L*st and Death

The inside of the car fell silent.

Siron quietly stared at Isaac. But without offering any explanation, Isaac turned his gaze away and stepped out of the vehicle.

“I’ll be right back. Lock the doors.”

Isaac crossed the road and disappeared into an alley. Siron stayed in the car, waiting for his return, but a growing unease crept in. The dreary streets were occasionally wandered by shady-looking figures who roamed as if indifferent to the world.

But Isaac, who had promised to return soon, still didn’t come back.

Trying to pass the time in stillness only made Siron more anxious. He pulled a neatly folded sheet of paper from his pocket. It was a note he had transcribed while trying to decipher Baekgyeong’s phone password.

He skimmed the riddle for the umpteenth time. Among the familiar phrases, one line caught his eye, irritatingly out of place.

“Eight years, 1000 and 50, smiley face and Yoon Siron.”

Smiley face.

The moment he read that phrase, a memory from the night before suddenly flashed in his mind.

A face with a mustache and mocha-cream skin.

He couldn’t remember the full name, but it was something like Rafael Javier Something—Isaac’s flamboyant associate.

His thoughts jumped to the man’s booming laugh and smiling face.

Siron slowly closed his eyes... then snapped them open. A thunderbolt of clarity hit him.

“Witty Burger & Spurs!”

The answer to the quiz was the name of a hamburger franchise Siron used to love.

Its original logo had featured a mustached man beaming with a smile.

“That’s right. They changed the logo.”

It had since been replaced with a generic hamburger design, making it harder to recall—even though the riddle had been so simple in hindsight.

The first letter of “Witty Burger & Spurs” was W.

Now he finally understood what “eight years, 1000 and 50” meant.

Baekgyeong had leased the first floor of his small Nonhyeon-dong [N O V E L I G H T] building to Witty Burger & Spurs—and for eight years, had kept the deposit at 10 million won and monthly rent at 500,000.

Only someone else got lucky off it in the end.

The fact that Baekgyeong had bought that building just to satisfy Siron’s burger cravings made him feel like Baekgyeong was no longer real.

Siron gave a dry, helpless laugh—but then suddenly felt something strange.

He lifted his head and flinched.

Someone was watching him.

From the second floor of a building next to the empty lot, a few young men pointed toward him and made gestures. His anxiety spiked. Siron double-checked the car's lock and ducked his head.

A few minutes later, someone tapped on the window.

Siron turned his head with a tense expression. The same three men who had pointed at him earlier were now standing outside the car.

He hesitated, then raised his voice.

“Can I help you?”

“Si vas a dejar el carro aquí, paga.”

They kept shouting in a language he couldn’t understand.

But the tone made it clear they weren’t being friendly. The aggressive, slurred speech reminded him of street thugs.

“Paga! Si no, te lo llevo a otro lugar!”

If it were only two of them, he might have shown them some of that famous Korean fire.

Unfortunately, there were three. Siron, increasingly nervous, glanced toward the alley where Isaac had disappeared. He’d definitely gone in that direction—but there was no way to know where to find him.

“...Fine. Guess I’ve got no choice.”

He clambered over to the driver’s seat, awkwardly maneuvering in the narrow space.

The key was still in the ignition. He turned it and floored the gas.

In the side mirror, the men screamed and cursed at him, flailing their arms—but Siron didn’t have the capacity to care.

All he could think about was parking the car near where Isaac had vanished.

But that plan fell apart immediately.

The alley was part of a one-way street—there was no way to U-turn.

By the time he merged back onto the main road, he had already gone too far and had no idea how to get back.

He drifted down the cracked, uneven concrete road in a daze.

Okay. Let’s just go back to the safehouse.

The buildings all looked the same, but all roads connected somewhere.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pressed on, hoping he’d eventually find his way.

—

The building Isaac entered was particularly decrepit, even compared to others in the neighborhood.

Rust-colored rebar jutted out of crumbling concrete that looked too soft. A narrow wooden staircase creaked beneath his feet. Moans—from both men and women—echoed through cracked windows.

The entire place reeked of marijuana and rotting food. Isaac walked down the dim corridor and knocked on a paint-peeled metal door.

He didn’t wait long. A bearded white man cautiously peeked out through the chained door.

When their eyes met, he opened the door fully. Though he clearly recognized Isaac, he didn’t react. That was how the rules of this world worked.

Isaac had long heard the rumors: the man had once been with MI6, committed a serious crime, fled England, and settled in Belzoras.

“What do you want?”

“Passports. IDs.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the man’s face. He gestured toward the dim interior, lit only by a small window.

“The power’s out. Electricity’s been unreliable lately.”

Of course it is, Isaac thought, lips twitching into a thin smile.

In the slums—at the bottom of the electrical grid’s priority list—blackouts were common, thanks to decaying infrastructure and corrupt officials.

“What country’s IDs?” the man asked.

Isaac handed him a USB instead of answering. The man plugged it into a charged laptop, checked the files, and nodded.

“Three people, huh.”

One white guy, two East Asians. A weird and memorable combo, but he didn’t comment. He opened a program and began working.

A few minutes later, he turned the screen to Isaac.

A list of cover names appeared. Isaac scanned the list, then made a quick choice.

“Come pick them up in three days.”

Isaac handed over $30,000 as a down payment and left. He had ordered fake IDs for himself, Yoon Siron, and Baekgyeong.

At least for now, Isaac had no intention of killing Baekgyeong. If it became necessary later, he wouldn’t hesitate—but for now, there were enough reasons to keep him alive.

Chief among them was the phone Catherine Choi had left behind.

Not to mention the matter of rut suppressants.

If total extermination of alphas wasn’t possible, rut suppressants had to be mass-distributed eventually. And the only man close to that supply was the unreliable bastard clinging to Siron’s side.

But if Baekgyeong remained unconscious and failed to wake up, he’d simply waste away and die.

They couldn’t keep drugging him forever while waiting for Siron’s first heat cycle. Baekgyeong had already spent eight days unconscious. If ten more passed like this, the consequences could be fatal.

Isaac turned a corner with a heavy sigh. But the car was gone.

And so was Siron.

The empty road slammed into Isaac’s senses like a shockwave. But he quickly regained his composure—he had a way to track him.

He pulled out his phone, opened a browser, and entered the serial number for the tracker he’d implanted in Siron’s body. A simple map loaded. A single purple dot blinked on-screen.

He scanned the area.

Siron was on the move in a car. It was far by road, but only a few blocks in a straight line.

Isaac didn’t hesitate. He sprinted.

He ignored the burning in his lungs and followed the optimal path he had memorized.

When he rounded the last corner—there it was.

A black SUV, moving slowly like a tourist unsure of the streets.

Siron finally spotted him and gently braked. The car came to a stop.

“Haah... finally found you.”

Even though he had gotten lost in a foreign country where he didn’t speak the language, Siron didn’t seem panicked or upset. He grinned, shaking his head like he’d had enough.

“The roads here are a goddamn maze.”

Isaac clenched his jaw, annoyed by Siron’s innocence. He climbed into the passenger seat and asked coldly:

“Why are you driving? Were you trying to run?”

Siron replied indignantly:

“I should be asking you that! You parked in some sketchy spot and left me there. I think it was private property. Some guys showed up and started yelling at me!”

Isaac hadn’t considered that. Guns might be banned in Belzoras, but it wasn’t a country known for its moral citizens. Threats and extortion of outsiders were common.

If something had happened while he was gone...

Just imagining it made Isaac feel an exhausting kind of dread. It was a feeling he didn’t want to deal with.

“How did you find me?” Siron asked.

“I figured we’d run into each other nearby. Got lucky.”

“More like you sprinted over like a maniac.”

“...I won’t deny that.”

Isaac glanced out the window and gave a crooked order:

“Turn right about ten meters ahead.”

Siron pouted like a sulky child.

“When do the passports come?”

“Three days.”

“You should’ve taken me with you.”

Isaac finally laughed out loud.

Siron seemed to think of forged IDs like something out of a movie. Isaac didn’t bother correcting him.

Their path was littered with danger. And those dangers could easily turn violent. But if the man beside him had no desire to stay... there was no point forcing him to see the cruel reality.

Isaac, who once thought even a half-dead Omega was fine if they could prolong his life, now strangely hoped Siron could hold on to his optimism—just a little longer.

They stopped by a food cart and bought something simple for dinner.

When they reached the safehouse, Isaac froze.

“...Something’s wrong.”

Siron scratched the back of his neck with a grimace.

Isaac rushed up the stairs. There was a faint scent in the air—one he recognized instantly.

It was pheromones.

Baekgyeong had entered a rut cycle.

While still unconscious.

A completely unexpected situation. But could Isaac honestly say he hadn’t considered the possibility?

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