Chapter 67

“Are you taking the day off again?” Jisu asked.

“You’re the one who needs a break, sir, not me,” Gi-hyeon replied formally.

Jisu shook his head in fond exasperation. “How long are you going to keep using military speech? And what can I do when the guy refuses to rest even when I explicitly order him to?”

Shrugging, Jisu gestured toward the bank teller. Gi-hyeon followed his gaze. The man, sporting a ghastly, pallid complexion, remained hyper-focused on counting the plastic buttons, completely indifferent to their conversation.

“Then how about we have a company dinner tonight?” Jisu proposed after a moment of consideration. “Since he can’t leave his post, we’ll light some mosquito coils outside and grill some meat over charcoal once it gets dark.”

Gi-hyeon nodded readily. A heavy, protein-rich meal seemed like the most efficient way to force some desperately needed calories into the teller, who looked like he hadn’t eaten a proper meal in weeks.

“You come off as incredibly cold, but you’re actually a massive softie,” Jisu observed, studying Gi-hyeon closely.

Gi-hyeon merely dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Is that so.”

“It’s great for the people around you, sure. But what about you? Are you really okay?”

“I’m not doing too badly,” Gi-hyeon replied, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips.

He harbored zero regrets about loving Jo Yeon-oh. If destiny demanded it, he would have inevitably fallen for the bastard at least once in his lifetime. Framing it that way neutralized the bitterness. Loving Yeon-oh had been a profoundly lonely, agonizing, and exhausting endeavor, yet given the chance to rewrite history, Gi-hyeon knew he would have marched down the exact same path. He fundamentally lacked the capacity to resist; to Gi-hyeon, Yeon-oh had always been someone worthy of his unreserved devotion.

Watching him, Jisu merely shook his head. “Since you love volunteering so much, you go buy the meat.” He tossed his credit card across the desk.

Gi-hyeon accepted the plastic without a hint of protest. Engaging in a tedious back-and-forth about how the junior officer should treat the captain was exhausting; obediently taking the free meal and executing the errand was infinitely more efficient.

Stepping out of the greenhouse for the supply run, Gi-hyeon gently urged the bank teller to take a seat and rest, assuming Jisu would be anchored to the den for the foreseeable future. However, without even glancing up, the teller merely shook his head. The man seemed crushed under an invisible weight, terrified that if he stopped moving, he would simply sink into the abyss and never resurface.

Gi-hyeon had witnessed that exact hollow expression on countless athletes at the rehabilitation clinic, men who pushed their bodies to the absolute breaking point every single day because the terrifying uncertainty of their recovery demanded constant motion. Recognizing that intervention would only cause more distress, Gi-hyeon simply promised to bring back ice cream and stepped out into the sweltering heat.

Unlike a typical agricultural shed, the gambling den boasted industrial-grade air conditioning. The transition to the outside world felt like slamming into a wall of blistering heat.

Just how hot is it going to get today? Gi-hyeon wondered, firing up the scooter and heading into town.

His first destination was the local mart. While specialized butcher shops existed, he had only ever purchased meat from supermarkets and felt inexplicably intimidated by the standalone stores. He later learned that the mart’s internal butcher counter was actually operated by the exact same owner as the shop down the street.

He loaded his cart with pork belly, pork neck, and three servings of pork intestines. As he piled in pickled radishes, kimchi, and an assortment of leafy greens, the butcher peeked at his haul and generously threw in shredded green onions and a container of dipping sauce free of charge.

Thanking the man, Gi-hyeon added instant rice, two bottles of soju, a six-pack of beer, and a cider for himself. Recalling Jisu’s boast about acquiring a massive cast-iron cauldron lid, Gi-hyeon grabbed small tubs of ssamjang and gochujang along with sesame oil, anticipating they might fry rice on the lid later.

Approaching the checkout, he suddenly remembered his promise and pivoted to the freezer, grabbing an indiscriminate variety of ice cream cones and popsicles, hoping at least one flavor would appeal to the quiet teller. Navigating past the produce section, a powerful, buttery aroma assaulted his senses. He nearly drooled at the sight of pristine white peaches. Unable to resist the intense craving, he tossed an entire basket into his cart.

After packing the groceries onto the scooter, he caught sight of the obstetrics clinic down the street. The visual trigger reminded him he was scheduled to pick up his oral medication. Although his actual appointment wasn’t until tomorrow, he decided to knock it out immediately. Thankfully, the clinic was empty. He breezed through the consultation and emerged clutching his prescription.

As he walked toward the pharmacy on the ground floor, a prickle of intense scrutiny raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He turned sharply. Across the street, a man sat inside a luxury foreign car, a glaring anomaly in this rural town, staring directly at him.

He looks familiar, Gi-hyeon thought, his brow furrowing.

Before he could place the face, an elderly man approached the pharmacy doors. “What are you doing just standing there instead of going in?” the elder grumbled. Gi-hyeon quickly pulled the door open for him. When he glanced back at the street, the foreign car had vanished completely. Dismissing it with a quiet hum, he stepped inside to collect his medication.

…If that man had been one of Jo Gyu-deok’s operatives, he wouldn’t have stared so blatantly, Gi-hyeon rationalized. He convinced himself no one was actively hunting him here. Still, heightened vigilance couldn’t hurt. Mounting the scooter, he sped back toward the greenhouse, the heavy, humid summer wind whipping against his cheeks.

When he arrived and began hauling the groceries inside, balancing three or four bags in each hand, Jisu immediately scolded him. “Why the hell is a pregnant person carrying all this heavy shit?”

The sudden, intensely domestic concern from his former commanding officer felt so jarringly out of character that Gi-hyeon actually shuddered. “Ah, was that too much?”

“…Yes, sir. It was a bit overwhelming,” Gi-hyeon admitted drily.

Mimicking teenage slang he had probably picked up from God-knows-where, Jisu quickly took over unpacking. The rapidly melting ice cream went straight into the mini-fridge against the office wall. Just as Gi-hyeon was anticipating devouring one once it hardened, Jisu stared at him in utter disbelief.

“Soso, do you have a separate, dedicated stomach just for fruit?”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

Responding formally to the ridiculous nickname, a shortening of ‘Second Lieutenant So,’ earned him an incredulous laugh. Jisu promptly washed two peaches, effortlessly peeling the delicate skin from the white flesh with his bare fingers. While Gi-hyeon internally mourned the slight waste of fruit caused by using a knife instead of peeling by hand, he was immensely grateful for the gesture. Thanking the older man, he eagerly bit into the juicy fruit.

Mid-bite, a wave of guilt washed over him. He hadn’t even offered a slice to the bank teller. Pregnancy really makes you fiercely prioritize your own mouth, he realized, feeling deeply embarrassed. He belatedly offered the fruit, but the teller remained completely unresponsive until Jisu physically marched over and shoved a slice directly into the man’s mouth.

Business was unusually slow that day. While waiting for the sun to set, Gi-hyeon went for a walk. Despite the heat, the dense canopy of trees and thick foliage provided a tolerable, shaded path. After brutally slapping down several aggressive mosquitoes with his bare hands, he returned to find Jisu with his sleeves rolled up, constructing a makeshift fire pit out of cement bricks in the shaded alley between the greenhouses.

“Wow, you’re going all out, sir,” Gi-hyeon noted, admiring the massive cast-iron cauldron lid balanced perfectly atop the bricks.

Jisu shot him a cocky thumbs-up. “I’m going to show you how it’s really done today.”

Igniting the charcoal with a blowtorch, Jisu miraculously produced perfectly aged mustard leaf kimchi and fermented cabbage kimchi from somewhere inside. The savory, pungent aroma was intoxicating.

Since the bank teller was conspicuously absent while the pork belly sizzled, Gi-hyeon inquired about him. Jisu waved it off, explaining the man had stubbornly insisted on manning the den since they still had a few stragglers inside.

“He’ll come out when I tell him to eat. Don’t worry about it and just mix the green onion salad.”

Nodding, Gi-hyeon focused on the prep work. The deafening sizzle of thick pork belly searing against the scorching iron lid filled the air. As the meat browned and rendered fat cascaded into the concave center of the lid, Jisu aggressively slapped down half a head of fermented kimchi and the mustard leaves, not even bothering to chop the stems. The glorious, intoxicating smell of kimchi effectively deep-frying in pure pork fat sent Gi-hyeon’s appetite into overdrive.

He really isn’t joking about doing it right, Gi-hyeon marveled. Seeing the meat was nearly finished, he headed inside to retrieve the teller.

“Come out and eat dinner.”

“…Okay.”

The teller’s reluctance was palpable, but Gi-hyeon ignored it. The gambling den was practically deserted. Mr. Gu and his friend were casually playing hwatu for bowls of makgeolli instead of plastic buttons. The entire operation felt sleepy and tranquil.

When the teller remained frozen despite his verbal agreement, Gi-hyeon suggested he simply lock the cash register if he was that paranoid. Only then did the man finally stand.

The company dinner commenced in the narrow alley between the vinyl structures. True to his versatile military background, Jisu proved to be an absolute grill master. Perfectly seared, golden-brown cuts of pork piled up rapidly on Gi-hyeon and the teller’s plates. After happily gorging himself for a while, Gi-hyeon felt guilty that Jisu was doing all the work. He fetched the beer, soju, and two glasses.

Surprisingly, the teller immediately took the bottles and expertly began mixing somaek bombs.

“…You seem to handle your alcohol quite well?” Gi-hyeon noted.

The teller paused, then offered a slow, deliberate nod. He was a man of profoundly few words. From that point on, Gi-hyeon commandeered the tongs and scissors, allowing Jisu and the teller to continuously clink their glasses. Despite his paralyzing shyness, the teller relentlessly matched every single toast Jisu initiated. Clearly, he still treated the older man with the utmost respect reserved for a commanding officer.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon, plunging the surrounding fields into darkness. As the charcoal embers beneath the iron lid began to die down, Jisu haphazardly wiped the excess grease from the metal, poured boiling water directly from an electric kettle onto the lid, and tossed in instant ramen. As the spicy broth achieved a rolling boil, he aggressively scissored huge chunks of green onion into the mix and cracked an egg over the top.

Devouring his portion in exactly two massive bites, Jisu waved his hands dismissively at the mess. “Leave the cauldron lid. It’s too much of a pain in the ass for you guys to clean.”

With that, he vanished back inside the air-conditioned office, undoubtedly preparing for a massive, alcohol-induced food coma.

Gi-hyeon and the teller tackled the cleanup together. As always, the teller executed every task with terrifying, hyper-efficient precision. The cleanup concluded so rapidly that Gi-hyeon’s only contributions were scrubbing the greasy lid with a handful of straw, leaning it against the wall, and stomping the empty beer cans flat. Every time he turned around, the chores had miraculously vanished, leaving him smacking his lips in mild awe.

Given his insane work ethic, the teller would have been beloved by superiors in any legitimate corporate setting; Gi-hyeon privately wondered what dark circumstances had chained him to this illegal gambling den. However, relying on his professional instinct honed in physical therapy, where prying into a patient’s trauma rarely helped, he kept his mouth shut.

With the area spotless, Gi-hyeon asked if the teller wanted ice cream. The man shook his head, fixing Gi-hyeon with a deadpan stare.

“Consuming cold food immediately after heavy grease will cause the fat to solidify in your stomach.”

“…Ah, right.”

You sound exactly like Jo Yeon-oh, Gi-hyeon thought with a wry smile. Before he could articulate the comparison, the teller announced he was heading back inside since the cleanup was finished, swiftly disappearing into the greenhouse.

Gi-hyeon lowered himself onto the stack of cement bricks Jisu had assembled as makeshift seating. Perhaps because it was the dead of summer, the bricks retained a comforting, ambient warmth that mirrored human body temperature. He was just debating whether to fetch an ice cream anyway when a voice shattered the silence.

“Second Lieutenant So.”

The unexpected military title hit him like a physical blow. Gi-hyeon whipped his head around, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. A man who had absolutely zero logical reason to be here was standing near the entrance of the greenhouse.

Operating purely on instinct, Gi-hyeon shot to his feet, completely unaware of his own violent trembling. His calves slammed into the stack of bricks behind him, sending the cement blocks crashing to the dirt in a chaotic cascade. The man rushed forward, extending a hand to steady him.

Looking like a man who had just seen a ghost, Gi-hyeon’s face contorted in absolute terror as he violently slapped the outstretched hand away. The vicious smack echoed loudly enough to leave a red welt on the man’s skin, yet neither of them acknowledged the violence.

It was his junior officer from the military. The exact same junior he had unexpectedly encountered while hiding out in Namhae. The sheer impossibility of the man finding him here induced a wave of nauseating vertigo.

“I was so sorry about what happened back then…” the junior stammered.

“Ah, you said you two knew each other.”

A second, deeply unfamiliar voice cut through the darkness. It belonged to the man from the foreign car in town. Gi-hyeon’s brow furrowed in confusion, but as the man stepped out of the shadows and removed his sunglasses, the pieces violently clicked together.

It was the Alpha from Namhae. The man he had bumped into during his morning walk, and later seen surfing. Gi-hyeon finally realized the Alpha had been traveling with his junior officer the entire time.

“…”

An indescribable, suffocating dread paralyzed Gi-hyeon. As the man took a deliberate step forward, Gi-hyeon instinctively scrambled backward. His heel caught on the tumbled cement bricks, pitching him off balance. He threw a hand against the plastic wall of the greenhouse just to stay upright.

“Oh my, you almost took a nasty spill,” the man crooned, his voice dripping with weaponized, faux-concern. “You stumbled earlier, too. You really should be more careful…”

The man’s specific cadence, that polished, venomous politeness, triggered a terrifyingly familiar association in Gi-hyeon’s mind. His wide, blank eyes blinked rapidly.

It felt as if every single ghost he had desperately tried to outrun was suddenly clawing out of the dirt, grasping at his ankles to drag him back into hell. Specifically, the ankle that still carried a permanent limp.

“…L-let me go…” Gi-hyeon stammered, entirely detached from the words spilling from his own mouth. He thrashed wildly, desperately trying to physically repel the approaching threat, but his actual movements were pathetically weak and uncoordinated.

Trapped against the wall, his vision swimming with dark spots, Gi-hyeon instinctively wrapped his arms protectively over his lower abdomen. The man tracked the movement and let out a vicious, mocking laugh.

“Whoa, you really are pregnant. Whose kid is it?”

The man giggled, a wet, sticky malice oozing from every syllable. Glancing back at the junior officer, he pointed directly at Gi-hyeon. “Look at this mess.”

The degradation was so absolute that Gi-hyeon’s brain simply short-circuited, incapable of processing the insult. The man turned back, his voice saturated with cruel amusement.

“I kept thinking, ‘Where have I seen this guy before?’ But to think you were hiding out in a shithole like this. Did you turn into an Omega? And you got knocked up? I asked whose kid it is.”

The man’s tone rapidly deteriorated, stripping away the thin veneer of elite education and exposing the raw, putrid arrogance beneath. The stench of his entitlement was physically nauseating. Gi-hyeon squeezed his eyes shut against a violent wave of vertigo, then forced them open.

“Why aren’t you answering? Is it Jo Yeon-oh’s?”

“…”

“Did that bastard hear you turned into an Omega and immediately fuck you? But he absolutely despises Betas, doesn’t he?”

Jo Yeon-oh…? Why the hell is that name being invoked here?

Gi-hyeon desperately needed to anchor his fracturing mind. There was no logical reason for him to endure this humiliation. He resolved to interrogate the man, to demand exactly what his angle was regarding Yeon-oh. Biting down on the inside of his cheek so hard his molars ground against flesh, Gi-hyeon used the sharp spike of pain to force himself into lucidity. Ignoring the metallic tang of blood flooding his mouth, he opened his lips to demand an explanation.

“Yeon-shin-ah, are you unemployed? You dragged your ass all the way out to this shithole just to spout that fucking bullshit?”

A violent, electric chill ripped down Gi-hyeon’s spine. It was a voice he knew better than his own heartbeat. Jo Yeon-oh.

Swallowing a sharp gasp, Gi-hyeon whipped his head toward the sound. Yeon-oh pulled a cigarette from his lips, casually snapping the cylinder in half with his thumb before dropping it. His voice was a sub-zero whisper.

“Your mouth seems to be running exceptionally wild today. Who is pregnant with whose child?”

Gi-hyeon’s entire body began to convulse with uncontrollable tremors. No. No, no. Not like this. He bit the inside of his cheek again, the agonizing pain the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Nothing is confirmed yet, he reminded himself frantically. He had already devised a contingency plan for this exact nightmare: if cornered by Yeon-oh, he would absolutely deny the bastard was the father.

Driven by sheer, unadulterated desperation, a massive surge of adrenaline flooded his system, overriding his terror and forcing his body into rigid compliance. As if the phantom limp in his ankle had been magically cured, Gi-hyeon planted his feet firmly, leveling a perfectly fabricated mask of indignant outrage at the intruders, acting as if their accusations were a completely baseless insult.

In the span of a single breath, Yeon-oh closed the distance. He seized Jo Yeon-shin by the collar, hauling him upward. Without a moment’s hesitation, Yeon-oh reared his arm back and swung with devastating force.

“Hm? I asked who is pregnant with whose child.”

Smack.

Smack. 

The brutal impacts echoed sharply in the night air. Yeon-shin had utterly surrendered the moment Yeon-oh’s hand locked onto his collar.

Only then did the crushing weight of Yeon-oh’s pheromones register in Gi-hyeon’s senses. It wasn’t the erratic scent of anger; it was a deeply submerged, impossibly dense aura of absolute domination, designed specifically to physically crush Yeon-shin into total, silent submission.

“…Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Recovering from his initial shock, Gi-hyeon’s junior officer lunged forward to intervene.

Yeon-oh clicked his tongue in profound annoyance. Without even bothering to glance at the man, he swatted his hand dismissively through the air, treating the officer like a stray dog begging for scraps.

“You need to stay quiet. The adults have a lot to talk about.”