Chapter 72

Tick.

Gye Do-hyeop picked up the desk calendar resting on the nightstand, then set it back down.

After enduring his very first heat cycle, Geum Seoul had been asleep for three straight days. In accordance with Gye Do-hyeop’s orders, not a single soul had visited the safehouse. Only Oh Ga-on had briefly stopped by this morning to check on Geum Seoul before leaving.

“Because this is his first heat cycle right after his pheromone secretion levels surged, it seems to have taken a bit of a toll on his body,” Oh Ga-on explained.

As he spoke, the doctor wore a thick filtration mask pulled tight over his face like a visor.

“Geum Seoul’s pheromones and hormones fluctuate according to environmental stimuli. The relief of knowing he survived likely triggered the spike that induced his heat. Right now, his body has most likely shut down consciousness to accelerate tissue recovery. There are no critical internal injuries, so… please don’t worry too much.”

The reason he had stammered while claiming there was nothing critically wrong was because the Geum Seoul before his eyes was mottled in shades of violent crimson and purple. Even with a t-shirt pulled over him, his neck, ears, collarbones, forehead, cheeks, and even the crooks of his arms and wrists bared for the injection were covered in deep bite marks and dark contusions.

Gye Do-hyeop, on the other hand, appeared utterly refreshed. There was not a trace of fatigue on his face; his clean-shaven cheeks were immaculate, looking as invigorated as someone who had finally cleared a long-standing obstruction from his chest. Though his face carried a trace of irritability as he pushed up his glasses, that stemmed purely from someone else’s prolonged slumber rather than any physical ailment of his own.

“By the way,” Gye Do-hyeop remarked with a frown. “Why doesn’t my pheromone linger on him for very long no matter how much I pour into him? You said it usually lasts a week.”

A pheromone shower was a customary practice wherein a manifested individual overlaid their scent onto the opposite gender to signal another’s claim.

“If Geum Seoul’s pheromone concentration is higher and more potent than yours, Deputy Director, that can certainly happen,” Oh Ga-on replied.

Despite Oh Ga-on’s explanation, Gye Do-hyeop’s scowl only deepened. Right. As if reducing a person to that battered state wasn’t enough already. Thinking this to himself, the physician hastily beat a retreat from the safehouse before any stray sparks could catch him. Just as when he had arrived, his departure required taking two hours of convoluted detours, and having been ferried in a vehicle with every window blacked out, he had a long journey ahead.

Even after Oh Ga-on departed, Gye Do-hyeop repeatedly placed a finger beneath the curled-up young man’s nose. He could not comprehend how someone could lie motionlessly for days on end without eating or using the bathroom, sleeping as though dead. Displeased by the sight of the tightly curled form, he would straighten out the limbs, only for the boy to curl back up into a pill bug moments later.

Deputy Director.

He had never experienced a rut that stripped away his reason so completely. Regular suppressive injections had kept every previous cycle manageable; if anything, his mind had remained so clear that those ruts felt more irritating than pleasurable. This time, however, even his memories were submerged beneath thick fog. He could recall only fragments—Geum Seoul crying his name, the relentless urge to push the boy past every physical limit. Not until his third ejaculation did consciousness finally cut through the suffocating pheromones. He came back to himself mid-thrust, with Seoul bent face-down over the armchair. And the first thing he did after recovering his senses was press a thumb to the swollen entrance still clamped around his cock.

Everything was Geum Seoul’s doing. Just as Oh Ga-on had stated, the boy’s raw, unrefined pheromones had dragged Gye Do-hyeop’s own scent out in its most primal, unfiltered state.

Removing his glasses, Gye Do-hyeop buried his nose against Geum Seoul’s shoulder once more. A distinct scent of pheromones emanated from his skin. Even though the heat cycle had concluded, the fragrance showed no signs of fading as it once had.

The surviving Geum Seoul had burst into bloom. The bud that had lived curled up like an unremarkable stone in barren soil had finally unfurled its white petals in full splendor.

● SYSTEM

Jewel Appraisal Certificate

Appraisal Number: GSR-117204UH-R

Clarity: L-3

Classification Grade: B-6

The gemstone Geum Seoul shed during sex had appraised at B-6. The old milkiness had almost completely disappeared, leaving behind an exquisite rose-pink stone with rich, saturated color. The terminal records recovered from the house Gwak Chun-young raided—the device Seoul had thought to hide before anything else—showed his previous reading at C-9. A leap across that many grades in one step was almost unheard of. If Gye Do-hyeop had not watched the transformation unfold with his own eyes, he would have dismissed the story as impossible.

‘Deputy Director, did I… did I do well?’

‘You did fucking amazing.’

The boy had sought to prove the validity of his existence through his usefulness. Everything was connected by the same thread: the pheromones that had held their breath within him while masquerading as recessive; the useless D-10 jewel that seemed destined to end in some ditch after a life of running cheap errands; the face that had endlessly turned over the words what if.

And the fists he had clenched upon hearing he could win. 523. 213. The sequence of numbers he had hammered in succession. The bruised, swollen body that had sought praise before anything else. The heat cycle triggered by survival. B-6. Geum Seoul, blooming in full glory.

Rustle.

Parting his lips slightly, Gye Do-hyeop nipped at Geum Seoul’s sweet flesh before letting go. After kneading the soft cheek and jaw for several moments, he only straightened his torso upon noticing the flashing display on his wrist terminal.

Over the past several days, disciplinary action had finally come down on Gye Do-hyeop. Officially, the charge was insubordination, though everyone understood the punishment was little more than a gesture meant to preserve Noh Pil-gyu’s dignity. They folded in his allegedly unjustified shutdown order to construct a plausible offense, but they could not punish him for the true trigger of the confrontation: the detonation at Gwak Chun-young’s mansion. No evidence connecting Do-hyeop to the explosion had survived.

Regardless of the disciplinary timeline, there was zero chance Gye Do-hyeop would abandon the unconscious Geum Seoul. Consequently, the overseas assignment arranged as a punitive measure was delayed indefinitely; Noh Pil-gyu, having received the status report, responded with a dismissive handle it yourself and deliberately looked the other way, allowing Gye Do-hyeop to maintain his seclusion.

Gye Do-hyeop answered into the line, “What is it?”

—“Deputy Director, word has it that the A-rank jewel currently held in China is an A-4,” Yu Jeong-ham reported from the other end.

“Find out which broker Gwak Chun-young bought his from,” Gye Do-hyeop instructed. “An ordinary connection wouldn’t have cut it. There’s something we’re missing.”

The A-4 jewel in Gwak Chun-young’s possession had been vaporized in the vault explosion. Currently, the highest jewel held within the nation was an A-5. In the first place, nations possessing a jewel higher than grade 5 were exceedingly rare; moreover, once an A-rank jewel omega was secured, the state guaranteed their total safety and administered their care directly.

Yet such an artifact had ended up in the hands of a mere corporate CEO. It couldn’t have been an ordinary broker; tracking the origin would expose the smuggling conduit. Of course, Geum Seoul reaching A-rank might well happen faster than that investigation.

—“Understood. Also, regarding Park Gil-pyeong… he’s starting to drool,” Yu Jeong-ham reported.

Park Gil-pyeong was still alive. Since being extracted from the village, he had remained locked in the headquarters basement. From what he heard, the team members rotating through basement duty had taken to using him as a punch-in timeclock. Whenever an agent arrived for their shift, they would slap him across the cheek, prompting the captive to jump to attention and yell, “Clocked in!” In many ways, he served as a therapeutic outlet for staff condemned to work in the gloomy underground.

Gye Do-hyeop muttered dryly, “Have someone talk to him occasionally so he doesn’t turn into a total vegetable.”

No one had come looking for Park Gil-pyeong. Given the chaotic, neglected nature of the outer districts, a person vanishing into thin air was hardly noteworthy, and Park had certainly never left behind the kind of fond impressions that inspired search parties.

Rustle.

—“Yes, sir. As for your next flight booking—” Yu Jeong-ham said.

Yu Jeong-ham was in mid-sentence, but Gye Do-hyeop severed the connection without ceremony. Geum Seoul stirred, shaking his head side to side against the pillow. Reaching over, Gye Do-hyeop pinched and rubbed the rim of his ear.

“Geum Seoul.”

Uttering his name, Gye Do-hyeop slid a palm beneath the nape of his neck and kneaded the skin. It was an effort to wake him. Stop sleeping. It was an unspoken command.

“Open your eyes before I rub my dick against your eyelids,” he threatened casually.

“Mmm…”

Geum Seoul scrunched his facial muscles, letting out an infantile whimper. He truly was a kid. Twenty years old. Having just crossed the threshold into adulthood and shed his minor status, he was barely transitioning from boy to young man. Yet his skin was still soft and downy. The only rough patches across his entire body were the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Quivering eyelids finally lifted halfway. It was no longer the dazed, fever-clouded gaze of days prior, but a noticeably clearer pair of hazel-brown eyes.

“…Deputy Director?” Geum Seoul murmured.

When Gye Do-hyeop pressed the cool back of his knuckles against the boy’s under-eye, Geum Seoul blinked as if soothed by the chill, remaining docile beneath his touch.

“…Where are we?”

Urging the boy’s curled shoulders open, Gye Do-hyeop pressed his nose into the pale throat. Geum Seoul still carried the lingering traces of Gye Do-hyeop’s own pheromones.

“The safehouse,” Gye Do-hyeop answered.

“Ah…”

I should let him live for eighty years. The thought came naturally. Geum Seoul was far too warm to kill.

“The moment you opened your eyes, you went into heat and we fucked like crazy,” Gye Do-hyeop stated bluntly. “You remember?”

Had the boy claimed ignorance, Gye Do-hyeop had fully intended to refresh his memory, but after pressing his lips together and shifting his gaze across the room, Geum Seoul gave a faint nod. Gye Do-hyeop chuckled under his breath.

“Point to where I shoved it in,” the alpha commanded.

“That’s…”

Geum Seoul worked his lips without speaking, his eyes darting away as faint color bloomed across his cheeks. With the rustle of the duvet, he rested his arms protectively over his stomach, highlighting the subtle curve beneath. Little brat, acting all coquettish. Smiling, Gye Do-hyeop tapped his cheek.

“Do you know what that implies?” Gye Do-hyeop asked.

Geum Seoul remained silent for a lingering moment.

Poked with sharp questions the moment he woke after days of stupor, Geum Seoul blinked his dry eyes and tried to gather his hazy senses.

Above all, finding the man right beside him the second he opened his eyes felt overwhelmingly strange—and deeply embarrassing. He had slept with the deputy director once before, but this had been his very first heat. Though he couldn’t explain why, the moment consciousness had begun to flicker, his entire body had simmered with feverish longing, craving the alpha beside him with singular desperation.

And in his hazy recollections, the deputy director had seemed completely devoid of his usual composure, ignoring his cries and pouncing upon him as though answering solely through sex.

“…You went into a rut as well, didn’t you?” Geum Seoul asked quietly.

Gye Do-hyeop sneered with a cold chuckle. “Yeah. Because of you. Did you undergo some massive transformation while dragging yourself back alive this time?”

Geum Seoul remained silent for a lingering moment.

A massive transformation. Nothing of the sort had occurred. Getting beaten hurt just as much, the terror was just as real, and the urge to flee had been no different. Yet if he had to pinpoint a change:

‘Get into the ring.’

It was that he had wanted to live, if only a little. That instead of running away, he had wanted to endure and wait for a chance to strike. That he had come to trust someone.

That was all. Yet Geum Seoul remained entirely oblivious that this slender thread of will had restored his depressed pheromones to normal parameters, vaulted his jewel straight into B-rank, warmed his physical temperature, and deepened the rich saturation of his hazel eyes.

The person witnessing, measuring, and experiencing each of those changes from the closest possible distance was Gye Do-hyeop. Having poured himself into Seoul again and again, he had watched every stage of the flower called Geum Seoul unfolding into bloom. Unfortunately for Seoul, that transformation had exposed itself to the greediest man alive. Truly, the world possessed a vicious sense of unfairness. Resting his chin against one hand, Gye Do-hyeop looked down at the rounded, youthful face with an amused curve to his mouth.

“That man, Gwak Chun-young… was he caught?” Geum Seoul asked hesitantly.

“Yeah.”

Geum Seoul’s voice wavered with quiet awe. “…We really won, then?”

“Only halfway so far,” Gye Do-hyeop replied.

“Halfway already?”