Chapter 21

Whirrr.

The air conditioner hummed as it sliced through the air, pouring out a chilled breeze, while Geum Seoul sat curled on the sofa, nervously wiggling his toes.

‘Just stay here and rest.’

The operative who escorted him here had uttered those words over an hour ago. He had done precisely as instructed, yet had he made a mistake? Had something gone terribly wrong? Left alone for over an hour without a word of explanation, vague, unsettling conjectures drifted through his mind, feeding his creeping dread.

‘So I beat the living daylights out of him. What else was I supposed to do? Had to fence his gems, didn’t I?’

*Tap—flick.*

Unaware that the skin at the tip of his thumb was chafed raw and pooling with blood, Geum Seoul remained trapped in thoughts dragging at his ankles. Had to fence his gems. That was a phrase he heard incessantly while living in that concrete building. You’re useful, after all. Even if you don’t have money, you can just be sold off. A useful body. Useful eyes.

Click.

At the sound of the front door unlocking, he bolted upright from the couch. Terror that a stranger might enter gripped him, yet the figure emerging into the hallway was a familiar face. While natural considering it was the man’s lodging, Geum Seoul’s unstable nerves seized in fresh panic.

“Uh… excuse me,” Seoul called out timidly.

Gwichang cut straight to the point. “Are you a recessive? No, you’re not.”

Before Geum Seoul could ask his question, Gwichang’s query dropped like a lead weight. The boy’s lips parted, then pressed flat. Gwichang felt too irritated to wait through his usual stammering silence when an obvious truth already existed.

“…Um, that’s…”

“What,” Gwichang asked, his gaze narrowing sharply. “Throat glued shut so you can’t even name your own secondary gender?”

Having just emerged from the basement reeking of blood, his razor-sharp neurosis flared, venting sparks in an arbitrary direction. He knew full well that this was hardly a necessary inquiry, and that the first question ought to be what he had received from Lee Hee-joong. Yet what Gwichang craved most right now was the truth of Geum Seoul’s identity.

When he had examined the neighborhood dossiers earlier, beside Geum Seoul’s name sat only a lonely omega symbol. Yet Gwichang’s instincts scratched persistently with doubt.

Im Gyun-il was an alpha who had deliberately unleashed his pheromones. Had Geum Seoul been an ordinary omega, his own pheromones should have flooded out in terror to mingle with that foul stench, yet until Gwichang arrived, the boy had merely struggled to breathe without releasing any scent at all.

Nor could Gwichang fully accept that Geum Seoul was simply recessive. He had noticed the boy’s scent the moment he entered the neighborhood days ago. Faint, yes—but distinct enough for him to remember.

“I don’t really know,” Seoul whispered, hanging his head. “I’ve never been tested.”

“…”

About to press him further, Gwichang shut his mouth. A hospital birth revealed it instantly, and public clinics offered screenings free of charge. Even without access to healthcare facilities, secondary gender testing was hardly complex; school infirmaries administered them to students, and local pharmacies stocked kits over the counter.

So why? What miserable fate kept him from even knowing his own secondary gender? Gwichang’s gaze fell upon the red marks chafing the boy’s slender fingertips. The pads were so cracked and parched he wondered if fingerprints even remained.

Though he had behaved as if ready to devour him the moment he arrived, Gwichang had bestowed far more tolerance on Geum Seoul than necessary. Initially because he was in good humor. Then because the boy was the type easily manipulated by such facades. Because seeing him scramble so desperately was intriguing. Because the boy’s pheromones rubbed against something inside him. Because he had seen him risk his life under a searing sun for pocket change. Because that face had no business rotting in a gutter like this. And right now—

Turning toward the hallway, Gwichang barked into his comms, “Bring a gender testing kit.”

“Pardon?”

Startled, Geum Seoul flinched, hunching his shoulders. He thought the command was directed at him, but from somewhere near the man’s shoulder came the crisp reply, “Yes, Deputy Director.” Rolling his wide, confused eyes, Geum Seoul nervously picked at his thumbnail.

From the start, Geum Seoul had been terrified of Gwichang. Quite apart from having never laid eyes on such an astonishingly handsome man, the deep timbre of his voice and his occasional dazzling smiles were mesmerizing, yet carried an undercurrent of lethal menace. Today, with his aura bristling like drawn steel, Geum Seoul felt stripped naked, unable to move a limb as he cast his eyes desperately downward. It was the diet of hostile stares he had subsisted on back in that shantytown.

A faint sigh sounded above him, and Geum Seoul’s shoulders jolted. The man’s long, hard stride made him certain he had done something wrong. Fear that another beating was coming tightened his entire body.

Park Gil-pyeong was the type to cool off quickly if one groveled immediately upon taking a blow, so Geum Seoul had often feigned agony and rolled across the floor even when unhurt. Yet against this man, such tricks felt utterly futile.

Gesturing toward the sofa, Gwichang remarked, “Sit. If I planned to beat you, I wouldn’t have had you brought here with your limbs in one piece.”

“…”

Only then did brown eyes flicker upward, though they dropped back down before reaching Gwichang’s gaze. Obeying the command, he perched onto the sofa, but barely managed to plant the edge of his hips onto the leather cushions with his spine ramrod straight.

Seeing him so utterly spooked, Gwichang squinted one eye and let out a dry snort. He hadn’t even raised his voice. He had merely pressed for an answer, yet like a hermit crab, the boy pulled his limbs into his shell and hid.

“Chin up,” Gwichang ordered.

At those words, Geum Seoul, who had been trembling all over again, lifted his chin halfway. Then again, what else would you expect from a boy raised on errands—he followed orders damn well. The irritation that had been riding up clear to the base of his jaw melted, oddly, into something soft and dull. Scrape. At the loud sound Geum Seoul startled hard all over again, eyes blinking—but it was only the man dragging the table in front of the sofa closer still. The massive, hefty table of solid jet-black stone glided over as lightly as a scrap of plastic. Gwichang perched himself on its edge, settling face-to-face with Geum Seoul, and reached for the palm-sized tablet lying on the tabletop.

Gwichang’s tone was brooking no argument. “I’m testing you today, so sit still and take it.”

“Yes…” Seoul murmured meekly.

A heavy weight pressed into the cushion.

The boy froze in dead silence. “…”

Geum Seoul gasped softly. This time, his shock was entirely justified. For parting the boy’s tightly clamped thighs, Gwichang’s knee wedged firmly between them. The brown eyes that had been cast down snapped up in alarm to meet pitch-black pupils, yet the man merely tapped away at a small handheld console with complete nonchalance.

A frantic pandemonium seized the boy’s senses. Why? Why was he sitting like this? Was this posture required for testing? His heart thudded so violently he feared his shirt might flutter from the reverberation. Was he supposed to part his knees wider? Yet with Gwichang’s outer thigh overlapping against his other leg, Geum Seoul sat helplessly trapped, breaking out in cold sweat.

Tap.

Gwichang warned him firmly, “Stay still. I’m peeling this off.”

“Ah,” Seoul breathed softly.

Setting the console aside to his right, Gwichang commanded him to stay still, and Geum Seoul obeyed to the letter. Having no inkling of what was to come, he rested both fists obediently atop his thighs, rigid as stone.

“…”

Completely unaware that his right fist was resting not atop his own knee, but planted squarely upon Gwichang’s thigh, the boy was evidently nervous beyond measure. Unable to contain it any longer, Gwichang let out a low chuckle. At that soft sigh, brown eyes darted in bewilderment. Instead of explaining, Gwichang reached out and touched Geum Seoul’s nose. Only then did the boy realize ‘this’ referred to his disguise.

Gwichang squinted at the residue. “What is this? Adhesive?”

“…Yes.”

The crude latex prosthetic that flattened his nasal bridge didn’t seem particularly heavy, yet peeling it away left inflamed, reddened skin beneath. Like a child whose nose was swollen from throwing a weeping tantrum. A lovely, fragile child.

“Open your mouth,” Gwichang commanded in a low drawl.

“Pardon…?”

Blink, blink. After a brief hesitation, Geum Seoul parted his lips a sliver. Gwichang slid two long fingers inside, parting the soft lips to reach the fake braces fastened deep against the gums. Thin shoulders flinched again as the knuckles of his index and middle fingers pressed lightly against the boy’s tongue.

Even so, Gwichang’s black eyes clung relentlessly to Geum Seoul’s parted lips. Vivid rose-red. The tongue was small and plush; the teeth unveiled from the fake braces were gleaming white and perfectly aligned. Not a single feature was crooked or flawed. Told to stay still, he stayed still; told to open his mouth, he obediently parted his lips. This disguise had been his lifelong armor, so why? Had Gwichang ever done anything to earn such trust? Or was the boy simply terrified half to death?

“Your hand…” Seoul stammered faintly.

Wearing a look of pure helplessness, Geum Seoul let out a tiny murmur. Only then did Gwichang realize that even after detaching the braces, his fingertips had remained resting against the plush tongue. Withdrawing fingers he had no real desire to pull away, a fine silver thread of saliva stretched from the joint. Flushed red as ripe jelly, Geum Seoul hurriedly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in mortification, yet his pale skin caught nothing. Gwichang’s gaze darkened with subtle intensity.

Chirp.

—“Yu Jeong-ham here. Entering now.”

At the voice crackling near Gwichang’s shoulder, Geum Seoul jumped like a startled hare. Wondering how long the kid intended to keep leaping at shadows, Gwichang unclipped the tiny circular disc fastened beneath his lapel and placed it on the sofa armrest. Staring at the micro-transceiver known as a ‘pin-bug,’ the boy’s eyes filled with fascinated curiosity.

Yu Jeong-ham hurried into the room. ‘The kit is here—’

Entering the living room, Yu Jeong-ham’s voice evaporated mid-sentence. The reason was blindingly obvious. As Gwichang glanced over his shoulder and held out a hand, Yu Jeong-ham stood staring dumbfounded at Geum Seoul before extending the small box.

“You looking to die?” Gwichang snarled.

“Sir? Ah.”

The chilling rebuke snapped him back. Yu Jeong-ham realized he had extended the box not into his superior’s open palm, but into empty air ten centimeters to the side. Hastily averting his gaze, he placed the box properly in Gwichang’s hand.

Even so, a glacial gaze raked over him from top to bottom. It meant get lost. Still terrified of the hands that had casually snapped eight teeth from a man’s jaw, Yu Jeong-ham turned to leave, yet couldn’t resist craning his neck for one last peek before slipping out the front door. Smacking his forehead repeatedly, he finally understood why their demon boss had been so bizarrely soft on Geum Seoul. His earlier intuition had been spot on.

Rustle.

Even as someone gawked at him in paralyzed bewilderment, Geum Seoul’s eyes remained glued to the white box in Gwichang’s hand. Was he too consumed by curiosity to notice, or had baring his true face to Gwichang lowered his guard around others as well? A faint edge crept into Gwichang’s eyes.

Snap.

Tearing open the sealed packaging, he retrieved a thumb-sized plastic cassette along with an elongated cotton swab. Having been flustered by their thighs brushing earlier, the boy seemed to have adjusted already, leaning his upper body forward. Gwichang pressed his thumb lightly against the hollow beneath the boy’s lower lip—a silent command to open.

Once more, the lush, plump lips parted compliantly. Brushing against his lower teeth to signal he should keep it open, the aperture was still small, yet ample enough for the swab to penetrate. Gripping the slender handle, Gwichang swiped the white cotton gently against the crimson mucosa of the inner cheek.

“Mmm…” Seoul whimpered softly.

The soft sound slipped from Geum Seoul’s throat. There was nothing frightening about the procedure, nor any intense stimulation; it was merely swabbing the inside of a mouth twice, yet frightened or uncomfortable, his eyes fluttered shut as he let out that muffled whimper.

“…”

The little bastard is fucking seducing me. Gwichang was dead certain that had he met Geum Seoul for the first time right now, he would have thought exactly that without hesitation—that he was a little hustler acting wanton on purpose to get what he wanted, armed with an absurdly lethal weapon to spread his legs and dodge suffering.

Yet those brown eyes—entirely devoid of guile—were purely innocent. His hand had halted long ago after a few quick swipes, yet without closing his mouth, the boy remained sitting patiently with plush lips parted, blinking his lashes.

Gwichang exhaled a heavy breath. The thick heat pressing against his thigh had already swelled rock-hard as if ready to burst; the test kit and swab were long forgotten as his thumb pressed ruthlessly against the tender flesh of the boy’s parted lip until it bruised.

Gathering his courage, Geum Seoul whispered, “Um…”

Gwichang raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Having surrendered his lips so compliantly, Geum Seoul’s face was scorched a deep, burning red. Red ears, red nose, red rims around his eyes, crimson cheeks. Did his chest and navel flush this vividly too? Was his cock just as soft, and that tight hole behind…

“…I think… this is… a pheromone…” Seoul whispered, his voice trembling.

Having already stripped Geum Seoul entirely bare in his mind’s eye before the boy had even unbuttoned a shirt, Gwichang belatedly dredged up his threadbare reason from the depths. Inches away, Geum Seoul’s long lashes fluttered low over half-lidded eyes as he panted in shallow, ragged gasps.