L*st and Death

Manu Singh stared silently at the crushed handgrip on the wheelchair—still imprinted with the marks of Isaac’s fingers. The plastic handle was shattered, and the metal bar beneath it bore the warped imprint of his grip, as if the steel had been crumpled like clay.

It had happened just ten minutes ago, when Isaac was suffering from a brutal headache. As he waited for the pain to pass, he’d clenched the wheelchair handle with such force that it had broken under his grasp.

In that moment, Singh couldn’t help but wonder: why had that monster of a man spared his fragile, fly-like life? All it would take was a little pressure from his fingertips to crush Singh’s skull.

“Are you alright now?”

Focus slowly returned to Isaac’s bleary eyes. He had clearly lost awareness—of where he was, what he was doing—momentarily consumed by the agony.

Expressionless, Isaac looked down at the mangled handle he’d just ruined and let out a breath of weak derision.

“I’m fine.”

The violent headaches and dizziness were symptomatic of Aporion Syndrome—a sign that Isaac, like other alphas whose lifespans were nearly depleted, was approaching death. Whether he had a year left, or wouldn’t survive the season, couldn’t be known without detailed tests.

And his recovery rate had deteriorated noticeably. Like certain high-tier alphas, Isaac had once possessed superhuman regenerative abilities—nerves like the optic and spinal cord, normally impossible to repair, had healed in him without medical intervention. But now, even after being shot just 8 centimeters from the spine, he was still stuck in a wheelchair.

Through glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, Singh observed Isaac with sharp gray eyes and scoffed.

“So your autumn is nearing its end.”

As if to hint at Isaac’s death, Singh quoted a line from a Rimbaud poem. A ripple of emotion passed through Isaac’s pale blue eyes.

“Better make your move before the last leaf falls.”

Isaac turned away from Singh and placed the blood sample into the analyzer.

Singh gave a small snort of laughter. What a joke—that he’d been afraid of a broken handle. The truth was, Isaac couldn’t kill him. Not because of sentiment—but because Isaac lacked the knowledge to create an omega on his own. His understanding of genetics was clearly shallow. Even after acquiring Yuri Berec’s research journal, he’d failed to produce a single Imprint-worthy partner in over a decade.

For all his time running from Singh, Isaac had finally chosen to strike a deal. In exchange for extending his life, he would form an Imprint with the first omega born from the lab’s research.

And yet, their experiments had yielded nothing so far. As Singh watched the sun set outside the window, he spoke again.

“We’re going to proceed with control-group trials.”

“Control group?”

“Until now, we’ve kept the subjects from exposure to alpha pheromones. But we’ll now selectively introduce it in some cases. We need to isolate the variable more clearly.”

Singh leaned back in his chair, relaxed.

“Conveniently, we’ve got an excuse. One of the alphas imprisoned in the lower facility requested to use the East Asian subject as a toy. It works out for him, too. Better than tossing him into the general dorms—at least this way he only deals with one person.”

The task of unlocking the phone inherited by Vile Group’s youngest heir, BK, wasn’t Singh’s responsibility. But the information rumored to be inside intrigued him deeply.

Keith—one of Hybris’ directors and the island’s manager—had entrusted the decryption to a young, inexperienced alpha before leaving for the mainland. In exchange for indulging BK’s demands, the youth had managed to extract 3 of the 11 letters in the passcode.

“Let’s proceed from the next trial onward. It’s too late now. It’s been four days since the injection—conditions are no longer ideal for a clean control.”

Singh shrugged.

“If the trial fails, he’ll just become an Eta. Who cares.”

“Skipping steps is how you end up with failure.”

Isaac’s calm criticism made Singh narrow his eyes. Even after losing weight since arriving on the island, Isaac’s body didn’t look smaller. In fact, the cut of his muscles and bone structure stood out even more—lean, agile, striking. Singh felt the strange thrill of bending a god to his will as he picked up the phone.

“Take 3543 to BK. And tell him nicely: if he doesn’t keep that boy satisfied, life is about to get a whole lot harder.”

Siron entered the elevator with two alphas. On the island, alphas always moved in pairs. The shorter one behind him pressed the side panel button. Their destination: B2—the floor where Baekgyeong was presumed to be.

“Isn’t blood collection on the fifth floor?”

Siron placed a hand over his chest, startled by the sudden loud thump of his heart.

“We’re skipping blood draw today.”

“Then where are we going?”

“The man you cooked for. He said he wants to see you.”

Siron’s eyes widened. He didn’t understand, but his face was a mix of confusion and curiosity at the idea that some stranger had appreciated his food. In truth, it was an expression he’d practiced several times in advance, imagining something like this.

“Really? ...Hah. Wants to see me, huh? Guess the food was that good.”

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly as the elevator doors opened. The hallway beyond was pure white, lined with surveillance cameras. Under the bright lights, Siron felt like he wouldn’t be able to hide his emotions.

Something was boiling inside him—an unbearable, swelling feeling he couldn’t push down. Like an astronaut lost in the infinite universe stumbling across another in the same position—a light in the void of each other's isolation.

‘It has to be Baekgyeong.’

There was no other man alive deranged enough to demand kimchi stew at gunpoint while being held captive.

As expected, the man waiting behind the thick steel door was Baekgyeong. He looked thinner than in Siron’s memory—sharper, more intense. His defined features locked onto Siron. Siron could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

‘Please don’t recognize me.’

Baekgyeong’s face began to twist, like a demon’s, and before he could speak, Siron yelled first.

“Nice to meet you! F-First time, right?”

It was a terribly stiff and awkward thing to say to a man in a prison cell. Baekgyeong bit down hard on his lip. Breathing ragged, still glaring at Siron, he asked the short alpha beside him:

“What is this?”

“The toy you asked for.”

The short alpha answered coolly.

“You said you were going crazy from being locked up and wanted to fuck someone—anyone. So we brought you your sex slave.”

“I never said it like that, you fucking asshole!”

The short alpha’s face didn’t change. Calm as ever, he corrected Baekgyeong coldly.

“You did. Crude as hell.”

“Fuck’s sake...”

“Go in. 3543. You’d better serve him well. If word gets out that you slacked off, your life’s going to get way harder than it already is.”

Siron, briefly overwhelmed by the shock of reuniting with Baekgyeong, gradually began regaining his composure. Something was off. The short alpha spoke as if he knew exactly how depraved Baekgyeong could get. His oddly prim and dismissive attitude also stuck out.

‘What’s going on?’

Still stunned, Siron asked blankly:

“You mean I’m supposed to stay here?”

“Yes.”

The short alpha ordered Baekgyeong—still behind the bars—to face the wall with his hands behind his back. Then he unlocked the door. Still pointing a gun at Siron, he gave the final command.

“Go in. Now.”

Siron hesitated, but reluctantly stepped into the cell. The steel door clanged shut behind him. A few seconds later, a scraping sound echoed across the floor. A food tray—Siron’s carefully prepared meal—slid in through the slot at the door’s base.

“I’ll say this once. The current trials [N O V E L I G H T] require subjects to be showered in alpha pheromones.”

Baekgyeong, who’d been facing the wall, turned and walked past Siron, gripping the bars of the steel door.

“Subjects? Pheromone shower? What the hell does that mean?”

“Simple. You douse your toy in pheromones. Whether it’s by simulated sex or actual sex—doesn’t matter.”

“What the fuck kind of bullshit is that?!”

“Didn’t you ask for a toy to blow off some steam? If not, we can always toss him to another alpha. Ted’s been eyeing him.”

“Eyeing?! Fuck! Who the fuck is Ted?! What the hell are you even talking about?!”

Baekgyeong roared like a caged animal and shook the bars furiously. The short alpha watched silently through the surveillance window before turning away. Footsteps echoed down the cold hallway, fading slowly.

Only after the corridor fell completely silent did Baekgyeong storm toward Siron, eyes burning with fury.

“You—what the fuck are you doing here?!”

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