble, Raon added,

“[So, let’s call it quits. Let’s terminate our contract.]”

Do-kyung said nothing.

His gaze sank heavily, as if he had anticipated her words.

His clenched fists, knuckles white, spoke volumes, as did the stubborn set of his jaw.

For a while, he stood there like a statue, staring at the ground. Then, abruptly, he turned and left the room.

The next time Raon saw Do-kyung was when she was finally leaving the hotel to return home.

Do-kyung spoke just one word:

“[Alright.]”

Only she and Do-kyung knew what that answer referred to.

The journey back home was with Joon.

“...”

Raon slowly closed and reopened her eyes as she rubbed the black ink stains off her fingertips.

She realized that Do-kyung hadn’t emitted any scent that day thanks to a subtle comment from Professor Yang. He had mentioned how hard Do-kyung was trying—trying not to let even a whiff of pheromones escape in front of her.

Professor Yang had gone on at length about how difficult it was to forcibly suppress one’s pheromone glands, but Raon barely heard him.

“It’s pointless.”

It wasn’t like she’d ever see Do-kyung again, so why was he going through all this trouble? Unable to understand his unnecessary efforts, Raon simply turned away.

“Hmm.”

Letting out a short sigh, Raon picked up the brush she had momentarily set down while cleaning the ink.

When she finally returned home in Joon’s car, the first thing she did was grab the contract she had stuffed deep into her desk drawer and tear it to shreds.

She thought shredding the contract that had bound her for so long would bring some relief, but once she actually tore it apart, she felt… nothing. It just felt like ripping paper.

Then, by chance, her eyes landed on Do-kyung’s signature. Even though it was torn into pieces, she could still recognize the character “Kyung” from Han Do-kyung’s name. It was an elegant and beautiful handwriting.

For no particular reason, she pressed her thumb firmly against it before letting go. Only then did she sweep the torn pieces of the contract into the trash bin.

Raon stared blankly at the scraps of paper now buried in the trash. Still, she felt absolutely nothing.

“Trying to pick up a brush after such a long time must be making your hand stiff?”

Startled by the voice, Raon turned to see a classmate who had stopped by after briefly visiting the assistant’s office. She gave a small chuckle, awkwardly holding the brush she had been idly gripping.

“I heard there’s a bet between our department and the sculpture department for this year’s festival.”

“Huh?”

All eyes in the studio, including Raon’s, turned toward the speaker.

“The professors got drunk one evening and made a bet. Whoever reaches the break-even point faster wins.”

“...Why do they keep making these pointless bets?”

The painting and sculpture departments shared the same building, so their students often clashed—but not out of animosity. On the contrary, they were so close-knit that sometimes people couldn’t tell whether they were in the sculpture hall or the painting hall.

And just as the students were inseparable, the professors who had worked together in the same space for years joked that they were practically family.

So occasionally, they’d make strange bets like this.

“That’s why all fourth-year students have to participate in the festival this time. Even if it’s just for a day, no exceptions.”

“What?!”

“Why are we getting dragged into this?!”

With their already hectic schedules, the idea of participating in the festival felt absurd.

Amid the chorus of complaints, the classmate who brought the news added,

“If we win the bet, our final project will count as our graduation piece. Plus, no assignments until finals if we participate.”

A brief silence fell over the room.

And then—

“You should’ve led with that!”

“Those sculpture guys don’t stand a chance. Didn’t I mention my family runs a business?”

“I haven’t felt this fired up in ages.”

Public opinion flipped instantly. Someone asked,

“But what exactly did they bet to make such a big deal out of this and force even the fourth-years to join?”

“Six months’ worth of funding.”

“...Huh?”

“If we lose this bet, our department won’t get any financial support from the school next semester. We’ll have to sit there watching the sculpture department enjoy their fancy equipment with their generous budget.”

Another heavy silence descended.

Soon, voices of disbelief erupted from all corners of the room.

“Wait, the scale of this bet is insane.”

“So… do we want to win, or do we want to lose?”

“This isn’t the time to be sitting around doing nothing.”

“What should we start with?”

Though they grumbled about disliking the hassle, the faces of those who had spent nearly half a year cooped up in the studio—pale and ink-stained—were now glowing with excitement.

As Raon stood silently watching her classmates buzz with energy, the conversation suddenly turned to her.

“First things first, Raon has to handle promotions without question.”

“Huh?”

“Grab a signboard and start walking around. The success of the painting department’s sales depends entirely on you. Got it, Raon?”

Stunned by the sudden decision to put her in charge of promotions, Raon looked bewildered, but no one paid attention to her reaction.