"Here, please try one…."
In Juhan stared quietly at whatever had suddenly appeared in front of his eyes. At first he didn’t register what it was. Only after a moment did he realize it was candied strawberries—thanks to the smell, like sugar rubbed over Cha Gyeoul’s laughably childish strawberry pheromones.
Honestly, In Juhan didn’t care for sweets. By default, he disliked heavily seasoned food altogether. He liked things only mildly salty, mildly spicy, mildly sweet—no, correction. In Juhan didn’t like eating at all. He ate because you have to eat not to die. Maybe that’s why his likes and dislikes with food were absolute. If a meal he already found troublesome didn’t suit his palate on top of it, it annoyed him.
His interest in the candied strawberries faded quickly. What drew his eye more was the hand holding them. A face not worth a second look—by In Juhan’s standards, absolutely so—but the hand was rather pretty. The nails were neatly trimmed and glossy; the straight fingers were neither short nor long, neither thin nor thick—seemingly perfect in balance.
The sight of that hand tugged up a memory.
“Human fingers have twenty-eight joints. Toes too. If you cut one joint at a time, you can cut fifty-six times.”
Cha Gyeoul had said that last time. Word for word—clearly it had made an impression. Doesn’t everyone carry one quote carved in their heart? Something like that.
Thinking of that version of Cha Gyeoul, a strange impulse rose in In Juhan. Maybe desire, maybe greed, a feeling surged hard.
Ridiculous as it was, he didn’t resist it and wrapped his lips around the fingers holding the candied strawberry. Just one joint. He took the thumb and forefinger into his mouth, and Cha Gyeoul’s pheromone hit his tongue. Which is to say, he tasted Cha Gyeoul. It was the candied strawberry’s flavor, in truth, but to In Juhan it tasted like Cha Gyeoul. One joint of Cha Gyeoul’s finger. So that’s what it tastes like there.
The melted taste of Cha Gyeoul spread across his tongue. Like one of those metaphors where some cheap food you had no hope for turns out celestial the moment it hits your mouth.
"Tasty."
Having tasted pheromones as flavor, In Juhan felt, for a split instant, a foreign greed.
"More than I expected."
He wanted more.
One joint at a time, savoring… to chew that pheromone thoroughly fifty-six times. He burned with curiosity over what the middle finger would taste like, what scent would rise from the second joint.
"Right? No one has ever disliked my candied strawberries! I’ve got a lot inside—should I pack you a few? I’m not being stingy, it’s just the quantity is fixed, so…."
But that unfamiliar impulse scattered as quickly as it had come. Right—this was Cha Gyeoul. A pebble you kick along the street.
And Cha Gyeoul, whose trustworthiness was still unknown.
"Hh—ugh…."
Two men knelt on the floor, bodies shaking. One looked older; the other seemed in his mid-to-late twenties. Circling them, there was another man—In Juhan.
With one hand in his pocket, drawing on his cigarette, he exuded a viciousness that could make an onlooker wet himself. Aggression even a non-dominant could feel.
In the midst of it, In Juhan moved behind the younger man and crouched. Grabbing his scalp as if to tear it off, he blew smoke into the man’s face. The pallid face shook, but In Juhan didn’t blink. His voice, heavy enough to feel like it sliced skin, dug into the young man’s ear.
"I told you to speak clearly. My time is money."
The man’s lip was split, his cheek swollen an angry red; finally, terror broke him and tears dripped down.
"Crying? Someone almost died because of you, and you think you can bawl without shame."
Yanking the man’s hair back even more brutally, he bit out each word. Frightened, the young man lost control; wet spread between his legs.
He’d pissed himself.
"Fuck. You’ve got nerve. I said just tell me who put you up to it."
"S-sir… there really isn’t anyone…!"
The two now caught before In Juhan were the prime culprits who had sent Cha Gyeoul to the ER: the waiter at that high-end restaurant, and the owner. Maybe the owner wasn’t personally guilty, but if something happened in his establishment, he had to take responsibility himself—that, in In Juhan’s view, was only natural.
"So it was your own initiative to try to kill someone?"
"No! I—I swear I didn’t think it would turn out like that…."
What the waiter confessed was outrageous. Ten out of ten who said they were vegetarian, as long as they didn’t see pieces of meat, ate just fine. Even when he served them that way, no one had ever noticed. Making sauces, stocks, and seasonings completely free of anything to do with meat was a hassle, so they always pulled that sleight of hand—that’s what he admitted.
He simply assumed Cha Gyeoul was one of those people. That he couldn’t eat meat—not that he wouldn’t. Just trick him and it would be fine. He even thought the fussier order was to get attention in front of an alpha. Unbelievable.
"No one behind you, huh…."
In Juhan judged that this didn’t sound like a lie. A man with his eyes filled to the brim with fear of death wouldn’t spin stories.
Who would target some nobody secretary’s life anyway—but In Juhan wanted it settled. Maybe someone had hurt Cha Gyeoul to warn him. Maybe the whole thing was some unknown scheme.
Of course, In Juhan didn’t particularly care what happened to Cha Gyeoul.
Someone like Cha Gyeoul could be replaced tomorrow. The reason he’d stormed the restaurant and made this scene was decidedly not because of Cha Gyeoul. Absolutely not. Absolutely.
Letting go of the waiter’s hair, he stood and faced the owner.
"You heard all that?"
"Y-yes! I—I heard everything! Please be lenient, just this once! I’m begging you."
The owner nodded frantically. If anyone else had made this scene, he would’ve called the police on the spot, but the other party was a direct heir of Saegyeol. Even if he struck, it would do no damage, and the price might be exile from the Korean market. Or a sudden “accident” one day. The owner had enough sense to tell who could be touched and who could not.
Their future—his and the restaurant’s—was in the man’s grip.
"Then why are you just sitting there."
"…Sorry?"
With a gaze so arrogant and insolent it made you want to slap the back of his head a hundred times, In Juhan looked down on the owner.
"Damages."
Only then did the owner’s face brighten. If it was about money, that was cleaner. Pay what it took and be done.
"Of course! We’ll pay, of course, yes!"
As if it were only natural, In Juhan didn’t bother to answer; he just flicked his chin to show his intent.
How much will you give?
The owner smiled with the same question in his eyes.
How much did you have in mind?
One corner of In Juhan’s mouth twisted up. A chilling smile flashed and vanished.
"If I’m the one to say the number, can you handle it?"
Ah—! The owner shook his head like a spin cycle. Absolutely not. No way.
Carefully, he raised three fingers. Three hundred would cover treatment and even a tidy sum for pain and suffering, he thought.
"It’s not enough, but I’ll accept that much. I don’t make a habit of sucking the blood of those who don’t have it."
In an instant, the owner became a man with nothing—but that was fine. In Juhan had accepted at once. So he must value human decency over money, the owner thought. A sincere apology—surely that had worked. Of course, that was pure wishful thinking.
"Three hundred million is me going easy on you, sir."
"Then we—what?! Th-three— three hundred million?!"
"Just your interior here must have cost more than three hundred million. You want to stay open a long time."
A blatant threat. If he didn’t produce three hundred million won, the place would be shut down one way or another. Thinking of the mountain of loans left made him dizzy. If the restaurant closed, he’d be buried in debt. Which meant there was only one answer.
"Th-thank you for your leniency…."
Right. A hundred or a hundred and three.
Preferring to make things certain, In Juhan had the three hundred million wired on the spot and pocketed it.
…Into his account.