Weekend for In Juhan meant working from home. He woke at his usual hour, substituted coffee for breakfast, and headed to the training room for his morning workout. After showering, he handled his morning tasks, then a staff cook—who came only during the day—prepared his lunch. She’d worked for the In household for as long as Juhan could remember and treated him like family, although he never reciprocated.
After lunch and an afternoon of work, he went to the swimming pool. His upscale villa had a private pool, but it was too short for proper laps. Instead, he used the pool at the local alpha-exclusive membership club, which also offered weight training, squash, and golf facilities adequate for his needs.
This was likely the only time he ever left home in workout clothes.
He began with about 3,000 meters of freestyle as a warm-up, then 2,000 meters of butterfly to really tax his muscles. Mixing in backstroke and breaststroke, he polished off roughly 12,000 meters over two hours. An almost impossible target even for a beta swimmer—but for an extreme alpha like In Juhan, who’d once been scouted as a competitive swimmer, it was merely a challenging workout.
Today was no different. After completing about half his distance, he climbed out of the water for a rest—and his phone, left vibrating on the table, caught his eye.
010-2787-XXXX
A number he hadn’t saved. Of course, he knew who it was: Secretary Cha Gyeoul, providing his latest bit of mischief at an ungodly hour on a Sunday evening.
“What now?”
He tapped the call button.
“Cha, what’s up?”
—……
Only crackling noise came through.
“Speak up, Secretary Cha.”
Still nothing. He was about to hang up—if it were urgent, Gyeoul would call back—when he heard something odd as he lifted the phone from his ear.
—Hah… hahk…!
Heavy, panicked breathing, as though someone were hyperventilating.
“Gyeoul? What are you doing?”
The breaths grew shorter and more ragged, punctuated by wheezing. Something was clearly wrong—he couldn’t even speak.
“Where are you? Just tell me that.”
He kept the call connected as he strode into the locker room to change. His wet body would find workout clothes clinging uncomfortably, but he didn’t care.
“Speak.”
He jumped into his car without knowing his destination. Just as he turned the key—
“Secretary Cha? Secretary Cha!”
The speaker blared a frantic voice he recognized instantly.
“What’s happened? Secretary Cha! Snap out of it!”
It was In Seongje’s voice—no doubt about it.
What on earth was Gyeoul doing with In Seongje on a Sunday evening? What mess was unfolding? Anger boiled in Juhan’s chest at this out-of-control situation.
Gyeoul’s weekend was comparatively mundane.
He woke early to tend his kitchen garden, pulling weeds by the roots now that spring had loosened the soil. After breakfast, he started the laundry backlog and organized the refrigerator: washing vegetables, trimming them for future use, and discarding anything past its prime.
Too exhausted after work to handle chores on weekdays, he spent weekends roughly prepping a week’s worth of food. That made the coming days easier.
Once the house was tidy, it was already lunchtime. Today he made dumpling soup with tofu and chopped vegetables. Store-bought might have tasted better, but his own handiwork was respectable.
In the afternoon, he tackled home maintenance: clearing blockages from the eaves and drains, painting walls, cleaning the fence—there were endless fixes in the aging house. Yet Gyeoul didn’t mind. From his pre-possession life’s memories, he’d grown up here and cherished every corner. The home felt as lived-in by him as by his former self. And best of all, it was his own house. Though the neighborhood was run-down and the subway station distant, at least under Seoul’s sky he had a roof that shielded him from rain and wind.
By evening, after a day’s busy but satisfying chores, he made pickles and preserved vegetables to last another week. It was a full day, but Gyeoul never called the tasks “work”—he only did what he loved.
“Hah….”
He opened the windows to air out garlic sauce scents, then collapsed on the living-room floor, exhaling a heavy sigh. The cause: the musical tickets given by In Seongje. Online, he’d learned they were nearly impossible to get—especially for a prime time show.
Why, then, was he sighing instead of celebrating? Because he had no one to go with. Three months in this world and he’d had no chance to make friends. Even if time allowed, he was too shy to join clubs, and all his office colleagues had vanished. He couldn’t contact anyone.
True, the original Cha Gyeoul had friends—but those belonged to his former life, not Gyeoul’s. He didn’t want to betray their memories by pretending to fit in with strangers.
In short, Gyeoul had no one.
“What should I do….”
Saturday night stretched on as he agonized over the unused tickets.
The Sunday-evening ER buzzed with nurses, doctors, and patients. In one corner, two men glared at each other.
“Step back.”
“Think I will? Not this time.”
It was In Juhan and In Seongje. Neither spoke at home, yet here they stood—sharing something that almost counted as conversation. If their mother could see them, she might have wept with joy. The atmosphere, however, was anything but joyful.
“You wanna try something?”
“Go ahead. If you do, I will too.”
“Don’t forget who’s my secretary.”
“Not on duty right now, am I? That make any difference?”
They exuded aggressive alpha pheromones, neither yielding an inch. In Juhan’s expression was as hard as stone; Seongje’s usually playful grin had vanished. They probably thought focusing their pheromones on each other would keep others safe—but anyone nearby would be affected.
It was a classic case of two whales fighting and a shrimp getting crushed.
“St-stop… please…!”
On the bed between them lay Gyeoul, sweat beading on his forehead. He managed his plea with difficulty.
“Secretary Cha… are you awake?”
Two voices overlapped, and Gyeoul couldn’t make sense of either.
“Where am I…? Why am I…?”
He wasn’t fully conscious yet. He had no idea what had happened, why he was lying in a hospital bed on an IV drip, or why both Juhans stood over him.
“It’s okay. Take your time waking up—don’t push yourself.”
Seongje’s stern look vanished in an instant, replaced by a mock-worried pout. He must have been genuinely concerned.
Gyeoul’s gaze naturally shifted to In Juhan—whose brow was furrowed in irritation.
“Shut up and stay still.”
He looked nothing like the suited, shirt-clad executive Gyeoul saw every day. Instead, he wore a matching sports-training set, hair still damp from the pool. Something Gyeoul had never seen.
‘Unfair… unfair….’
How could the outfit look so good? It felt like the clothes were lucky to be on him. Like seeing a star athlete with unrivaled looks commanding every eye. In Juhan clearly had a spectrum of charms.
“What are you staring at? Like a creep.”
Gyeoul wanted to protest, but his lips stayed sealed—he secretly agreed.
“So, why are you here… director? Ah!”
A memory he’d momentarily forgotten surged back: recollections of today’s events.
So what had happened today…?