Chapter 82: Survival Instincts

“What?!”

The chief manager’s eyes flew wide open as if struck by lightning.

“Wait—Han-geon-ssi!

What, what do you mean by that?”

“…I’m truly sorry.”

“No, hold on.

Han-geon-ssi, did something happen?

Wait—don’t do this, come over here for a second.”

Sensing the gravity of the situation, the chief manager grabbed Han-geon’s wrist in a fluster and led him toward a secluded corner.

The moment they reached a spot with fewer people around, the chief manager raised his voice.

“What on earth does that mean?

Did Cha Eun-gyeol cause a scene again?

Or are you sick?

No—what is going on?!”

“…I’m sorry.”

His voice clogged in his throat.

What could he possibly say to conceal this wretched state of mind?

It hurt to feel the gaze of the chief manager, who knew nothing, directed straight at him.

“…It’s just… personal circumstances.”

Han-geon swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and forced the words out.

“My condition isn’t very good right now, so… I was thinking of going down to the countryside and resting for a bit.

You trusted me with the job, and you treated me so well… I’m sorry for disappointing you.”

“No… my god, what is this…
Cha Eun-gyeol didn’t say anything to me at all?”

The chief manager looked utterly stunned.

From the way he stared blankly at Han-geon, clearly at a loss for words, his feelings were laid bare, and Han-geon lowered his head.

From the very first day Han-geon joined, the chief manager had been genuinely happy and fond of him.

When asked, You’ll stay for a long time, right?

Han-geon had always answered yes without the slightest hesitation, so he understood all too well the disappointment the man must be feeling.

An uncomfortable silence passed.

Han-geon kept his eyes lowered, maintaining his composure as he waited for the chief manager’s response.

“Are you really not going to tell me why you’re quitting?”

Han-geon only repeated, “I’m sorry.”

After letting out a long sigh, instead of reproach or regret, the chief manager reached out and took Han-geon’s hand first.

“…Alright.

I understand.

Go get some proper rest.

But make sure you rest enough—recover completely, whether it’s your body or your heart—and if you ever want to come back, come anytime.

Okay?”

“…Chief manager….”

“I haven’t known you for that long, Han-geon-ssi… but I know you’re a really good person.”

Warmth seeped into him through their joined hands.

A gaze filled with concern rested quietly on Han-geon.

With trembling eyes, Han-geon accepted that look.

“It’s not just because you’re Eun-gyeol’s friend and took such good care of him.

Honestly, among young people these days, you’re the first person like you I’ve met.

So I hope our connection doesn’t end here.”

“…..”

“This might just be my own selfish wish…
I’ll put you on leave for about a year, so if you ever change your mind, tell me.

Alright?”

“…Yes.

Thank you.”

His throat felt painfully tight.

Setting Eun-gyeol aside, the colleagues and the chief manager he had worked with here were genuinely good people.

Knowing full well the kindness and goodwill they had shown him, there was no way this conversation could sit easily with him.

Because the chief manager was being so considerate and regretful about parting, Han-geon nodded without adding anything more.

There was just one most important thing left.

“Um, chief manager.

There’s one thing I’d like to ask.”

“Sure.

What is it?”

“That I told you this today…
Please keep it a secret from Eun-gyeol… at least until before tomorrow’s company dinner.”

Once again, the chief manager’s eyes widened in shock.

“What… what are you saying now?

Eun-gyeol doesn’t know yet?”

“….Yes.”

“Oh dear… this is trouble.

Real trouble.”

Even the chief manager was left speechless, clicking his tongue.

He could clearly picture what would happen afterward.

Han-geon gave a brief, bitter smile, but it quickly faded.

His hollowed-out heart no longer had the leeway to pretend he was fine in front of others.

“…Alright.

I don’t know what your circumstances are exactly, but…”

At last, the chief manager muttered as if resigned.

“It’s between the two of you, so I’ll keep my mouth shut for now.

But I’m worried about whether Eun-gyeol will be okay.

Without you, he’ll turn the whole world upside down.

So that’s why you want it kept secret until before the dinner.”

“….Yes.”

“I don’t know if I can endure him breathing down my neck… but for now… alright.”

“Yes.

Thank you.”

Han-geon bowed deeply.

The chief manager offered to ride together to the hotel, but Han-geon politely declined.

It was only about a ten-minute walk, but with his thoughts in turmoil, he wanted to walk a bit.

Truthfully, he wanted to walk for an hour, two hours—long enough to work up a sweat.

But if he did that, Cha Eun-gyeol would come charging after him in no time.

Sure enough, seeing Eun-gyeol’s name already lighting up his phone, Han-geon let out a soundless sigh and answered calmly, suppressing his unease.

–Where are you.

“…I’m heading out now.”

–Should I come pick you up?

“It’s a ten-minute walk, idiot.

Just wait a bit.

I’ll be there soon.”

As soon as he hung up, another sigh followed, heavy with helplessness.

He was someone who tried to dominate him like a tyrant, yet acted fragile as if the world were ending over this small distance.

‘Don’t go, Han-geon….’

When Eun-gyeol was younger, he sometimes clung to Han-geon and cried like that, heartbreakingly.

It usually happened when they were having fun and Han-geon stood up because it was time to meet another friend.

More than once, he had ended up sitting back down, his resolve melting at that pretty, pitiful sight.

And as Eun-gyeol grew bigger, that attachment grew with him.

It became monstrous, even irrational.

The weekend Han-geon realized he had become an omega and distanced himself, the Eun-gyeol he met again behaved like a madman.

He called incessantly until the phone nearly burned up, and when that wasn’t enough, he grabbed Han-geon—who was begging him to stop—and raped him.

What happened after that was lost to memory, but he still remembered Eun-gyeol’s voice as he drove him into a corner like someone deranged.

And now, if he were to disappear without a word….

No.

What would come after that was something Han-geon didn’t even want to imagine.

No wonder even the chief manager was worried.

‘…It doesn’t matter.’

No—it had to stop mattering from now on.

For far too long, he had lived with Eun-gyeol placed front and center, always first.

Trying to discard habits ingrained into his body and heart over seventeen years was not easy.

He had to pull himself up now—the self that had been trampled down to hell, crushed until there was nothing intact left.

Now, he needed to quietly lower Eun-gyeol from his list of priorities and place himself there instead.

This was no longer a matter of wounded pride.

That didn’t matter anymore.

This was purely about survival.

Because he couldn’t go on living like this.

Being by Eun-gyeol’s side hurt so badly it made even breathing difficult.

When he counted it out, the emotion he felt toward Eun-gyeol was less anger than sorrow.

Despair.

It hurt to realize that if someone asked whether he loved Eun-gyeol now, he could no longer answer yes.

It felt unfamiliar—this version of himself who could no longer say he loved him.

Others might point and laugh, calling him foolish, but loving Eun-gyeol had been Han-geon’s life.

That alone had been his entire existence.

For seventeen years, the feelings he directed at Eun-gyeol unilaterally were practically instinctive.

He had never once imagined a version of himself that did not love him.

That foolish love of his had left behind even a shred of possibility after his body was violated by Eun-gyeol.

At the very least, if Eun-gyeol had sincerely apologized.

If he had shown genuine remorse… then perhaps, idiot that he was, Han-geon might have made a different choice.

But Eun-gyeol hadn’t.

As if Han-geon’s despair over the drastic change in his traits meant nothing, he treated it like an inconvenience.

Unable to speak properly and shaking uncontrollably, Han-geon had listened as Eun-gyeol coldly said he would take responsibility, as if handling a task.

As if that should solve everything.

What exactly was that responsibility Eun-gyeol claimed he would bear?

Compensation for damages?

Or the “uninterrupted social life” he mentioned?

Whenever he looked back on that moment, only a hollow laugh escaped him.

The fever was over now.

That vicious heat had faded.

All that remained was a chilling emptiness.

Now that he could no longer say he loved Eun-gyeol… it felt as though someone had carved a massive chunk out of his life.

He no longer had the confidence to cling to that pitifully hollow daily life and smile beside Eun-gyeol as if nothing were wrong.

So he began to neatly put his life in order.

It felt like sorting through a deceased person’s belongings.

Like reminiscing about someone who no longer existed, he could only stare blankly as his feelings for Eun-gyeol crumbled and scattered into the wind.

Placing his faded first love—his one-sided love—into a box, he bid farewell to his foolishly stubborn past.

Sometimes tears fell.

Other times, he became so drained he couldn’t even lift a finger.

But the hardest part lay elsewhere.

Even during the time he spent putting Eun-gyeol behind him, he still had to stay right by his side.

Trying to calmly package and hold together emotions reduced to rags, while facing his face twenty-four hours a day, was nearly torture.

And one more thing.

He had to devote everything to ensuring Eun-gyeol didn’t notice his feelings.

Eun-gyeol was incomparably sensitive, and just as perceptive.

If he realized Han-geon was slowly dismantling his emotions and his life, he would go berserk.

That was why, over the past month or so, Han-geon had tried so hard.

He deliberately smiled as if nothing were wrong when facing him.

He obediently followed Eun-gyeol’s suffocating instructions—never exercising or eating alone—and accepted every instance of skinship Eun-gyeol initiated.

After the day he manifested as an omega and what Eun-gyeol did to him, Eun-gyeol never acted forcefully in their physical relationship again.

He used condoms he had never bothered with before and took precautions.

So when Eun-gyeol asked for a kiss, Han-geon gave him one, and when he wanted s*x, Han-geon complied without resistance.

The self that had loved Eun-gyeol from afar was now completely dead, leaving him with no heart or leeway left to give for Eun-gyeol’s sake.

But if he were to vanish now, Eun-gyeol would undoubtedly be shaken, and that would interfere with filming.

Even if he was leaving, he wanted Eun-gyeol to finish Season 1 without issue.

That was his responsibility as a manager, and his final consideration as a friend.

That damned title Eun-gyeol had wanted so badly.

Friend.

If he could go back to the distant past, he didn’t know if that would have been possible…
But the truth was, he should have been satisfied with that name.

Then perhaps neither of them would have gotten hurt, and their relationship could have continued without incident.

Everything had started from his own greed.

His inability to be content with staying by Eun-gyeol’s side as just a friend—his desire to reach just a little closer.

The chirring of insects quietly filled the air.

The once-scorching summer had now completely passed.

His footsteps toward the hotel were dull and desolate, each step heavy with melancholy.