“…Secretary Choi. It’s me. I’m not feeling well. I’ll be cancelling this afternoon’s schedule and heading back to the hotel.”
Beomwook had finally raised the white flag. It made him all the more uneasy because this wasn’t something he could be honest with Myeongjin about — but it was the only choice he had.
He didn’t know why, but whether by someone else’s doing or his own, Baek Yeonjun was avoiding him. And that fact left Beomwook more unsettled and anxious than anything had in a long time. He felt as though he’d been buried head to toe in a mire he couldn’t claw his way out of.
Before he knew it, the hour was creeping toward 9 PM. Beomwook glanced at the time and lifted the whiskey glass he’d already emptied several times over. Even at this hour, there was still no word from Yeonjun.
Draining the glass again, he thought about how narrow his world had always been — barely enough people to call relationships at all. Of course there were various circumstances behind it, but it was only natural to feel responsible and sorry toward Yeonjun, who had been put through things he never should have had to experience — all because of him.
And yet. Was it reasonable behavior — for the sole reason that contact had been lost for barely a day — to be worrying over a fully grown adult man, an alpha no less, and on top of that, to have come all the way to the room where he was staying and be sitting here waiting?
“…….”
Beomwook shook his head. Even if Choi Myeongjin — the one person he trusted and relied on — were unreachable, he wouldn’t feel this unsettled. Emotions he had never experienced before were surging through him, and all Beomwook could do was stand there and take it, helpless.
Just then, his phone began to vibrate. It was right around the moment he’d been taking in the Seoul night view through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window, trying to steady himself.
[Choi Myeongjin]
He knew it couldn’t be Yeonjun — the vibration had come from the work phone in his pocket — and yet Beomwook’s heart lurched all the same. The Seoul night view was nowhere near enough. I’ll have to go to Hong Kong or Vietnam soon, he thought, as he pressed the answer button.
“Yes. Secretary Choi.”
— Sir, are you feeling alright?
“…Yes. I’m fine. What is it.”
Beomwook gripped the phone needlessly tighter as his eyes swept the room around him. A lie about being sick — something he hadn’t even told back in his school days. He couldn’t fathom how many more ridiculous situations he was going to have to live through.
— I was going to tell you tomorrow so as not to disturb your rest… but it seems somewhat urgent, so I’m reaching out right away.
“Go ahead. What is it.”
— While monitoring things related to Baek Yeonjun, we found something we’d missed.
Baek Yeonjun. The moment that name reached him, Beomwook’s expression hardened in an instant. Hadn’t everything been dealt with already. He could almost hear Seo Ihyeon’s mocking voice again.
“…I understood that all the articles had been taken down.”
— Yes. There are no articles, and nothing new has gone up either. The issue is… an anonymous community board for the university Baek Yeonjun attends — one that doesn’t come up in standard searches.
“Is there still talk coming from that side?”
— Yes, there is. Since Baek Yeonjun is currently enrolled there, it’s very likely he’s already seen those posts.
“Go on.”
— Gossip involving you is circulating there as well. Baek Yeonjun continues to come up as a subject of discussion too. We’ve been submitting blind requests each time something surfaces… but I was late in catching it. …I’m sorry, sir.
The glittering lights that had been spread before his eyes all seemed to go dark at once. Beomwook couldn’t bring himself to put the phone down — nor to straighten his grip on it — as a choked breath came out rough and ragged.
There was no way Baek Yeonjun hadn’t known. Even if he hadn’t seen it directly, what he must have gone through and felt on campus was painfully obvious. Beomwook exhaled deeply once more.
He knew this well enough himself. Rumors had no form, yet they swelled enormous — crushing the breath in one’s throat in an instant, binding arms and legs. The more you struggled, the more it worked like a trap tightening around the whole body. The more you tried to speak up, the harder you pushed back with your body, the more you were only fanning the flames.
“For now, have it taken down immediately, and make sure nothing further can be said about it. Baek Yeonjun must not come to any harm. Absolutely not.”
Beomwook finished speaking slowly. Neither he nor Myeongjin had thought that far. It was clearly an oversight. A reply came that it would be handled immediately, and the call ended.
At that very moment — click — the sound of the hotel door opening reached him. Beomwook’s gaze moved quickly. It was accompanied by the sound of a scuffling friction. And then, along with a faint smell of alcohol, a familiar voice followed.
“…Oh, sis. I’m in now. My phone was dead, so… What? How did you know about that?… No, I don’t know. I’m not telling you. Yeah, yeah. A lawsuit? What lawsuit. I don’t want your help either… Yeah, I don’t. I’m not saying a word. Mm. No, I don’t want to cause trouble for the Executive Director…….”
“……”
“I’m hanging up. I’ll call you.”
Yeonjun hastily put the phone down — and his eyes met Beomwook’s in a straight line. Yeonjun’s eyes went wide as a rabbit’s; clutching the phone in his hand, he stumbled backward at the sight of Beomwook standing right there in front of him.
“…Sir.”
He forced the corners of his lips upward into an awkward smile. The pale column of Yeonjun’s throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed.
“……”
“……”
A heavy silence passed between them. Beomwook watched, steady and unhurried, as Yeonjun’s head sank lower and lower. Yeonjun, who had abruptly ended the call, walked on his own over to the sofa where Beomwook was sitting. Holding both hands together and fidgeting with them, he kept stealing glances at Beomwook and then looking away, over and over again.
Maybe it’s because I keep thinking of that dog from the countryside. It had reached the point where Beomwook could almost hear the whimpering sound like an auditory hallucination — and at that, Beomwook clicked his tongue. Yeonjun, startled by the sound, looked on the verge of tears as he tucked his head down even lower.
He thought back to Yeonjun’s voice he’d happened to overhear just a moment ago. He’d said sis. From the background information Myeongjin had reported on Yeonjun, he already knew he had one older sister named Baek Yeonwoo. Baek Yeonwoo was also an alpha — currently a divorce attorney who had become something of a public figure in the media.
Yeonjun must have grown up as the cherished youngest son in a warm, ordinary family. The complete opposite of Beomwook’s own childhood — one where fists flew and blood was spilled. A person from a perfectly different world, someone he never would have met had he not dragged him into the broken engagement, had Yeonjun not been in that café that day.
Beomwook felt it — an untouchable wall standing between himself and Yeonjun, who sat facing him. The moment that realization landed, the heart that had been stirring uncontrollably all day long began to harden over, cold.
“Are you not going to say anything.”
Beomwook spoke first. He couldn’t be certain, but given the context, the conversation Yeonjun had been having with Baek Yeonwoo was clearly about the anonymous community board. Every piece of gossip, no matter how low-grade, Myeongjin had always reported to Beomwook the moment it was found — yet those posts from that anonymous board had been the one thing he hadn’t reported. That alone suggested the content was likely quite severe. Anonymous, and involving someone whose face people recognized — a current student — it would have been a feast for the kind of people who loved to tear others apart.
“I… didn’t quite know what to say…….”
Yeonjun’s voice came out strained, and he still couldn’t bring himself to look Beomwook properly in the face. Was he going to pretend he didn’t know. Yeonjun had been the victim from the very start. It had been Yeonjun himself who’d asked him to take the articles down, who’d asked whether he could truly take responsibility.
Why he was hiding it, why he wasn’t asking for help — Beomwook found himself less and less able to understand him.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know.”
“……”
“Yeonjun.”
“I just… it was also kind of okay, and I didn’t want to tell you about it.”
Hearing Yeonjun’s answer only confused Beomwook further. Everything that had happened was a consequence of being caught up with him — and yet it was okay? He didn’t want to say anything? He would have much preferred if Yeonjun had come to him whimpering, teary-eyed, begging for help. Beomwook couldn’t even think to relax his hardened expression as he looked at Yeonjun, who sat with his eyes cast downward.
“Haa — did you forget that you agreed to tell me everything whenever something happened. I’m not blaming you. It’s just… for the things you go through because of me — those, at least, I want to see through to the end.”
Beomwook finished speaking and lowered his head. In front of Yeonjun, he always felt himself grow small.
“It’s not empty words — I really am fine. Truly. If I’d needed help, I would have told you right away.”
“…….”
“I really mean it! Sure, at first it bothered me — but only for a moment. It’s just rumors, after all. They’ll be forgotten quickly. I already knew that’s always how rumors go — so I just didn’t bring it up to you.”
Yeonjun’s face said he truly was fine, and he looked at Beomwook with something closer to concern. Those gentle eyes blinked, aimed entirely at him. The slightly downturned corners of his eyes caught Beomwook’s gaze every time they moved.
