L*st and Death

If you want something desperately enough, your thoughts become reality. Your subconscious will make it so.

Even Siron, who’d lived his life with zero interest in books, had once read The Secret. The book had caused a sensation in the U.S. and Korea during the mid-to-late 2000s. It delivered a powerful message: if you truly, deeply desired something, the universe would bring it to you. It inspired countless people longing to change their lives.

Baekgyeong had never read The Secret, but with how often Siron talked about it, it felt like he’d read it several times over. He was the type to scoff at phrases like “your thoughts become reality,” but still—if it really were possible to turn thoughts into reality, there was only one thing he’d want.

To start over with Siron.

Not to cheapen Siron’s affection as mere payment in sex, but to walk through life together as equals.

“Aren’t you going?”

Ian reached out hesitantly and tugged at Baekgyeong’s sleeve. Baekgyeong batted the hand away like he was swatting a fly.

“Don’t touch me. Wait.”

Ignoring Ian’s hardening expression, Baekgyeong looked out over the southern shoreline. Fierce winds and high waves had swallowed the beach beneath the surf.

“Hell of a wind today.”

“There’s a hurricane approaching. The worst hasn’t even hit yet.”

“When’s it supposed to reach the island?”

“Tomorrow. They say it starts in the evening—on the 8th.”

Even now, umbrellas were useless in the battering rain and wind. If this wasn’t even the main event, Baekgyeong had an ominous feeling, like the entire island might be swept away like a sandbar beneath a storm surge.

“That edge over there—those rocks that show and disappear with the tide—is that the dock?”

“Yeah. A boat docks there once a week, that’s it. Still, yeah. If you fish there, you’ll get plenty of bites. But... are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Okay with what?”

“Masturbating outside. In this weather. Think you’ll manage?”

Baekgyeong ignored Ian’s grin and climbed into the passenger seat of the electric cart.

“There are CCTVs everywhere. Can’t do it here.”

“Then where?”

“Start the engine first. I’ll look around a few places. When I find one I like, then I’ll undress.”

With a jerk of his chin and furrowed brows, Baekgyeong pointed at the driver’s seat. Ian, even knowing Baekgyeong might turn on him at any moment, still clung to the delusion that he was the one in control. Like he was playing a dangerous game—one he enjoyed. He gladly took the wheel.

Baekgyeong said he wanted to check out the island’s north side, intrigued by its uneven terrain, shaped like a cake missing its tip. Near the northern cliffs was the island’s power system. A giant smokestack with a lightning rod atop it puffed black smoke—diesel was burned to generate electricity and stored. The entire area reeked faintly of oil.

Nearby was a facility used by alphas during their rut cycles. On calm, windless nights, the sounds of moaning and screaming could be heard from there. But today, with the wind and rain, there was nothing.

Following Baekgyeong’s orders, the cart stopped at the northernmost point of the island—a flat rocky ground just meters from the cliff’s edge. On a day like today, with winds this wild, one wrong step could mean falling to your death. But Baekgyeong had to see what lay beyond the cliff. He dropped to his stomach and crawled to the edge, peering down.

Ian’s eyes kept being drawn—again and again—to Baekgyeong’s rounded ass, stretched upward in full view. He wanted that ass pressed down against his face. Ian couldn’t understand himself. He had no idea where this level of perverse sexual desire had been hiding inside him.

Baekgyeong crawled back like he was filming a solo action movie, covered in mud, and got back into the cart.

“Next, let’s go over there.”

He pointed to the satellite tower on the island’s eastern side.

“No can do. I told you before. No entry within 200 meters.”

The bomb around Baekgyeong’s neck was triggered if he entered forbidden zones or left the designated area. Leaving the island by more than one kilometer or entering within 200 meters of the satellite tower would activate the collar’s comms module, starting a countdown. After 30 minutes, a current faster than a bullet would flow through the detonator and trigger the bomb.

“When it explodes, the pressure wave severs your head clean off before the shrapnel even touches your skin.”

“...You’ve seen it happen?”

“Yeah.”

“Who was it?”

“Some troublemaking beta. Said he’d rather die than deal with an alpha in rut. Ran into the zone before anyone could stop him.”

Today was especially dangerous. On days with hurricanes or extreme weather, satellite signal precision degraded. You couldn’t even get within 300 meters of the zone.

Careful to avoid the tower’s range, they followed the designated path to the island’s eastern side. There, near the cliff, the land was scattered with chest-high rocks. The perfect spot. No CCTVs. No people.

But instead of undressing, Baekgyeong once again crawled to the cliff’s edge and looked out. He returned some time later, looking deflated.

“Well? As good as you hoped?”

“Hoped?”

“You’ve been scoping out escape routes this whole time, haven’t you?”

He didn’t sound the least bit surprised—just accusatory.

“Why did you keep watching me search for a ship like you didn’t already know?”

“Because you can’t escape. That thing around your neck isn’t for decoration, you know?”

If he used force, the bomb would go off. If he left the boundaries, it would go off. Unless the detonation remote was operated from within the allowed area, there was no way out.

“There’s a remote control in that facility, right?”

Baekgyeong’s finger pointed at the satellite tower. It was a logical assumption. The tower was a place bomb-collared prisoners could never enter—an invisible trap.

“Yeah.”

Baekgyeong touched the collar choking his neck.

“How do you disarm it?”

“...Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Yeah.”

Ian was stunned. The guy hadn’t even tried to figure it out himself—just walked up and asked, point-blank, the guard from the enemy side. Was he stupid? Or just arrogant?

“Why the hell would I answer that?”

“I think you will.”

“Oh yeah? Why would I?”

Baekgyeong scowled and mulled it over. After a while, he spoke with visible irritation.

“Because you’re into me. And let’s be honest—you’ve already done some insane shit because of it.”

“I mean... I am into you, but I keep my professional and personal life sepa—agh!”

Baekgyeong grabbed Ian by the collar and slapped him hard across the face with a wide palm.

“Ah! What the fuck?!”

“You don’t separate shit. You getting hit right now is proof.”

“Ugh! L-let go!”

“Why do you keep talking back? I don’t remember giving you permission.”

The next slap was even harder—so strong it made his vision flash. He must’ve hit his nose wrong, because blood began pouring from Ian’s nostrils. Ian covered his nose and shoved Baekgyeong away.

“Blood! I’m bleeding!”

“Fuck’s sake.”

Baekgyeong muttered something unintelligible—probably a curse—and came toward him. With one hand gripping Ian’s collar, he used the other to grab Ian’s hair and yank his head back unnaturally far.

Cold rain pelted his face like needles, stinging his flushed, swelling skin. And then Baekgyeong’s warm hand cupped his face. Gently, he pinched around Ian’s nostrils, applying pressure.

Baekgyeong’s first-aid attempt was half-wrong, half-right. Tilting the head back meant the blood could flow into the airway—it should’ve been tilted forward. But pinching the nose was correct. Ian’s breath rebounded against Baekgyeong’s palm, returning that warmth back to him. It was like his senses had fully awakened.

“You’re a fucking pervert, you know that?”

“...You’re the one who punched me in the face.”

Baekgyeong said nothing. When Ian glanced sideways, Baekgyeong was staring out into the void with a scowl carved deep between his brows.

For some reason, that look made Ian laugh.

“So... are you gonna jerk off now? When do I get to see it?”

Ian snickered as he asked.

“Fuck off with your jerk-off talk.”

Before the bleeding even stopped, Baekgyeong stepped away. As if something disgusting had gotten on him, he scrubbed his hands in the rain. Then he spread his legs and sat on a rock ledge, propping himself up with his arms behind his back. He lifted his chin arrogantly and motioned to a flat stone a few steps away.

“Get on your knees.”

“What the hell is this...?”

“We’re doing what you like, faggot. What, wasn’t it your dream? To be insulted, humiliated, and dominated?”

Ian felt sick. He had never, not once in his life, been treated like this.

But if he admitted it now—admitted that Baekgyeong was right—he knew he’d become addicted to being someone else’s toy. He’d regret it for the rest of his life. And yet every nerve, every cell in his body was begging for it.

“You’re right. More precisely—I want to be humiliated sexually. Please... make me feel wretched.”

Ian didn’t hide the truth. But Baekgyeong clearly hadn’t expected that kind of response. He turned his back, trembling all over, muttering unintelligible curses.

When he finally turned to face Ian again, Baekgyeong’s gaze was ice-cold.

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for? Don’t stall. Strip. Depending on how you do, I’ll humiliate you—down to the last fucking detail.”

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