Chapter 112: The Last Request

“Everything you did… it was all just for fun, wasn’t it.”

Han-geon’s sharp voice cut through the air between them, heavy with tears.

“The fact that I liked you… that I did everything you told me to like some brainless idiot.”

“…..”

“The fact that I became an omega without even knowing it, and that I ended up… pregnant—to you, all of it was just something you did for fun.”

A hollow laugh slipped out.

Eun-gyeol could only shake his head desperately, unable to open his mouth, and Han-geon pressed him harder.

After snickering hoarsely several times, Han-geon roughly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Did you enjoy it?

Watching me get tossed around however you liked—was that really so entertaining?

Did you have fun seeing me come when you called and leave when you told me to?

How easy must I have looked, throwing away my pride and doing everything you told me to do.”

“…Han-geon.

Choi Han-geon.

I—I was wrong—”

“You should’ve at least… stopped at some point.”

His lips, which had been trembling like a seizure, finally stilled.

Between the tears streaming down his face, Han-geon let out a strained, broken breath.

“…You should’ve just played with me a little.

No matter how ridiculous or disgusting it was that I liked you, this… this is too far.

I shouldn’t have ended up like this.”

“That’s… that’s not it—”

“Why.

Why did you do that.

Why did you… do this to me.”

Why did you make me like this.

It was a dazed murmur.

If Eun-gyeol had simply fooled around with his body and stopped there, if he had been satisfied and quit at that point, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.

No—maybe even if everything had happened the same way, if he had just heard the apology he’d wanted so desperately a little earlier, then perhaps the two of them would now be standing somewhere else, as different people.

That was probably true.

Even if he had never obtained the love he’d longed for from Eun-gyeol, just one sincere apology might have been enough for this foolish version of him to keep looking only at Eun-gyeol even now.

But…

In the end, it was all in the past.

Suddenly, everything felt unbearably exhausting and empty.

What meaning was there in digging up long-buried emotions and trying to fix things only now.

Stepping onto the desolate ruins of a heart reduced to relics left nothing but devastation.

He had already become an omega.

The child inside him had grown large enough.

And no matter what, Eun-gyeol and he could never look toward the same place again.

Even now, Eun-gyeol was offering the sincere apology he had once wanted so badly, but his belated regret had long since faded, rendered useless.

So this was where his sulking and clinging had to stop.

Han-geon took a rough, deep breath.

If Eun-gyeol had been living well on his own, maybe it would’ve been different, but clinging to someone already broken and pouring out resentment and complaints about the past no longer meant anything.

That wasn’t why he had come here.

“Yeah.

Actually… there’s no point in resenting you anymore.

The one who handed over his life to be ruined was the idiot that is me.”

His voice, dried out and crumbling, fell weakly into the air.

“So blaming you ends today.

I won’t… hold you responsible for anything anymore.

So you, from now on—”

“No.

Choi Han-geon, no.

It’s not your fault.

I—f*ck, I—”

Eun-gyeol shook his head desperately.

Despite Han-geon’s averted gaze, the dark eyes that strained to meet his were soaked through with tears.

Drops fell from his eyes and splattered onto the knee he was kneeling on.

He desperately grabbed Han-geon’s hand, dragging it toward his own tear-soaked face and rubbing against it.

His hot, damp warmth collapsed pitifully against Han-geon’s hand.

“I… I realized I liked you… too late.”

“…..”

“So I didn’t even understand my own feelings, and I… hurt you so much.”

His tear-drenched throat bobbed miserably.

Each time his long lashes fluttered downward, thick drops spilled over and soaked his cheeks.

“I’m sorry… Han-geon.

I… I’m sorry.”

It was a sight Han-geon had never imagined even in his dreams.

Eun-gyeol crying like a child, begging, looked pitiful.

Seeing that face made his chest ache as if being carved open with a blade—so badly it was hard to breathe.

Han-geon felt as though he might collapse right there as well.

“…Stop it.

Now… stop, and get up.”

But his confession, like his apology, had come too late.

No matter how brilliant the seed, it could not sprout in a dead, wintry wasteland.

“And this… will be the last time we see each other.”

“…What…?”

Eun-gyeol’s eyes, which had been lowered in despair, flew open.

His face drained white as his lips trembled in disbelief.

“Han-geon.

Han-geon, no—no, that… that can’t be.”

Muttering like a madman, Eun-gyeol clutched Han-geon’s thigh.

The strength with which he clung on, like someone hanging from a cliff, made Han-geon flinch.

“I—I’ll die without you.

While you were gone, I really thought I was going to die.”

“…Cha Eun-gyeol, wait.

Let go of this—”

“This can’t be it.

I can’t live without you, Han-geon…”

He cried bitterly, until it felt like Han-geon’s heart was collapsing.

As if Han-geon’s legs were his only lifeline, Eun-gyeol’s trembling hands clung desperately.

He shook his head over and over, spilling out frantic words.

“I’ll do better from now on.

I really will.

I’ll repay everything I did wrong to you.

You… you don’t have to forgive me.

Just use me.

I’ll give you everything I have.

To you and our baby—I’ll give you everything.”

“…Cha Eun…gyeol.”

“So… so…”

Like a child, Eun-gyeol sobbed loudly and lowered his head.

His burning forehead pressed against Han-geon’s stomach.

“Don’t go.”

“…..”

“Please, don’t go, Han-geon.”

Burying his face against the belly carrying the child he had helped create, Eun-gyeol cried fiercely.

He wept and begged miserably.

Each time his body shook with sobs, the vibration, his damp breath, his hot tears were all transmitted directly to Han-geon.

He couldn’t endure it any longer.

Han-geon slowly pried Eun-gyeol’s hands away from him.

If this continued, he would lose everything he had steeled himself for.

He might once again be swept up by Cha Eun-gyeol.

He might lift him up, take his hands, and forgive him.

“…Don’t do this.”

Slowly, but firmly, he cut off the tearful pleas.

“Let me go.

This is… my last request to you.”

“Han-geon.

Han-geon, no.

Please, not that.”

“I’m happy without you.

No—because you’re gone, I’m finally happy.”

Han-geon forced a hollow smile.

His voice, pretending calm, trembled faintly, but he pushed through.

“I resented you a lot, but… if we’re being fair, it wasn’t only your fault.

From the beginning… I was the one who wanted more than friendship.

So you too… don’t hold on to me anymore.

Don’t look for me.

Live your life.

Go back to work.

Live boldly, like you used to.”

“No.

No, I don’t need any of that.

I don’t need anything but you.

Please, Han-geon…”

Repeating no like a madman, Eun-gyeol shook his head violently.

He reached out, flailing like someone drowning, trying to grab Han-geon again—but Han-geon stepped back.

“Don’t touch me.

Stay right there.”

“Choi Han-geon!”

Eun-gyeol’s flushed face twisted miserably.

As he surged to his feet and lunged toward him, Han-geon hardened his expression and spoke sharply.

“Don’t follow me.

I don’t know what I’ll do to you if you do.”

Grabbing his shoulders with both hands, he shoved him back.

“The more you try to find me, the more I’ll hide.

And then I’ll have to move again because of you.

I’ll go somewhere you can’t find, and whether it’s about the baby… or about me, you’ll never hear anything again.”

“…..”

“I’m pregnant.

I can’t run.

If I push myself… it could hurt the baby.”

Tears dripped steadily from his eyes, but Han-geon didn’t blink as he stared Eun-gyeol down.

“So don’t chase me.

This is the last request an expecting parent is making to you.”

“…Choi Han-geon.

Han-geon…”

“You’re… the father who helped make this child.”

At the word father, the last remaining spark of life in Eun-gyeol’s eyes shattered completely.

He stood frozen, like someone who had forgotten how to breathe, staring at Han-geon without moving, like a corpse.

“You said you’d do anything.

For me and the baby.

Then there’s just one last thing I’m asking, sincerely.”

“…..”

“Don’t follow me.

Stay right here.

If you want to play the role of a father just this once, and if you really loved me…”

Forcing the final ultimatum through his parched throat, he spoke.

“…Grant me this request.”

With those words, Han-geon opened the door and ran out.

Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the main road and flagged down a taxi.

Until he reached the bus terminal, he never once looked back.

Tears kept spilling, blurring his vision.

After getting out of the taxi, Han-geon boarded a long-distance bus that was waiting to depart.

Only then did the breath trapped deep inside his heavy body burst out, long delayed.

Before he could even steady his breathing, the bus began to move.

It was a clear evening, but through his clouded vision, he couldn’t see any of the scenery outside the window.

Once again, Han-geon had to return to a place that belonged only to himself.

Unaware of the burning pain inside him, the baby inside his belly kicked cheerfully, playing.