Chapter 21: Three Months

Han-geon swallowed, tension tightening his expression.

“What do you mean…?”

“Cha Eun-gyeol can be a bit reckless and kind of an ass— krrhm— I mean, he’s prickly, sure, but normally he doesn’t ride his managers so hard they can’t stand it.

Honestly, in this industry there are tons of people who treat staff way worse than Cha Eun-gyeol.

But…”

The team manager glanced around, then lowered his voice another notch.

“He goes into rut every three months.

That’s why.”

Han-geon’s face went blank.

He had never seen Eun-gyeol during a rut before; the possibility hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You have no idea how vicious he gets.

Like, completely insane.

You can’t control him.

They even had the top pheromone specialists in the country look into it… Apparently he’s a dominant alpha, and his pheromone levels are so high it makes the whole thing even more unbearable for him.”

“Ah… I… see.”

It was something he had never heard from Eun-gyeol before.

Then again, Eun-gyeol had never really talked to him about being an alpha, or pheromones, or anything about his traits.

Aside from those low-effort jokes like ‘If you were an omega…’, he’d never shared anything real.

“Still, if he gets through a few days it does calm down a bit.

Whether he handles it with suppressants or something else… well, who knows what he does behind the scenes.”

It felt like being hit in the chest with a huge rock.

Even through the dazed pain, Han-geon silently waited for the rest.

“Well, it’s not like he’s seeing anyone right now… but since you’re basically family now, and since you’re originally his friend, I’m telling you honestly.

We would prefer he just handled it with suppressants.

A scandal would be a real headache.”

“…”

“But we can’t dig 100% into his private life or meddle either.

He’s not a kid.

Honestly, you probably know this side of things better than I do, right?

Since you’re his friend.”

The manager tapped off some ash and took another drag of his cigarette.

“There’s just one thing I want to ask you, Han-geon.

When he’s in rut, he gets mean and temperamental.

So please manage him well.

As much as you can.

So it won’t disrupt filming.”

“Yes.

I… understand.”

“And if you can keep him from doing anything that might cause a scandal, even better.

But again, that’s not something we can control.

He has to deal with his rut somehow.

And if something does happen, keep it discreet.

Quiet.

No rumors.”

A heavy lump clogged his throat.

Han-geon barely forced out a reply.

“Should we head back in?”

“Ah… I’ll go in after I sober up a little more.”

The manager nodded and went back inside.

Left alone, Han-geon blinked slowly.

The pleasant buzz of alcohol evaporated instantly.

He rubbed one side of his face hard with his rough palm.

What is this…

Just a moment ago he had been overflowing with gratitude and happiness.

Being closest to Eun-gyeol, being able to watch him freely, being able to protect him from the dangers that constantly swarmed him.

He wasn’t just some friend lurking from the shadows, suffering in silence.

He had finally become someone who could stand beside him openly, proudly, guarding his safety.

And then he’d run straight into something he had never even imagined.

Eun-gyeol’s rut cycle was a problem he had avoided thinking about entirely, pushing it away whenever it surfaced.

Even as a beta, Han-geon wasn’t ignorant of how alphas resolved their rut.

They said embracing an omega was the only thing that relieved that fundamental thirst.

But until now, he’d forced himself not to imagine it.

Just holding feelings for Eun-gyeol was already overwhelmingly painful; imagining him with someone else was nothing short of self-inflicted torture.

Yet no matter how the sky collapsed or the ground crumbled, the fact remained: Eun-gyeol was an alpha.

His rut cycle would come whether Han-geon fought it or not.

And however he chose to release that explosive pheromone surge, Han-geon had no right to interfere.

None at all.

What can I do?

I have to accept it.

Whether he accepted it or not, whether he felt miserable, hurt, or torn apart— none of that changed the reality.

It didn’t stop the burn in his chest, though.

There was no way to soothe the heart that had suddenly dropped to the floor.

Han-geon silently chewed on his lips.

If only he smoked—maybe then he could burn this hollow feeling and let it drift off into the air.

Then a small but unmistakable voice pierced his ears.

—…Yeah.

Han-geon’s eyes flew wide open.

It was a familiar voice.

He turned without thinking, looking toward the back of the restaurant where a large zelkova tree shaded a quiet courtyard.

And there, Eun-gyeol stood beneath it—having just stepped outside.

With Juwon beside him.

Han-geon instinctively hid himself.

Even from a distance, Juwon’s expression as she looked up at Eun-gyeol was clear.

Her lips curved prettily; her voice light and bright as she chatted; her eyes soft with unmistakable affection.

Her long hair fluttered gently whenever a lukewarm breeze passed.

Seeing her, Han-geon was instantly sure— she felt the same way he did.

“….”

His gaze dropped to the ground.

He didn’t want to keep watching this.

He really, sincerely didn’t.

But if he moved now and rustled anything, they might see him.

As painful as it was to watch their warm, intimate moment, he didn’t want to barge in like an unwelcome intruder.

What do I do… Han-geon bit his lip, frozen in place.

But he couldn’t stand there forever.

Reluctantly he lifted his eyes again, ready to quietly slip away toward the restaurant entrance—

—and saw something he never wanted to see.

Eun-gyeol’s hand, the one he had always thought was porcelain-white and beautiful, gently touching Juwon’s hair.

Stroking from the crown down, just as he occasionally did to Han-geon.

At the same time, Juwon’s under-eye smile folded sweetly.

Even in the dim dusk, her flushed face was clearly visible.

The image from the script reading—the feeling that they were a perfect, striking pair—rose vividly again.

Han-geon’s stomach lurched violently.

He couldn’t take it anymore and turned away sharply.

Whether they saw him or not didn’t matter anymore.

From the shadowy garden to the brightly lit parking lot out front, he ran.

He hadn’t even run far, yet his chest felt like it would explode.

Only when he reached a streetlight did he realize he had forgotten to breathe.

“…Haa… haa…”

The breath he finally forced out scattered uselessly into the air.

Stupid.

What was it, what about that scene— why was it such a big deal?

It wasn’t even anything special.

He had managed to convince himself he could accept the rut situation, but just seeing Eun-gyeol stroke someone’s hair made him fall apart like this?

Suddenly the road ahead felt pitch-black.

If he stayed by Eun-gyeol’s side as his manager, how many times would he have to see moments like this?

He could barely handle this much— what about something worse…?

…Calm down first.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was still on duty.

Losing himself in emotions where anyone could see was unacceptable.

Maybe Eun-gyeol or Juwon had seen him run out.

If he ran into them later, he’d have to hide how shaken he’d been.

“…I just came out for some air and saw them by accident.

I thought I was intruding so I left right away…”

He practiced the excuse under his breath.

His murmured voice sounded pathetically small.

He almost laughed at himself, but the bitterness swallowed the sound again.

He exhaled, tipping his head back toward the sky.

His breathing steadied, but his chest still felt tight, blocked, aching.

His eyes wandered across the evening sky pricked with early stars.

Habitually, he clenched and unclenched his fist.

Then a gentle voice called out behind him.

“Oh— Manager Han-geon?

From Eun-gyeol sunbae’s team?”

Startled, Han-geon spun around—just as a large hand settled on his shoulder.

“What are you doing out here?

All alone.”

The person holding his shoulder was Yoon Junseong, the actor who had spilled water on him earlier.