[Whoa, whoa, no cursing. I’m just telling you what I saw.]
Haa. Achim pressed his palm to his forehead and let out a long sigh before snapping his eyes back open.
It’s not like the guy deals in human flesh — so why is he drooling over someone else’s ass!
[Actually, it’s not just the ass……]
“Drop the ass talk.”
[Ah, fair enough. Ahem. Anyway, you’re good-looking even among East Asians, and your build is actually on the slender side. That made you even more agile, too.]
“……”
[And the recruitment requirements include physical conditions. The minimum is 175 centimeters. The average height of women in their twenties here is 170 centimeters, Achim. What did you say your height was?]
It was welcome news to hear, yet he couldn’t say it sat entirely well with him. When Achim answered in a reluctant tone that he was 178 centimeters, Linus said that worked out perfectly.
[So? It feels like every circumstance and condition has lined up for you. Are you feeling up to it?]
Linus’s voice carried a hint of laughter. It was because he already knew what Achim was going to say.
“You even have to ask.”
Having agreed to the proposal, there was no room to back out. In other words, there was no other option.
Rather than spending time worrying about whether it was possible, it was more fitting to take a practical stance — something to the tune of grinding his bones down. Of course, since he couldn’t literally grind his bones, he’d have to transform his appearance within a short period of time to look as convincing as possible.
Achim swept his bangs back roughly.
“I’ll do it.”
At that, Linus snickered and said:
[Good thinking, babe.]
Royal Alpha. An extraordinarily rare trait even among the Alphas — who were already few in number out of a population of billions.
Like Alphas and Omegas, they were of course superior in appearance and physicality — but beyond that, they lived somewhat longer than ordinary Alphas and Omegas. As a result, they outlived the average person by nearly twenty years, a mysterious and superior species.
That was how Achim defined them.
He hadn’t had much interest in traits to begin with, but now that he’d actually put a definition to it, it felt even more distant from him. Because it was a story entirely removed from Achim — an ordinary person, a Beta.
Alphas with Alphas, Omegas with Omegas, or Alphas with Omegas.
Bound by the common ground of their inborn traits, they mingled frequently among themselves, and regardless of country, most gathered and lived in wealthy districts.
Naturally, everyone around Achim was Beta, and that was precisely why he could only regard their lives as a story from another world entirely — something beyond this earth.
The earliest moment Achim could remember from his life was a cluster of worn, cramped doors and a narrow room, dozens of young children. And someone’s shrill, clear voice mocking him for being East Asian.
That was the first world Achim ever saw.
— What’s an East Asian?
Young Achim had asked. A child with light brown hair and blue eyes let out a snickering smile.
— Something like you.
Something like me? Achim asked back with innocent eyes.
Young Achim had been naive. Of course he was — he’d been abandoned at the facility before he’d even had the chance to open his eyes to the world, and as the child who’d pointed at him said, he’d been a little late to realize that his appearance was different from theirs. So he’d learned to speak late, and hadn’t been able to make friends easily.
Instead, he had a patience unusually deep for a young child. It was closer to indifference than patience, really — but either way, Achim had developed an immunity to being mocked early on.
When Achim stared blankly back at the child taunting him, the child ended up crying and running back the way he came.
After that, curious about the meaning of the word the child had used, Achim rummaged through every last one of the grimy books in the facility.
Once Achim found out the dictionary definition of “East Asian,” he found himself with yet another question.
Achim, who rarely ever ran anywhere, immediately sprinted to the facility teacher and asked:
— Teacher, where was I born?
The teacher made a slightly flustered face.
It was then that Achim understood. That he had no registered family.
Not only had his birth not been officially recorded, he didn’t even know where he’d been born. He had no way of knowing what country his parents were from. Judging by his appearance, he could only guess it was somewhere in Asia — but he didn’t know his birthplace either. Even his name had been given to him by the facility, so Achim truly knew nothing about himself.
At the time, whether it was the parents who had abandoned him or the circumstances he’d been placed in, Achim neither blamed nor despaired over any of it. No — it was more accurate to say he couldn’t. Because Achim was far too young to even think such thoughts.
And then, gradually, around the age of six, when he’d begun to be able to think.
He had just finished a modest meal of nothing but bread and milk and was on his way back to his room. A commotion coming from behind the facility building made Achim turn on his heel.
A small, slight boy was surrounded by three or four others. Cornered, the boy had his head hung low in fear, not moving an inch, lips pressed tightly shut.
That was when it happened. One of the three or four raised a hand high and brought it down hard on the boy’s head. At the exact same moment, Achim’s feet were already moving.
Achim ran over quickly and grabbed firm hold of the wrist of the one whose hand had been raised again.
— What do you think you’re doing?
Achim asked the boy with wide, rounded eyes. He stood with his back to the frightened child, shielding him. The boy with brown hair and freckles scattered all around his nose looked back and forth between Achim and the child, then threw out a sneering question.
— Friends?
— No.
At Achim’s unhesitating answer, the child behind his back flinched and curled in on himself.
— Then move.
— Why?
— You said you’re not friends. So what does it matter to you whether he gets hit or not?
At Freckles’s words, Achim glanced briefly back at the child. Small as he already was, trembling the way he was — he looked just like a rain-soaked mouse. Achim thought of the mice that would sometimes dart inside the facility on rainy days, as if seeking shelter from the rain, then looked forward again.
— We are friends.
Behind him, he felt the child flinch again.
— Don’t lie. You just said you weren’t friends.
— If I said we weren’t friends, you’d hit him. So we are friends.
It was logic that would sound strange even to a young child. The faces of the three or four, Freckles included, twisted immediately.
From Achim’s perspective, their behavior made even less sense. What kind of place was an orphanage? It was a space where children all in the same situation had gathered together.
Not that they could offer comfort — but to gang up and torment someone like this. It was the first time Achim felt something fierce stir within him.
— Move.
— No.
Freckles glared up at Achim, who stood quite a bit shorter than him. Achim, in contrast, did nothing more than blink with indifferent eyes, refusing to let go of the boy’s wrist. If anything, the more the boy struggled, the tighter his grip became — and Freckles’s face gradually contorted in pain.
He didn’t curse, didn’t strike. But whether they’d been frightened in advance by Achim’s gaze and grip — so unlike that of a child — Freckles led the group of three or four as they turned and fled.
Achim watched their retreating figures scrambling away and looked at them again with the same indifferent eyes.
— Th…….
At the small sound from behind him, Achim finally turned around.
— ……Thank you…….
The child whispered, fidgeting with his small hands. His head was still bowed low.
Achim looked down at the child’s round little crown, then reached out a hand. He smoothed the side of the child’s hair that had been knocked into a mess — and the child startled at Achim’s unhesitating touch, then soon went still.
— What’s your name?
