Dylan studied the man lying on the narrow medical cot, his dazzling appearance catching every inch of his attention. The man was so beautiful that the bed he lay on felt like a sacred altar bathed in golden light.
His blond hair shimmered under the sunlight filtering through the window, and the few strands that fell across his forehead looked like rays of the sun.
If Madison Grant—the author of The Passing of the Great Race, a eugenics book Dylan had once read obsessively—were here, he would’ve hailed this man as the epitome of the Nordic race.
But the new Dylan no longer clung to racial categories that divided people by class or ethnicity. What mattered now was genetic superiority—and that superiority came down to differences in traits between alphas and betas.
Still, Dylan hoped the world would come to remember the image of an alpha as the man lying before him. This beautiful figure before his eyes felt like the beginning of a new age—one that transcended old ideologies and dogmas.
Maybe it was that idealized appearance—something universally desired—that gave Dylan a strange sense of déjà vu. Though he hadn’t encountered the man before, his face was undeniably familiar. Ugly faces are diverse in their deformities, but beauty always moved in a single direction. It was likely that very beauty triggering his recognition.
As Dylan stared at the man’s exquisitely sculpted features, he turned at the sound of a voice calling his name. A researcher handed him the patient’s medical chart with care. Dylan opened it and checked the man’s hormone levels. The hormones that triggered the rut cycle were elevated. The man would enter rut in a matter of days.
Dylan issued an order to the nurse standing beside him.
“Give him the injection.”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse replied smoothly, already preparing the syringe.
He took a small ampoule from the medical cart, snapped the top cleanly, and drew the contents into the syringe. Dylan watched the process with a detached gaze.
The nurse inserted the needle into the man’s vein and slowly began injecting the reversal agent. As the drug entered his bloodstream, the man’s physiological signs began to change. His breathing grew deeper, and his previously sluggish heartbeat began to return to a normal rhythm.
After the researcher and nurse left the room, the man let out a faint groan, his expression contorted in discomfort.
“Uhh...”
He flinched, his body twisting as he opened his eyes. Dylan, who was well acquainted with the unsettling sensation of IV-administered reversal agents, greeted him with a cold smile.
“Horrible feeling, isn’t it?”
The man’s consciousness seemed to lag behind his body’s responses. His deep green eyes were hazy, like someone forcibly expelled from a dream and still unable to distinguish it from reality.
“Horrible... feeling?”
He parroted the words that had spilled from Dylan’s pale lips, dazed and confused. His eyes seemed to ask: why is it this pallid man sitting in front of me—and not that beautiful blonde woman?
“Waking up must’ve felt eerie. We reversed the sedation with an injection.”
The man furrowed his brow and raised his left arm with visible discomfort. A small patch was stuck to the injection site where the reversal drug had been administered.
“You sedated me...?”
“Technically, you drank the sedative.”
“When did I... Oh. The orange juice.”
His memory finally resurfacing, he buried his large hand into the crown of his head. A crushing headache was setting in.
“But... there wasn’t anything wrong with the drink.”
“The sedative was on the rim of the glass. That’s usually how it’s administered.”
“Why?”
“Because alphas without immunity to Eta pheromones tend to rape. We couldn’t just let you jump her in the car.”
The man sat up on the bed, his body swaying.
“What if I hadn’t drunk it?”
“Then the trained marksman in the front seat would’ve knocked you out one way or another.”
He pulled his hand away from his aching head. By then, the haze in his eyes had begun to clear.
“Eta—is that her name?”
Dylan shook his head.
“‘Eta’ refers to a beta who secretes pheromones.”
“How can a beta emit pheromones?”
Dylan answered with a sly smile.
“I’ll tell you—once you’ve proven yourself to be one of us.”
His gaze suddenly turned sharp. He extended his hand to the man.
“Dylan Brown. Leader of Hybris Baggers City Chapter. And starting today, your mentor for the next month.”
He fell silent, waiting for the man to introduce himself. The man stared at Dylan’s hand with a conflicted look, then asked:
“Is Dylan Brown... your real name?”
Dylan let out a soft laugh. It seemed this man was the type who wanted to hide behind anonymity.
“It is. But if you prefer, you don’t have to give your real name. Now that you’ve been reborn as an alpha, it’s perfectly fine to give yourself a new name and identity.”
If he were the cautious type, he would have realized that anonymity was impossible. The moment he logged into the Hybris app, his access data would have been recorded in their database.
And in fact, Dylan was beginning to realize the source of the déjà vu he’d been feeling all along. Months ago, a rising actor who had just broken out of obscurity was reported to be in a brain-dead state after a traffic accident. Dylan had read that article over and over—both the name and the incident’s details. He’d figured the information might come in handy someday.
That actor’s name was Lewis McCarthy.
The man lightly shook Dylan’s hand and responded:
“Lewis McCarthy.”
Dylan’s violet-tinged lips stretched wide in a slow smile.
“Knew I remembered right. People were calling you a tragic star.”
He tightened his grip slightly on Lewis’s hand, then released it, an intrigued glint in his eye.
“How long do you plan on hiding out as a brain-dead patient?”
“I’ll announce I’m alive eventually. But not now. No point—stepping back into the spotlight would just be a headache.”
“You should’ve received the reintegration manual.”
“And what good is that?”
Lewis’s tone was dry and dismissive. Dylan could easily imagine how miserable Lewis’s first rut cycle must have been. Once a man loses control and violates even family under the influence of rut, the desire to rejoin society often dies with it.
“You went through a rough rut cycle, didn’t you.”
Lewis glared at him, eyes narrowed with hostility. Clearly, it was a memory he wanted no part of.
“Did you... hurt someone?”
“I don’t want to answer that.”
Most alphas, faced with the agony of uncontrollable lust, would rather sedate themselves and lock themselves in a panic room like corpses. They were people with a biological dysfunction—one that made them incapable of persuading or being understood by non-alphas.
But if that cumbersome desire could be eliminated, they would finally fulfill nature’s intent—evolving into something greater. The strong, rooted in discipline and power, had a duty to dominate the weak and the obsolete.
Dylan liked Lewis McCarthy.
For someone so new to being an alpha, he was adept at masking his pheromones. Unlike others who lost control around Eta pheromones, Lewis had remained composed.
And above all, Lewis McCarthy had the physical features of the Nordic type. He looked like a sun god. Dylan was genuinely in awe of his beauty. Just like the ideal SS officers once chosen for their Aryan appearance, Dylan was convinced Lewis would one day wield enormous influence over the public.
“Come on, Lewis. Get up. I’ll introduce you to Hybris Baggers City Chapter.”
Dylan Brown had a uniquely charismatic presence. He gave off the aura of a gothic vampire from a horror film—his jet-black hair hanging long, the dark hollows under his eyes stark against his pale skin, lending him an air both eerie and captivating.
His lips were especially striking. Thin and sharply defined with a violet hue, they made every smile or change in expression look intensely dramatic.
He acted toward Lewis like a vampire sire guiding his newly turned progeny. Like a shearing bond—where the maker mentors and nurtures the newborn—he seemed to thoroughly enjoy being Lewis’s guide.
Though Dylan kept his pheromones under tight control, Lewis—like a trained hound sniffing out truffles buried deep underground—could still detect the faint scent. It smelled like time itself: the musty perfume of dust-covered books in an ancient library. There was no hostility in it.
Until now, the only alpha Lewis had ever known was Baekgyeong, who had fought over Yoon Siron. So a benevolent alpha like Dylan felt strange—unfamiliar, but intriguing.
The place Lewis had been brought to was the Hybris Baggers City Chapter, a 20-story building located in the Techno Valley district. Most of the building was vacant, but floors 15 and up were used as administrative and training facilities.
There was a legal department offering support to alphas, a financial division managing the group’s resources, an auditorium for educational programs, and numerous other branches: security, surveillance, disciplinary committee, and more. Dylan eagerly walked Lewis through the chapter’s facilities, and Lewis was dumbstruck by how thoroughly organized and systematized it all was.
As they walked past the hallway on the 15th floor, Lewis glanced at the alphas lined up along the corridor. They looked like they were waiting for legal consultations.
Violence.
Sex crimes.
Two words flashed through Lewis’s mind.
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