The wet asphalt gleamed like polished black leather under the meager light of Seoul. Neon haze, red and blue flashes of advertisements, drowned in countless puddles — as if the city itself was bleeding light into the endless, rain-soaked night. The air was heavy, charged with electricity; the sharp tang of ozone before a storm prickled in his nose. With reflections of light running across their faces and damp clothes, it looked as though they were both caught in someone's crosshairs — dangerous silhouettes carved out of darkness. Every drop falling from the roof sounded like an alarm signal, striking in time with their footsteps.
Ryon made his decision without wasting time on hesitation.Leaving the café, he activated the hidden tag on Jisong's flash drive, launching a triple-layer proxy verification protocol. Of course, Min-Ki already knew about his choice — their connection, even when cut off, always felt like a phantom impulse running through his nerves, irritating and persistent.
They met an hour later in the maze of old alleys, where the noise of the city broke against the blank walls of warehouses. Jisong stood by one of them, his outline too sharp in the dim light, his dark coat absorbing the moisture.
— You've made your choice, — Jisong said as Ryon approached. It wasn't a question — just a statement that didn't need confirmation.
— I have one condition, — Ryon cut him off before the conversation could take root. His voice was level, taut as a string, but Jisong caught the faint rasp that always appeared when Ryon's composure cracked. — You don't ask who I am, and I don't lie to you. We work with information only. If you ask about my missions, my past, or what I do with your data — you'll break the agreement, and I'll disappear. You won't find me again.
Jisong tilted his head slightly, studying him. His dark, perceptive eyes showed no surprise — only focused attention. A faint, crooked smile softened his mouth, sending a warm wave through Ryon's chest.
— So you agree to honesty without trust, — he said quietly. — Fair enough. I know that the truth about you would probably destroy everything around me. But I already feel like I'm standing in the wreckage. I have nothing to lose. I'm ready.
Ryon sensed the anxiety hidden beneath Jisong's calm exterior — not a threat to him personally, but to the fragile balance of his carefully built life. He knew that revealing the truth about his origin — about the code he carried, about the emptiness behind his eyes — could shatter not just his legend but his entire existence. He was a malfunction, and Jisong, without knowing it, was drawn straight to the point of no return.
— Start. What did you find on the flash drive? Speak quickly.
Jisong handed him a printed, encrypted building plan — the paper slightly damp, the ink bleeding at the edges. Their fingers brushed, just barely, but the touch was sharper than an electric jolt. Jisong instantly felt the cold of Ryon's skin, contrasting with the hot wave that rolled through his own body from that fleeting contact.
— Central Research Facility, Eon. Abandoned. I found encrypted access logs there. One of the names listed — your brother's. Min-Ki.
Ryon froze. The paper crumpled slightly in his hand. For a split second, pain flared in his eyes — invisible but searing — before he forced it down. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, his back muscles drew tight, like a bowstring preparing for an unavoidable fight.
— I don't have a brother, — his voice was cold, denying, perfectly false.
— Don't lie. You said you wouldn't. — Jisong's voice dropped to an intimate whisper, slipping past Ryon's defenses. — Min-Ki's name appears in Eon's database, under Aurora Project test subjects. That was long before we met. You said his name once — at the port, when you were half-conscious.
Ryon realized there was no retreat. He hated Jisong for that insight — for reading him like code, for stripping away the illusion of control. It felt as though Jisong could read the script of his being more easily than he could himself.
— You know too much, — he said through clenched teeth. Ryon's pheromone signature became unstable — bitter, metallic, spiked with ozone and adrenaline.
— Now I do, — Jisong replied. — And I understand that our paths crossed long before tonight. I need to know why.
They moved forward, blending into the late-night crowd. The street grew denser; people hurried under umbrellas. Ryon, moving like a ghost between light and shadow, avoided every accidental touch, his body tense and cold.
But in the press of bodies, collision became inevitable. Ryon's solid, cold shoulder hit Jisong's chest as they turned sharply into a narrow street. It wasn't an accident — it was two overheated bodies colliding with force. Jisong's breath caught, the air thick and hot like steam, dizziness flashing behind his eyes. Beneath Ryon's soaked shirt, his muscles drew tight, and Jisong felt that tension as both strength and fragility — a body too controlled, too human.
Inside his chest, Jisong almost heard the rapid beat of Ryon's heart, muffled by the rain and city noise. That rhythm echoed in Jisong's own body — a slow-building, primal heat, the Alpha's instinctive reaction to the Omega's suppressed strain.
They stepped into the narrow, rust-scented elevator of an abandoned office building. The smell of dust, wet metal, and electricity mixed with the scent of rain clinging to their clothes. The tension didn't fade — it thickened, pressing against the air.
Jisong pinned Ryon against the cold steel wall — not roughly, but deliberately, occupying every inch of space, leaving Ryon nowhere to retreat. It wasn't aggression — it was assertion, a way to make him feel his presence.
Their mouths hovered dangerously close — near enough that Jisong's hot, heavy breath brushed Ryon's upper lip, carrying the raw, earthy scent of an Alpha. He didn't move, but his eyes touched like fingers, tracing Ryon's face — from the line of his eyes, down to his jaw, to the soft pulse beneath his neck, then back up again.
Ryon bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, desperate to suppress a sound. His body arched slightly, searching for support in the cold metal behind him. His skin burned everywhere Jisong's gaze lingered. The threshold hadn't yet been crossed, but the desire between them was tangible — an invisible hand pressed against Ryon's waist, holding him there.
Years of suppression cracked. The stress of exposure and the nearness of a powerful Alpha made Ryon's pheromones bitter and metallic — like unripe fruit against steel. Jisong caught the scent instantly. His Alpha instincts recognized the Omega's tension and vulnerability, though he couldn't name its source. Something wordless formed between them — an invisible connection Jisong felt like a burning ache low in his abdomen.
When the elevator shuddered and opened on the thirteenth floor, Ryon stepped out sharply, as if escaping a trap. He coughed, forcing his breath to steady.
— You're testing boundaries, — he said, turning to Jisong. His eyes were cold, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. — That breaks our deal.
Jisong followed into the empty, dust-choked office. Light from grimy windows cast him in ghostly tones.
— No, — he answered softly. — I'm studying your reactions. You respond too sharply to scent, proximity, touch. I'm not asking who you are — I'm stating that you're not cold.
Ryon clenched his fists, burning with shame. The Alpha's scent still hung heavy in the air, mixing with his own bitter pheromones.
— Focus on the job, — he snapped, moving toward an old workstation buried under layers of dust and forgotten magazines.
They connected Jisong's flash drive to a terminal. The screen flickered to life in a pale green glow, contrasting with the deep blue night outside. Jisong's fingers flew over sticky keys — fast, precise, almost mechanical.
Ryon watched him, trying to steady his breathing. His gaze betrayed him — lingering on the movement of Jisong's shoulders, the strong line of his neck beneath the coat collar. Dangerous. Useless. Addictive.
— Here, — Jisong murmured, voice taut. — Eon's "Aurora" project file. Found it in a backup archive they forgot to wipe. Min-Ki's name is on the list of disappeared under R-01 trials. Project R-01… that's you.
Ryon stepped closer, leaning over his shoulder to see the screen. The scent of Jisong — heavy, earthy, disarmingly familiar — filled his lungs. It was the scent he associated with safety, even if he despised that weakness.
— Eon worked on embedding code into biological matrices, — Ryon whispered, his lips near Jisong's ear, close enough to make it necessary. — They tried to engineer a "pure" Omega — one without instinct, able to regulate the city's pheromone network. Min-Ki was their first success… or their first failure.
Jisong's breath hitched. He turned his head sharply, their faces suddenly inches apart.
— And you? — his voice was hoarse. — Are you R-01?
Ryon pulled back as if burned. He could feel Jisong's heartbeat echoing against his own.
— I don't lie, — he said quietly, looking away. — But I won't answer that.
Jisong understood. Ryon was bound — unable to lie, yet forbidden to speak the truth.
He closed the file.
— Fine. We'll infiltrate the Eon Research Center. I need to know what happened to Min-Ki. And you… you want to erase your trace.
Ryon nodded. For the first time that night, his gaze softened — less like a threat, more like an ally.
— Do you have an entry plan? — he asked.
— No, — Jisong said, meeting his eyes. — But now we do.
***
Jisong turned away from the terminal, giving Ryon space to regain control. He approached the frost-covered window and braced his hands against the cold sill.
Threshold. He could feel Ryon's pheromones — sharp, electric, bitter like ozone — stirring something primal inside him. His Alpha instinct screamed to shield that fragility, to cover Ryon's trembling pulse with his own body, to protect him from the world — and from himself.But Ryon wasn't just an Omega. He was an experiment — a human stripped of instinct, now beginning to feel. And that realization was more intoxicating than any chemical lure.
Their meeting was no accident. Min-Ki — Ryon's lost brother — was the key to Jisong's own past. He remembered the vision from years ago: a figure with translucent eyes, torn out of reality like static through glass. Now he knew — it had been Min-Ki.
I'll find the truth, Jisong thought, even if you end up hating me for it.
— We'll start from the parking level, — he said at last, his voice low but steady. — The dossier includes the old service schematics. There's a maintenance shaft beneath the east entrance — it leads straight to Eon's server core.
Ryon approached. His body was composed again, but Jisong still sensed the lingering tremor in his shoulders.
— I can disable the security grid remotely, but I'll need five minutes of zero movement within fifty meters. You'll be my shield.
Jisong didn't ask what would happen if someone showed up. He knew Ryon would buy him those five minutes — whatever the cost.
— I'll be your shield, — Jisong repeated, stepping close, locking eyes with him. He placed a hand on Ryon's shoulder — not gripping, just steady. — But we leave together. No matter what you find — we walk out together.
Ryon nodded slowly. The heat of Jisong's hand burned through the fabric, a heavy, grounding warmth.
— Deal.
Their eyes met — and again, that same dangerous current passed between them, as in the elevator. Jisong traced a slow line along Ryon's collarbone with his thumb — barely a touch, yet leaving a path of fire behind. It was both tenderness and claim — and Ryon no longer tried to resist it.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Jisong mixed with ozone — the scent of the choice he had made tonight.