Lee Ha-jin took a moment to collect his thoughts before meeting Tae-seong’s refined face with a calm expression and offering his opinion as evenly as possible.
“Ultimately, it’d be healthier for you to have natural relationships outside of rut periods. It helps with pheromone circulation, and… well, it’s not like your body’s going to rot if you don’t, but still.”
If Cheon Tae-seong were to meet a suitable dominant Omega, fall in love, and get married, Ha-jin would automatically be terminated from his post. But it wasn’t as though he’d cling to the life of a perfectly fine dominant Alpha just to keep his paycheck.
In fact, the further Tae-seong drifted from his life, the further Ha-jin would be from death. So it wasn’t as if he desperately wanted to keep his position as Cheon Tae-seong’s manager.
…It’d actually be better if he lost interest in me.
I could just move on to another client in need of pheromone management.
That sort of connection? Kwak Mari was a pro at arranging those.
“I’d actually recommend meeting an Omega.”
When Ha-jin said it with full sincerity, Cheon Tae-seong’s lips tightened sharply.
He just kept staring silently, and from that, Ha-jin could tell he’d said something wrong. Eventually, even the faint smile disappeared from Tae-seong’s face, and Ha-jin found it hard to breathe in the tense air.
“……”
“Ha.”
It was obvious Cheon Tae-seong was trying to suppress his temper. With a face full of discomfort, he yanked at his tie knot, loosening it before walking toward the CEO’s desk and taking a seat. His footsteps were practically dripping with irritation.
What part of my answer upset him so much? Ha-jin wondered. But he figured even if he asked, he wouldn’t get a straight response. He quietly closed his notebook and began organizing his writing tools.
He wanted to retreat to his own desk set up in the inner office space—but to get there, he’d have to walk past Cheon Tae-seong. As Ha-jin hesitated and gauged the mood, Tae-seong suddenly let out a sharp, exaggerated scoff.
“Natural relationships? Is that how you phrase it? Helps with pheromone circulation? Do I look like livestock to you, Lee Ha-jin? You trying to pair me up like I’m some hamster in a shared cage?”
“……”
Ha-jin was too stunned to respond. His eyes widened, but Tae-seong fired off another question immediately.
“And what about you, Lee Ha-jin? You maintaining a natural relationship for your health?”
“……”
Ha-jin had no idea how to respond. Why had the conversation veered off like this? Was my suggestion really that offensive? Even Ha-jin knew better than to go around urging people to date—it was crossing the line, even for family.
But you’re the one who brought it up first…
“Ah, wait—is even that against the contract terms?”
When Ha-jin gave a small, sheepish frown, Tae-seong smirked and turned his head sharply to the side. He opened up a file folder and started flipping through it—flip, flip, flip—but the way he handled the pages made it seem like he was shredding them instead.
What the hell…
Is it because his rut is approaching? Is that why he’s so on edge?
Ha-jin intentionally focused and tried reading Tae-seong’s pheromones, but the current levels were still within normal range. Still, according to his earlier notes and predictions, Tae-seong’s rut was clearly approaching.
Should I report his condition to the attending physician and ask for advice? You can’t overlook psychological symptoms either…
As Ha-jin debated the issue, Cheon Tae-seong slammed the folder shut and muttered under his breath:
“Get out.”
Ha-jin stood up immediately. Normally, the closer it got to rut, the more a manager was supposed to stay by the client’s side. But in moments like this, keeping some distance seemed like the better call.
But just as he reached for the doorknob, Tae-seong let out a groan. When Ha-jin looked back, Tae-seong’s eyes were blazing like laser beams.
If he had to interpret that look—
Did you really just try to leave after I told you to?
Ha-jin was baffled, but he kept the reaction to himself.
Okay, so what the hell do you want me to do then…?
After a brief standoff, Tae-seong, once again, managed to suppress his temper. He let out a long sigh and looked away from Ha-jin. The gesture was oddly suggestive, and Ha-jin furrowed his brows.
“You said you’re supposed to stay close until the rut starts.”
“So you’re saying… I shouldn’t leave?”
“……Yeah.”
Apparently, the current protocol wasn’t working for Tae-seong. Ha-jin really did need to consult the physician.
Still unable to retreat to his own desk, Ha-jin perched awkwardly on the sofa instead. He pulled out his notebook and started jotting down notes, but Tae-seong let out another heavy sigh.
Feeling a wave of anxiety creep in, Ha-jin finally decided to send a message to the attending physician.
***
“You hungry, Ha-jin?”
“Huh?”
As they were nearing the end of the workday, Cheon Tae-seong suddenly asked. And now—he was smiling.
His moods really were all over the place.
Managers typically started work early in the morning, so they tended to finish earlier too. Some even worked two shifts in a day. But just like in his previous life, Tae-seong demanded exclusive access to Ha-jin until the evening.
Even with breaks here and there, working until 6 p.m. made the day drag on. He was being paid six times the standard rate, so Ha-jin didn’t mind that part. But being held up past the official end of his shift? That was a different story.
Still, with rut just around the corner… maybe he should let it slide this once.
“No.”
After a brief moment of consideration, Ha-jin shook his head, thinking of Yushin, who was probably waiting for him at home.
“You gave me plenty of snacks after lunch, so I’m not really hungry for dinner.”
“It’s snow crab season right now. Dae-hong bought a whole bunch.”
“…I’m allergic.”
Tae-seong quickly looked up with a startled expression.
“You’re allergic to that…?”
Whenever his condition worsened, eating shellfish made the inside of his lips swell. On top of that, ever since he died and came back, he couldn’t eat shellfish, fish, or even seaweed soup.
And yet here I am, face-to-face with Cheon Tae-seong again… brave of me, huh.
Not that it was anything to brag about. When your family’s future depended on money, anyone would find the courage to keep going.
As Ha-jin briefly got lost in old memories, Tae-seong spoke again.
“How about some premium Korean beef then?”
“……”
Ha-jin hesitated, and Tae-seong’s face gradually twisted into a scowl. Too late to take it back.
After glaring at him like he was nailed in place, Tae-seong reached out with one big hand and roughly brushed it down Ha-jin’s face. Then, without a word, he turned his head and looked out the window. He was clearly avoiding eye contact again, but it was hard to read what he was thinking.
***
“You’ve changed.”
“Not in a bad way—but you get what I’m saying, right?”
Kwak Mari’s grumbling echoed in his mind, and Ha-jin bit his lip.
After dying and coming back, I’ve started being honest without even meaning to. Even if I need the money, my mouth and body won’t play along anymore.
Sure, he could’ve just eaten with Tae-seong to keep him happy. But thinking of Yushin, stuck at home all day, made it impossible to concede.
In his previous life, he’d spent all his time appeasing others—and when he finally died, he couldn’t even remember his brother’s face in those last moments. That had been the most heartbreaking part.
Maybe he should just explain. Tae-seong had already done a background check on him, so he probably knew everything anyway.
As he debated it, Tae-seong’s gaze returned to Ha-jin.
“Never mind. Just go home.”
“……”
“I was just saying stupid shit.”
Why’s he suddenly using honorifics? Ha-jin’s eyes widened. The tension that had faded returned in full force, tightening around his chest. And now he even looked vaguely lonely, which stirred a creeping sense of guilt.
Feeling his resolve waver, Ha-jin finally opened his mouth.
“I’ll stop by for a bit this weekend.”
“What?”
“Your pheromone levels will probably peak by Monday, so I thought it’d be good to check in midway.”
“…No, it’s fine. Just go home.”
With that, Cheon Tae-seong sat back down. His eyes locked onto the monitor, already focused again—there wasn’t a single crack in his composure.
Ha-jin bowed silently and turned to leave. Just before stepping out, he added one more thing.
“It’s hard for everyone at first.”
It was meant to be comforting. But Tae-seong didn’t even glance at him.
All he said, in a low voice, was:
“I’m fine.”
Maybe that’s why—despite officially clocking out—Ha-jin couldn’t shake the unease clinging to him.
He exited the CEO’s office and walked down the hallway, where Kim Dae-hong was pacing. When he saw Ha-jin, he called out, “Manager, why aren’t you staying for the crab?”—and Ha-jin sighed.
How many times do I have to correct him about that ‘manager’ crap?
With a slight shake of his head, he waved a half-hearted goodbye to Kim Dae-hong and the secretarial staff before getting into the elevator.
He didn’t forget to greet the lobby staff either. Even just getting out of the building felt like it took forever.
He hurried on foot toward the subway. Tae-seong’s land, where several buildings formed a mini-city, was vast. For someone like Ha-jin who relied on public transportation, it was a rough commute.
When he finally spotted the station entrance, he felt like he’d escaped the last gate of Tae-seong’s fortress and could finally breathe.
Tae-seong only feels different from other clients because we’ve got history. A past tied to death and regression—there’s no worse entanglement on Earth.
So why was someone like him trying to share a meal?
Whatever change was happening in Cheon Tae-seong, it was gnawing away at Ha-jin’s nerves. Maybe it was the pheromones. But then again, Tae-seong had told him not to come over the weekend…
He has pride, but he’s not really the stubborn type… right?
In the last life, Ha-jin had been too busy adjusting in the early days. The pay was good, the client was clean—he’d done everything he could to stay in the job. He’d been overly earnest about every little thing.
He used to arrive before sunrise and stay by Tae-seong’s side until nightfall. Never took any vacation days either. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t remember Tae-seong’s subtle expressions from back then. He’d been too focused on surviving and chasing money.
Sure, I still need money just as badly now, but maybe because it’s my second time… it feels different.
Had Tae-seong made those same faces back then?
The image of him at the edge of the cliff in those final moments had burned too vividly into his brain—everything else from the past felt faded and blurry. Now, facing him again, it felt like the past was being overwritten, as if he were meeting Tae-seong for the first time.
Maybe I’m the one starting over—not just regressing, but learning Cheon Tae-seong all over again.
Ha-jin looked at his reflection in the subway window.
He reached up and brushed a hand across his cheek.
Even he didn’t recognize himself anymore.
