Ha-jin’s eyes widened. It had only been about ten seconds since a group of men—clearly Cheon Tae-seong’s people—had swarmed in like gangsters and dragged someone away. …And now he was saying “sweetheart”? Ha-jin couldn’t even begin to understand what kind of joke this was supposed to be.
He tried to pry Tae-seong’s hand off his cheeks—fingers that were gripping him painfully tight.
“What are you even talking about? And those men—what was that? You can’t hurt Choi Chan-hyuk. Mari noona will get in trouble.”
“Answer me first, sweetheart. A ‘new client,’ huh?”
Ha-jin couldn’t figure out why Tae-seong was suddenly so upset. When he stayed silent and simply rolled his eyes, Tae-seong, clearly frustrated, continued explaining.
“We’ve only just agreed to start dating, and you’re already like this? I thought you were the responsible type.”
“…That’s…”
How was he supposed to know he had to keep lying even in front of unrelated people? Especially in front of Kwak Mari—if he had gone along with it, he would’ve had to expend so much energy explaining everything. Apparently, that wasn’t something Tae-seong had considered.
“There’s no reason to lie to them too.”
“Why not? CEO Kwak Mari could’ve been hired to spy on us.”
Ha-jin narrowed his eyes sharply.
“She wouldn’t.”
Tae-seong was the kind of man who believed enemies were always close by—he’d even suspected his own father first. There were far more people he didn’t trust than those he did. And ironically, right now, he was placing that rare trust in someone who’d already betrayed him once—Ha-jin.
Which was exactly why Ha-jin’s calm confidence threw him off.
“And what makes you so sure?”
“I just believe in her. It’s not about being sure or not—I’ve never even considered the possibility. She would never do that.”
“Ahh.”
Tae-seong made a noise of indifference. His thick eyebrows twitched with visible displeasure, and he muttered to himself like he got it now. An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the quiet hum of a hospital cleaning robot gliding past, wiping up the spilled drink. The brown shake Tae-seong had thrown in Ha-jin’s defense vanished under the microfiber mop.
As Ha-jin glanced away briefly, then looked back, Tae-seong seized the moment.
“Then let me ask—what does Nalgae mean?”
“Oh, that…”
Ha-jin bit his lip. The memory of the first time he’d met Tae-seong again after the regression flashed through his mind, and his face flushed red.
“Is that whole thing just a gimmick, Mr. Kim Nalgae?”
“Excuse me?”
“The socks, the anonymous ID…”
“Ah…”
“So, what does ‘Kim Nalgae’ mean?”
“It’s a secret.”
“A secret?”
He should’ve just told him back then. It wasn’t anything worth hiding, and calling it a “secret” had only made things more embarrassing in hindsight. Honestly, if he was going to use an alias, he should’ve picked something that sounded like a normal name. Who knows what he’d been thinking at the time.
Tae-seong had been the first person to ever ask about the meaning behind his silly alias. Why was he even curious about something like that?
“It’s a secret again, huh? But Kwak Mari knows?”
“No…”
Ha-jin hesitated for just a second, but it was enough to make Tae-seong glare at him, eyes sharp and fierce.
Just then—ding dong—a chime rang out, and Ha-jin’s name appeared on the electronic board. A nurse walked out from the back and called him.
“Lee Ha-jin, please proceed to exam room 4.”
The conversation was abruptly cut off, but it wasn’t like they could ignore the nurse.
“I’ll tell you after I get back.”
Ha-jin turned to go, but Tae-seong followed without missing a beat. Ha-jin gave him a puzzled look, but Tae-seong just met his gaze with a bold, unreadable expression.
“I’m coming too.”
“Huh?”
Before Ha-jin could object, Tae-seong swung the door to the exam room open and stepped inside. His eyes were still sharp, tension simmering just beneath the surface. Ha-jin was flustered, unsure of what to do with him.
***
Inside the exam room, the doctor sat calmly in a crisp white coat, studying the two of them with a composed, cautious expression.
“Well, first off—your numbers haven’t changed.”
Ha-jin glanced down at the test results, then looked up. His new attending physician—whom he’d chosen to replace Professor Joo Yoon-seo—had sharp features but took the time to explain everything in detail so that Ha-jin could understand.
Whether that carefulness was because of Tae-seong sitting next to him or not, he didn’t know. Either way, it allowed him to better grasp the details of his test results than before.
Everything was the same as last time. No change in his metrics. The conclusion: Ha-jin’s constitution hadn’t changed.
And yet, the doctor’s expression remained skeptical. A feeling of unease settled in Ha-jin’s chest.
“…Is something wrong?”
“I was told why you decided to get re-tested. And when it comes to pheromone-related symptoms, what the patient feels is often the most accurate indicator.”
“Even with this much… all these comprehensive results, you’re saying the test could still be wrong?”
“In my long experience, you should never dismiss the one-in-a-million chance. Even if the probability is 0.0001%, if it happens to you, it’s 100%. Think about it—if these results reflect your usual state, then the odd moment where something felt off might’ve simply not shown up during the exam. And you did feel that something was off, didn’t you?”
Ha-jin couldn’t argue.
It was true—he had trouble staying composed around Tae-seong. His pheromones felt distinctly different from any other Alpha client’s. And if he denied it here, Tae-seong might jump in and say he was a firsthand witness who’d felt Ha-jin’s pheromones himself.
Ha-jin glanced at him, distracted. Tae-seong remained expressionless, his thoughts unreadable. The doctor looked between them and continued.
“The pheromone glands are extremely unpredictable organs. There are many cases where pheromones lay dormant, then suddenly flare up.”
“So… what should I do, then?”
The doctor brought his hands together, as if he’d been waiting for that question.
“How about this?”
He proposed a new regimen: take a daily medication to help regulate pheromone secretion, and record blood samples to monitor any changes. Saliva test strips would also be provided. If Ha-jin kept up with it for even a month or two, the doctor said, they could start to form a clearer picture.
“In other words, we’re going to track your everyday hormonal fluctuations.”
“Do I have to take the meds?”
“It’s similar to the medication you took for the EEG. You said you didn’t feel any side effects that time, remember? So you likely won’t feel any this time either. And if you do notice changes, just come in right away.”
“……”
As Ha-jin hesitated, the doctor added another warning.
“If you don’t take the meds, it could take a very long time to spot anything. Worse, your pheromones might spiral out of control before you even notice, triggering unexpected situations.”
“Unexpected situations… You don’t mean… heat cycles, do you?”
At that, Tae-seong’s brow twitched.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent—with the help of the meds.”
In the end, Ha-jin had no choice but to agree. The doctor’s firm tone and the looming threat of a heat cycle left no room for refusal.
Once they left the exam room, Tae-seong still hadn’t shown any real change in expression. He simply started walking toward the payment desk and pharmacy. Ha-jin received a bag of meds, test strips, and blood kits, then tugged at Tae-seong’s elbow.
“Um… are you really okay with this?”
“With what?”
Even though it had only been a moment, Tae-seong’s voice was low, like something inside him had been simmering for ages.
“I mean… if I take this medication, I won’t be able to monitor your condition anymore.”
That was the issue. Their contractual relationship. Ha-jin was supposed to be managing Tae-seong’s pheromone condition—but could he really do that while taking meds that affected his own?
In fact, was he even really managing it anymore?
Tae-seong always insisted he needed Ha-jin to control his pheromone fluctuations and soothe his symptoms… but to Ha-jin, that didn’t feel true at all. If anything, it felt like he was the one disrupting Tae-seong’s balance more and more each day. And what if this medication only made it worse?
“…Seriously.”
Tae-seong muttered as he stared down at Ha-jin’s hand on his arm, then ran a hand through his hair. Tilting his head to meet Ha-jin’s gaze, he said firmly,
“I told you I don’t care what the results say.”
“But you didn’t know I’d end up having to take medication.”
“Activator, stimulant, fuckin’ heat pill, I don’t give a damn.”
Ha-jin flinched and looked around. “Heat pill” was way more inappropriate than the curse that came before it.
“Why would you say something so crude?”
“And what about you? You keep saying you can’t, you want to stop, you want to end things. That’s worse.”
“What—what do you mean, end things…? We never even…”
Say it. Come on. Tae-seong leaned in close, his ridiculously handsome face filling Ha-jin’s view.
“You’re the one who keeps saying we can’t, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
