Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

OMEGAVERSE UNIVERSE

Before diving into the fic, here you'll find essential information to understand how my version of the omegaverse works. We all know omegaverse isn't a fixed system and that every author can adapt it to suit their needs. This guide is meant to clarify the rank system, biology, bonds, and social norms that govern the characters.

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1. ˚₊‧꒰Biology & Ranks ꒱ ‧₊˚

There are three primary ranks: alpha, beta, and omega, plus two rare and less accepted ones: gamma and delta. These last two are extremely scarce, the result of genetic mutations, and are often socially rejected for being considered 'defective'. No one can become a gamma or delta—they are born that way or not at all. For instance, bonding marks cannot turn an alpha into a delta or anything similar.

Ranks are genetically identified at age 15 through a mandatory medical test performed either in state hospitals or partner schools. Though some early signs may appear before this age (like betas having reduced olfactory sensitivity).

Secondary organs specific to each rank only develop after official confirmation (primary sex organs are not removed). For example, male omegas begin to develop a uterus. Alpha females grow retractable penises and testicles.

Genes play an important role, but outcomes aren’t fixed. For instance: two alphas (male and female) are most likely to produce another alpha, though on rare occasions, a beta or omega might result. Likewise, two betas can have an alpha or omega child, though the most likely outcome is a beta.

Each person emits a distinct scent (even betas, though theirs is fainter), and these scents vary by rank. Omegas usually smell sweet or enveloping; alphas give off strong, dominant scents; and betas smell neutral or muted. Scent serves as a form of emotional communication, conveying fear, attraction, anger, etc.

「 ✦The Inner Wolf ✦ 」

Both alphas and omegas possess a primal instinct called the inner wolf. It represents their truest, most instinctive self—their core essence. They can communicate with it, and in some cases, it may even take control of the body. The inner wolf is the one that senses fated bonds and reacts to danger or deep emotional need.

⤜♡→ Alphas:

ᦈ Physically stronger, they tend to be natural-born leaders.

ᦈ Their pheromones are dominant, especially around omegas. Alpha females possess both male and female reproductive organs, meaning they can both become pregnant and impregnate others—be it omegas of any gender, female betas, or other alpha females. Their penis (derived from the clitoris) becomes erect voluntarily, so they may choose to engage in sexual activity using only their female anatomy. Male alphas can impregnate anyone except other male alphas or beta males.

ᦈ Their ruts occur every 4–6 months, lasting 4 days, and become more aggressive when near a potential partner.

ᦈ Alphas are capable of knotting, which increases the chances of impregnation. However, only omegas are biologically suited to endure the knot. For other ranks, it can be painful. Knots can last from 5 to 10 minutes depending on whether the alpha is in rut; afterward, the knot deflates and withdrawal becomes possible.

ᦈ A “pure alpha” must be the child of two alphas, specifically a male alpha and a female alpha.

⤜♡→ Betas:

ᦈ They have no hormonal cycles, so they don’t experience ruts beyond standard female ovulation.

ᦈ Considered the “quiet” or “normal” part of society, they possess average strength and fertility.

ᦈ Their sexual organs are aligned with their biological sex rather than their secondary rank. Only those with female anatomy can become pregnant, and only those with male anatomy can impregnate.

ᦈ They can’t form supernatural bonds with other betas, but they can have regular romantic and sexual relationships. They may form mild connections with alphas or omegas, though at a lower intensity.

⤜♡→ Omegas:

ᦈ Regardless of sex, they develop a functional internal gestation system. Male omegas also retain male anatomy (penis and testicles) and can impregnate female omegas, other male omegas, and beta females—but with a lower probability.

ᦈ Female omegas can give birth naturally (or via C-section if complications arise), but male omegas must always undergo a C-section due to the lack of a vaginal canal.

ᦈ Male omegas are also capable of producing milk through their chest, even during pregnancy and throughout breastfeeding. Their breasts may swell slightly; however, milk production tends to be limited, so they often supplement with formula.

ᦈ Their heats occur every 3 months, last 3 days, and cause fever, fatigue, and increased vulnerability—not to mention a strong desire to conceive.

ᦈ They possess passive or alluring pheromones that can attract, soothe, or warn. During heats, their scent intensifies uncontrollably.

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2. ˚₊‧꒰Society & Norms꒱ ‧₊˚

「 ✦Legal Modernity ✦ 」

ᦈ Laws exist to protect omegas from discrimination, though social prejudice is still widespread.

ᦈ Population distribution is: Alphas 40% – Omegas 36% – Betas 20% – Others 4%.

ᦈ Relationships between two male alphas, two female omegas, two male betas, two female betas, or a male beta with a male omega/alpha are all legal but still socially frowned upon due to being non-reproductive.

ᦈ The ideal societal model is a pairing between one alpha and one omega, joined by two opposite-sex betas. Alpha x beta or beta x omega relationships are not uncommon, but less idealized.

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3. ˚₊‧꒰Medicine, Blockers & Concealment꒱ ‧₊˚

ᦈ Hormonal blockers and pheromone inhibitors are prescribed under medical supervision, though a black market also exists.

ᦈ The safe dosage is one per month. Prolonged or excessive use can lead to side effects: fever, fatigue, progressive infertility. In extreme cases, it may cause the inner wolf to go dormant, severing emotional bonds and instincts. To reverse this, the individual must stop taking suppressants completely and begin treatment to awaken the inner wolf and restore hormonal balance—though infertility may remain irreversible in some cases.

ᦈ Advanced medical imaging can reveal a person’s uterus, glands, and hormonal composition in seconds. Some portable devices can detect a person’s rank via saliva samples, but their use is strictly regulated.

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4. ˚₊‧꒰Bonds, Marks & Mating꒱ ‧₊˚

Bonding (also called mating or linking) is a physical, emotional, and instinctive process that deeply connects two people. To activate it, a mark is required: a deep bite on the clavicle or neck.

Once bonded, an emotional link forms, allowing both parties to sense each other’s emotions, needs, anxiety, or desire—even from a distance.

「 ✦Bond Rules ✦ 」

ᦈ Temporary marks exist and may last for days or, in extreme cases, weeks. Permanent marks can last a lifetime but must be reopened every few years to remain in their strongest, most vital form.

ᦈ Bonds may fade in cases of extreme betrayal (in which the body starts to reject the mark), death of a partner, or gradual emotional distancing. In those cases, the mark becomes a small scar.

ᦈ It is most common for an alpha to mark an omega. Once marked, the omega produces a chemical substance that alters their scent to repel other alphas.

ᦈ Bonds are easier to form when one of the two is in heat. If both are in heat during the bonding, the experience is stronger.

ᦈ Bonds between two alphas are rare and often socially scandalous, as it is seen as a symbolic surrender of dominance—one alpha submitting to another.

ᦈ Betas can be marked by alphas, but such bonds are high-risk since their bodies aren’t built to withstand it. Betas cannot mark omegas, but can occasionally mark gammas under rare conditions.

ᦈ Omegas can leave faint temporary marks on a partner of any rank only while in heat. These fade over time.

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5. ˚₊‧꒰Sexualities꒱ ‧₊˚

In this universe, sexual orientations are not based on gender, as desire and bonds are deeply tied to a person's rank: alpha, beta, or omega. In theory, most individuals could be considered pansexual or bisexual in the traditional sense, but within this society, what truly matters—and defines the type of attraction—is rank.

For that reason, orientation labels do not refer to the sex of the body, but rather to the type of rank that arouses romantic or sexual interest. I decided to develop unique and symbolic terminology for each orientation.

⤜♡→ Lunarean:

From the ancient protoverb lûnai, 'to follow the trail', and the suffix -ean, indicating affinity.

Adj. and noun in common use.

Described as a person primarily attracted to omegas. The term alludes to lunar cycles, with which omegas are traditionally associated due to their instinctive and reproductive connection.

⤜♡→ Solenic:

From solaen, a ceremonial root used in ancient dominance rituals, and the suffix -nic, belonging.

adj. and noun

A person primarily attracted to alphas. The term evokes alphas as solar figures, dominant and direct, associated with leadership and presence.

⤜♡→ Nevane:

From the archaic nevhan, a referential word used in ancient texts to describe the constant, the firm, and the silent.

adj. and noun

Refers to those attracted to betas. It represents the connection to stability, centeredness, and neutrality, which often goes unnoticed in a world of hormonal extremes.

⤜♡→ Veliarean:

From velis (veil, mist) and ean, affinity.

adj. and noun.

A person who is attracted to both betas and omegas. The term reflects an affinity for emotional warmth and stability, for being passive and adaptable. Its symbolism is linked to internal balance and receptivity.

⤜♡→ Aurenic:

From aur (aura or pulse) and the suffix -nic, belonging.

adj. and noun.

A person attracted to alphas and betas. This orientation indicates an affinity with what is active, functional, and physical.

⤜♡→ Rivenic:

From riv' (a poetic form for crossing or intersection) and -nic, belonging.

adj. and noun.

Refers to those who are attracted to both alphas and omegas. The term represents the tension between extremes, the dual attraction to the dominant and the vulnerable.

⤜♡→ Kirelian:

From the ancient terms ki (all) and -ian (to open, to extend).

adj. and noun.

A person attracted to all ranks: alphas, betas, and omegas. This is the most open, expansive, and perceptive orientation, based on universal sensitivity to energy beyond the range.

⤜♡→ Asen:

From the ritual term a'senn, 'closed to the pulse' or 'out of the cycle'.

adj. and noun.

A person who does not experience attraction to any range. They do not exhibit hormonal or emotional reactivity toward alphas, betas, or omegas. The term represents detachment and an existence unrelated to instinctual desire.

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6. ˚₊‧꒰Military System꒱ ‧₊˚

「 ✦Mandatory Military Service ✦ 」

ᦈ Compulsory only for alphas (both male and female) and male betas.

ᦈ On average, citizens are called to serve at age 30—the upper age limit set so that individuals can complete their university degrees before enlistment. However, they may join earlier if desired.

ᦈ Recruits must clarify whether they are serving as a state obligation (approximately 18 months) or enlisting as a career soldier. In the latter case, training continues beyond the initial period and additional roles and ranks become available over time.

ᦈ Omegas (both male and female) are legally exempt from service, as they are considered biologically vulnerable.

ᦈ Female betas may volunteer, but they are not eligible for higher ranks or elite squads. Only male and female alphas may join elite squads; male and female betas may serve in regular units only.

ᦈ Military bases are divided not only by squad but also by rank and gender. For instance, there may be at least two elite squads: one for male alphas and another for female alphas. For regular service squads, there are four divisions: male alphas, female alphas, male betas, and female betas (the latter being the least populated, as it's voluntary).

「 ✦Military Medical Personnel ✦ 」

ᦈ Military doctors and nurses may enlist as alphas or betas, regardless of sex. They are assigned to bases based on their rank and gender. For example, a male alpha doctor would be stationed in a male alpha squad; a female beta doctor would go to a female beta squad.

ᦈ On very rare occasions, omega doctors or nurses may be accepted, but for their safety, they are assigned to beta squads of the same gender.

ᦈ All military medics must pass both physical and psychological tests. They must also have completed military service and be proficient in weaponry, self-defense, and other relevant fields, as they may be deployed to the battlefield or sent on missions.

「 ✦Military Housing ✦ 」

ᦈ Career soldiers may access on-base housing if they have dependents or family under their care.

ᦈ Military promotion is merit-based. Higher ranks (like sergeants or captains) are granted more privacy and protection. As soldiers advance, they may choose to move into more exclusive housing units—some may also choose to live off-base with their families.

ᦈ Military installations include schools and academies for the children of enlisted personnel, regardless of rank.

ᦈ These compounds function like small self-sufficient cities, complete with stores, entertainment areas, hospitals, banks, and more. A person does not need to leave the base to meet their everyday needs.

STRUCTURE OF THE SOUTH KOREAN MILITARY

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✦ 1. MAIN BRANCHES OF THE KOREAN MILITARY

The South Korean military is divided into three major branches, collectively known as the Republic of Korea Armed Forces:

ᦈ Army (ROKA) – Ground forces.

ᦈ Navy (ROKN) – Includes the Marine Corps.

ᦈ Air Force (ROKAF) – Controls airspace and aerial operations.

This story is set within the Army (ROKA), which includes special forces, regular squads, and ground combat bases. So this guide will focus on that branch.

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✦ 2. ROKA MILITARY DIVISIONS

1. Regular Division: The core division where the bulk of the mandatory military service is trained. Standard training in combat, endurance, discipline, and weapons.

2. Special Forces (SF): An elite division where only alpha men or alpha women who demonstrate exceptional performance are admitted. Covert operations, rescues, counterterrorism, and high-risk missions. Extreme training: survival, sniping, infiltration, physical and mental endurance.

3. Mechanized Infantry: A division of troops that operate alongside tanks, armored vehicles, and vehicles. They move quickly and support ground combat. They train in logistics, navigation, and heavy equipment maintenance.

4. Artillery: A division in charge of operating cannons, missiles, and long-range launchers. They require precision, calculation, and technical knowledge. They have little interaction in close combat.

5. Military Engineering: A division of specialists in construction, demolition, and explosives handling. Technical and physical training.

6. Military Intelligence: A division that handles strategic information, map analysis, and enemy movement tracking. They can be of any rank or gender, but require advanced theoretical and university education. Limited physical exposure.

7. Medical Units: Doctors, nurses, paramedics, psychologists, and field surgeons. Operate in bases or on missions. Training combines medical education with basic combat skills.

Each Division is a specialized corps and each has its own internal chain of command, although all respond to the general hierarchical structure of the army, with the exception of medical units, which respond to the internal hierarchy of medical positions except in mission circumstances, when they would be ordered by the shift commander if necessary.

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✦ 3. MILITARY HIERARCHY

Complete rank structure (from lowest to highest):

ᦈ Private: Basic training.

ᦈ Private First Class: Support during maneuvers. They can join the basic infantry or artillery, or remain in the Regular Division.

ᦈ Corporal: They can assume basic leadership, and their mandatory military service ends after 24 months. If they wish to continue, they can access new specialties such as joining the Special Forces, Artillery, Infantry, Engineering, or Intelligence divisions, or remain in the Regular Division. They remain here for at least another 12 months of intensive and specialized training.

ᦈ Sergeant: Commands a squad, made up of 10 corporals, and there are squads for different divisions.

ᦈ First Sergeant: Commands 3 squads.

ᦈ Master Sergeant: Leads a platoon; 5 squads form one.

ᦈ Lieutenant: Commands a company, three platoons forming one. Below him is a second lieutenant, who has decision-making power and replaces him in any case.

ᦈ Captain: Commander of a unit, made up of three companies.

ᦈ Major: Commands a brigade, made up of four units.

ᦈ Colonel: Commands an entire division, which consists of several brigades.

ᦈ General of the Army (ROKA): Supreme commander, leader of absolutely everyone, commands all divisions.

Chapter Text

Monday, April 7, 2025.

There was too much silence.

It truly had to be that way—they needed to control even the breathing of those six figures moving through the ruined remains of what had once been a country house. The walls, corroded by humidity and time, creaked with the slightest motion, and yet none of them made a sound.

The group was deployed, spread out so that each covered their own sector while communication flowed through quick signals and subtle nods. Nonverbal exchange was a basic requirement for survival in operations.

They wore the black tactical uniform of the Special Forces, a fabric made of flame-retardant, cut-resistant materials with thermal camouflage technology. Their black gear included bulletproof vests fitted tightly to their torsos, flexible shoulder guards, reinforced polymer gloves, elbow pads, and knee pads. Each carried their rank and squad engraved on discreet plates over their chest.

Lee Taeyong and Kim Doyoung—both from the Argus squad—moved through the east wing, checking the upper floors. Park Chanyeol, from the Fenrir squad, covered the rear while Kim Hongjoong, his partner, descended the central staircase with his weapon ready, scanning the open zones.

On the other end, Son Shownu and Tuan Mark, from the Onyx squad, had advanced into the west wing of the building. They moved apart, several meters between them to avoid becoming a single target. Son took the lead on the lower floor, while Tuan ascended the secondary staircase with his FN SCAR rifle braced against his shoulder.

The mission was to recover a package of classified military data hidden in the structure, extract it, and evacuate. It sounded simple enough since there were no hostages to rescue, but in reality, there was one big problem—the hostile presence inside, enemies in uncertain positions. They were highly skilled, far more trained and much stronger. If they encountered them and didn’t act properly, it would be certain death.

Tuan Mark slipped through the hallway like a shadow. His boots barely made a sound against the broken wood and every corner was inspected with caution.

He advanced into the darkest part of the corridor, where light was swallowed by concrete and filth. He stopped in front of a half-open door. He pushed it wider and checked quickly, but there was nothing. Only a desk at the back, broken crates, and a window boarded shut. Nothing else.

So he turned to leave, but the moment he spun around, the blood dropped straight to his stomach.

He raised his gaze and there was a man standing less than a meter away. He had circled around without Tuan realizing it. The figure was tall, broad-shouldered, his face partially covered by a black tactical mask, only his dark feline eyes visible—impassive and piercing.

With no time to think, Tuan tried to raise the FN SCAR and fire, but the other man was already ahead of him.

“Tch…!” was all he managed to let out—a grunt of effort.

The man blocked the rifle’s motion and forced the barrel downward. Tuan reacted with trained reflexes, using the weapon itself as a shield. He swung it forward, aiming to strike the opponent’s face.

But the man shifted aside just in time, dodging by mere millimeters. His left arm blocked the stock and his knee drove hard into Tuan’s abdomen. The corporal staggered back two steps from the blow, gasping, but he didn’t let the weapon fall. Again, he used it as a blunt weapon since there was no space to aim, twisting his body to gain centrifugal force and swinging it toward the man’s side.

The movement was read, intercepted, and cleanly deflected.

The man turned on his own axis, lowering his center of gravity, and seized the weapon with both hands. What followed was a brief but violent struggle, ending with an elbow strike and a direct knee that forced the rifle to drop. To finish, he swept his foot out, preventing Tuan from reaching for it.

The FN SCAR rolled across the floor, striking a broken crate before coming to a stop a few meters away.

Tuan reacted immediately. One hand braced against the wall to stay upright, the other pulling a knife from his hip. He threw it without thinking, aiming for the enemy’s face.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t throw it with proper technique. The blade spun in the air and was caught by the handle because of it.

His opponent turned the knife in his palm with a movement that spoke of years of practice. He weighed it casually, spinning it between his fingers with an almost careless air. He looked at Tuan without uttering a single word, yet the message was unmistakable. His eyes said, 'seriously? Is that all?'

The corporal swallowed hard. Tuan stepped back the instant he saw the first flicker of motion aimed at his face, dodging on pure instinct. His reflex forced his torso backward, and to balance himself he lifted his right arm slightly. That minimal, involuntary gesture of defense was exactly what the other man had been waiting for.

A hand closed around his forearm at once. Tuan barely had time to process the grip tightening on his joint before a sharp downward tug came, paired with a brutal twist of the hips.

The opponent rotated half his body, dragging Tuan’s arm down with his left hand, forcing the corporal’s entire body to bend suddenly forward. Tuan lost his balance under the strength of the motion, his torso folding while he tried in vain to brace with his feet. Impossible.

And in that exact instant, as his center of gravity dipped, the man lifted his left leg and hooked it over his neck. The calf pressed hard above the clavicle, against the side of his throat, and before Tuan could react, the leg slammed down to the ground, dragging the corporal’s trapped weight with it.

Tuan hit the floor flat on his back with a dull thud. The impact raised a faint cloud of old dust and his breath hitched from the pressure against his neck.

The man dropped to one knee, his right pressing against the concrete, while his left—the same leg that had taken him down—kept the corporal pinned in a clear display of dominance.

He raised his arm, brandishing the very knife Tuan had thrown at him moments earlier. The blade glinted faintly and, without a shred of hesitation, he drove it into the corporal’s side, right between the plates of the tactical vest where there was no protection.

Yet there was no wound, no blood. A click of plastic echoed as the retractable blade sank back into the handle the instant it touched the uniform’s fabric.

The corporal groaned, his face twisting in frustration.

“Shit…” he exhaled, pressing his head against the floor as he tried to regain his breath. “I never even heard you coming, Sergeant Kang,” Tuan admitted, swallowing thickly but keeping his tone respectful. “Sir, you’re fucking fast… and strong.”

He knew it was just a simulation, but that didn’t take away the bitter taste of being taken down so easily, especially since the First Sergeant had defeated him practically without even using his own weapons.

There was a reason he was an expert in hand-to-hand combat, after all. He was the one in charge of directing that kind of training.

The sergeant rose effortlessly, tossed the fake dagger aside, pulled down his tactical mask, and brought two fingers to the intercom attached to the side of his neck. A soft beep indicated the signal was now open to all members of his team. Every soldier had an earpiece, and messages were transmitted directly there.

“Corporal Tuan Mark, eliminated,” he reported in a neutral tone, his voice deep and resonant.

Tuan huffed, turning his head to the side.

“It was just the side, sir,” he grumbled respectfully. “Technically, that wouldn’t kill me. I could still fight…”

Taehoo looked at him without the slightest change in his serious expression. Then his hand dropped to his belt, pulling out the service pistol—also part of the simulation gear, a replica with real weight and compressed paint cartridges. Without another word, he aimed straight at the young man’s chest and fired.

The impact hit dead center on the vest, right above the heart. Blue paint burst violently, leaving a vivid, undeniable stain.

“Now you’re dead,” he said with total seriousness.

“Ouch! That was unnecessary…” Tuan exhaled in complaint, shaking his torso as if to wipe the stain off, only making it worse.

“If you hadn’t wasted time talking, maybe you could’ve used the knife you keep strapped to your left ankle—or the same one I just threw down after using it on you,” he scolded, pointing at the blade literally within reach. “You could’ve cut a tendon, an artery… something useful. But you did nothing. Your FN SCAR fell barely two meters away. If you hadn’t wasted precious seconds, you could’ve crawled to it and shot me,” he added, tilting his face toward the corner where the weapon still lay.

Tuan parted his lips but didn’t even manage to form an excuse.

“And another thing,” the sergeant continued, his voice firm but never raised. “When you entered the room, you lowered your weapon. You didn’t scan it properly, because it was clearly not empty, and yet you dropped your guard. That’s why you couldn’t shoot when I stood right in front of you. How many times have we said the weapon stays up until the area is cleared?”

“Sorry, sir…” Tuan muttered, eyes closing in frustration.

“Be more alert next time, Corporal.” The tone was cutting and cold, authority weighing heavy in every word. Kang didn’t need to yell—his presence alone imposed itself.

At that moment, his earpiece buzzed faintly, followed by the low voice of Sergeant Kim Namjoon:

“Corporal Lee Taeyong, eliminated.”

Without delay, Taehoo left the room after pulling his mask back into place. His body moved with calculated efficiency. The pistol rested in his right hand, finger poised on the trigger, eyes scanning every corner as he advanced quickly down the hallway.

The black combat uniform clung to his lean, muscular frame. His silhouette was wholly intimidating. He was a strong, tall, well-trained man. With just one look, his subordinates lowered their heads. They were all alphas, but he was the one in command there, despite being younger than many of them.

Normally, alphas and beta men did their military service at thirty, but he had enlisted at twenty-five. Well, technically twenty-four, since his birthday fell on December thirtieth. Back then, he had been younger than everyone else. Strong from years of constant training, yes, but he’d still needed to work twice as hard to compete with thirty-year-old alpha soldiers.

That had never stopped him—not for a second. His relentless effort had earned him the rank of First Sergeant at thirty-three. Under his command were three sergeants and thirty corporals, spread across three squads within the Male Special Forces Division. It was one of the toughest, most demanding divisions in the country, responsible for the hardest and most dangerous missions.

That was precisely why he couldn’t afford to be soft with his corporals. He had to train them into the best, prove he had what it took to become a Master Sergeant and be entrusted with a full platoon. That way, he could climb the ranks further and gain more benefits—for himself and for his brother.

Turning a corner, he reached a wide room that connected two long hallways, lined like empty corridors. And there, just as he was about to cross, he saw a figure at the far end of the opposite passage.

Kang barely registered the movement before the figure fired. A paint round exploded against the concrete wall exactly where he had been a second earlier. Fortunately, he managed to duck behind a column jutting out from the wall as a structural support.

He tried to sharpen his hearing, but silence prevailed. He waited a few seconds. Counted in his head: one, two, three…

When the moment felt right, he jerked his head out and aimed. Nothing. The hallway was empty. His eyes swept over every corner, every possible hiding place, but he neither saw movement nor heard footsteps. He was clearly mistaken. He was about to take another step when something shifted behind him. Subtle—just a faint current of altered air.

He began to turn, but too late. A thick arm clamped around his neck, yanking him violently backward and forcing his body into an arch. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of a retractable knife rushing toward him. Instinctively, his right arm reacted, slamming an elbow back into his attacker’s torso.

A grunt tore from the aggressor’s throat.

Taehoo seized the imbalance. He bent his knees, jumped to gain momentum, and let himself drop down hard. Landing on his knees, he used the force of the motion to grab the arm holding him and pull it forward. Off-balance and stripped of control, the attacker was flung clean over the sergeant’s back, crashing hard to the ground.

The moment the man hit the floor, Taehoo already had his weapon leveled. He fired straight into the enemy’s chest. A burst of blue paint splattered across the vest.

“Fuck…” Son Shownu muttered from the floor, slapping the ground with his open palm in frustration. The sergeant rolled his eyes—alphas were always so emotional.

But there was no time to relax. A fraction of a second later, the same faint sound returned to his ears. Something… behind him again. He spun instantly, still kneeling, and fired. The shot hit dead on at the other end of the corridor. Another figure staggered back, chest stained with blue paint.

“Son Shownu and Park Chanyeol, eliminated,” he announced after pressing the intercom at his neck.

Releasing the button, he readjusted his grip on the weapon and continued his march. He didn’t even bother to look back.

Unfortunately, it all ended far quicker than he would’ve liked.

“Kim Doyoung, eliminated,” he heard Min Yoongi’s voice announce through the earpiece.

Not even three seconds later, Sergeant Wang Kajee’s voice joined in, slightly tired:

“Kim Hongjoong, eliminated.”

A sharp beep vibrated in every intercom, the clear signal that the exercise was over.

The training was finished.

The metal gate of the abandoned house creaked open slowly. One by one, the corporals began to exit the building. The weather was pleasant, 15° to be precise, a little warm for April, but the breeze was refreshing.

Lee Taeyong was the first to cross the threshold. His back was straight out of sheer military habit, though his eyes were cast downward. A streak of blue paint slashed across the lower part of his vest—Sergeant Kim had taken him out with a sniper shot. If he had wanted, he could have aimed at the head, but cleaning paint out of hair was more trouble than it was worth, so he had been merciful.

Behind him came Kim Doyoung, with a similar mark across his back and sweat-matted hair stuck to his forehead. Sergeant Min had used his stealth skills to take him out from behind; he hadn’t even known he was there. The corporals exchanged nothing more than brief glances, knowing there was nothing to say.

Park Chanyeol and Kim Hongjoong followed next. Chanyeol bore a massive splatter of blue across his chest and was still rubbing at the spot, since the impact did sting a little. Hongjoong had a superficial scrape on his cheekbone—Sergeant Wang had eliminated him without a weapon, fighting him bare-handed until he 'choked' him out, leaving him out of the game.

Finally, Son Shownu and Tuan Mark appeared. The first walked forward with his lips pressed tight, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, his broad chest smeared with paint streaked diagonally across. Tuan trudged at his side, dragging his feet slightly as his eyes stayed fixed on the stain on his chest. He was still replaying every single thing he hadn’t done during the mission. He had been scolded—and especially by Sergeant Kang—which was a thousand times worse.

In front of them stretched a wide, leveled open ground, the operation camp. Three military trucks rested off to one side, the same ones that had brought them here.

Several tents were set up around the perimeter, one of them assigned to the medical team. In front of that tent stood a doctor, dressed in the standard military uniform with a distinct patch on his arm and a stethoscope dangling around his neck. He watched them with mild indifference. He had been idle for more than an hour, checking his watch every five minutes—it seemed he had only been brought out here for a stroll.

The six defeated corporals headed toward the group of twenty-four waiting nearby, all uniformed, armed with paint ammunition and replica weapons. Some applauded politely, others simply observed in silence, but no one mocked them. Fighting against the sergeants was no easy feat.

After the subordinates emerged, the sergeants followed.

The first to step out was, of course, Kang Taehoo, First Sergeant. The commander of every squad present.

To his left was Sergeant Min Yoongi, leader of Squad Argus. To his right, Sergeant Kim Namjoon of Squad Fenrir, his sniper rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder. Next to him came Sergeant Wang Kajee—though he preferred to be called Jackson—the leader of Squad Onyx.

Taehoo regarded the soldiers who had just come out of the house and spoke without preamble.

"First group: mission failed. Zero eliminations." A heavy silence fell. No one dared raise their head. Tuan clenched his fists, and Chanyeol let out a faint huff before turning away and sitting down. Taehoo turned toward the other sergeants. "It’s time to form the second group. Sergeants, go ahead."

The three approached a table where three metal containers sat, each labeled with their squad’s name in black letters: ARGUS, FENRIR, ONYX. Inside each, folded slips waited with the names of their members.

Yoongi reached in blindly and drew two slips.

"Han Jisung and Cha Eunwoo, Argus."

"Choi Minho and Song Mingi, Fenrir," Namjoon followed suit.

"Kim Jiwon and Lee Wonho, Onyx," Jackson said after imitating his comrades.

The six chosen soldiers rose almost instantly. Some already knew each other by sight from different squads, others had barely crossed paths on previous missions—but that didn’t matter. The exercise was designed exactly for this: to test whether they could work together without familiarity, which was why the groups were always mixed.

"Remember the objectives," said Sergeant Kang in a commanding voice. "Internal communication, response under pressure, tactical application in hostile terrain, coordinated package recovery, and elimination of enemy units." The corporals nodded and began to cluster into a small circle a few meters away. "You have ten minutes to form a strategy," he added. "Use them wisely—no one’s going to save your ass in there if you screw up."

Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the house. Yoongi and Namjoon followed. Jackson flashed a playful signal at the six selected soldiers before turning as well, but his smile disappeared the moment he crossed the threshold.

The second round was about to begin, and no one intended to repeat the first group’s mistakes.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

The Baekho Military Citadel was located east of Busan, between Guchil-ri, Igok-ri, Manhwa-ri, and Hoenggye-ri in Gijang-gun county. It sprawled across a mountainous, tree-covered area that was relatively isolated, save for the small surrounding villages where industries and abandoned houses outnumbered the actual population.

The terrain was mixed, predominantly forested, with deep valleys and flat intermediate zones strategically used for construction and training. The roads wound through dense vegetation, and the lower areas had been leveled artificially to create habitable, functional zones.

Because yes, as a self-sufficient citadel, it had countless spaces accessible to soldiers and their families. It was like a full-fledged hospital campus, with a university and technical military institute, supermarkets, housing, schools, internal roads, green areas, and even a helipad.

This wasn’t just any complex—it was one of the most renowned headquarters of the Republic of Korea Army (ROKA): Baekho Military Base, one of the largest and most modern in the country. The overall grounds covered 15 km²: the military zone spanned 10.5 km², housing all divisions for training and operations, while the residential and civilian area covered 4.5 km².

Among the many internal paths of the base, two pairs of boots echoed at a steady pace over the gravel. Jeon Jungkook walked beside Kim Seokjin—neurosurgeon and head of his specialty at the Military Hospital. Both were dressed in the active-duty medical uniform: green camouflage, polished black boots, beret with the embroidered medical insignia at the center, and a large red-cross patch on their left arm distinguishing them from the rest.

"This is where the tour begins, Jeon," Seokjin said with a smile as he casually slung an arm over Jungkook’s shoulder. "Welcome officially to Baekho."

Jungkook let out a short nasal laugh, shoulders loosening.

"So, where exactly are we, hyung?"

"You didn’t do your military service here?" Seokjin asked, curious.

"No, I did mine at Gwanhyeon Base," Jungkook replied with a small shake of his head. "Did you serve here, sir?"

"Yeah, it must’ve been six or seven years already," Seokjin said with a sigh, reminiscing about those times. "You just got out, didn’t you? You’re only thirty-one, I saw it in your medical record."

"Uh, yes, that’s right…" Jungkook looked at him suspiciously. Did he really check his medical history? "Should I be worried about that? Sounds illegal… and kind of stalker-ish, hyung," he joked, raising a brow. "I should tell you I haven’t dated coworkers in years. The omega nurses at my last hospital practically formed a union against me for not having any emotional responsibility with them… but what did they expect? They knew my history before getting involved with me, and I was clear it was only a hookup. Why would they think I’d change for them?"

"Oh, so you were that kind of doctor. Do you think you’re Mark Sloan, soldier?" Seokjin teased, and Jungkook laughed at the comparison—truth was, in the past people had compared him to McSteamy. "But don’t get dramatic, yes, I checked your record. I do it with all the new ones, because I’m a nosy bastard. But don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m seeing someone… anyway, let’s not change the subject. How did you end up at Baekho then? Logically, if you wanted to be a military doctor, you should’ve stayed where you did your service."

"Colonel Namgung recommended me to this base, since he knew they were looking for a replacement for the head of trauma," Jungkook said formally, shrugging. "He knew better than anyone my commitment, my potential, and my desire to belong to the military."

He didn’t like talking about that much, so he didn’t give many details. His greatest achievement in life so far was also his biggest failure, because in reality, it was a compensatory goal, not what he truly wanted.

The black-haired man could have belonged to the army as a profession like he had initially wished, but he had been forced to settle for practicing his degree within the military regiment. It wasn’t what he longed for, but it was what he had, and it was enough. It was his biggest and most painful 'almost'.

"I get it. And good thing they hired you," Seokjin huffed. "The other candidates interviewed were just old alphas with grumpy faces, and it was obvious they were only doing it for the money, not for vocation. At least you smile, and you’re cute. It’s going to be fun working with you."

"Weren’t you ‘seeing someone’? That flirting says otherwise, hyung."

"Is your flirting bar really so low that you think what I just said qualifies as top tier?" Seokjin raised a brow, and Jungkook made a fake sound of pain.

"Well, you won with that line, but I’ll get you back, I swear, sir."

After walking for quite a while, they reached a cluster of buildings. They had arrived by car, but the distance from the parking lot to where there was any sign of civilization was considerable. They were surrounded by trees, but as soon as they crossed the large threshold, everything became flatter and more open. When the younger read the inscription on the massive arch at the entrance, he got excited.

"Now we’re exactly in the west, the Special Forces zone," Seokjin explained, lifting his arm like some kind of tour guide. "This is where the elite walk, the high command’s favorite children, and the psychologists’ most hated patients. Only standout alphas who want to continue as professional soldiers get in here. Still, every time they arrive, it’s like starting from scratch as babies, because the sergeants who train the corporals are the most demanding—and they are the best of the best."

That was the division he would have liked to join.

He looked with a touch of longing at the groups currently undergoing endurance training. The sergeants were making the corporals run nonstop without slowing their pace, forcing them to move in circles around the large area.

"I’d bet anything this is the place where most training injuries happen," Jungkook ventured when they turned a corner, leaving that area behind.

"You’d be right. The sergeants care very little if their corporals get injured, as long as they learn," Seokjin rolled his eyes. "You have no idea how many times I had to raise my voice at some stubborn sergeant who insisted that doubling the sack weight from one day to the next was healthy."

"Why are they always so stubborn?" Jungkook wrinkled his nose.

"I don’t know, you tell me, you’re an alpha too. Always so damn hardheaded and convinced their word is always the right one, even when I’m the doctor… anyway, let’s keep going. Over in the south..." He pointed in the supposed direction, though of course, they were still within a cluster of buildings, so all they could see were walls. "Is the Regular Division. You know, the backbone of the army. That’s where the conscripts from mandatory service end up: male alphas, female alphas, and male betas, all clearly separated by rank and gender. Lots of shouting, endless routines, plenty of kicks in the ass. You’re nobody there, and they only call you by a number instead of your last name."

"Yes… I just came out of there, I know that," the younger laughed. "I imagine there’s plenty of movement over there too since their little bodies aren’t used to the training." He obviously meant the others—during his own military service, he had been exceptional, never injured, always standing out.

"Exactly," Seokjin continued. "In the north lives the Mechanized Infantry, and they make noise. They handle tanks, combat vehicles, armored transports, and do maintenance on all of it. Usually, the most common injuries we see from them are work-related—like body parts crushed in accidents."

"Lots of feet run over by wheels," the younger joked.

"Yeah—or well, I haven’t seen too many since I’m in neurology… but the worst case that came in from Infantry was once when a soldier didn’t follow safety rules and suffered a clean amputation of one leg."

"That… that sounds serious, sir. Did he make it?"

"Just barely. He lost a ton of blood, but Doctor Kim from orthopedics managed to reconnect everything together with Doctor Im from trauma and Doctor Ahn from plastics. Still, he can’t walk without crutches. Anyway, to the east," Seokjin went on with a shrug, "is the artillery. They operate missiles, long-range cannons, automated launchers—and are probably the least social of the entire base."

"And what about the west?"

"Ah, my favorites," he said with a sigh. "Military engineering and Intelligence. The engineers build everything from bridges to bunkers. They also know how to blow things up, which I find contradictory. The second group… well, let’s just say if you blink in front of them, they already know what you’re thinking. We can’t lie to them. Not much over there interests us though, especially in Military Intelligence—only a few nurses on guard in case someone has a headache or shows symptoms of heat."

"Where are we located exactly, sir?" Jungkook asked, though he already suspected the answer.

"All over the base," Jin answered, winking at him. "Medical units are exactly where they should be: everywhere. Although right now, for obvious reasons, we’re concentrated more in the elite and regular sectors, since those are the ones who suffer the most injuries. You’ll go wherever you’re assigned guard duty. You’ll get an email every week with your schedule."

As they talked, they passed through a security gate that gave access to a rectangular, two-story facility with narrow, barred windows. At the entrance, a metal plaque announced in sober letters: Immediate Medical Response Unit — SF Base Baekho. As they entered, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The smell of disinfectant blended with the cooler air inside. It wasn’t a conventional hospital, but everything was impeccably orderly. The place was designed like an urgent care center: on the left, there was an observation room with three occupied stretchers.

One corporal was lying down with a bag of IV fluid hanging beside him and a bandaged forearm. Another had his ankle elevated while a physical therapist manipulated the joint. A third seemed to have fainted from overexertion and was being assisted by a nurse who carefully placed an oxygen mask over his face.

"This is just the emergency section," explained Seokjin as they walked. "Here we treat sprains, fractures, contusions, open wounds… the basics. But we also have rooms equipped for more complex exams: MRIs, blood tests, hormone panels, pheromone monitoring, ultrasounds, and minor surgical procedures. Nothing cutting-edge like the Military Hospital, but enough to stabilize anyone until they can be transported there."

"Sir, pheromone monitoring too?" Jungkook asked, surprised—he hadn’t seen that in his previous job. Usually, civilians with rank-hormone issues went to specialized centers, not regular hospitals.

"Yeah," Seokjin nodded. "You can’t allow an alpha to go into rut and lose control in the middle of a mission."

They passed by an area where two corporals were being examined by a pair of doctors, while another group waited their turn for monthly physicals.

"We also have psychology distributed throughout the place," the older one added. "Here we take care of the machine and the mind. No soldier functions if either of those is broken."

"I understand," Jungkook replied, scanning the space with his eyes. "Sir, you said you do minor surgical procedures, so there’s an operating room?"

"We have one," Seokjin pointed with his thumb behind him, toward a tall hospital-style door. "It’s limited but functional. We use it in severe emergencies where we can’t wait for evacuation. It’s well equipped for abdominal operations, thoracic, orthopedic, and basic neurosurgeries. I’ve operated there myself. Ah, by the way," he stopped for a moment and gestured to himself from head to toe. "These ugly, hot, and utterly unaesthetic uniforms are mandatory whenever we’re on rounds at the base."

"Oh, really, sir?" Jungkook replied, a small smile tugging at his lips as he smoothed his own uniform. "Didn’t strike me as the latest Parisian fashion, but I don’t think they’re that bad."

"Sadly, we have to wear these atrocities, but when we’re on duty at the central hospital, over in the citadel, we can wear decent clothes again," Jin added, his face lighting up. "Comfortable shoes, a white coat, a fresh uniform, and of course, our lucky surgical cap."

"Sounds perfect," Jungkook said, though he wasn’t entirely sincere.

The truth was, he didn’t mind at all wearing that uniform. For him, he could wear it every single day.

He had always wanted to be a soldier since the first time he saw them as a child, realizing that true alphas were out there doing something more than simply existing with inherited privileges. Jungkook admired the discipline, the sense of purpose, and above all, the chance to put one’s body in service of something greater than oneself.

Unfortunately, that dream had remained just a fantasy.

First, he had studied medicine to follow the family legacy. His mother and father, both alphas, were general surgeons. He had pleased them by going to medical school right after graduating high school, though he had always had a difficult relationship with them—even went through a rebellious phase. He chose trauma surgery as his specialty during his internship because it seemed too useful not to know in combat.

When he turned thirty, like all alphas—of any gender—and male betas, he received the order to serve his mandatory military service. Luckily, he had already finished his studies by then.

He had planned to continue as a soldier once his 24 months of mandatory service ended, but reality hit hard when his request was rejected. Not for misconduct, not for lack of skills, but because of the ink.

"You don’t meet the requirement of having no visible tattoos, soldier," they told him that day.

What the hell does a tattoo have to do with my ability to serve? he had thought, demanding to speak to a superior because he couldn’t understand being rejected when he had been the best in his squad.

"You’re good, Jeon," Colonel Namgung had told him then, a man in his fifties with thinning hair and many wrinkles. "You’re more than good—in fact, you’re exceptional. One of the best soldiers I’ve seen throughout my career. But you can’t be out in the field on a mission with a sleeve tattoo all the way to your chest. Don’t think it’s prejudice—it’s to save your life and your loved ones. Do you know how easy it is to recognize a tattoo? Especially yours—it’s unique and memorable. The day you finish a mission and go home, someone connected to the enemy could see you on the street. What do you think will happen? Let me summarize: they see you, recognize you, follow you, and kill you—or even kill your family. It’s not safe to fight with such a large tattoo."

And in that moment, he had understood.

The tattoo covered his right arm from wrist to shoulder. He had gotten it at twenty, feeling like it was a scream of independence since his parents had been so controlling—he’d done it out of rebellion. He loved every line, every detail it represented.

He still loved it, but when he learned that the ink beneath his skin had become the wall keeping him from truly entering the army, for the first time, he regretted it.

Fortunately, that same colonel—who had clearly been impressed by his performance—offered him another path.

"You’re a trauma doctor, aren’t you? According to your file," Namgung said, flipping open the folder with his name on the front. "Yes, here it is: trauma surgeon, graduate of Seoul National University. Let me tell you—Baekho Military Base is looking for a new head of trauma since theirs is retiring. You’d go for an interview, and if you pass, you wouldn’t exactly be leading charges on the front lines, but you would be out in the field and in the bases, saving the lives of our soldiers and truly contributing to the country. If you want to stay close to what you admire, that’s the door you can take. Do you want me to recommend you to Colonel Sobong?"

That was how he had taken the opportunity—because at least it was a way to contribute. He said yes.

Days later, he was called for an interview. He was the youngest among all the candidates, but he did well, and finally, he was chosen. That day was his first official day as an active military doctor and head of trauma.

"Good thing I’m a beta," Seokjin commented as they left the stretcher area and walked down the hallway leading outside the medical building. "I couldn’t handle smelling so much proud alpha pheromone rolling around all day."

"I get it… and I am one so I can tell, sir," Jungkook let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly. "The scents are really strong, especially when they’re stirred up. I’ve always been repulsed by the smell of other alphas. It exhausts me—it’s like it cloys."

"If I can sometimes catch them when they're strong, I can't imagine what you must feel," the elder said with a laugh. "Honestly, they’re like dogs marking territory. Everything turns into a duel for them—so immature! What’s yours, Jungkook? I can’t detect it."

"It’s not very interesting, to be honest, sir, " he said in a softer tone. "Cedarwood, nothing special."

"Oh, but don’t say it’s not special," Seokjin murmured, turning to face him. "It sounds elegant, robust, dry, and sober. A shame I can’t smell it since you’re stable right now. I could if you were in a very unstable emotional state, throwing pheromones everywhere, though in very small amounts. And we don’t want you in that state either."

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t imagine a life without being able to perceive scents. Even if they sometimes bothered him, they were such an important part of communication. Aromas were fundamental, giving away vital information about what a person was feeling and needing. How could anyone know if someone was in danger, angry, sad, uncomfortable, happy, or excited if they couldn’t smell it?

Seokjin couldn’t even perceive his own scent. That felt… sad. Jungkook allowed himself a moment of focus. He closed his eyes slightly, inhaled deeply, and sharpened his senses. The air was filled with many scents, but he should be able to catch the elder’s if he concentrated, even though betas barely had a scent at all. He leaned forward a little, trying to perceive better, and sure enough, he found something—faint, almost imperceptible, but there.

"Eh—why are you so close? Don’t even think about kissing me or something, Jeon," the elder said nervously.

"Shh… your scent…" Jungkook opened his eyes again. "Linen, sir?"

"Ah! So that’s it. You were smelling me. That explains the invasion of personal space," Seokjin replied jokingly. "Correct. Clean linen—or so they say. I can’t detect it, so I just have to take everyone else’s word for it."

"Not bad," Jungkook said sincerely. "It’s fresh and calm. It suits you, sir."

The elder nodded in gratitude at the compliment, though his face suddenly shifted, as if remembering something.

"Ah, I almost forgot. On missions, alphas are required to take scent blockers. So you’ll have to put up with injections every time you’re sent to the field. Another perk of being a beta. Can you imagine an ambush being ruined because someone suddenly started smelling like whiskey?"

"Please," Jungkook laughed. "It happened to me once during training service. One of the alphas went into pre-heat. The scent was so strong I got a headache, and we even had several issues with territorial fights. They punished him by making him clean trenches for an entire week after his heat because he didn’t keep up with his dosage records."

"Sounds fair," Seokjin added, rolling his eyes. "By the way, Jungkook, you don’t have to speak to me so formally. You can drop the sir tone and just speak casually. I may be older, but we’re in the same position. We’re equals here."

"Mhm… are you sure, sir?" Jungkook asked cautiously. But when he saw Seokjin’s disapproving look, he cleared his throat. "I mean—are you sure? Well, I already said it now, so I guess it’s fine."

Both laughed, but a deep noise cut through the moment. The sound of trucks entering the compound echoed across the plain nearby.

"Ah, the kids from Special Forces are here," Seokjin announced, glancing toward the emergency exit. "They must be back from their simulations. I’d bet more than one ended up injured, and now it’s our job to patch them up."

Jungkook followed his gaze, and together they walked toward the outside area. The midday sun bore down directly on the trucks that had just stopped. Three standard military transport vehicles, painted a matte green, covered with camouflaged tarps that hung loosely off the sides.

His eyes locked on the first figures stepping down from the trucks. He knew instantly they were sergeants—the stars embroidered on their shoulders and the commemorative medals shining against their black uniforms gave them away.

One by one, the sergeants lined up by the ramps, watching as the corporals began to descend.

Once the last soldier stepped down from the second truck, the engines growled briefly, and both vehicles rolled away, kicking up a cloud of dry dust. Some soldiers limped slightly as they made their way along the gravel path, others rubbed their shoulders or flexed their fingers with obvious muscle strain. Many had blue paint stains smeared across their chests, arms, backs, or legs—basically all over their bodies.

The third truck remained still. Not everyone had disembarked yet.

First, a tall man stepped down, dressed in a military medical uniform, an enormous canvas bag slung across his right side, clearly heavy. He moved toward two corporals who looked fairly battered and injured, motioning for them to head straight into the medical center a few steps away. Since he sent them walking without a stretcher, they’d be fine.

Then, another figure descended—the one Jungkook assumed was the First Sergeant. He could tell not only by the symbols of rank stitched into the uniform, the prominent star on his chest, and the bars on his shoulders marking him as the highest-ranked among them, but also by the sheer authority he radiated. It was so undeniable, it demanded attention—and respect.

His uniform was spotless, not a trace of paint. Even the other sergeants had at least one red mark, but him? Nothing. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, solid, strong. Jungkook had never seen an alpha so striking before. Not in civilian life, not in university, not in his previous hospital, not even among his fellow soldiers. He felt utterly intimidated—and he wasn’t even standing that close.

A discreet nudge pulled him out of his daze.

"Hey," Seokjin whispered. "Come on, we need to talk with the doctor. I’ll introduce you to the sergeants."

Jungkook swallowed hard, ignoring how his pulse had spiked from nothing more than looking, and nodded. Adjusting the beret on his head, he walked alongside Seokjin toward the small group that had gathered. The three sergeants had joined the First Sergeant and the doctor.

One of them, with darker skin and a wide smile, noticed them approaching and immediately grinned, his eyes practically sparkling.

Another, shorter and paler, didn’t smile at all. In fact, Jungkook noticed the tension in his posture as he looked briefly at both Seokjin and the other sergeant.

The First Sergeant didn’t react much as they stopped in front of him. He seemed like a serious man, but his steady gaze fell directly on Jungkook, making him nervous.

"Good morning," Jin greeted in a professional tone. "Sergeants, First Sergeant, Doctor. I’ve come to officially introduce the new member of our medical team." He gestured to his side, and Jungkook took a deep breath before stepping forward. "This is Jeon Jungkook. He’s a trauma surgeon, and starting today, he’ll serve as head of the trauma unit here in the hospital. He’ll also be around doing rounds."

"And Doctor Im?" asked one of the shorter sergeants, crossing his arms. "Don’t tell me he finally retired."

"That’s right," Jin replied with a smug smile. "After fifteen years of service and three fake retirement threats… this time was the real deal."

The stares then fell on Jungkook. The alpha felt the muscles in his neck tighten, but he didn’t back down. He wasn’t the kind to cower—quite the opposite. He put his feet together and lowered his head in a flawless bow.

“Jeon Jungkook. It’s a pleasure to work with you,” he announced clearly.

“Hey, relax, we’re not at a trial,” one of them said, chuckling lightly. “I’m Sergeant Wang Kajee, but call me Jackson. It bothers me a little when people use my birth name. Sergeant Wang Jackson for you, understood?”

“Understood, Sergeant,” Jungkook nodded quickly, but the man motioned for him to continue. “Sergeant Wang Jackson,” he corrected himself, and the sergeant clapped him on the shoulder in approval.

The next to speak was the tall, tan-skinned man who had smiled when he first saw them.

“Sergeant Kim Namjoon. A pleasure, Doctor Jeon.”

“Sergeant Min Yoongi,” said the pale one, who hadn’t stopped looking displeased the entire time. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“Doctor Kim Yugyeom, specialized in orthopedics.” The physician stepped forward and shook his hand warmly. “I’m glad to see new faces in the medical division. We’ve been swamped lately after Doctor Im’s retirement, so your arrival is more than welcome. I’m excited to have a trauma chief who’s also young like me.”

“I’ll work hard to live up to Doctor Im’s standards—maybe even surpass him,” the alpha said respectfully with a smile.

Then it was the turn of the first sergeant.

“Kang Taehoo. First Sergeant in charge of the Special Forces. Welcome, Doctor Jeon.” The man’s voice was deep, nearly raspy, and completely commanding.

There was something in it that went straight to Jungkook’s nerves, making him bite his lip unconsciously, though he composed himself as quickly as possible.

“Thank you, sir,” he answered with respect, using a formal tone. “I’m here to serve.”

Taehoo studied him closely, his dark eyes lingering on Jungkook’s longer than was socially acceptable—long enough that the young alpha had to look down at the ground.

Since when do I look away first?

Seokjin cleared his throat softly and clapped his hands together.

“Well, I’ve done the introductions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on some pending matters in my office. I don’t want anyone accusing me of slacking off,” he said with a smile, placing a hand to his chest before giving a light, ceremonial bow.

The beta turned on his heel and walked away at a calm pace. Jungkook didn’t miss the slight nod from Namjoon or the subtle way his eyes followed the doctor as he left. Nor did he miss that Yoongi did exactly the same, though with a very different expression on his face.

“I’ll be heading out too,” Namjoon suddenly announced. He straightened into a crisp, simple military salute before walking in the same direction Seokjin had gone.

Jungkook raised his brows slightly and pressed his lips together to hold back a smile that threatened to escape. They were so obvious. If they were trying to keep things professional, they were failing miserably. He was certain everyone had noticed that—wait. What was that? What smelled like that?

A strong, enveloping, piercing scent filled the air. Whiskey. Bitter whiskey. Jungkook wrinkled his nose slightly. Ugh, there was anger in it. The alpha that scent belonged to was absolutely furious.

He slowly turned his head, at the same time as all the other alphas present.

Min Yoongi was rigid. His fists were clenched at his sides, his brows furrowed. There was no need to ask what was wrong; it was written all over him. Not only in his body language—his scent was intense, overwhelming, speaking louder than words.

A low, mocking laugh from Jackson broke the tension that had formed.

“You’re so obvious, Min,” the man teased, wearing a crooked, arrogant smile. He wanted to provoke him, and clearly, he had succeeded.

Yoongi turned his head slowly, pinning him with a stare so sharp that for a second Jungkook thought he’d attack him right then and there.

“Sergeant Wang Kajee,” Kang Taehoo interjected in a firm voice that didn’t need to be raised. “At ease.”

It was the formal protocol used to order someone to withdraw from conversation or step out of formation. In other words, to leave.

Jackson exhaled dramatically and strolled toward Taehoo with casual confidence.

“Again with that?” he complained, dragging out the words. “I’ve told you like a thousand times—call me Jackson.”

Taehoo’s expression hardened.

“Wang Kajee. At ease,” he repeated, this time sharper, cutting. He was the commanding officer, after all, and had to be obeyed.

Jackson sighed in defeat, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Got it. I’m outta here,” he said finally, turning away. He left with no hurry in his steps.

Once he was out of sight, the first sergeant turned his face toward Jungkook. Taehoo studied him, probing as if trying to read his mind—wanting to know how much he had picked up, how much he had figured out from what had just happened.

Jungkook swallowed hard and tried to hold his gaze.

He couldn’t, again. He looked off to the side, pretending to examine one of the nearby vehicles.

Damn it. He understood this was something he shouldn’t touch, but he didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot—because it wasn’t his business, not at all.

“Jungkook, could you check on soldiers Choi Minho and Song Mingi?” Yugyeom asked, scrolling quickly across the medical tablet he’d pulled from the large bag slung over his shoulder.

Jungkook, however, wasn’t fully grounded in the moment. The words slipped out before he had time to think.

“What for?” he asked, turning toward Yugyeom with a clumsy look of confusion.

One second of distraction, one poorly phrased question—and the atmosphere tightened like a wire.

Sergeant Kang Taehoo tilted his head, staring at him as if he’d just heard the most absurd thing all week. His brows rose slightly, as though he were questioning whether he’d really heard correctly.

“‘What for’?” he repeated, his voice grave, laced with sarcastic incredulity. “Are you seriously asking what for?” The irritation bled through every syllable. “For you to do your damn job, Doctor,” he continued, looking him up and down with a disdainful air, as if measuring his worth and not finding much. “To check on the soldiers. What kind of question is that?”

The younger bit his lips, heat climbing the back of his neck. Shit. That was stupid—and now he looked like a complete fool in front of two of his superiors.

He was about to try saying something, but Kang didn’t wait for an answer. He turned his head toward Yoongi and gave him a brief pat on the shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he said simply, and began walking away.

Yoongi, still looking furious, nodded curtly, shot one last fleeting glance at the group of doctors, and followed the first sergeant without another word. Jungkook watched them go, swallowing hard.

"Don't worry," Yugyeom said then, offering a crooked smile. He tried to sound reassuring, to calm him down. "Sergeant Kang is like that with any tiny mistake. Don't take it personally. Even the most seasoned sergeants are intimidated by him. He has that… presence, you know? You see him coming and everyone lines up immediately."

"Yeah, I noticed he's not exactly… warm," the alpha said, shrinking slightly.

"If you're expecting warmth from him, you better give up right now. But luckily, we technically don’t answer to his direct chain of command. We’re surgeons—we report to the medical direction, not to him. And since we’re both chiefs, theoretically we’d have about the same rank if you compare it with the medical hierarchy we follow." Yugyeom explained while beginning to walk toward the main medical services building. Jungkook followed, still glancing sideways at the path where the two alphas had walked away. "But only technically," he repeated, half-joking. "Because that doesn’t mean he can’t give us an order if he considers it urgent. But don’t worry, he doesn’t mess with our people… at least not without a good reason."

Both of them stepped into the covered hallway that connected the area they’d been in with the medical wing. Jungkook let out a slow breath, feeling his body begin to loosen after all that tension.

"So, what happened with Choi Minho and Song Mingi?" he asked, trying to reconnect with his duties and stop thinking about the embarrassment he’d just gone through.

Yugyeom slid through the tablet again to show him the preliminary report.

"Choi Minho has a shoulder tendon strain. Nothing broken, but it’ll hurt for at least a week. I’d prescribe anti-inflammatories and have him come back in three days to assess the progress. If there’s no improvement, we’ll send him for an X-ray, but I’ll leave that to your judgment, doctor," Yugyeom listed efficiently.

"And the other one?" Jungkook asked, taking the tablet.

"Song Mingi. Mild injury to the medial collateral ligament, left knee. Twisted it during a hand-to-hand sparring session with Sergeant Kang. But it’s nothing serious. He’ll complain, because he’s a dramatic little shit, but with three days of rest, compression bandages, and local heat, he’ll be fine. Still, he should be kept under observation for a few hours. They’re already at the health center—you’re in charge now."

"Thank you for the reports, I’ll take care of them," Jungkook said with confidence.

"Perfect. Meanwhile, I’ll review the lab results we got this morning from a few corporals who showed symptoms of hormonal disorders. I’ll fill you in later—it’s not my field, but I’m on duty, so it falls on me," Yugyeom commented as they passed through the automatic doors, finally stepping into the medical unit.

Jungkook paused for a brief moment before crossing. He glanced once more behind him, toward the path where the two sergeants had gone. He couldn’t see them anymore, but the uneasiness remained.

He shook his head. He had work to do, so he inhaled deeply and entered the building.

Chapter Text

Friday, Saturday 12, 2025.

Jungkook had already been inside one of the consultation rooms in the Regular Division for male alphas for quite some time.

On his head rested a dark green beret with the embroidered medical insignia at the front, a detail that gave him a certain air of authority—though not as much as he would have liked. His green camouflage uniform was neatly fitted, his polished boots shone even under the dim fluorescent light, and on his left arm stood out that massive patch with a red cross that screamed from miles away that he was a military doctor.

He had rolled his sleeves up because of the heat, revealing the tattoo on his right arm. He wouldn’t lie—he looked good. Still, no matter how much he liked the uniform, the task that day was testing his patience.

Outside the consultation room stretched an endless line of thirty-year-old alpha rookies, waiting to be examined one by one. They had been enlisted only a week ago, and according to protocol, during the first month they would be checked weekly before moving on to monthly checkups. In simple terms, that day was their first division inspection—and it showed.

The scene was almost comical. They all stood serious in their brand-new uniforms that still smelled of fresh fabric, pretending discipline, but their expressions betrayed that they had no idea what the hell they had gotten themselves into.

The alpha always wondered the same thing: Why do I always get stuck with the dumbest ones? One would expect that at their age they’d have at least some degree of maturity, but it seemed nature had made a mistake with that particular batch.

The first one to enter sat down in front of him, rested his elbows on the metal desk, and stared at him with wide, expectant eyes—like a curious puppy. Jungkook braced himself for the usual questions, but the one he got froze him in place.

"Doctor, if I put sunscreen on my abs, outlining the lines and all, and then lie in the sun… will that make them show faster?"

Jungkook blinked several times. He couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not. He set the tablet on the desk, clenched the stylus tightly, and stared at him, searching for any trace of irony on his face. But no—those naïve eyes said it all: he was dead serious.

He swallowed hard and forced himself to answer calmly, even though inside he wanted to smash the tablet against the soldier’s forehead.

"No," he finally said in a dry tone. "Sunscreen isn’t Photoshop or gym-in-a-bottle. It’s to keep you from getting skin cancer. The only thing you’ll mark is your attendance at dermatology and oncology if you don’t use it."

The soldier looked disappointed. Jungkook shook his head and waved him toward the examination bed.

The next one seemed like an entirely different specimen—broader, with oversized glasses slipping down his nose and a face full of acne. He looked like the type who, until recently, only got up to check Discord servers.

"Sir doctor, before this I used to go to sleep at four in the morning and wake up at four in the afternoon. Now they force me to go to bed at eleven at night and wake up at four-thirty in the morning. My question is… if I stop sleeping, will my body get used to it so I’ll never need to sleep again? That would be really useful in my civilian life."

Jungkook closed his eyes for a second, pressing a hand against his face, letting his palm cover his expression of sheer disbelief. Then he looked at him again, evaluating if it was a joke. Of course, it wasn’t.

"Yeah, sure…" he replied with biting irony. "And if you stop eating, your body also gets used to it and graduates as a ghost in three weeks. Want to give it a try?"

The soldier blinked in confusion. Jungkook gestured toward the bed with his tablet, making it clear he had no time for such nonsense.

The next one came in looking nervous, scratching the back of his neck.

"Uh… is it normal to hear voices when I wake up from guard duty?"

Jungkook studied him in silence, weighing his answer. Be professional, be professional, be professional…

"It depends," he finally replied. "If it’s your sergeant yelling at you, that’s completely normal. But if it’s Napoleon inviting you to conquer Russia, then I’m sending you straight to psych."

The soldier let out a nervous laugh and quickly walked to the bed. Jungkook exhaled, resigned, and got up to start the physical exam.

Next came a thin young man, sweaty, cheeks flushed.

"When I run, I feel like my heart’s about to jump out of my mouth," he blurted out, without even greeting. "Is that possible?"

"No, your heart isn’t going to come out of your mouth," Jungkook said, completely disappointed in this generation of soldiers. "What can come out is your breakfast if you don’t learn how to breathe. Control your breathing and stop being so dramatic."

The soldier nodded in embarrassment and walked himself to the bed, deliberately inhaling deeply.

The one who came after carried an air of desperation.

"I’ve been training for a week and my muscles still haven’t grown. Could it be that I have a testosterone deficiency?"

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, suppressing a laugh. Just in case, he checked his medical file and confirmed everything was normal.

"No, what you have is a patience deficiency. Hypertrophy doesn’t happen in seven days. You’re an alpha and your tests show your testosterone levels are higher than your ego. The only thing low here is your tolerance for frustration."

The rookie opened his mouth to argue, but Jungkook was already shooing him toward the bed with a brusque gesture.

He had barely settled back in his chair and dismissed the previous one when another walked in.

"Something weird happens to me… after doing push-ups I get dizzy. Is that normal?"

The alpha regarded him for a moment before responding in an academic tone.

"If you hyperventilate like you’re running a marathon just for twenty push-ups, then yes. By breathing too fast, you lower the partial pressure of carbon dioxide in your blood, which causes temporary respiratory alkalosis. That makes you dizzy. It’s not serious, but it will be if you faint doing a push-up and still think you’re getting into Special Forces."

The soldier swallowed hard and walked silently to the bed.

A few minutes later, the next one arrived.

"Doctor… my muscles hurt a lot. Can they break?"

"Yes. It’s called rhabdomyolysis," Jungkook let out a long sigh. "It’s when muscle fiber breaks down and releases myoglobin into the bloodstream, which can damage your kidneys. That’s why they always tell you to drink water and stop trying to play superheroes. Rhabdomyolysis isn’t synonymous with ‘I trained hard’, it’s synonymous with ‘I’m pissing Coca-Cola-colored urine and ended up hospitalized’."

The rookie turned pale, muttered a quiet thank-you, and stumbled his way to the bed.

Once he left, Jungkook slumped against the chair’s backrest with a long exhale. He glanced at the line still waiting outside through the door’s window, and only one bitter thought crossed his mind.

How many more are going to hit me with this kind of stupidity?

Still, he picked up the tablet again, adjusted his beret, and raised his hand to call the next one.

The soldier who stepped in this time had a different expression from the rest. He looked nervous, sweating cold, adjusting his beret over and over, and barely managed to shut the door behind him. Jungkook lifted his gaze from the tablet, raising a brow with a hint of doubt.

"Sit down, come on," he instructed, pointing at the chair across from him.

He obeyed, but he didn’t sit properly. Instead, he only half-sat, as if the chair were burning and he wanted to avoid putting his weight fully down. Jungkook eyed him with suspicion, then gestured for him to come closer. The man leaned slightly over the desk so he could hear him better.

The soldier swallowed hard, glanced back a couple of times to make sure no one was entering, and finally looked at him with eyes full of shame.

“Doctor… it’s just… I got a strange mole…” he began, his voice cracking.

“A mole?” Jungkook repeated, waiting for more.

The young man nodded quickly and leaned even closer.

“Yes… on my… on my butt.”

Jungkook blinked slowly, processing the information. He looked at him with suspicion, trying to figure out if the man was messing with him.

“Where exactly?” he asked cautiously.

The soldier shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his cheeks turning red as he coughed to buy himself time.

“On the… well…” his voice faded, and then, with a frustrated exhale and eyes still lowered, he added, “On the inside part… very close to… you know what I mean.”

The alpha blinked. Yeah, I get it. Perfect. Exactly what I needed today.

“And how did you even notice that mole?” he asked, trying to keep things professional, though the question was genuine.

“Well… I was… uh… I…” His voice cracked again, and he sank into his seat, unable to meet his eyes.

“All right,” Jungkook said with a resigned sigh. He wasn’t going to humiliate him further, even if he wanted to. “Here’s what we’ll do: lie face down on the cot, pull your pants down, and relax. I’ll take a look.”

The soldier nearly fainted from embarrassment, but he obeyed slowly, walking toward the metal examination table at the back of the office. Jungkook turned in his chair, massaging his temples, thinking about the surreal nature of his job.

Out of all the scenarios I imagined when I decided to become a military doctor, inspecting alphas’ asses was not on the list.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

Hours later, the morning shift had finally ended. Jungkook dropped heavily into a chair across from Seokjin in another office. The older man was at his own desk, carefully arranging the folders with the medical reports of the new beta recruits assigned to him. His expression was calm, almost relaxed, completely different from Jungkook’s tense, exhausted face as he twisted his beret between his hands.

“I got the worst of it, hyung,” Jungkook complained, running a hand through his hair and slumping against the chair’s backrest. “I swear they sent me the dumbest ones.”

Seokjin barely glanced up, but when he noticed the dramatics on the younger’s face, he let out a small laugh.

“That sounds like an excellent way to start the week,” he said with irony. Jungkook narrowed his eyes at him.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious. Do you know what one of them asked me? ‘If I get my appendix removed, do I lose my alpha strength?’” He mimicked the soldier’s dull tone.

The beta couldn’t hold back his laughter. He smacked his palm against the desk with a sharp sound and threw his head back.

“You’re kidding! He actually said that?”

“With the most serious face in the world,” Jungkook confirmed.

“And what did you tell him?”

“That if he asked me that again, I’d send him straight back to elementary school biology.”

The older man was still laughing, which only irritated the younger more. Jungkook squinted at him, wearing the face of a victim.

“And that wasn’t even the worst. I saw way too many dicks today—more than I ever wanted to. Alphas are ridiculously proud and obsessed with their noble parts.”

“Well, it is part of the physical exam, isn’t it?” Seokjin raised a brow, amused.

“Yes, but there’s a difference between a routine check and what I had to deal with today. Look, I’ve seen plenty of them, obviously not because I wanted to—since I like omegas, both male and female,” he clarified quickly, almost offended at the idea. “But because I’m a doctor. It’s my job. I do it because I’m a professional. But today… one of those idiots asked me to check if he’d lost a ball, and the only thing wrong was that he was cold.”

Seokjin’s burst of laughter almost shook the walls of the office.

“No! That can’t be real!” he shouted between hysterical laughter, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Don’t mock me,” Jungkook pouted faintly. “I’m traumatized. I desperately need to see an omega to cleanse my eyes from so many alpha dicks.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you got intimidated by the size?” Seokjin teased, looking at him with mischief.

Jungkook wrinkled his nose and shook his head firmly.

“Definitely not that.”

“Sure, sure…” Seokjin chuckled again, so loudly Jungkook swore it echoed into the hallway. He leaned back slightly in his chair, then looked at Jungkook with an arched brow. “I didn’t know you were a lunarean,” he said, dragging the word with sarcasm.

“Of course I am,” Jungkook replied with conviction. “In my youth, I tried it with betas, I swear. But they never truly attracted me—it just wasn’t for me.” He lifted his eyes toward him and, with a tone between apology and pity, added, “Sorry, hyung.”

Seokjin stood silently for a moment, watching him. Then, at last, he rose from his seat, walked around the desk, and stopped in front of him. Jungkook barely had time to blink before receiving a gentle smack on the head.

“No one would want you anyway, idiot,” Seokjin muttered in mock annoyance, smiling faintly.

“Ouch… that was uncalled for,” Jungkook protested, rubbing his head.

“Get up, let’s go,” Seokjin said, already straightening his uniform, getting ready to leave.

Jungkook let out a genuine laugh and got up as well. They didn’t take long to step out of the office, walking side by side down the long corridor of the male beta division.

The atmosphere there was different—more relaxed than in the alpha area, though it still reeked of sweat. Every now and then, they crossed paths with nurses or doctors who greeted Seokjin warmly.

“Hyung,” Jungkook asked curiously, “what are you, anyway?”

“Unfortunately, aurenic.” He made a theatrical gesture of resignation. “I got stuck liking both betas and alphas. Basically, I’m doomed to live in love with idiots.”

“My condolences. Sounds like a life sentence.”

“It is,” Seokjin sighed dramatically. “But tell me, how’s your first week going?” he asked as they turned a corner.

The younger groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Rough, hyung. A lot more than I expected. I’ve got way more work here than I ever did at my old hospital during residency.”

“And does that bother you?” Seokjin raised a brow, intrigued.

“No, not at all.” He shook his head quickly. “Actually, it makes sense. We’re on a massive base, in the middle of extreme training divisions, and now I’m head of trauma. Of course it’s more demanding. I’m just… still adjusting.”

“It’s hectic, yes,” the older agreed with a nod. “There isn’t much rest here. Days off are scarce, and sometimes they’re canceled. For example, this Sunday neither of us has it off—we both have shifts at the hospital.”

“That’s fine,” Jungkook said firmly. “This is what I chose and what I committed to.”

His answer brought a proud smile to Seokjin’s face, and he gave Jungkook a couple of pats on the shoulder.

“That’s the spirit.” They walked a few more steps until Seokjin checked his watch. “By the way, don’t forget—this afternoon after lunch, we need to go to the Special Forces division. We have check-ups with the corporals.”

"In which squads?" Jungkook stopped for a second, turning his head with a certain tension.

"In the same ones you saw on the first day," Seokjin walked casually, completely unaware of his companion’s sudden discomfort. "And we also have the sergeants’ check-ups. Those happen every four months, and the last one was in January, so today’s the day."

Jungkook’s stomach twisted into an immediate knot. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten with unease.

Perfect just what I wanted to avoid.

Until now, he’d been lucky enough not to run into First Sergeant Kang Taehoo again. Ever since that humiliating first encounter, he had gone out of his way to dodge any contact with him, avoiding those intense eyes and that suffocating presence that made him feel small and useless.

In some way, he hated that sensation of weakness, of intimidation, of being vulnerable in front of another alpha. It attacked his pride, the image he had built of himself. No one knew how much the imposing First Sergeant Kang Taehoo intimidated him with nothing but a single look.

Now, however, there was no escape. The check-ups were part of his duty, and he couldn’t avoid the inevitable. He sighed deeply, lowered his gaze, and tried to pull himself together.

"Alright, hyung…" he finally said with resignation. "But tell me, do you also handle the alphas’ check-ups? Because now in the Regular Division, you got the betas clearly because of your rank, and I had to go with the alphas. In Special Forces there are only alphas."

"Of course I do," Seokjin replied with a confident tone. "And don’t worry, I can deal with a couple of filthy, egocentric alphas. They don’t scare me."

That answer pulled a short laugh out of Jungkook, who couldn’t resist reaching out to ruffle the older one’s hair, messing up the style he always took such care of.

"You’re amazing, hyung."

"I know," Seokjin shot back, shaking him off with annoyance as he hurried to smooth his hair back into place.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

Elsewhere in the base, the atmosphere was entirely different. First Sergeant Kang Taehoo’s office was thick with the pungent scent of heavy whiskey pouring off Yoongi’s body.

Min paced back and forth across the room, his boots striking the floor with each step. He muttered under his breath, fists clenching and unclenching, utterly incapable of staying still.

Behind the desk, Taehoo remained calm. His posture was rigid, back perfectly straight, and his pen glided steadily across the paper. He only lifted his eyes every now and then, gauging how much longer before his patience snapped.

In contrast to both, Gyumin lounged lazily in one of the chairs across the desk, completely unconcerned. His back rested against one armrest, one arm draped over the back, while his long legs sprawled across the opposite armrest. Phone in hand, he grinned ear to ear, thumbs moving fast as he immersed himself in the conversation lighting up his screen.

"Control your scent, Yoongi," Taehoo said suddenly, without lifting his eyes from the papers. "That damn whiskey is choking me and riling me up. That’s not something you want."

The other didn’t even stop, only growled in frustration.

"And how the hell am I supposed to control it? The sergeants’ check-ups are about to start! Do you know what that means, Kang? It means Seokjin will be in there, and I’m not about to sit back like some idiot while he—ugh!"

Yoongi cut himself off, not because he wanted to, but because his blood was boiling.

"Wasn’t it during the last sergeants’ check-up four months ago that Seokjin-hyung and Sergeant Kim had their first ‘special encounter’?" Gyumin asked without looking up, still typing away. "Three weeks after you and Seokjin-hyung broke up, right, Yoongi-hyung?"

The words hit like a clean strike. Yoongi froze, eyes wide, a nervous tic twitching at his temple. The memory pierced him like a spear, and for a split second he swore he could hear Seokjin’s laugh again—the same laugh that now belonged to someone else.

"Don’t you dare remind me of that shit, brat!" he shouted, dragging both hands through his hair in a desperate gesture.

"Yes, it was that day," Taehoo said flatly. "And that’s why he’s so traumatized."

"I am not traumatized!" Yoongi roared instantly, slamming a fist into his opposite palm, needing to burn off the frustration physically.

Taehoo watched him for a few seconds, then arched a brow with dry sarcasm.

"Right. It’s obvious. You radiate mental stability from every pore, Min Yoongi."

The man growled and went right back to his frantic pacing, muttering incomprehensible words under his breath.

Meanwhile, Gyumin kept on with his texting, chuckling quietly at his phone.

"Who are you talking to?" Taehoo asked calmly, and Gyumin slowly lifted his eyes.

"It’s just Jihoon, my best friend. You remember him, don’t you, hyung? You always forget who he is, and I have to remind you."

"Park Jihoon? Park Jimin’s younger brother?"

"Uh-huh, finally stuck in your head," the younger one grinned wide, showing him the screen. "We’re planning to hit the mall later." His older brother glanced at the text and nodded.

"And who the hell is Park Jimin?" Yoongi whipped around.

"The head of psychology," Taehoo replied simply.

"Never heard of him," Yoongi frowned, confused.

"He was promoted recently," the sergeant explained, stacking the papers he’d just signed.

"Wouldn’t have mattered, I still wouldn’t have heard of him," the older one scoffed, folding his arms with arrogance. "I don’t need shrinks, and I don’t want anything to do with them."

"Shut it," Taehoo said firmly. "You’re one step away from me sending you straight to a session with Jimin to see if he can fix what’s left of your brain." He tapped a finger against his own head.

Yoongi swiped at the air in total frustration, then spun on his heels and fixed his gaze on the younger one.

"Alright, kid," he said suddenly, pointing an accusing finger. "Did you just say this Jikoon is your best friend?"

Gyumin blinked a couple times, confused by the pronunciation.

"Jihoon," he corrected calmly. Yoongi clicked his tongue and waved a dismissive hand.

"Jikoon, Jihoon, whatever the hell his name is. Same thing."

"It’s not the same," Gyumin muttered. "And yes, he’s my best friend. Since school."

The older man narrowed his eyes, stepping closer and closer.

"Since school, huh? How convenient. And tell me, what does this… Jihoon do now?"

"He’s finishing his residency at the hospital," the younger shrugged. "But he still hasn’t chosen a specialty."

"Aha…" Yoongi took another step, crowding him so much he nearly cornered him against the chair’s backrest. Gyumin only raised a brow at him. "And tell me… what rank is your precious Jihoon?"

"Omega," he replied matter-of-factly. The sergeant would know if he had ever bothered paying attention all those other times he talked about him.

The alpha clapped suddenly, the sound echoing across the office, then stepped back with a triumphant smile. Immediately after, he pointed at the boy and turned toward Taehoo.

"I knew it! Did you hear that, Kang? You’re letting your little alpha brother be best friends with an omega? That’s already basically love, and I bet they’ve even gone through heat together."

Gyumin’s eyes flew wide in horror. Color rushed to his face as he shot up in his seat, slamming his feet down onto the floor.

"Shut up!" he barked, indignant. "What kind of bullshit are you saying?"

Taehoo lifted his gaze from the papers, rolling his eyes.

“Min, stop talking nonsense. My brother isn’t a kid—he’s twenty-four, a grown man with hair on his balls. I’m not about to police his friendships, and I couldn’t care less if he’s gone through his heat with an omega or not, as long as he protects himself.”

“We’re just friends! Nothing this lunatic says has ever happened. And besides…” he paused, looking straight at Taehoo. “I don’t have hair on my balls.”

“Kid, do you really mean to tell me you don’t feel anything for that omega? Not even a little, not even a spark…? Nothing at all?” the alpha pressed.

“No.” Gyumin’s answer was sharp, unwavering.

“What a shame…” Yoongi snorted. “Because I’m sure that Jihoon doesn’t feel the same. Believe me, friendships between omegas and alphas never work out.”

The younger one arched a brow.

“They don’t work between alphas and betas either. Or should I remind you of Sergeant Namjoon, who stole back the ex-boyfriend you were trying to win over?”

The blow landed clean, brutal, and devastating. Yoongi froze, mouth hanging open, unable to form words for several long seconds. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Taehoo had to bring a hand to his mouth, stifling a laugh that nearly broke free, and in that attempt to hide it he coughed and turned his attention to his younger brother.

“Watch that tongue, Gyumin,” he warned.

“This is outrageous!” Yoongi snapped, his dignity in tatters. “This generation has no respect for their elders.”

The young alpha burst out laughing, leaning forward so hard he nearly doubled over, clearly delighted to get under Yoongi’s skin.

“Instead of worrying about me, maybe you should be thinking about what you’re going to do this afternoon to take advantage of Seokjin-hyung being at the inspections.”

The mention struck like a spark in a powder keg. Yoongi suddenly straightened, eyes going wide, composure snapping back into place.

“You’re right!” he shouted. “I have to do something to stop my Seokjin from seeing that idiot Namjoon during the inspection.”

Gyumin raised an eyebrow and leaned back in the chair again, this time folding his arms with a relaxed air.

“What for? Namjoon’s going to swing by his office tonight anyway.”

At that, it almost looked like smoke was about to billow from Yoongi’s ears. His fists clenched, veins bulged at his neck, and his whisky-drenched scent thickened until it saturated the office. Taehoo closed his eyes, exhaling a long, weary sigh, while Gyumin laughed uncontrollably. Then the younger alpha leaned forward, setting his phone aside on his brother’s desk.

“Instead of plotting how to keep Namjoon-hyung away from Seokjin-hyung, think of something else. Try to get Seokjin to be the one who examines you. That way, you can look for an opening, do something that throws him off balance, leave him confused and with doubts—make him want to think it over alone. By consequence, Namjoon-hyung will end up outside the office tonight.”

Silence stretched only a couple of seconds. Yoongi blinked in disbelief, then very slowly broke into a grin that spread from ear to ear. He took a few steps closer to the boy until he was mere inches away. His stare was intense, the kind that could make anyone uncomfortable, and then—out of nowhere—he cupped Gyumin’s face with both hands and bent down to press an exaggerated, almost reverent kiss to his forehead.

“You’re a fucking genius!” he declared in a booming, theatrical voice. “If you weren’t an alpha and this ogre’s little brother…” he jerked his chin toward Taehoo, “I’d kiss you right here.”

The sharp crack of a pen striking his head cut the moment short. Yoongi yelped, clutching the sore spot and bending forward with a pitiful expression.

“Ow! Damn it!” he hissed, glaring toward the desk.

Taehoo hadn’t even bothered to lift his eyes from the papers, but his aim had been deadly precise.

“Stay away from my brother, idiot,” he said coldly.

Rubbing his head, Yoongi shuffled a couple of steps back, wounded pride written all over his face.

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry. Got carried away.” He raised both hands in surrender, then quickly shifted topics, tapping his chin with his fingers. “I need to figure out which office Seokjin will be using first. I can’t just go ask him directly. Imagine if I walked into the wrong one and ended up with the other doctor—it’d be a disaster, the end of the plan.”

“And who’s the other doctor?” Gyumin asked.

“My reliable sources,” Yoongi puffed out his chest with pride, “told me it’s Jeon Jungkook.”

“And who the hell is that?” the younger one asked again, genuinely bewildered.

Taehoo exhaled a tired snort, finally setting down his pen and lifting his gaze toward them both.

“The new doctor who joined this week. He’s also the new head of trauma. And to me? A complete incompetent.”

“Why?” Gyumin tilted his head, curious.

Before Taehoo could answer, Yoongi burst into laughter.

“Because your brother’s a perfectionist freak,” he said, pointing straight at him. “He can’t stand even the tiniest mistake, and calls that incompetence. Honestly, Taehoo, that’s enough to get you shipped straight to the psych ward—so they can prescribe you some tranquilizers… or a good fuck.”

The sergeant looked at him, one eyebrow raised, eyes carrying a warning sharp enough to cut. He didn’t need to say a word; the threat was there, clear in the weight of his stare. Yoongi took a couple of steps back, both hands raised like he was surrendering to an enemy, and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, sorry. Out of line. Respect, Sergeant.” He bowed his head slightly. Ignoring the remark, Taehoo turned his attention back to his younger brother.

“That Jungkook said something stupid the first day he walked in, and I haven’t seen him working all week.”

“You haven’t seen him? Well, I have.” Yoongi frowned, tilting his head.

“Oh, really?” Taehoo’s voice dripped skepticism.

“Of course I have. Maybe you scared the kid shitless with the way you treated him the first time, so now he’s traumatized and avoids you,” Yoongi teased with malice.

The eldest Kang let out a weary scoff, rolling his eyes, clearly unwilling to waste more energy arguing.

“Go find out which office Seokjin will be in. Inspections start at two, and it’s already one forty-five.”

Yoongi’s eyes flew wide, lips pressing tight in urgency before he jabbed a finger at him.

“You’re right!” he exclaimed, waving his hand dramatically. “You’re absolutely fucking right.”

Without another word, he spun on his heels and stormed out of the office.

As soon as Yoongi left, Beomgyu shifted in the chair, abandoning the laid-back posture he had kept the whole time. Now he sat up straight, elbows resting on his older brother’s desk. His eyes studied him intently, and Taehoo met the stare for a moment—only someone with the sergeant’s blood could hold it without flinching.

“Hyung,” he said firmly, lowering his voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond the office walls, “did you do everything you needed for the inspection?”

The pen that had been twirling between Taehyung’s fingers stilled. He set it aside, next to a half-open folder, then dug under a pile of documents to pull out a bundle of papers, neatly folded.

“Yes, I did everything I was supposed to. I took omega hormone suppressors, injected alpha hormone boosters, used a scent-blocker. If my calculations are right, I should be leveled by this afternoon. No one’s going to notice a thing.”

Beomgyu pressed his lips together, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Hyung… you’re hiding something from me," he said softly. "I know you, don’t lie to me. I’m your brother."

Taehyung couldn’t bring himself to say anything that might contradict him, so he took a deep breath and finally handed over the papers he held in his hand.

"There you go," he murmured. Beomgyu didn’t hesitate—he grabbed them and spread them out across the desk.

His eyes darted quickly over the lines filled with numbers, percentages, and graphs. His pupils moved fast until they stopped on one particular data point. His hands trembled slightly as he brought the sheets closer to his face, as if staring harder could somehow change what was written there.

"This can’t be…" he muttered, lifting his gaze toward his older brother. "Your active pheromone levels keep dropping lower and lower. But the passive ones aren’t rising either. What the hell are you doing, Taehyung?" The silence settled between them again, but Beomgyu wasn’t willing to let it pass. "How many pheromone inhibitors are you injecting yourself with each month?"

"One every week," he admitted in a sigh, avoiding his younger brother’s eyes.

Beomgyu froze, staring at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

"One a week? Hyung, the safe dosage is one a month! One! That’s what I take. Do you even understand what it means to pump that much into your system?"

Taehyung clenched his jaw and leaned forward, slamming both hands onto the desk with force.

"You don’t have to be in the army, Gyu. You can pretend to be an alpha in a much easier way. I have to push this damn body to its limit every single day. I’m already falling behind compared to the others, and I can’t afford that if I want to be promoted."

The younger one let out a sharp breath. He tossed the papers aside with a rough motion and grabbed Taehyung’s hands, squeezing them tightly, desperate to transmit some measure of reason into him.

"You don’t have to kill yourself for this," his voice cracked at the edge of despair. "We’re safe just as we are. You don’t need a promotion to gain more security."

But Taehyung turned his eyes away, fixing them on a blank spot on the wall.

"I’m not taking any risks, Beomgyu. Especially now that… they’re here in Busan."

The younger omega felt a shiver run down his spine. His body trembled at those words, and his throat tightened.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat, then looked back into his brother’s eyes. "The investigation I’ve been working on with Hoseok-hyung confirms it. Um Changwoo’s hitmen have been spotted in the ports and the slums here in Busan."

The mafioso’s name echoed through the air, dragging with it memories of endless nights and frantic escapes that still burned in their minds. Beomgyu swallowed hard, struggling against the tremor in his hands.

"So they still think we can’t get back on our feet…" he said in a low voice. "That’s why they search in the poor districts or in heavy labor areas. That’s how they found us last time."

"That’s a pretty accurate hypothesis," the older one nodded. "Hoseok-hyung and I reached the same conclusion."

The younger omega shook his head, pressing his lips tight.

"Then please, don’t obsess over this so much. Don’t push yourself to the point of breaking. They would never imagine that Kim Taehyung, the omega son of a prostitute and a mafia worker from Daegu, ended up becoming an alpha and a First Sergeant of the Baekho Military Base’s Special Forces. It would never cross their minds to look for you among the higher ranks of the army… much less among their direct enemies."

Taehyung’s eyes stayed locked on Beomgyu’s, shaking his head even as his brother spoke.

"That’s exactly why I have to be careful," he said, his voice low but firm. "It’s no longer just about them wanting to kill us for our father’s betrayal, for that rotten vengeance they still cling to. Now there’s another reason too. I’m a soldier, Beomgyu. Yes, I have more power, more training, more resources, and more skills… and while that gives me the upper hand in many things—hiding, protecting us, fighting them—it also makes me a visible target. It’s give and take. This isn’t about if they find us, it’s about when. And when that day comes, I want to be twenty steps ahead, ready to arrest them or kill every last one of them. That’s why I need to climb ranks, to secure better chances of survival—and to protect you."

The air seemed to grow heavier, so Beomgyu swallowed hard, lowered his gaze for a moment, and then sighed with something that resembled both tenderness and sadness. He caressed his brother’s hands, squeezing his fingers gently.

"Hyung…" His voice was soft. "You’ve worked so hard for me." Taehyung leaned forward, his hardened face softening just enough to let slip a flicker of vulnerability he rarely showed anyone.

"You are my priority," he replied without hesitation. "I would die before letting anything happen to you."

Beomgyu looked at him pleadingly, his eyes glistening in a way that made him appear much younger than he truly was. He didn’t want to—he couldn’t bear the thought of his brother sacrificing every last drop of his existence just to keep him safe.

"Taehyung-hyung," he murmured with difficulty. "You know that in August I’ll graduate as a lawyer."

The elder blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic, but then his lips curved into a warm smile—one of those reserved exclusively for him. He lifted his hand and gently ruffled his hair.

"I know. That couldn’t make me prouder," he whispered tenderly. "You’ll be the first in our family to graduate from university. It’s an immense achievement, Beomgyu."

"I know," he replied with a slight shrug, though inside he battled against the weight of what he was about to say. The words clawed at his throat, because he had no idea how Taehyung would react. "Hyung… I want to enlist right after I graduate."

Taehyung’s smile vanished instantly, wiped clean from his face. His brows furrowed, and his eyes flared with a mix of anger and despair.

"No," he said sharply, almost growling. "You will not do that. I enlisted young precisely so you wouldn’t have to. When you turn thirty, I’ll figure something out to make sure you never have to do obligatory service. I’m killing my connection to my moon, wrecking my body with chemicals, so you don’t have to. Everything I do is so that one day you can go back to being an omega without fear, far away from here."

The words struck with such force that Beomgyu froze in place. But then he drew in a deep breath, summoning the courage to respond.

"Calm down, hyung…" he said slowly, stroking the back of his brother’s hand. "You’ve taken care of me all these years, protecting me even from things I didn’t fully understand. And now I want to learn how to protect you too. If you could do it, then so can I. Do you remember what I told you when I was fifteen, before I even knew the results of my revelation as an omega?" Taehyung looked at him with furrowed brows, his throat tightening, because he did remember—and being pulled back to that day made him raw.

"You said you wanted to be an alpha to protect me," he murmured, and Beomgyu nodded firmly.

"And I still want that. I want to give back all the care you gave me, hyung."

Taehyung’s throat burned. He felt a knot forming, making it impossible to speak clearly. He was just about to snap back, ready to unleash an endless list of reasons why this was pure madness, when soft knocks rattled the door.

The sound forced him to swallow his words and clear his throat harshly, erasing any trace of vulnerability from his voice.

"Come in," he said firmly, raising his voice as if nothing had happened.

The door opened and Yoongi appeared with a mischievous grin.

"I’ve got the info on which office Seokjin’s in," he announced, a spark of triumph in his eyes. "Hurry up, there are only five minutes left until two."

Taehoo nodded slowly, stood from his chair, and walked around the desk. He leaned down toward Gyumin and, with a soft gesture, pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"We’ll talk later," he promised quietly.

Gyumin only managed a small nod, biting his lip as Taehoo left with Yoongi, who was grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement over their small victory of information.

Chapter Text

Friday, Saturday 12th, 2025

The hallway of the medical division smelled like disinfectant. It was long, with polished white walls, lit by fluorescent lights that hummed faintly above their heads. At the far end were the numbered doors with their metal plaques, and it was right there where the routine checkups for the sergeants and corporals of the Onyx, Argus, and Fenrir squads would take place.

Yoongi walked beside Taehoo, muttering impatiently for a while.

"How the hell did you find out which consulting room Seokjin is in?" Taehoo asked, arching a brow at him.

The alpha allowed himself a small, proud smile and leaned a little closer, lowering his voice.

"I flirted with a beta nurse to get the information," he replied with an air of smugness.

"For reasons like that, you and Seokjin broke up," Taehoo said flatly, pinning him with a judgmental glare. Yoongi’s eyes widened in offense, and he raised his hands in defense.

"Hey! It wasn’t serious, I’m not interested in the nurse. It was just… strategy. Nothing more."

"Uh-huh," Taehoo murmured sarcastically. "And meanwhile, I’m sure that poor beta is already imagining a whole life with you—pups, rabbits, and a house with a garden."

"Oh, please!" Yoongi scoffed, rolling his eyes and waving his hand dismissively. "Don’t start dramatizing. What matters is that I got the info. And Seokjin is in consulting room number two."

With that triumphant air, Yoongi grinned and pointed at the door with the engraved metal number, though he didn’t bother to look closely. Taehoo, on the other hand, did look, and when he noticed what was there, he let out a short, dry laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" the older man frowned, and Taehoo tilted his head slightly, gesturing forward with his chin.

"At the fact that you went through all the trouble of wheedling information out of a poor nurse when you could have just asked Namjoon directly."

Yoongi felt something explode in his chest. He whipped his head around so fast it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap. And there Namjoon was—neat and immaculate, standing in line at office two. He was first, and right behind him was Sergeant Jackson, completing the short queue assigned to that doctor. For sergeants’ checkups, it was always just two patients per office, no more.

Namjoon looked… insufferably happy. He wore that wide smile across his face, his fingers fidgeting as they intertwined again and again. That relaxed, expectant attitude made him look almost youthful, and it nearly popped a vein in Yoongi’s temple out of sheer rage.

"Obviously I wouldn’t ask that traitorous bastard!" he snapped through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at Namjoon from afar.

"Seokjin clearly told him which consulting room he’d be in," Taehoo replied with mocking amusement, savoring every second of the other’s frustration.

The older alpha blinked rapidly, then suddenly turned to Taehoo with a transformed expression, utterly different from the one he wore before. His eyes went pleading, and the shape of his mouth softened into something almost childlike.

"Please…" he said softly, almost like a beg.

"No."

"Please," he repeated, tilting his head like an abandoned puppy.

"Don’t drag me into your love problems," Taehoo replied coldly.

"Please, please, pleeease…" Yoongi repeated like a mantra, stepping closer, his eyes shining so ridiculously sweet that it clashed completely with the hardened alpha uniform he wore.

Taehoo clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, already fed up.

"God… your attempts at being a soft alpha are secondhand embarrassment," he spat with disgust. "Look at you, it’s pathetic."

But Yoongi didn’t give up. He clasped his hands in front of his chest as if praying and insisted again in a syrupy voice:

"Pleeeeeeease…"

The sergeant stared at him for a long second, letting Yoongi wallow in his own humiliation. Finally, he released a resigned sigh.

"Fine…" he muttered through clenched teeth.

Yoongi’s eyes lit up instantly, and before Taehoo could change his mind, the younger alpha was already grinning ear to ear, on the verge of bouncing with excitement.

"Really?" he asked, incredulous and thrilled.

"Yeah, yeah. Go line up at consulting room two, I’ll handle it," Taehoo replied, though he was already regretting it.

Yoongi nearly squealed with joy, his steps quickening instantly as he headed over. Taehoo watched him go, rolling his eyes with loaded exasperation. The image of Yoongi with that idiotic grin, walking fast like he was wagging a tail, was so vivid that even he almost chuckled discreetly.

"Pathetic."

Taehoo wondered why the hell he still called that walking disaster his friend. Yoongi gave him gray hairs, and yet he always found a way to drag him into his messes.

When exactly did I go from being a respected first sergeant to babysitter of an impulsive alpha? Why the hell am I still friends with Min?

His gaze then fixed on Sergeant Namjoon. He took a deep breath and let his voice come out with its natural commanding weight, deep and firm.

"Sergeant Kim."

The name echoed subtly, and as soon as it reached Namjoon’s ears, he straightened immediately. The alpha went from being somewhat distracted by the door of office two to standing upright like a steel post, back rigid and arms firm at his sides.

"Yes, sir!" Namjoon answered clearly, projecting discipline. Taehoo barely lifted a hand, signaling him to approach, and Namjoon took it as an order he could not ignore.

The problem was that instead of stepping forward right away, he hesitated. His eyes locked insistently on the door of office two, his dark gaze reflecting a flicker of anxiety. It was obvious he didn’t want to move.

Taehoo needed nothing more than a dry, sharp look of disapproval to rip him out of that indecision. Namjoon understood he had to obey. He swallowed, adjusted his cap, and took a couple of steps toward the first sergeant.

Without leaving him room to retreat, Taehoo seized him by the shoulders and guided him right in front of him in line at office one, cutting off any chance of escape.

"Report," he ordered, giving him no space to question his new spot in line. "How is Squad Fenrir doing with the latest maneuvers?"

"The squad is in optimal condition, First Sergeant. Reaction times improved by twelve percent compared to the last evaluation. The men are keeping up with daily training routines, there have been no absences or major incidents."

"And the ammunition report?" Taehoo pressed. "This month it was your squad’s responsibility."

"It will be delivered tonight, sir. I supervised it personally, I can bring the report to your office after ten p.m." His eyes, inevitably, drifted again toward the line at office two, and he tensed further upon seeing Yoongi standing behind Jackson, waiting his turn. That sight disarmed him, and a fleeting gesture of despair crossed his face.

"Focus, Sergeant Kim. I want it on my desk at nine," Taehoo ordered to pull his attention back.

Namjoon pressed his lips together, trying to control the frustration simmering under his skin. He nodded sharply, not daring to argue.

Suddenly, Seokjin’s clear voice rang out from inside office two.

"First sergeant, come in!"

That call hit Namjoon’s head like a gunshot, snapping his attention back to the other line. Jackson turned just slightly, glancing at him with a hint of pity before stepping toward the door. He cast Namjoon a fleeting, regretful look before disappearing inside.

Namjoon made a faint attempt to follow, moving half a step forward, but he never got the chance. At that very moment, the door of examination room number one swung open, and another doctor’s voice called for the first sergeant in line.

“Go ahead, Sergeant Kim,” Taehoo said without taking his eyes off him.

The alpha looked at him desperately, searching for the slightest shred of mercy in his superior’s gaze—but of course, he found none. Refusal wasn’t an option. The hierarchy was clear. With a resigned sigh, Namjoon stepped forward into consultation room one, feeling as though the entire universe was conspiring against him.

Taehoo’s eyes found Yoongi at the back. The alpha was radiant, flashing him two thumbs up from afar with a huge, mocking grin. He even mouthed an exaggerated 'well done!' with his lips. Watching that smug satisfaction stretch across Yoongi’s face, Taehoo swore he’d never indulge him in such stupidity again. But deep down, he knew that promise would shatter sooner or later.

He did feel bad for Namjoon—sure—but at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering: why the hell does he mess with his own squadmate’s ex?

It made no sense. Taehoo remembered perfectly the early years of Namjoon and Yoongi together, the way they’d worked side by side, communicating with nothing more than a glance. They’d gone through training shoulder to shoulder, survived the same missions, endured the same suffocating military routine. It hadn’t been unusual to see them climb the ranks together—first as soldiers, then corporals, now sergeants. Others even whispered about how eerie they looked in combat, so in sync it was as though they were one mind split between two bodies.

And yet, it had all shattered.

Yoongi had been in love with Seokjin far too long; for everyone else it was obvious well before the alpha dared to accept his own feelings. It had been a persistent infatuation, and no one was surprised when, after so much time, he finally made it official.

Sure, Yoongi was blunt, terrible at communication, clumsy, and had a temper that landed him in the worst possible situations. But there was something genuine in the way he loved. He was affectionate, attentive, and never hesitated to defend what was his, even when it dragged him into trouble.

Taehoo remembered the time another sergeant from another squad that wasn't his command had made a snide remark that Yoongi should stop wasting his time with a beta and find a real omega. It hadn’t even taken half a second before Yoongi’s fist connected with the man’s face, dropping him to the floor.

He’d ended up summoned for disciplinary action, and Taehoo had to vouch for him—pulling strings, raising his voice—to keep him from being expelled from the division. Not only because it was his responsibility, but because he was his friend.

Even if society didn’t openly condemn alpha–beta couples, the reproduction taboo still hung heavy. A bond without biological 'future' was often seen as a mistake, something that shouldn’t be. That's why it's much better for a beta male to date a beta female, an omega of any gender, or an alpha female; and likewise, for an alpha male to date an alpha female, a beta female, or an omega of any gender. Of course, the ideal was between alphas and omegas; and between betas of different genders.

From then on, Yoongi had made it painfully clear that Seokjin was worth any risk to him. The problem was that Seokjin couldn’t stand that overly alpha side of Yoongi. The sergeant was more brute than protective. He wasn’t violent toward Seokjin, no—but the beta hated how Yoongi solved everything with his fists or took everything to extremes. Sometimes, Yoongi expected Seokjin to behave like an omega, and nothing infuriated the beta more than being compared.

The fights became constant, and after six months, the beta simply had enough. He ended it. And though Yoongi tried again and again to win him back, he never succeeded. The alpha refused to accept it, refused to let go, because he was still in love.

Taehoo would never forget what Yoongi once confessed to him, the rage and heartbreak dripping from every word. Four months ago, Yoongi had seen Namjoon step into an exam room with Seokjin during sergeants’ check-ups. Something about it felt off, and a gnawing sensation in his chest pushed him out of his own line to see what was happening.

The curtains were drawn—normal for an exam—but something in his bones screamed that he needed to know. His wolf grew restless. Anxiety flared until he remembered the small, high window in that room. The same one Seokjin always worried about whenever he and Yoongi had been messing around there. Yoongi had always laughed it off, reassuring him no one sane would go through that much trouble to peek in. Only a lunatic would try.

Well, Yoongi had been that lunatic.

He dragged over a chair, then a crate, then more, building himself a makeshift tower. He climbed carefully, silent, and when he finally peeked inside, what he saw froze his blood: Seokjin sitting on the desk, and Namjoon leaning over him, kissing him with a tenderness that stabbed Yoongi like a knife.

That day, his world collapsed. Fury consumed him; betrayal gnawed at his chest. The fight with Namjoon had been inevitable. It wasn’t just harsh words and shouting—they came to blows, and Taehoo once again had to intervene.

From that moment, they drifted apart, no longer recognizing each other as friends. The cruel irony was that in the field—missions, joint training—they still connected in the same way. Just a glance or a gesture, and they understood. That synchronicity hadn’t broken. But it wasn’t camaraderie anymore. Yoongi leaned on Taehoo now, while Namjoon grew closer to Jackson.

Still, despite everything, Yoongi never gave up. He kept trying, kept chasing Seokjin, convinced he could win him back.

Taehoo had already told him that giving up would be the most dignified choice. That Seokjin had made his decision, and throwing away his pride wouldn’t change it. But everything he said went in one ear and out the other. There was no reasoning with him.

Thirty minutes later, the door to exam room number two opened, and Jackson stepped out, adjusting his uniform. Immediately after, Seokjin appeared at the threshold, medical tablet in hand, ready for the next patient.

His eyes instinctively searched for Namjoon, bracing himself to see the alpha standing before him. But instead of the one he expected, it was Yoongi—wearing that confident smile, a stubborn gleam in his gaze.

Seokjin tensed instantly. He swallowed hard, his throat closing in a nervous cough. He glanced around, turning his head toward the hall as if Namjoon might appear at any second. But there was no trace of him. All he caught was Taehoo watching from the far end of the hall, expression severe. Under that pressure, the beta forced himself to pull it together. He dropped his gaze and, with a curt gesture, invited Yoongi inside, opening the door wider.

“Come in, Sergeant Min.”

The alpha didn’t hesitate for even a second; his smile widened like a little pup finally receiving the prize he had been waiting for, and without bothering to hide his excitement, he stepped into the office with a triumphant air. The door closed behind him, leaving Seokjin with his stomach in knots.

At that very moment, the door to consultation room number one swung open and Namjoon hurried out, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. His breathing was uneven, and the moment his gaze lifted toward consultation room two, he realized Yoongi wasn’t standing there waiting. Unease instantly carved itself across his features. His eyes locked on Seokjin’s closed door, and then, almost in desperation, flicked toward Taehoo.

The first sergeant met him with a cold, serious stare. Namjoon understood instantly that this wasn’t the time for questions or complaints. His jaw tightened, he lowered his head in a curt gesture, and offered a rigid bow before stepping aside. Taehoo’s eyes followed him.

He pretended to leave, but didn’t get far. He lingered around the area, waiting for the doors to open again. He was about to turn back when a clearing of the throat behind him snapped him out of it.

When he turned, he was met with the figure of the young doctor framed in the doorway of consultation room one. Jeon Jungkook. The young man wore the military medical uniform perfectly fitted to his frame, sleeves rolled up. The first thing Namjoon noticed were the striking tattoos running up his right arm, seemingly covering the whole of it. That was unusual—he hadn’t seen many tattoos around here, and certainly not ones that large.

The second thing that struck him was how irritating that clearing of the throat felt. Taehoo arched a brow and let his gaze drag over him from head to toe with a faint trace of disdain he didn’t bother to hide. He did not appreciate being addressed in such a manner, without proper respect. You did not call for him with a mere throat-clearing—he was Sergeant Kang.

Jungkook seemed to realize the discomfort he had caused. He swallowed, leaning forward slightly, trying to steady his voice.

“Please, come in, Sergeant…” His tone faltered just slightly at the end.

Taehoo let out a bored sigh and walked into the office without a single word for the doctor.

Inside, the stark white light illuminated the pristine room. The metal table gleamed, the desk was neatly arranged, and the steady hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. Taehyung sat with his back straight in the chair across from the desk, while Jungkook took his seat on the other side, waking the dormant computer screen and adjusting the keyboard with restless hands.

For a moment, Jungkook felt the weight of those dark eyes on him, and his throat tightened. The alpha before him radiated authority, and he didn’t need to say a word to make it clear what he was—a superior.

The doctor cleared his throat again and, with a veneer of professionalism, began the routine questions.

“Full name, age, rank, and position in the army,” he said while opening the digital form on the screen.

“Do you really have to ask me that?” Taehoo replied dryly, tilting his head. “It’s on the file.”

Silence stretched for a few seconds. Jungkook tensed in his seat, the authority in the sergeant’s voice making him feel small. He swallowed hard, pressed his fingers against the keyboard, and with effort managed to reply:

“It’s… more of a formality, Sergeant. I need to verify what appears on your military file before we continue.”

Taehoo’s eyes remained fixed on him for another moment before he finally exhaled and leaned back in his chair.

“Kang Taehoo,” he said without hurry. “Thirty-three years old. Alpha. First Sergeant of the Special Forces, in charge of the Onyx, Fenrir, and Argus squads.”

Jungkook nodded as he typed, his fingers flying quickly over the keys. A few seconds later, the young doctor lifted his gaze from the screen to continue.

“Have you had any recent injuries during missions or training?”

The question seemed so basic that for a second he considered ignoring it. He rested his elbow on the armrest and replied with a hint of pride in his voice:

“No, I never get injured.” The certainty in that answer left no room for argument. Jungkook, trying to soften the atmosphere, offered a faint smile and decided to share a little about himself, hoping to spark some conversation and chip away at the sergeant’s walls.

“Well… during my own military service, I never had any problems either, never got hurt,” he commented lightly, searching for some common ground. But before he could finish, Taehoo cut him off coldly, leaning slightly forward to shut down any attempt at dialogue.

“Next question, doctor.”

Jungkook froze for a moment, surprised by the abruptness.

“R-Right,” he stammered, his discomfort plain. He typed the data and continued reading from the list. “Are you currently taking any medications aside from the prescribed ones? That is, scent blockers during missions and suppressors during rut periods.”

Taehoo’s face remained impassive.

Under no circumstances could he reveal what truly lay behind that routine of injections and pills. The needles he drove into his own flesh each month, the pheromone inhibitors that dulled what little remained of his original condition, the omega hormone suppressors that stripped away what he once was, and the alpha hormone enhancers that twisted his system until it was exhausted—those were secrets no one could know.

“No,” he answered simply, and Jungkook nodded, believing the lie without suspicion.

“Any history of allergies or adverse reactions to medication?”

“No.”

“Have you been hospitalized or undergone surgery in the last four months?”

“No.”

Jungkook frowned as he noticed something in the digital record and looked up with a cautious expression.

“The system shows you were admitted to this unit’s emergency department last week.”

“It was just an accident,” Taehoo scoffed, leaning back in his chair as if brushing it off. “A slight loss of consciousness, they let me go within the hour. Work stress… and I skipped breakfast that day.”

The doctor listened intently, then shook his head and corrected him calmly.

“Then the answer is yes, Sergeant. No matter how minor, it still counts as hospitalization.”

Taehoo’s jaw tightened, and he rolled his eyes in frustration. The doctor wasn’t distracted, focusing back on the screen.

“How would you rate your energy levels over the last month?” he asked while typing.

“Ten,” Taehoo answered without hesitation. It was nearly unquestionable.

“Have you experienced changes in the quality of your sleep?”

“No,” he lied again.

The truth was, insomnia was devouring him. Entire nights spent awake, followed by extra training sessions to compensate for the weakness. Exhaustion sometimes left him trembling, and he woke in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat when the side effects of the drugs took their toll. But Jungkook kept typing, lips pressed together, oblivious to the reality behind those answers.

“Have you had vision or hearing problems during training or missions? Have you noticed any decline in physical endurance during marches, maneuvers, or combat?” he continued.

“Are you going to take long?” Taehoo cut in sharply.

Jungkook swallowed, but didn’t lower his gaze. Instead, he lifted his chin with the faintest spark of defiance.

“That depends on you, Sergeant, and how quickly you answer.”

Taehoo blinked, incredulous, outraged by the audacity. He wasn’t used to being questioned like that. In past check-ups, he had always managed to skip certain steps with a simple order, but Jungkook seemed stubborn—unyielding—and determined to take his job seriously. Still, Taehoo decided to try again.

"Why don’t we move on to the physical exam, and you just fill in whatever on the question section?" he suggested sharply. "I don’t have time for this."

The younger felt a shiver run down his spine, but he refused to give in. Yes, the man was intimidating, but Jungkook had his own pride. He was the head of trauma in that hospital. He had a rank, a title to defend. Inside a consulting room, the doctor’s voice was the one that truly mattered—this was his ground, and he wasn’t about to let himself be intimidated.

"I ask that you cooperate, Sergeant. The faster I finish my job, the sooner you’ll be able to return to yours."

Their gazes locked. It was almost an electrifying clash. Taehoo felt insolence in those words, a boldness that bordered on intolerable. But Jungkook, on the other hand, perceived something different. Beneath that tension, he found the sergeant’s eyes fascinating. Feline, intense, like a dark ocean. That detail unsettled him so much that his chest tightened nervously the moment he realized what he was staring at.

Quickly, before completely losing his composure, Jungkook lowered his voice a little, adding a note of respect and almost clumsy awkwardness.

"W-With all due respect, sir."

The older man looked at him, confused, thrown off by the abrupt change in the young doctor’s tone. A second ago, he’d seemed defiant, and now he sounded as though he was backing down. Choosing not to argue, he simply sighed.

"No, I’ve never had vision or hearing problems. And I haven’t noticed any decrease in stamina."

Another lie. The truth was that he felt weaker with each passing day, which was why he pushed himself harder, trying to compensate with discipline for what his body had begun to resent.

"Have you noticed any changes in the intensity of your scent in recent months?" Jungkook asked again.

"No," he answered flatly, though the real answer was a clear yes. He practically had no scent left.

Jungkook nodded and typed quickly, moving on to the next line, his tone still neutral.

"Have you experienced any episodes of pheromonal loss of control under stress or combat? Any difficulty regulating instincts… territoriality, aggression, mating drive?"

"No."

He hadn’t had any episodes of loss of control because he had nearly lost his connection to his moon altogether—he barely felt it anymore. There were no instincts overflowing, because his own body seemed not to demand anything at all. It was a strange emptiness. And although that calm might sound advantageous for his work, sometimes he missed everything that made him omega.

The doctor kept typing, unsuspecting, until he reached the last of the programmed questions.

"Lastly… do you remember the date of your last recorded heat cycle?"

The question made him stop and calculate in his head. Officially, alphas’ ruts came every four months; omegas’ heats every three. His file stated the last one had been two months ago, but the reality was that it had been just a month earlier. And even then, it hadn’t been a normal heat. Everything he injected into himself dulled the symptoms until they were almost erased. Sometimes he even went out to train during them.

At most, a few alphas would comment that his scent seemed slightly stronger, a touch sweeter. That was all they detected. He didn’t go out much during those times anyway, because what he couldn’t suppress was the physical wetness, but he didn't have a real desire, so it was uncomfortable to walk like that.

He remembered what Hoseok had told him—that if he ever wanted to stop injecting all those things, he couldn’t just quit cold turkey. He would have to reduce the doses slowly and transition over at least a year if he didn’t want his body to collapse. If he abandoned it overnight, his heat would be ten times worse, brutal, uncontrollable, and no one knew for how long.

"Two months ago."

"Did you go through it alone or with company?"

"…Excuse me?" he asked, completely baffled.

The alpha’s eyes went wide as he realized too late what he had just done. He cursed himself in silence. He had thought aloud. That question wasn’t part of the checklist—it had slipped out of pure curiosity.

"Alone and controlled," Taehoo finally answered. Still, he didn’t understand. It was the first time he’d been asked something like that. Was it for birth control records? To track possible unintended pregnancies with partners? It sort of made sense; that way they would know which soldiers might need to be discharged for paternity in the coming months, right?

The doctor swallowed and nodded quickly—too quickly—relieved that he wasn’t questioned further. Apparently, Taehoo believed it was part of the standard protocol. Jungkook pretended to type, trying to disguise the fact that it wasn’t even on the platform. But his clumsy fingers ended up hammering out a messy string of letters: 'ajsdajsdkadalfajafad'.

The screen showed the nonsensical row until Jungkook, red with embarrassment, immediately erased it. Luckily, only he could see the monitor, and Taehoo hadn’t noticed anything.

"Alright… that concludes the initial questions," Jungkook announced, trying to sound composed. "Please move to the examination bed for the physical exam."

Taehoo let out a sigh of boredom before standing up from the chair. With swift hands, he began unbuttoning the black jacket of his Special Forces uniform. In less than five seconds, it was neatly folded and set on the chair along with his beret, leaving him in just the fitted training shirt with SDT stamped across the chest.

The fabric stretched in all the right places, where his muscles demanded space, outlining broad shoulders, sculpted arms, and a torso built from sheer discipline.

For the sergeant, the action was nothing. But across the desk, Jungkook felt his pulse quicken uncomfortably. The sight of that battle-trained body, so carved by years of combat, intimidated him—and at the same time sent a strange flutter through the pit of his stomach.

He was far from frail himself—taller and muscular, in fact—but there was a difference in the kind of strength Taehoo carried. His body wasn’t the product of a gym routine, but of war. That, for Jungkook, held a different weight. It stirred in him a mix of admiration and envy, because he wanted to say his own muscles had been forged that way.

As the sergeant settled onto the bed with indifference, Jungkook had to remind himself to move. Awkwardly, he rolled the cart of medical instruments to the side of the bed.

"W-We’ll begin with basic vital sign exams," he explained, trying to sound steady. "Blood pressure, heart rate, respiratory rate, and temperature. They’re useful for assessing your immediate cardiovascular and metabolic state."

"Don’t explain it to me like I wouldn’t understand, doctor."

Jungkook swallowed and nodded quickly, trying to recover. He couldn’t allow himself to appear incompetent—not again. So he hurried to grab the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

But his hands felt less steady the closer he got to the man. Leaning forward to wrap the cuff around his arm, the contact was inevitable. Taehoo’s skin was warm and firm beneath his fingers. Jungkook felt the heat rushing to his ears, and though he tried to fasten the cuff with his usual precision, he moved too quickly and the Velcro caught badly.

"Tsk…" a low sound of annoyance slipped from him.

"Is this your first time doing this?" Taehoo asked, raising a brow just slightly, judgment clear in his tone.

"No, of course not," Jungkook hurried to fix the mistake, activating the device while letting out a nervous laugh. "It’s just that… this model is new."

A blatant lie, and they both knew it. Taehoo looked at him with that expression of disapproval, and the alpha felt it like a direct blow to his professional ego. He told himself he needed to make a better impression.

"Stable pressure…" he murmured, noting the values in the system. "Excellent condition."

"The least I would expect," Taehoo replied, his tone dripping with obviousness.

He removed the pressure cuff and moved on to measure the heart rate directly with the stethoscope against the chest, and that was where he really lost a little of his composure. The black shirt barely muted the contact—he could feel the heat and firmness of the torso beneath it.

"Deep breath, please."

Taehoo obeyed without protest, though his eyes never left him. Air filled his lungs, and Jungkook had to look away, focusing on anything that wasn’t the fact that he was so close to the sergeant.

He took the chance to measure respiratory rate, but then his brow furrowed slightly at something. Something in the results didn’t add up. He shifted the stethoscope to one side, double-checked the Tablet screen, and bit the inside of his cheek before speaking.

"The heart rhythm shows an unusual variation," he said at last. "In alphas, parameters are usually higher than in betas and omegas, but in your case, I see values below the average. Are you taking any medication that might alter your heart rate or respiration?"

"No. As I said, I’m not taking anything I wasn’t prescribed on duty," he answered without hesitation.

Jungkook studied him a few seconds longer, searching for a crack in that steel façade, but found none. He jotted notes into the Tablet with the stylus, though his frown remained.

"All right. I’ll register it as a minor clinical finding… but I’ll have to monitor it," he added. Yet even as he wrote, something else gnawed at him—he couldn’t perceive Taehoo’s scent as clearly as he should.

Every alpha left behind an unmistakable trace of pheromones, easily detected in closed spaces. Here, what he picked up was so faint it was almost nonexistent. He inhaled discreetly, thinking it might just be his own nose failing him, but no—he truly couldn’t identify a scent at all. He decided to wait and see what the monitoring results would show.

The digital thermometer was the last step of that phase. Jungkook held it out with a forced smile.

"I’ll take your temperature. Just a moment."

Taehoo took it without waiting for instructions and placed it under his tongue. For those seconds, only the faint hum of the machine and the ticking of the wall clock separated them. When the device beeped, Jungkook carefully removed it, avoiding brushing too close to the alpha’s lips. He read the result and nodded.

"Temperature is normal." Thank God it’s not me being checked, he thought inwardly, because the device would have surely shown something else.

"Then let’s move on to the physical exam. I don’t have all day," Taehoo said, crossing his arms.

"All right, I’ll move to the general evaluation. Visual inspection, quick palpation of the abdomen and lymph nodes, then a musculoskeletal assessment. I also need to record your measurements and weight." He stepped back to grab the reflex hammer and other instruments. "Please remove your shirt."

Taehoo obeyed without question, crossing his arms to pull the shirt off in a single motion. The black fabric slipped away, revealing a body worked to perfection: defined abs, firm pecs, broad shoulders, and small scars that told of years of harsh training and dangerous missions. He set the shirt aside carelessly and remained seated, staring directly at him.

Jungkook felt a knot in his throat. His instinct was to bite his lower lip, but he restrained the reaction with a slight cough. He had never found himself staring like that at another alpha.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He had always known his type: delicate-bodied omegas, smaller, with that softness that triggered his protective side. Never before had an alpha’s body caught his attention, but now he found himself suppressing the urge to bite his lip at the way Taehoo’s muscles tightened with each breath.

"Are you going to examine me, or just stand there staring?" the sergeant asked with a trace of annoyance.

"Yes, of course… sorry." Jungkook snapped back into action, gently resting his hand on his abdomen to palpate the quadrants for sensitivity. Beneath his fingers, the abdominal muscles were hard as stone. "Any discomfort here?" he asked, pressing a little deeper into the upper area.

"No."

"And here?" He shifted the pressure lower.

"Nothing."

"Everything seems normal in the abdomen," he announced, stepping back for air.

He moved on to check lymph nodes, carefully palpating strategic areas of the neck and underarms. The closeness made him even more tense: Taehoo’s face was inches from his, eyes fixed on him, and Jungkook could swear his own cheeks were burning.

Next came reflexes. He took the hammer and tapped lightly at knees and elbows. Taehoo responded well, and the alpha recorded the results.

Then he grabbed the measuring tape and scale.

"Stand up, please."

Taehoo let himself be measured: 1.76 meters, and the scale read 82 kg. Jungkook wrote it down. He already knew it was on the lower side for an alpha, but seeing the official number struck him. The average was 1.87, and he himself stood at 1.88. Considerably smaller than expected, almost within beta range, brushing the minimum.

That made it all the more admirable that Taehoo stood out despite the difference. Younger than some of his subordinates, and yet he commanded them with an authority that instilled both fear and respect.

"Stable weight for your height, very good proportion," he said, almost sounding like praise, but Taehoo only nodded indifferently. "We’ll move on to the musculoskeletal evaluation. I need to check strength, endurance, and range of motion."

Jungkook positioned himself in front of him and instructed him to raise his arms to test resistance against pressure.

"Are you sure you want me to push against you?"

"It’s part of the protocol," Jungkook replied. "Place your arm like this… now, try to resist the pressure."

"Do you really need to test this? Isn’t it obvious I’m in shape?" His voice was low and gravelly, and Jungkook took a deep breath, holding onto composure.

"Medical routines exist for a reason, sergeant."

The alpha studied him, then huffed, and finally complied, going through the motions the doctor requested. The tests continued with quick arm flexions and knee extensions. Jungkook noted everything on the Tablet, careful not to show too much of the impression he was under—the sergeant executed each task with flawless discipline. Physical endurance was impeccable; his muscles answered like clockwork.

The neurological exam came next. Jungkook picked up the penlight and gestured for him to sit back on the cot.

"I’ll check your pupils and reflexes. It won’t take long."

Taehoo settled back and allowed him to come closer. Jungkook switched on the small flashlight and directed the beam into his eyes, measuring the pupils’ reaction. And that was when he got distracted.

The closeness forced him to notice details he normally would have overlooked—the length of his lashes, dark and curved; the feline shape of his eyes, with that intense shine that seemed to pierce through him; the full, perfectly outlined lips and smooth skin with a warm undertone that stood out beneath the white light. There were tiny moles scattered across his face, details that gave it character and made him even more striking. It was a marked, masculine face, yet balanced in such a way that it became… pretty. Strangely delicate for an alpha of his kind.

Jungkook lingered on him a few seconds longer than he should have, and Taehoo wasn’t stupid—he noticed. He cleared his throat and tilted his head slightly.

"Are you going to finish, or do you plan to keep analyzing me?"

"S-Sorry, I was… checking your pupillary dilation," Jungkook stammered, flicking the light on and off too quickly, earning a frustrated snort from the sergeant.

Trying to recover some dignity, he continued with the coordination test.

"Touch the tip of your nose with your index finger, then follow my finger with your eyes without moving your head."

The sergeant carried out the instructions with military precision.

Finally, it came time for the hormonal and pheromonal monitoring. Jungkook set the diagnostic kit on the rolling table, consisting of the lancet for a capillary blood sample, a portable scent sensor, and the sterile saliva tube.

"I don’t think this is necessary, doctor. These tests are usually redundant. I already told you I’m not taking anything unusual, and my pheromone control is stable."

"I’m sorry, Sergeant, but I can’t skip procedures. They’re not redundant, they’re mandatory," Jungkook said, locking eyes with him—and to his own surprise, his voice didn’t shake. "If I leave this out, I’d be failing my duty, and I don’t intend to."

"But I already told you how I am," Taehoo replied calmly. "You’ve measured everything else already, my parameters are stable. There’s no reason to waste more time with this."

Jungkook blinked at him from his chair, incredulous. For a moment he almost gave in, but then reminded himself that inside a medical room, he was the authority. Which meant his word came first.

"It’s not wasting time, Sergeant. It’s part of the protocol. If I skip this, the exam will be incomplete and I won’t be able to validate it in the system."

"Then just mark it as done," Taehoo insisted, folding his arms across his chest. "It doesn’t all have to be written down to the letter, does it?"

"With all due respect, no," Jungkook answered firmly. More than anything, he was summoning every ounce of willpower just to keep his tone steady—and to keep from lowering his gaze, because when Taehoo crossed his arms, his chest expanded and his pectorals became even more defined. "I won’t falsify a medical record."

The sergeant glared at him, and Jungkook could tell he was on the verge of unleashing one of those scoldings that left people humiliated and terrified of messing up again. The doctor swallowed hard.

"U-Understand that this isn’t just about you," Jungkook went on. "Your hormonal condition could affect the dynamics of your squads. If something is out of range, it’s better to catch it now rather than when you’re leading a mission."

The boy’s stubbornness was beginning to grate on him—but at the same time, it intrigued him. Few dared to stand their ground with him.

"Fine, doctor," Taehoo finally said in a resigned tone. "So stubborn…" he muttered. "Do what you have to do."

Jungkook nodded and prepared the lancet for the finger prick. The procedure was quick—a single drop of blood fell onto the test strip, and the cartridge began processing the data. Then, he pulled out the sterile swab for the saliva sample.

"Open your mouth. I need to collect the sample."

The sergeant sighed but complied, parting his lips slowly while keeping his eyes locked on Jungkook’s. The younger man raised his hand to insert the swab, but realizing he didn’t have enough control or access, he ended up using his other hand to hold him gently by the jaw, angling his face slightly.

And that was when the tension hit him full force, because that open mouth in front of him sent an unprofessional shiver down his spine. The contrast between how strong the sergeant looked and how vulnerable he seemed in that instant rattled him in a way he hadn’t expected. His pulse quickened, his throat went dry, and suddenly he caught himself imagining filthy, inappropriate things that he absolutely shouldn’t.

He pushed the swab into his mouth quickly, and the sight of those thick, moist lips nearly made him bite his own. Cursing silently, he pulled back abruptly and stepped away as soon as he had the sample.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Taehoo asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, confused by the sudden reaction.

"Nothing," Jungkook answered, almost rushing to seal the sample and insert it into the portable analyzer. "I just need to process this right away."

His back was stiff, his cheeks burning, and he was doing everything he could to hide it. He couldn’t let the sergeant notice. He couldn’t afford to think those things, especially not about another alpha—much less one who was also his superior officer.

As the analyzer emitted its first series of beeps, Jungkook used the moment to grab the portable scent sensor.

"Now, please exhale into this device," he said, trying to sound professional again.

Blowing into that machine wasn’t something Taehoo enjoyed, but he did it. The sensor displayed a graph on the screen, and Jungkook frowned once more, because it confirmed what his nose had told him earlier. The levels of active pheromones were far too low, almost nonexistent.

He immediately double-checked on his tablet, pulling up previous records, and there it was—the sergeant’s hormonal tests were rare, but each time they had been performed, the results hovered at the lower limit for an alpha. He looked up at him cautiously.

"Your pheromone levels are quite low for an alpha, Sergeant. That’s not something we see often."

"I know, it’s always been like that. I was born with that ‘deficiency,’ if you want to call it that. That’s also why I’m shorter than most alphas, but it doesn’t affect my performance. If you’d read my file properly, you’d know it’s in my medical history."

"Um, I did read it, but it didn’t say the deficiency was this significant," the doctor defended himself. "Are you sure you’ve never had complications because of it?" he asked, jotting notes into the tablet without taking his eyes off the graphs.

"Never," Taehoo replied curtly. "I don’t need strong scents or high hormone counts to lead. What matters is discipline and strength."

At that moment, the saliva analyzer beeped to indicate the results were ready. Jungkook read them instantly, and they too showed abnormalities—all the levels were at the lower limit. For an alpha, it was almost as if he were brushing against the threshold of what would be considered a beta.

He lifted his gaze, meeting those feline eyes once again, cold and unflinching.

"The results are stable, but low," Jungkook explained in a neutral tone. "There’s no immediate risk, but I’d recommend you get checked more often in this area."

"You already said it, doctor—I’m stable." Taehoo shrugged as if it were a trivial matter. "Nothing to worry about. And I’m not putting more chemicals into my body than the ones they already force on me during missions."

"Fine," he conceded at last. "But I’ll note down that you must have hormonal check-ups every month. That way we can monitor for any irregular drops and start running studies if necessary."

"Every month?" he repeated, incredulous. "That’s unnecessary. I’m not going to waste time on monthly tests."

"It’s not unnecessary," the younger denied. "It’s preventive medicine. Low levels aren’t serious right now, but in the long run they could be a risk. And I’m not signing off on an incomplete evaluation knowing that possibility exists."

Taehoo clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. He tilted his head back and grumbled.

"I already told you it doesn’t affect me. I can handle missions, training, and everything they throw at me. What’s the point of making a fuss?"

"That argument doesn’t work here, Sergeant. Your current performance doesn’t guarantee there won’t be complications later. This isn’t about whether you can keep enduring—it’s about your long-term health. Your superiors need to be sure you won’t collapse in the middle of a mission."

"You’re exaggerating," he muttered. "There’s no medical justification for such insistence."

"Do you want me to cite references?" Jungkook asked, a touch of irony in his voice. "Alphas with borderline-low levels are more prone to chronic fatigue, irregular pheromonal response, and a progressive loss of muscle mass. In your position, that could cost not only your life but your men’s as well. Do you want that on your conscience just because of pride?"

The silence that followed was tense. Taehoo glared at him with a dark look, and Jungkook—nervous as hell—held his gaze anyway, refusing to back down.

"There’s no discussion," Jungkook concluded. "The check-ups will be monthly."

Inside, Taehoo cursed. That was going to be a problem. Every four months he had to double his doses and pump himself with even more chemicals to raise his hormone levels and barely pass as an alpha—deficient, yes, but he got through. If he had to do that every month, it would be far more dangerous. He wanted to live long enough to see his brother happy and free. He needed to find a way around this, but for now the younger didn’t look like he’d allow any more refusals.

"Fine," Taehoo yielded without enthusiasm. "Whatever you say, doctor."

Jungkook nodded, satisfied, masking just how hard it had been to stay firm.

The exam was over. Jungkook packed up his instruments, closed the tablet, and declared the evaluation finished. Taehoo jumped down from the exam table with effortless agility and, within seconds, slipped back into his black shirt bearing his division insignia, then shrugged on his military jacket and beret.

The doctor couldn’t stop himself from glancing sideways. Watching him dress, seeing the play of muscles shifting under fabric, sent an uncomfortable heat crawling straight up to his cheeks.

Stop staring. Stop staring, idiot. He’s an alpha. You don’t even like alphas, so there’s no reason to feel all weird.

"Thank you for the check-up, Doctor Jeon." The sergeant gave a small nod as he walked toward the door.

"I-It’s been a pleasure," Jungkook replied, hating how clumsy his voice sounded.

The sergeant left the office with firm steps, and Jungkook collapsed into his chair the second the door closed, exhaling as if he’d been holding his breath through the entire appointment. His face was still flushed, and he rubbed both hands down his face in frustration.

Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Yoongi leaned casually against the wall, a wide grin tugging at his lips as he waited for his companion.

"Finally," he said as soon as Taehoo stepped out. "You took your sweet time."

"I know, damn it." The sergeant moved closer. "So? Anything interesting happen? Did you kiss Seokjin or something?"

"Unfortunately, no. But we came pretty close," Yoongi replied. "Seokjin’s definitely going to have a full-on crisis. And he’ll have to deal with it without Namjoon hiding in his office all the time."

"Alphas are idiots," the younger muttered with a sigh.

"You do realize you’re insulting yourself, right?"

"I don’t care. They’re still idiots."

The alpha shook his head, and the two started walking side by side. Since the corporals were next in line for their check-ups, they practically had the afternoon free for now. Except for Namjoon—Taehoo had given him extra work and cut his deadline short.

"So, how’d it go with the little doctor? Do you still think he’s incompetent?"

"He’ll always be incompetent until he proves otherwise," Taehoo frowned. "Besides, he was clumsy the entire time."

Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh.

"Ha, you scared the poor guy. That is your specialty."

"That’s not my fault."

The sergeant looked him up and down with mocking amusement glinting in his eyes.

"You’re pretty intimidating for someone so short. Look at you—you only come up to here." He raised his hand to the level of his own eyes, marking just where Taehoo reached. "Practically a pocket monster."

The superior’s expression turned icy, and before Yoongi could react, he landed a sharp punch to his stomach.

"Ouch!" Yoongi doubled over, coughing. "Fuck, Kang! I was just joking…" But Taehoo was already walking away. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, shit…" he groaned, stumbling after him, still clutching his abdomen. "You’re a demon, I hope you know that."

At some point, while Yoongi was busy rambling about how he had cornered Seokjin, Taehoo slipped his phone from his pocket and sent a message to a contact, careful not to let the older notice.

Hoseok-hyung

Hey, hyung. I’ve got a problem and I need ideas.<<

Oh, and we need to go over the last known locations of Changwoo’s men.<<

>>Taehyung, I was just about to write to you.

>>There’s news about them, and I’m afraid it’s not very good.

Chapter Text

Saturday, April 13, 2025.

The hospital was oddly quiet for a weekend. Usually there were more people, especially younger patients coming in after accidents during their free time. Young people these days couldn’t seem to stay still on a Friday night.

The nurses’ station was calm, only a couple of betas sorting through files and organizing documents. Leaning his elbows against the counter stood Jimin. He wore a white coat with a badge that read Park Jimin – Head of Psychology. Unlike the doctors, though, his clothes underneath were more casual than the standard dark blue uniform everyone else wore.

His dark eyes were analyzing every detail of the scene in front of him. The omega wasn’t busy at the moment, so he had found himself an interesting distraction: Jeon Jungkook.

The alpha, seated in one of the chairs in front of the computer, was typing patient information quickly. His white coat hung open over the navy-blue medical uniform, and the insignia on his lapel announced his position—Head of Trauma. To anyone who didn’t know him, he looked focused on routine work. But the eyes of a trained psychologist caught things others couldn’t.

Jimin had been observing him since Monday, when they’d officially met at a medical board meeting where Jungkook was welcomed to the council of department heads. From the start, he had seemed like a textbook alpha: loud, extroverted, a joker, a little flirty with omegas, stubborn in debates, and very proud of his physique and his rank. An alpha, by the book.

And yet, that Saturday, Jimin was watching him behave strangely—very strangely.

First, his hands. Jungkook normally talked with them, gesturing, fiddling with pens, even emphasizing jokes. Now his fingers twitched restlessly over the keyboard, too tense, striking the keys far too quickly as if he were trying to finish before time ran out. Second, his mouth. His lower lip was red and raw, clearly marked by his own teeth. Third, his gaze. More than once, he had drifted off into a blank dissociation, to the point where Seokjin had had to snap him back, irritated that he’d zoned out in the middle of a report.

Yes—something was definitely wrong with Jeon Jungkook.

The omega straightened calmly, pushed off from the counter, and took a few steps until he was right in front of the alpha, though the counter still separated them. Jungkook looked up at the sudden closeness, meeting him with those dark eyes that now looked more like those of a lost puppy. He seemed confused.

"What’s wrong?" the alpha asked, tilting his head.

"Tell me, who is it?" Jimin arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest.

Jungkook blinked several times, genuinely baffled.

"Huh?" He frowned. "Who is… what?"

"Come on, don’t play dumb," Jimin shot back, pointing at him. "You think I don’t notice? That lip-biting tic, your hands trembling the second you stop typing, and you dissociating every three minutes. On Thursday you weren’t like this—you were cracking jokes with the interns. Now it’s Saturday and suddenly you’re… weird. Something happened on Friday, and I’d bet anything it has to do with a person. Do you like someone?"

Jungkook’s eyes widened far more than usual. He stared at him in shock, and mostly in fear.

"This thing where you’re a psychologist and analyze me all the damn time… I’m starting not to like it," he muttered under his breath.

"So I’m right," Jimin sing-songed, leaning a little closer.

"I didn’t say that," Jungkook shot back immediately.

"Are you sure?" Jimin tilted his head. "Look, I’m not a fortune-teller, but I can recognize a crush when it’s sitting in front of me. You’re a bundle of nerves, and clearly distracted because you’re thinking about this someone."

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. Then he looked up at him almost pleadingly. Maybe he did need to talk to someone—and who better than a psychologist? He just needed to confirm one small detail first.

"If I tell you… will I have to pay for the session?" He hadn’t even been paid for the first time yet; he had to be cautious with his expenses.

The comment made Jimin laugh loud enough to draw the attention of the nearby nurses. Shaking his head, still smiling, the psychologist rounded the counter at an easy pace.

"Consider this a welcome gift," he said, dragging one of the chairs so it was right beside Jungkook’s.

He sat down calmly, crossed one leg over the other, and locked eyes with him. Jungkook felt trapped. He tried to act indifferent, but ended up letting out a long sigh that betrayed him.

"I’m not sure what exactly it was," he began, lowering his voice—he didn’t want anyone overhearing under any circumstance. "I don’t know if to call it an instant crush or what, but ever since that moment I can’t stop thinking about him…"

Jimin tilted his head, interested, saying nothing. Jungkook swallowed hard and continued. He’d started already, no way he could run off now.

"It’s weird. When I first saw him… my wolf reacted strangely. And yesterday, when I saw him again, I felt something in my stomach, like I couldn’t sit still. It’s the first time anything like this has ever happened to me." He rubbed his hands nervously. "The worst part is that with just one look he leaves me a mess. One single glance and I’m all jittery—I feel like a complete idiot."

The older man smiled, amused by how different the alpha sounded compared to his usual façade.

"Yesterday I made a fool of myself," Jungkook went on, lips pressed tight. "I was clumsy, nervous, stumbling over words, doing stupid things, and he caught me clearing my throat every two seconds. He probably thinks I’m useless… and I can’t stop thinking about it."

Jimin waited for him to finish venting. As soon as the alpha stopped talking, he stretched slightly and then placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me something, Jungkook. Didn’t they teach you the basic lessons in school about wolves, moons, instincts, and connections?"

The alpha blinked, confused, and shrugged.

"Of course they did. Why?"

"Then you’re an idiot. You don’t even sound like a doctor," Jimin shot back mercilessly, giving his shoulder a light smack. "If you know the basics, then you should realize what you’re describing could be an alpha’s reaction upon seeing his destined omega."

"That can’t be," Jungkook frowned.

"What do you mean can’t be?" Jimin leaned his elbow on the desk, watching him with amusement. "I know finding your destined one is rare, yeah. Most people don’t even meet theirs, alright? Not everyone ends up married or in love with their destined partner. There are like eight thousand one hundred and forty-two billion people on this damn planet—what are the odds you’ll run into the exact person meant for you? Very slim. But just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s impossible."

"No," Jungkook repeated firmly, shaking his head. "It’s not possible."

"Then explain why. Because from where I’m sitting, everything you’ve told me lines up perfectly with what happens when an alpha’s wolf recognizes his destined omega."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Jungkook stayed still, lips parted, unsure how to respond. He couldn’t let the truth slip—that it wasn’t about an omega. He was talking about another alpha: Sergeant Kang.

"That’s precisely why it’s not possible…" he muttered, eyes darting to the computer screen he had been using minutes earlier.

Jimin watched him for a moment, then his eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"Ah… now I get it, it’s not an omega," he said slowly, almost sing-song. "It’s a beta, isn’t it?"

At first, Jungkook nearly shat himself, convinced it had been painfully obvious. But then he managed to relax a little, and so he didn’t answer. He kept his eyes down, unable to confirm or deny, but that lack of response was immediately taken by Jimin as a silent 'yes'.

"Then it’s not something instinctive or biological, Jungkook," his words were firm, yet strangely reassuring. "The only ones who can have a destined bond are alphas and omegas. Not between betas, not between an alpha and a beta, not between betas and omegas, not between two omegas, and not between two alphas."

If it wasn’t an instinctive issue… then what the hell was happening to him?

"I…" He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting anywhere but at Jimin. "Then I don’t get it."

"It could be something much simpler, Jungkook. Maybe it’s just a normal crush. You saw that beta, found him incredibly attractive, and liked him at first sight. That’s it. I don’t see the problem."

"The problem," he said in a frustrated tone, "is that my whole damn life I’ve only been interested in omegas. I’m Lunarean, Jimin. I’m not Veliarean, I’m not Kirelian, and I’m not Rivenic."

"Rivenic has nothing to do with this," Jimin corrected. "The Rivenics has attraction to both alphas and omegas, not to betas."

"I know, I know…" Jungkook lifted his hands nervously, feeling the heat rise up his neck. "I just threw sexualities out at random. The point is I’m Lunarean."

Jimin looked him up and down as if evaluating the truth in his words, then clicked his tongue.

"Sexuality is a spectrum, Jungkook," he said calmly. "Someone can believe they’re one thing their whole life… until they realize they’re not. You shouldn’t shut yourself off."

The alpha’s eyes dropped to the floor in discomfort, unable to meet Jimin’s gaze. His legs moved under the table, feet tapping against the ground, and his fingers drummed against his thigh. Jimin noticed every micro-gesture and smiled faintly.

"There’s nothing wrong with being Veliarean, Kirelian, or even Nevane," Jimin continued in a gentle voice. "Maybe you’ve always liked betas, and because of social pressure you forced yourself to only be with omegas, because that’s what was considered right. Because if reproduction isn’t possible, society judges it. And what did you do? You kind of forced yourself to fit in."

"No…" Jungkook lifted his head abruptly, shaking it hard. "No. I definitely like omegas. It wasn’t because of pressure or because I imposed it on myself, I like them on my own."

"Then maybe you’re Veliarean," Jimin insisted, resting his chin on his hand. "You’re attracted to omegas, but also to betas. It’s not that rare."

"Veliarean…" Jungkook repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue.

"Or maybe you’re Kirelian," added the omega. "Attracted to all ranks."

Jungkook frowned instantly, straightening in his chair.

"Kirelian includes alphas too."

"Exactly," Jimin replied with a serene smile. "Kirelian go for everything. Omegas, betas, alphas. Everything’s on the menu."

Jungkook mumbled a few incoherent words. His lips opened and closed while his eyes searched the room for an escape. Jimin let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Please, Jungkook," he said with a hint of exasperation. "I get that for you, as an alpha, liking another alpha feels like an internal scandal. It represents something symbolic, doesn’t it? The whole thing about yielding, lowering yourself in front of someone of the same rank, losing power… ugh." Jimin wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "I think it’s nonsense. In the end, it’s just pride. Alphas are the most envious about their ridiculous status, constantly comparing themselves and fighting over who’s more alpha than who… and tell me, what’s the point of that? There’s nothing wrong with feeling attraction for someone of your own rank."

"Do you really think that?" he asked in a murmur.

"Of course I do," Jimin answered without hesitation. "If it were up to me, I’d be with an omega like me—do you know how easy that would be?" He chuckled lightly. "But I’m Solenic, Jungkook. No matter how much I try, I can’t stop being attracted to alphas. Believe me, I’d have saved myself a lot of romantic messes if I could choose."

The alpha nodded slowly, processing every word, sinking back a little into the chair. It was true, there were things one simply didn’t choose. And maybe what he was going through wasn’t as dramatic as he was making it out in his head.

Still, it was hard. He still resisted the possibility that what he had felt in front of Sergeant Kang was something deeper. He wanted to convince himself it was admiration, nothing more. That makes sense, he repeated silently. Taehoo was young, had climbed the military ranks too quickly, had proven discipline and talent. Maybe what he felt was respect, mixed with that unconscious desire to reach the same greatness. I want to be like him, not with him.

But as he thought it, the memory of the sergeant’s body stripping off his shirt during the check-up slipped into his mind, and he had to avert his eyes quickly.

"Thanks, Jimin," he finally murmured with a sigh, defeated but sincere.

"You’re welcome…" the omega arched a brow and smirked. "Now pay me."

"What?" Jungkook turned toward him, outraged. "You told me you weren’t going to charge me!"

"And I’m not," Jimin laughed, raising his hands in peace. "I just want you to buy me something at the cafeteria. Consider it my commission."

The alpha whined like a puppy, throwing his head back with a theatrical groan.

"You’re unbearable…" But in the end, he couldn’t hold back his laughter. He got up from the chair with resignation and gestured with his head. "Come on, let’s go. Before I change my mind."

Jimin grinned from ear to ear, standing up with a light energy. He walked beside him, his steps shorter than Jungkook’s.

"I hope that supposed beta you were talking about isn’t Seokjin," he suddenly commented, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Jungkook nearly choked on his own saliva. He looked at him with disgust, scrunching his nose.

"Why the hell would you say something so stupid?"

"Because Seokjin is the most handsome beta in this hospital," Jimin replied without hesitation. "Plenty of alphas wanted him, want him, and will keep wanting him. I’m a little jealous myself, you know? He’s got that kind of beauty that makes everyone melt."

The younger one laughed, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder.

"You shouldn’t have to. You’re a gorgeous omega. Really attractive."

"Uh-huh…" the older one rolled his eyes.

"I’m serious. You’ve got those plump lips that catch attention from meters away, that black hair you keep slicking back… and don’t even get me started on the way you walk, always so confident. Don’t tell me you don’t know the effect you have."

The omega stopped for a second to look him up and down with judgmental eyes.

"Don’t flirt with me, McSteamy," he shot back, pointing at him reproachfully, and Jungkook doubled over in laughter.

"McSteamy! Are you serious? You too?"

"Dead serious," Jimin replied, and Jungkook leaned over him, roughly messing up the carefully styled hair he always kept in place. "Hey, hey!" the omega protested, shoving him in the chest with one hand. "I just fixed it!"

"Well, now you look even more adorable," the alpha replied through laughter as they both reached the cafeteria entrance.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

Taehyung pushed the door open with his shoulder, holding a heavy paper bag in one hand, and stepped into the dimness of Hoseok’s room. He wasn’t wearing his usual military uniform since he wasn’t on base; instead, he had chosen simple black clothing from head to toe, with dark sunglasses that he still hadn’t removed despite being indoors. The lack of light forced him to pause for a moment, frowning.

The only glow came from three monitors lit up in neon shades, casting their glow across the beta’s face, absorbed in a session of Cyberpunk 2077. Coffee cups were scattered across the desk, some with dried remains leaving stained rings on the wood. There were also fast food wrappers, either empty or half-finished. Cables snaked between the furniture, connected to routers, consoles, and small devices of questionable legality.

The beta sat at the desk, completely immersed in the game. With every step, the sharp scent of caffeine filled Taehyung’s nose, making him wrinkle it in annoyance.

"Hoseok-hyung," he said in a tired voice. "Have you ever thought about cleaning this place up a little? It’s unlivable."

Without taking his eyes off the screen, the other let out a light laugh.

"Don’t exaggerate, it’s perfectly fine. Everything essential is at hand, what more do you want?"

"The essentials are buried under trash. It’s so bad you look like the cliché of a ‘chair friend,’" Taehyung moved toward the wall and flipped the light switch without asking.

Immediately, Hoseok let out a shrill cry, throwing his hands over his eyes as if a floodlight had blinded him.

"Ah! I’m burning! Damn it, the light has invaded my cave!" He twisted dramatically in his chair.

Taehyung watched him with a blank expression, his sunglasses now tucked into his jacket pocket.

"Don’t be ridiculous," his voice came out dry.

He placed the bag on the corner of the desk, beside the keyboard Hoseok had nudged with his elbow for added dramatics. The beta cracked one eye open, looked at the bag with suspicion, and then his face shifted instantly into excitement.

"Wait…" he said, straightening abruptly. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," Taehyung sighed with resignation, crossing his arms. "I brought you food."

He didn’t need to say it twice. Hoseok moved with surprising speed, paused the game, and snatched the bag from his hands, opening it like it was a Christmas gift. When he discovered the still-warm bulgogi containers, he let out a shameless moan of joy.

"Oh, bless you, Kim Taehyung!" he said with his mouth already full after devouring the first bite. "You’re my savior, my brother, my messiah."

The omega settled on the edge of the desk, watching him devour the food without much delicacy.

"Stop talking with your mouth full and tell me what you’ve got for me."

Still chewing, Hoseok jerked his chin toward some stacked boxes in the corner of the room.

"There’s your monthly dose. Suppressors, scent inhibitors, hormone blockers… the whole combo."

He turned his head, nodded thoughtfully, then walked over to the boxes, gave them a quick check, and came back to the desk with a frown.

"There’s a problem."

Hoseok immediately looked up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"What happened now?"

"The new doctor, Jeon Jungkook," his jaw tightened slightly as he said the name, "had the brilliant idea of implementing monthly hormonal check-ups. He knows my levels are low and wants to monitor them closely to start a treatment."

The beta froze with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. He frowned, chewed one last bite, and swallowed with difficulty. He tapped the chopsticks lightly against his lips, eyes narrowing as he looked at Taehyung.

"That’s dangerous, Tae," he said seriously. "You wouldn’t just be doubling up on doses with the enhancers every four months anymore—you’d be doing it every month. Your body won’t handle that pace."

"Correct," he nodded, irritation in his voice.

Hoseok looked away briefly, exhaling a short sigh. He tapped his lips again with the chopsticks, deep in thought, and then a spark lit up his face.

"Wait. There’s something we can do."

"What thing?" Taehyung tilted his head with an incredulous expression.

"If we can get the tests done at the hospital instead of the military base… that changes everything."

"At the hospital?" Taehyung repeated, skeptical.

"Listen," Hoseok set his chopsticks aside. "The base is primitive on purpose. Almost everything is manual to avoid enemy hacking. You can barely input data into the system because it’s not connected to anything external. That’s why I haven’t been able to slip in there. But the hospital… that’s a different story. Everything’s connected, everything runs in real time through central servers. If I can get your tests uploaded there, I can intercept them before the doctors see them and manipulate the results without anyone suspecting a thing."

Taehyung pressed his lips together, remembering something, and shook his head.

"We already tried that. They don’t allow it. All sergeants are tested in one place—it’s an army regulation."

"Yeah, but this time we’re not talking about a standard check-up. You said the new doctor ordered a personalized type of control, right? That already breaks protocol. You might be able to convince them to transfer you to the hospital. And considering you said the doctor’s new… it’ll be easier to persuade him."

"I don’t know, hyung, that guy’s way too committed to his job. Yesterday during the exam he didn’t let me skip a single test. We literally argued because he refused to let it go."

Hoseok put the chopsticks down on the food, laced his fingers together, and fixed him with a mischievous look.

"Then you’ll have to use your charms to convince him."

The younger one frowned immediately, grimacing.

"No," he raised a finger decisively. "For three reasons: one, I don’t know how to flirt. Two, it’s a stupid idea. And three, I’m sure it wouldn’t work."

"And why not?"

"Because he’s an alpha," the omega huffed. "And it’s pretty damn obvious he’s scared of me because he’s screwed up in front of me a few times."

"An alpha?" he repeated, furrowing his brow. "I thought you were talking about a beta, someone like Seokjin…" he pulled a slight face. "But listen, I’m being serious here, you’re handsome. Maybe more than you think. If you try a little, you could even soften up an alpha who thinks you’re another alpha."

"Don’t fuck with me," Taehyung slowly turned his face toward him, flat and dangerously calm.

The beta raised his hands in a gesture of peace, grinning shamelessly.

"Just throwing an idea out there. You try convincing him your way, and I’ll handle the rest. But don’t ask me for miracles—I can’t do everything." He leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. "You’ve got to do your part too, Tae."

Taehyung rolled his eyes, his shoulders lifting with a sigh.

"Fine…" he murmured in resignation. "I’ll do my best to make sure the exams are handled at the hospital and not on base."

Hoseok smiled with the satisfaction of victory, giving him two thumbs up as if he’d just convinced a stubborn child.

"Good boy."

The younger shot him such a dark look that the beta almost felt a shiver crawl down his neck. His expression was a pure warning, and luckily Hoseok was smart enough to pick up on it.

"Alright, alright, sorry," he chuckled nervously, lifting his hands. "I didn’t mean it."

"Better tell me what news you have about Changwoo."

"Ah, right."

That was enough for the beta to straighten in his chair, wipe his fingers with a crumpled napkin, and turn toward the altar of glowing screens dominating the room, setting his unfinished food aside. With little enthusiasm, he exited the game still running in the background.

"Hold on." He tapped a few keys, and soon a detailed map of Busan appeared across the monitors. With a quick swipe of the mouse, Hoseok zoomed in and pointed to a few red-circled zones. "Last week, my contacts spotted Changwoo’s men here."

Taehyung leaned forward, resting his arms on the backrest of his friend’s chair.

"I remember," he said, his voice rough. "Slums and neglected neighborhoods. They think Beomgyu and I are still poor."

Hoseok nodded and switched the map. This time, larger red circles appeared, spread across much more central areas. Not places of day-to-day survival anymore, but middle-class districts, even bordering public facilities and important businesses.

"Don’t panic, but… look at this." He highlighted the map with the cursor. "This is from yesterday."

"They’re advancing," his voice came out as a growl. "Closer and closer to the base."

"That’s what I thought."

The sergeant narrowed his eyes, studying the marked points. Then he turned his gaze to the beta.

"How do you know it’s them? What makes you so sure?"

"I have contacts…" Hoseok started, lowering his voice. "And I’ve also taken control of some security cameras in those neighborhoods."

The sergeant raised a brow slowly, his eyes locking onto the beta like he could read him down to the marrow.

"Some cameras?" he repeated with biting irony.

"Yeah… some," Hoseok cleared his throat.

"How many?"

"Eh… well, just… a few."

"Number."

The beta lowered his head, avoiding his stare.

"Let’s say… ten."

Taehyung didn’t move.

"…"

"Okay, twenty."

The silence stretched. The weight of it made Hoseok fidget in his chair. Finally, he sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.

"Alright, alright," he surrendered quickly. "At least one on every block. Sometimes more."

"You’re a fucking psycho, Hoseok-hyung."

"Or a visionary. Depends on the perspective."

"Does the base know about this?" Taehyung asked. Hoseok stiffened, then shook his head furiously.

"No, and don’t you dare say anything."

"You know I won’t," the omega scoffed. "But you should be careful. If they find out, they’ll cut off your deal with the government and you’ll actually end up in prison this time."

Hoseok spun his chair slightly, flashing a confident smile.

"I’ve got it under control, Tae." He thumped his chest with assurance. "Trust me, it’s not my first time playing with fire."

The omega wasn’t sure if he should remind him that the last time he took that kind of risk, he had been caught.

The first time he heard the name Jung Hoseok hadn’t been in a friendly context. It wasn’t through an introduction at the base or during a casual meeting. He had seen it in a military report, under the section titled external collaborators recruited.

Hoseok wasn’t a conventional technician—studied, tested, and formally hired through interviews. Hoseok was a hacker, one of those who appeared on cybersecurity blacklists, capable of breaking into fortified systems and stripping them bare in seconds.

His record spoke for itself. From a young age, he had shown an unnatural talent for tearing apart digital structures. His reputation began in clandestine forums, where his username—SilkRoadGhost—became legend. He could infiltrate databases others considered untouchable, from private bank accounts to the servers of multinational corporations. He had hacked into air traffic systems to expose airline corruption, manipulated university servers to erase acceptance letters of known bullies, and even sabotaged the online black market by publishing proof of illegal transactions. Hoseok had a twisted sense of justice.

But among his “feats” were far darker actions. He had launched DDoS attacks against government websites, stolen classified information from a military division, and most serious of all: infiltrated international intelligence databases, exposing documents that revealed under-the-table deals between politicians and mafias. For any average hacker, that would have been enough for at least thirty years behind bars. It was more than enough to brand him an enemy of the State.

The mistake that got him caught was so stupid he still cursed himself for it. One night, working in a rush, he forgot to close a backdoor he had used to access a government server. That hole was traced, and though he had covered his tracks for years, this time someone connected the dots. Within hours, the military had his physical address.

They captured him. There were no gunfights, no dramatic chase, just a dark room filled with officers surrounding him. They knew they could lock him away for years, but they also knew that would be a waste. Someone like Hoseok was more valuable inside than out.

They gave him two options: work for them, or rot in prison. Hoseok accepted—he couldn’t survive years without his video games.

From that day on, he worked for the government, assigned to Baekho Base where millions of data points were processed daily in his underground bunker. His official title was “IT engineer,” but everyone knew he was a hacker who had been bent to their will. He followed his schedule alongside other engineers, some more legitimate than others, yet he still kept his own studio at his apartment where he handled other business.

Years earlier, before being caught, Hoseok had carried out one of the most personal attacks of his career: he exposed a mafia bigwig tied to child pornography. He hadn’t only hacked the man’s devices—he published the evidence on clandestine networks, leaking names, addresses, and hidden accounts. The police arrested the man within hours. But in the underworld, it meant Hoseok had pulled a very dangerous thread. That man had been one of Changwoo’s most loyal subordinates.

The news spread like wildfire. Though police and government never revealed the hacker’s identity, pieces of information circulated in the deep web: Hoseok’s alias, a few personal details leaked by his enemies… never his face, but enough for Changwoo to know that SilkRoadGhost was the one who had destroyed one of his best men. And the mafioso swore revenge.

The prisoner didn’t survive long in jail; a relative of one of the victims beat him to death inside the penitentiary. The mafia was humiliated. Changwoo then decided the punishment had to fall on Hoseok. He managed to bribe some corrupt soldiers, who gave him information about the beta’s transfers. The plan was to intercept him on a secondary road, kidnap him, and make him disappear.

But Hoseok was already working for the government when this happened, and the kidnapping alert went off quickly. A convoy of Special Forces was dispatched to rescue him, among them a young corporal who was just beginning to make a name for himself: Kang Taehoo.

The memory of that operation always returned to Taehyung with a metallic taste in his mouth, even though years had already passed. It was the first time he commanded such a risky incursion, although back then he was only a corporal, but his sergeant trusted him for being one of the best he had ever seen.

The squad entered at midnight, surrounding the building in a silent deployment. Taehyung advanced through a damp, dark hallway, and when he opened the door of the room where the prisoner was held, the first thing he saw were the faces that haunted him for years—the same ones who had once hunted him and Beomgyu through the streets of Daegu.

He showed no mercy. One went down, then another, the third barely had time to turn his head before receiving the burst that silenced him forever, and even with the fourth there was time for a few words, recognizing him as Kim Taehyung, the omega they had been looking for, but it didn’t take long before he killed him too.

Hoseok was tied to a metal chair, head lowered, lip split, and wrists covered in dried blood, but he was still breathing. He lifted his eyes and looked at him like a trapped animal. Taehyung didn’t hesitate to untie him and dragged him out of that hole.

The most convenient part of the operation was that all the kidnappers died in that same clash. No one managed to take a picture of him, and Hoseok’s face remained a mystery to the mafia, which kept him breathing a little longer.

A few days later, Taehyung went to see him for two reasons: the first, because his sergeant had sent him to scold him for being in the office while still in recovery; and the second, because if he had been kidnapped by Changwoo’s men, it meant he might know something. Taehyung wanted to see if he could extract information, but Hoseok was the one who surprised him the moment he stepped through the door.

"I already know who you are," he said without looking at him, in such a calm tone that it froze Taehyung’s spine.

"What did you say?" he growled.

Hoseok slowly turned the chair, smiling with unsettling composure.

"I said I know who you are. Kim Taehyung. Omega. Beomgyu’s older brother."

The corporal felt a flash of panic run through his chest. He took a step forward, his boots echoing on the floor, and leaned over him, cornering him in the chair.

"Listen carefully, bastard," his voice was low and furious. "If you ever say those names again, I don’t care that you’re working for the government now—I’ll make you disappear. I’m more than capable of it."

"Relax, Corporal Kang," he stressed with irony. "I don’t plan on saying anything. I don’t need violence to prove I can be your ally."

"How the fuck do you know so much?" Taehyung spat.

"I heard what you said to one of my kidnappers before you blew his head off. You spoke of Changwoo, of something only someone who had faced him in the past would know. With that hint, I investigated. And you know what I’m capable of finding on the net."

Taehyung bit his tongue. Of course a hacker at that level could piece things together.

"You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into," he warned.

"Yes, I do," Hoseok shot back, pushing him just enough to stop cornering him in the chair. He stood up, which made Taehyung tense, but for the first time in the entire conversation his tone lost its calmness. His eyes darkened with rage. "That son of a bitch Changwoo took everything from me."

The omega studied him with suspicion. Hoseok clenched his fists and went on.

"His people killed my girlfriend, Sana. She was a beta, like me. She had nothing to do with her brother’s shady business, but they used her as a message anyway. They went after her entire family."

The name Changwoo always provoked a spasm of hatred in his stomach, but seeing Hoseok like that, with such familiar rage, left him speechless.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked.

"The same thing you do," Hoseok said, eyes glinting. "I want Changwoo to pay. I want to unmask him, rip him out by the roots, and watch everything he built collapse. But I can’t do it alone. And neither can you."

There was a long silence between them. Taehyung clenched his jaw, wondering if he was making a mistake by letting someone else know his secret. But deep down, very deep down, he knew he needed allies—and Hoseok was a powerful weapon.

And if they shared the same enemy, then maybe it was worth the risk.

"If you betray me…" the alpha warned, fixing him with a look meant to intimidate.

"I won’t," Hoseok cut him off before he could finish, with a surprisingly serious tone.

Over time, Hoseok earned Taehyung’s full trust. He told him his story, because he needed all the possible information to draw up a plan.

"I’ll tell you. But only once, Hoseok. And if a single word of this ever leaves your mouth, my hand won’t hesitate."

"I know, I know, Tae. I’m not that stupid."

Taehyung leaned his back against the wall. They were in the beta’s apartment, where they met to plan things. His gaze was lost on a fixed point, letting the memories drag him away.

"I was born in Daegu… in a place where misery seeped through the walls, where the sound of screams was more common than laughter. My father was an alpha, a man everyone feared because he worked as a hitman for one of the many criminal organizations infesting that city—or well, nobody really knew for sure, but the neighbors suspected as much. He had the cold blood to pull a trigger and enough cowardice to bring the dirty money home."

He opened his eyes, staring at a fixed point on the floor.

"My mother was a beta. She worked in a nightclub, danced for men who looked at her like an object. She never had a choice… and I, as a child, had to grow up surrounded by all of that. That was my home. But when I was about to turn ten, my brother was born. Beomgyu…" his voice softened slightly, as if saying the name lowered his defenses a little. "He was small, too sweet for the world we were born into. From the very first day, I felt he was mine—not just as a brother, no… it was more than that. He was my responsibility, the only thing that mattered to me."

A brief silence followed. Hoseok listened carefully while making coffee for both of them in his old machine, the one he refused to throw out because he claimed it gave a better taste.

"But things weren’t easy," Taehyung’s gaze hardened again. "Since I was little, I carried the weight of mockery. Nobody knew exactly what my father was, but everyone knew what my mother did, and they made sure to torment me for it every single day. Then, at fifteen, came the final blow."

"Your rank?" Hoseok tilted his head.

"Yes." The younger nodded slowly, biting his lip. "When they confirmed I was an omega... I thought I couldn’t fall any lower. Being poor, the son of an exotic dancer, and on top of that an omega."

His words dripped with anger. Hoseok finished making the coffee and poured it into two mugs, handing one to Taehyung, who drank it furiously before continuing.

"The teasing turned into attempts of abuse. The violence became crueler. They said I had my mother’s weak blood, that I was good for nothing other than being used like her. I came to hate my body, my amber scent. And the worst part was feeling like I’d never be able to protect Beomgyu being what I was."

It wasn’t easy to hear that, not even for someone who had seen so much misery on the network.

"At sixteen, everything collapsed. My father made the worst mistake of his life—I still can’t wrap my head around how he could do that. He stole money from the organization he worked for. Tried to run, to get home and take us all away. But he didn’t make it. In retaliation, they murdered my mother because they couldn’t find him." He fell silent for a second, as if the image hit him again. "And they sent hitmen after us too, to erase us. He condemned us."

Hoseok sat down in the chair at his desk, looking at him with a trace of pity.

"I’m sorry for your loss, Tae."

"That day Beomgyu and I were at school, and that saved us. When we left, one of those men intercepted us. I thought it was the end. But no..." Taehyung narrowed his eyes. "The man looked at us, saw two trembling kids, and decided to help us because we reminded him of his children. He said he’d pretend my father had taken us away, that the three of us had escaped together. He gave us money, an address, and a contact."

"A contact?" Hoseok asked softly, and Taehyung nodded.

"Someone who could give us new identities. He could even change what I was, my rank." He left the empty coffee mug on one of Hoseok’s tables. "That’s how Kim Taehyung died, and Kang Taehoo was born. I went from omega to alpha. My brother became Kang Gyumin. He was still young, hadn’t presented yet, so it was easier."

"Shit…" Hoseok muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in disbelief.

"We took refuge in Busan. An orphanage agreed to keep us together, but not out of kindness. It was because I was ‘an alpha.’" He laughed without humor. "They gave me heavy chores—carrying sacks of rice, fixing things, cleaning the halls like I was their employee. The pay was almost nothing, but just enough to buy illegal hormone blockers."

"Illegal?" Hoseok arched a brow.

"The black market ones were cheaper. The safe ones are once a month, but for underage kids it’s not recommended because you’re still developing. I couldn’t risk anyone smelling me, Hoseok. I couldn’t."

"That must have destroyed you."

"It gave me fevers, killed my appetite, I could barely sleep, my skin burned, my bones ached... fuck, the heats were horrible back then, I don’t even know how I managed to hide it and act like nothing was happening." He nodded with regret. "I lived my teenage years with a broken body and my moon in limbo. But there was no choice. It was that, or risk someone detecting me. Meanwhile, everyone wanted to take Beomgyu away. He was a beautiful kid, sweet and cheerful, but I made sure to ruin everything."

"How?" Hoseok asked, and Taehyung smirked to the side.

"With threats and behavior that scared anyone off. No one would take him. I would never let anyone take my brother from me."

Hoseok could picture that teenage Taehyung, more bone than muscle, standing in front of adults trying to separate him from his only family, resisting at all costs.

"At eighteen, I managed to get us out. I became his legal guardian. I rented a tiny room, barely enough for the two of us, but it was ours. I worked all day at whatever I could—unloading boxes, cleaning warehouses, carrying things that nearly broke my back—and studied at night." He ran a hand across his forehead. "All to save. To give Beomgyu a decent life."

Hoseok watched him in silence. He didn’t know whether to admire that stubbornness or feel furious about everything life had forced on him.

"My body kept resisting, but the only thing keeping me alive was him." Taehyung’s voice cracked just slightly before he continued, the memory fresher. "When I was about to turn twenty-five, Beomgyu turned fifteen. And with that came the damn rank exam. He wanted to be an alpha, he wished for it with all his heart… but he turned out omega."

Taehyung had to pause for a few seconds. That year had clearly been brutal for him.

"Beomgyu cried like something had been ripped from his chest. And I... I panicked. Do you know what happens when a kid like him is marked as omega? The same thing they tried to do to me." He leaned forward, frowning. "I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let it. That same night, I went back to Daegu, found the forger—the same one who gave me my new life—and I changed Beomgyu’s results in exchange for a lot of money."

"And did it work?" Hoseok asked quietly.

"It worked. Legally, he’s an alpha. And I breathe a little easier."

For a moment, it seemed like he would stop there, but Taehyung’s eyes darkened.

"As I left the forger’s office, I ran into an old classmate. He recognized me immediately. By sheer coincidence, he was now working for the same mob boss we had escaped from. He told me they had found my father, that they had him locked up, and that they wouldn’t rest until they killed Beomgyu and me in front of him, so he could watch the last thing he had left be destroyed." The beta saw Taehyung’s lower lip tremble before he went on. "And then he tried to blackmail me. He wanted to rape me, Hoseok, in exchange for not telling anyone he’d seen me alive."

Hoseok clenched his teeth, utterly outraged. He couldn’t believe everything Taehyung had gone through since such a young age.

"I wasn’t the same weak kid anymore. Years of hard labor had hardened me. I fought with everything I had. I hit him, broke free, and ran. But I carried the threat with me: ‘They’ll find you. You and your brother are dead. We’ll search all of South Korea if we have to.’"

"Fuck…" Hoseok muttered, rubbing his face. "You’ve been running your whole life."

"Basically…" Taehyung said, eyes fixed on some indeterminate point. "Back in Busan, the first thing I did was legalize Beomgyu’s new identity. Then I went to the police—it wasn’t the first time—but they never did anything. I told them what had happened, or at least part of it. What I got in return was… partial protection. A joke, really. Limited custody, irregular surveillance… nothing that actually kept us safe."

"And then?"

"Then an officer showed up." Taehyung pressed his lips together. "He saw me desperate and begging. Maybe he felt compassion, or maybe he just wanted to shut me up, I don’t know, but he gave me another option."

"What option?"

"He said: ‘You’re an alpha. If you enlist as a career soldier after your mandatory service, you’ll be allowed to live in government housing. There’s twenty-four-hour protection there.’"

"Practical, though it sounds more like a recruitment trick than compassion."

"Maybe it was," Taehyung admitted with a shrug. "But it was the only real option. So I asked which branch was the most protected. And the answer came fast: ‘Special Forces.’"

The beta whistled, leaning back.

"You dove straight into hell."

"I had no other way out," the alpha replied, staring at him. "So I enlisted at twenty-five. Five years earlier than average. I was the youngest and the weakest, but I was also the most determined. And little by little, I began to rise. Every promotion cost me blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights. And with every step… I had to increase the doses. I had to look even more like an alpha." Taehyung licked his lips. "Now they’re weekly. My body barely holds on, but there’s no turning back."

Hoseok watched him in silence. Taehyung lowered his voice, a dangerous edge in it.

"I’m going to find Changwoo. I’ll expose his identity, destroy his mafia, rescue my father… and kill him with my own hands."

The intensity in his eyes made Hoseok shiver a little, but soon the beta smiled.

"With that determination, we’ll make a good team."

Back in the present, Taehyung and Hoseok were still staring at the map of Busan on the screen, circles already marked. They had to come up with something soon and start the plan.

"This is getting more complicated," the beta said, stretching his fingers over the keyboard. "The hitmen are getting closer every time. They’re actively asking about you. It’s only a matter of days before someone connects the dots and realizes you’re in the Special Forces."

Taehyung bit down hard on his lower lip.

"Then I need you to get access to classified files," he said, his tone grave. "I want every document on operations against organized crime, everything related to Changwoo. I need names and every contact." Hoseok’s eyes widened.

"Are you asking me to hack into government files?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes." Taehyung didn’t hesitate. "And from those names, I want you to trace financial movements. One of them has to be moving money. Changwoo’s men aren’t ghosts—they use banks, accounts, cryptocurrencies, whatever. Find something. And I want you to dig through absolutely everything you can about those people in the databases. There has to be a thread connecting them."

The beta blinked a few times, trying to process the weight of what he was being asked. Then he searched the desk, found a crumpled notebook, and grabbed a pen. With quick movements, he began writing down everything Taehyung said.

"Financial movements… contact history… common connections…" he murmured as he wrote.

"Check everything. Medical history, vehicle records, criminal background, travel, calls… anything. They must have something in common we can use as leverage."

When Hoseok finally looked up, his face was tense.

"Fine. I’ll do it. But I don’t know how long it’ll take me."

"Don’t think about time. Think about this: if we don’t get that data soon… we’ll be killed."

The rawness of his words froze Hoseok for a few seconds. Then he let out a stiff, uncomfortable smile.

"Great… nothing like a little motivation to work under pressure." He tucked the pen into the notebook and shut it with a sharp thud. "I’ll get to it soon."

Taehyung watched him for a few more seconds, and his lips curved into a faint half-smile.

"Good boy."

Hoseok huffed, pretending to be offended, but he couldn’t hold back a small laugh as he shook his head.

Chapter Text

Monday, April 15, 2025.

The morning at the base had woken heavy with humidity. Jungkook had arrived on time as always, his military medical uniform perfectly pressed. It was a day of rounds in the area of regular soldiers, where those alphas who were completing mandatory service were stationed.

Taehyung knew that, exactly where and at what time Jungkook would be there—not because Jungkook had told him, since they had barely exchanged more than the necessary words—because Hoseok had done his thing. The beta had broken into the medical system the way one logs into a Facebook profile. 'A couple of clicks', he had said. A couple of clicks, and suddenly they had the full schedule of Doctor Jeon.

The younger still thought it was an absurd plan. He had even argued with Hoseok about it when he visited him at his legal post there on the base, trying to see if he could get out of it.

“This doesn’t make sense,” he had said, sitting on the edge of the desk cluttered with cables and monitors. “Why don’t you do it? You’re a beta, it would be easier for you.”

Hoseok had let out a short laugh, eyes never leaving the screens.

“And what do you want? For me to abandon my post here while I stroll over to the infirmary to flirt with the brand-new doctor I’ve never even seen?” He had thrown him an ironic look. “Besides, you’re the one with pending checkups, not me. There’s no way I could convince him to move them without raising suspicion. Why would I even try?”

It was a fair point, and he had no solid counterargument. That didn’t mean he liked it.

“This is shit…” he had muttered to himself, adjusting the jacket of his uniform. “Fucking shit.”

“You can do it,” the beta had said. “Think of Sergeant Min. He knows how to look at someone with that ‘I want you under me’ face without saying a single word.”

He had felt nauseous.

“I’m not Yoongi,” he had replied flatly.

“Yeah, but you can pretend.”

Pretend—that was what he had done all his life, wasn’t it? Pretend to be an alpha. Pretend the injections weren’t tearing him apart. Pretend he didn’t tremble every time he heard the name Changwoo.

Now he had to pretend he knew how to flirt.

Deep down, his hope was that simply asking 'please' would be enough to convince Jungkook to move the tests to the hospital instead of the base. But if that didn’t work… that was where Plan B came in. He hated that plan.

He had no idea how to do it. He had never flirted with anyone, nor had anyone ever flirted with him. Before his new identity, back when he was still an omega in Daegu, nobody wasted sweet words on him. No one was interested in him in that way. The only things he ever received were lecherous stares, dirty insinuations, or unwanted hands trapping him in dark corners. The alphas from his neighborhood didn’t ask—because they didn’t care about receiving a 'no' or a plea. They simply took what they wanted, without any form of courtship.

The only remotely positive thing—though ideally it never should have happened at all—was that he never stayed still. He fought back, and he always won. That stripped away the appeal for those would-be abusers, who were looking for easy submission, not resistance. Still, on more than one occasion, there had been some who had found excitement in trying to crush the rebellious omega. But none had succeeded, so none ever went 'further' with him.

Later, in his new life and with his change of rank, it happened even less. In the military he was surrounded almost exclusively by alphas. Since everyone saw him as one of them, no one even thought of flirting with him.

There had been, maybe, a couple of attempts years ago, when he worked in a café to support Beomgyu. An omega had tried to approach him with timid smiles, shy questions about his shift, or clumsy compliments, but he never noticed. He couldn’t tell when a conversation had a second meaning. His coworkers were the ones pointing out the obvious—or Gyu, who would whisper mischievously from a table, 'that boy is staring at you a lot', while doing his homework and waiting for his brother’s shift to end. Taehyung would just shrug and carry on, unbothered.

He had never known how to flirt. He hadn’t learned to read signals, nor allowed himself to think about what they meant, and now he had to do it.

The problem was that alphas didn’t flirt the way omegas did. Obviously, they didn’t need to—it wasn’t part of their dynamic. So what the hell was he supposed to improvise? Raised eyebrows? A lazy smile? Long looks? He didn’t even know what gesture he was supposed to use.

He had no idea what the hell he was doing or how he was supposed to do it. He could disarm an enemy in seconds, crawl under enemy fire without blinking, calculate the steps of an operation on the darkest night with precision, but this? This was uncharted territory, as dangerous and confusing as walking barefoot through a minefield.

In theory, he was an alpha. Lie or not, that was what people believed. Jungkook believed it too. So how the hell was he supposed to flirt with someone of the same rank?

He imagined the most likely scenario: he made some offhand comment, threw a look that could be interpreted as suggestive, and Jungkook took it as a challenge to his authority—a direct insult to his alpha pride. Then would come the shoves, the insults, and the inevitable violence. In the army, every conflict ended in blows, sooner or later.

As he walked, he kept thinking. The conscripts he passed on the way straightened their backs instantly, some even raising a hand in a strict salute.

“First Sergeant Kang! At your service!”

So dramatic.

Taehoo replied with little more than a nod or a small wave of his hand. He knew it wasn’t common for him to be seen in the regular army facilities. His name carried weight, and when someone recognized him, whispers would ripple down the hallways.

He took a deep breath as he stopped in front of the small military clinic, a simple gray building with double doors that never stopped opening and closing, with doctors, nurses, and soldiers constantly passing through.

He paused a moment, closed his eyes, and mentally reviewed the plan. He remembered what he had read in the middle of the night, desperately searching for some kind of guide on Google. 'How to be convincing', 'how to flirt subtly'. A bunch of articles written by teenagers on cheap forums. Nothing useful he could apply in his situation. But he would try.

He entered the emergency clinic, his steps carrying him down the main hallway lined with stretchers separated by white curtains. The air was filled with voices, the groans of sick soldiers, and the clipped orders of nurses and doctors moving with trays in their hands. Taehoo walked carefully, trying not to bump into anyone. He didn’t want to be in the way.

Then he saw Jungkook a few meters ahead, dressed in his military medical uniform. He walked with a nurse following close behind him, holding a folder.

He stopped for a second and swallowed, his throat dry.

Jungkook approached one of the curtained stretchers, pulled one aside, and stepped inside with the nurse. Before the curtain closed, Taehyung caught a glimpse of a soldier lying there, his face twisted in pain. The doctor drew the curtain shut. The sergeant felt a shiver crawl down his neck. It was now or never. So he started walking toward him.

The stretcher trembled slightly under the soldier who wouldn’t stop moving. His head was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, with a compress soaked in fresh blood that let thin streams trickle down his temple. Jungkook held his chin firmly, tilting it back as he examined the wound after uncovering it.

“Colonel… colonel… the dragon ate my rifle!” the soldier babbled, then burst out laughing before the laugh twisted into a groan of pain. “Don’t tell my mom, please, don’t tell her…”

The nurse at his side widened his eyes in confusion, but Jungkook remained calm. He was used to dealing with wild reactions after head injuries.

“Sergeant… the rabbits sneak out at night…” the soldier murmured at nothing in particular, a half-crazed smile tugging at his lips.

The doctor studied him for a moment, then turned toward the nurse without wasting a second.

“Page neuro immediately,” he ordered.

“Yes, doctor,” the nurse replied, pulling the pager from his pocket to send the alert to the specialists.

The alpha medic looked back at the patient and began the protocol, listing each step so the nurse could record it in the medical file.

“Male patient, thirty years old, private. Reported fall on the obstacle course. Presents with contused wound in the right frontoparietal region. Loss of consciousness not confirmed. Currently disoriented in time and space, with incoherent speech,” he dictated quickly.

He pulled a pocket flashlight and shone it into the young man’s eyes, gently lifting the eyelid.

“Pupils isocoric and reactive to light,” he noted, eyes fixed on the reflex as the pupil contracted under the beam. “No anisocoria. Motor response preserved.”

“Here comes the cow in boots!” the soldier shouted with a laugh that dissolved into coughs.

Jungkook continued, moving on to check reflexes with the hammer, tapping lightly on knees and ankles.

“Deep tendon reflexes present and symmetrical. No evident motor deficit.” He then palpated around the wound, checking sensitivity and ruling out a depressed skull fracture. “Laceration of approximately four centimeters, moderate bleeding, no palpable fracture. Vital signs stable. Glasgow: fourteen. Patient obeys simple commands.”

The nurse scribbled each word at speed, eyes darting between the paper and the doctor. Jungkook took the portable blood pressure monitor from the tray and fastened the cuff to the young man’s arm, who kept muttering disjointed nonsense.

“Blood pressure: one twenty over eighty. Oxygen saturation: ninety-eight percent. Pulse slightly elevated, ninety-five,” he dictated for the record. “No evident signs of hypoxia.”

There were no major physical findings beyond the wound and the behavioral changes.

“He’ll need a cranial CT scan,” Jungkook concluded. “We need to rule out intracranial hemorrhage, so coordinate with neuro. I also want you to page psychology.”

“Psychology?” the nurse asked.

“Yes,” Jungkook said as he wiped away clotted blood from the wound with gauze. “If the disorientation isn’t due to head trauma, we need to rule out a manic or psychotic episode. We’re not assuming anything until the full tests are done.”

“Understood, doctor.” The nurse immediately pulled the pager again, punching in the numbers.

Meanwhile, Jungkook reached for a tray of instruments. He opened a sterile kit, slipped on new gloves, and bent over the wound once more.

“I’ll prep the area for immediate suturing, but we’ll leave the full closure until after imaging,” he said aloud, both for the nurse and for himself. “As I said, it’s most likely Doctor Kim will order a CT to rule out epidural or subdural hematoma.”

The soldier let out an exaggerated scream when the iodine-soaked cotton touched his skin.

“It’s burning, it’s burning! I’m on fire! Put it out!” He tried to push Jungkook’s hand away, but the doctor held him firmly.

“Calm down, soldier, it’s just disinfectant,” Jungkook said gently, trying to soothe him.

He began cleaning carefully. The sharp smell of antiseptic mixed with the patient’s sweat as the man kept twisting his head, trying to escape the sting. Jungkook intended to leave the wound clean for when the specialists arrived, so he reached for a needle with the forceps after administering anesthesia.

That was when he heard voices approaching from the hallway.

“Where’s the patient from the obstacle course?” came Seokjin’s voice.

“In there, hyung,” and that sounded like Park Jimin.

Their footsteps drew closer until they stopped right at the curtain, where Seokjin let out a surprised exclamation.

“Oh, Sergeant Kang, what a surprise seeing you here.”

“Good morning, Sergeant.”

Jungkook’s heart sped up instantly, his mouth going completely dry. Sergeant Kang was here? Right behind the curtain? Since when? Fuck.

The curtain was pulled aside abruptly and Seokjin entered first, taking the chart the nurse handed him. Jimin followed, and right behind them stood the rigid figure of Sergeant Kang, utterly imposing in his black uniform.

“Well, Sergeant,” Seokjin said in a cordial tone, inclining his head slightly in respect. “What brings you to this area? You’re quite far from the Special Forces facilities.”

Taehoo cleared his throat but replied immediately.

“I needed to speak with Doctor Jeon,” he said naturally, locking his dark eyes on Jungkook, who suddenly felt the air catch in his throat.

The forceps slipped barely a millimeter in his fingers. Did he just say he needed to speak with Doctor Jeon? The nerves surged so violently that even his ears burned, though thankfully no one seemed to notice.

Seokjin flipped quickly through the patient’s file, his fingers skimming the pages with practiced speed, pausing only long enough to scan each note and number. Then, without delay, he handed it to Jimin.

“Review it,” Seokjin ordered, pulling on gloves and leaning over the patient. Jimin received the chart and began reading calmly. As he did, he turned his head toward Taehoo.

“And what matter do you have to discuss with Doctor Jeon?” he asked curiously.

“Park, do you know if your brother has already gotten rid of mine?” Taehoo asked with an apparently casual gesture, deflecting the question. “Yesterday Gyumin and Jihoon had a sleepover at your place.”

The psychologist looked at him over the top of the chart, raising a brow slightly.

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. I talked to Jihoon twenty minutes ago, and he said Gyumin was still there.”

“Then he’d better leave soon if he wants to make it to the university on time.”

Jimin narrowed his eyes, analyzing him silently. The change of subject had been far too abrupt. But there was no time to probe further, not with a delirious patient in front of him.

“Fine… we’ll talk about that later,” he muttered, leaning toward the injured soldier. “Alright, soldier, can you hear me? Do you know where we are? I want you to tell me your full name and the current year.”

The recruit chuckled under his breath, muttering nonsense about unicorns and dragons, and Jimin made a mental note, preparing his standard set of questions.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was trapped in another battle. In front of him were gauze, antiseptic, needle holder, dissection forceps, scissors, scalpel, and a half-clean wound… yet his eyes kept straying back to Taehoo’s rigid figure. He forced himself to focus on his work, but peace wouldn’t come.

“Doctor Jeon?” The deep voice hit him like a bell. Jungkook’s head shot up, meeting the sergeant’s steady gaze. “Are you available?” Taehoo asked.

“I-I…,” Jungkook stammered, nerves spilling into every syllable. “I’m working, so… right now I’m not…”

"That wound should really be treated by someone from plastics. That way, the boy won’t end up with an ugly scar on his face."

The comment didn’t sit well with Jungkook, because it clearly implied doubt in his ability. He knew perfectly well that he had the skills to leave a clean, neat suture. His pride flared instantly, along with the desperate need to prove he wasn’t the incompetent fool the sergeant surely already thought he was.

He wanted to prove him wrong.

"With all due respect, Sergeant Kang…" he replied, forcing his voice to sound as steady as possible. "I’m fully qualified to close this kind of wound. I don’t need a plastic specialist supervising my work."

Taehoo’s gaze hardened for a second, sharp and penetrating, as if Jungkook’s boldness had actually surprised him. But he didn’t scold him for being reckless the way Jungkook expected.

"I’ll be waiting outside," Taehoo said, turning his face slightly. "It won’t take long if you cooperate. Your colleagues can handle this without you; they won’t miss you."

With that sentence, he turned and walked out.

Jungkook remained frozen, feeling cold sweat slide down his back. He swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in his hands. His eyes went back to the patient, to Seokjin performing specialized exams and Jimin asking questions, but he could no longer focus.

"Nurse…" his voice came out lower than usual, though he immediately forced it back into firmness. "Page plastics. Let them handle the suture."

The nurse nodded, pulling out his pager to send the request. Jungkook stripped off his gloves, tossed them onto the metal tray, and headed toward the exit.

Inside the cubicle, Seokjin didn’t even glance up when Jungkook left, too absorbed in dictating rapid orders to the nurse and continuing his exams. His entire world was the patient and nothing else at that moment.

Jimin, however, did notice Jungkook slipping away in the shadow of the imposing Sergeant Kang. He always had to fix his eyes on things that weren’t his business—but could anyone blame him? His literal job was to analyze people. Tilting his head, he pieced everything together, and his lips formed a very clear 'no way', exaggerating every syllable without sound. The disbelief in his eyes spoke for itself. Nobody noticed except the delirious soldier, who at that exact moment screamed something about the ceiling melting. Jimin had no choice but to return to reality, pursing his lips and burying half the gossip while asking the patient the basic questions to continue the evaluation.

Outside, Taehoo waited with his arms crossed, staring fixedly at the training field stretching out in front of the clinic. His eyes tracked the soldiers in instruction, evaluating posture, movement, discipline. He searched for strengths… and weaknesses. A couple of soldiers stumbled clumsily, dropping to their knees in the mud. Taehoo clicked his tongue in disappointment. None of them seemed promising.

The silence broke with a timid throat-clearing behind him, and that instantly annoyed him.

The sergeant rolled his eyes with irritation before turning his head. There was Jungkook, fidgeting with his hands, Adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallowed.

"Don’t ever clear your throat at me again, Doctor Jeon," Taehoo reproached in a grave voice. "Show respect."

Jungkook flinched, bowing his head in an almost automatic reflex, giving a small apologetic nod.

"I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to," he muttered, his nervous tone clumsier than he would have liked. Taehoo closed his eyes for a brief moment, silently counting to three so he wouldn’t lose his patience.

"Good," he finally said, opening them again and fixing his gaze on him. "Is there a more private place where we can talk?"

The question made him even more nervous. Private? Talk? His brain stalled, spinning endlessly around the same thought with no way out. Alone with him, away from everyone else. His tongue felt tied.

"Uhm… uh… y-yes…" he stammered, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "We can use the consultation room where I do the soldiers’ check-ups. It’s usually free at this time."

"Perfect," Taehoo nodded.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. Jungkook lifted his eyes timidly and got caught in Taehoo’s. They were dark and deep, so serious it felt like they could read his most hidden thoughts. His heart skipped and butterflies stirred violently in his stomach.

"Move, Jeon," Taehoo’s voice cut the moment. "Take me to the consultation room."

Jungkook blinked several times, awkward and slow to react.

"Oh, of course… this way…" he blurted, quickly turning toward the hallway.

He walked fast, the sergeant following behind. He had to focus—he was the head of trauma, a decorated doctor, someone who had trained for years… and now he was sweating bullets, intimidated just by standing near Taehoo.

His mind wouldn’t stop spinning. What the hell was wrong with him? Was this a crush? An attraction? He had never felt pulled toward another alpha—not once. He couldn’t even remember the last time an omega had shaken him up this much.

He bit his lip as he walked, trying to sort out his thoughts, at least pretending to look firm. Then suddenly, he felt the broad shoulder of Sergeant Kang brush against his own as they walked side by side. For a normal person it would have been nothing, just a brief touch, but for Jungkook, who felt anything but normal at that moment, warmth spread from his shoulder across his collarbone and chest. He had to stifle a sharp breath to avoid giving himself away.

This isn’t normal. Definitely not normal. Shit.

They reached the consultation room door. Jungkook pulled the key from his pocket, slid it into the lock, and turned it. He stepped back and, with a respectful gesture, extended his hand so Taehoo could enter first. He followed, leaving the door open behind him.

He had planned to keep some natural ventilation, needing the air to circulate so his scent wouldn’t concentrate. He knew he was tense, that nervousness could make his pheromones leak unevenly, and the last thing he wanted was for the sergeant to notice anything unusual. But his small plan collapsed when Taehoo frowned and turned his head.

"Why aren’t you closing the door?"

"Well, you see…"

"Close it. I don’t want anyone overhearing."

Jungkook hesitated, but in the end, defeated by the weight of that commanding voice, he shut it. The click of the lock sounded final. His ventilation plan went straight down the drain.

Great. If my scent gets out of control now, I’ll look like a fool. I always end up looking like a fool around the sergeant—so unfair.

He scolded himself inwardly, hating how clumsy he became, obeying without resistance. He should be the intimidating one, the one making the other falter—not the one biting his lips, not knowing where to put his hands. Jungkook was a damn alpha! Okay, Taehoo was too, but fuck, at the very least he should put up a fight.

Taehoo moved a few steps toward the consultation room window, pulling the curtains aside just a little, eyes fixed again on the training field now farther away. Jungkook, unable to resist, drew closer behind him, wanting to see what the older man was watching.

When his eyes landed on the training scene, they lit up with fascination. Taehoo caught that spark out of the corner of his eye, almost childlike. It was obvious this was something Jungkook loved—he wanted to be out there.

However, the moment he took a deep breath, the alpha’s scent hit him. It was cedarwood. Warm and intoxicating. The instant he inhaled it, he felt strange; that was why Taehoo blinked and stepped back a couple of paces, creating enough distance so he wouldn’t feel trapped in that essence that threatened to overwhelm him.

He cleared his throat, trying to recover his composure, and began pacing back and forth. He didn’t realize it, but that restless prowling was intimidating for Jungkook, who followed his every move with his eyes.

"I’ve been thinking about the check-ups you ordered me to do," Taehoo finally said, his tone neutral.

Jungkook, unsure how to stand, ended up leaning back against the desk, arms crossed in a weak attempt to project calm.

"And… what have you been thinking?" he asked, trying to sound professional.

"Maybe I’ll agree to do them," Taehoo replied. "At first I refused because I’ve lived my entire life like this, and for the most part, it hasn’t caused me major problems. But you’re right, doctor. I need to monitor my hormone levels and start treatment before it’s too late."

It was a strategy. He had read that morning that alphas responded better when they were agreed with, when they felt validated—it reinforced their ego. And that’s exactly what he was doing: giving Jungkook what he wanted to hear, even if he didn’t actually believe it himself.

The doctor opened his mouth, then closed it, mumbling something under his breath before finally articulating a response.

"I-I’m really glad that… that you think so, Sergeant."

Inside, he felt he had achieved a small victory, but why was he blushing over something as simple as a professional agreement?

Taehoo’s gaze stayed fixed on him, and then his boots began to advance slowly across the clinic floor. Jungkook grew more nervous with every step. The alpha stopped just a couple of paces away from him—close enough to invade his personal space, yet still leaving a sliver of distance where the tension could breathe.

The sergeant’s eyes, dark and profound, locked directly onto his. That intensity disarmed him. Jungkook felt like he could drown in that gaze, lose himself right then and there. His breathing grew heavier, and he had to press his fingers against the edge of the desk to stop himself from moving.

"I need to ask you a favor," Taehoo said, his voice suddenly different—soft, definitely.

Jungkook could barely nod, the movement clumsy but enough to show he was listening.

"I’d rather the others didn’t know about this," Taehoo continued in a low voice. "They might see it as a sign of weakness… and you know how alphas are. It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to take my place." His words were clear, but what threw Jungkook off wasn’t the content—it was the tone. Taehoo spoke almost… sweetly? As if he were forcing himself to sound warm.

The effort was awkward, and obvious. Taehoo would take half a step forward, then retreat half a step, lift a hand to gesture only to drop it again at his side, like he wasn’t sure which movements fit and which didn’t.

Jungkook was used to hearing orders and reproaches from him—never this softness. He was practically trapped, unable to figure out how to respond. Instinctively, he brought a hand to the collar of his uniform and loosened the zipper just a little, searching for air. Taehoo didn’t notice anything unusual in the gesture; he was too busy following the steps of that manual he had read earlier that morning to the letter.

"You understand me, Jungkook… don’t you, doctor?" he asked, tilting his voice toward an almost intimate register.

All Jungkook managed was to stare at the floor for a second, then at the desk, and finally back at those eyes, feeling it was becoming impossible to think clearly.

"I…" he started, but his voice shook.

"I thought… you could help me with that," Taehoo added, running his tongue across his lips. "I don’t want those check-ups to be done here, on base. I’d prefer they were done at the hospital. It’s much more discreet."

For a few seconds, the doctor didn’t reply, and in Taehoo’s mind, that silence only meant refusal. He didn’t understand the hesitation, couldn’t read that Jungkook was actually battling his own nerves, an avalanche of thoughts preventing him from forming a coherent answer.

"You don’t want to help me?" Taehoo asked.

"N-No, that’s not it…" Jungkook managed to murmur.

That hesitation, Taehoo immediately interpreted as a no. He frowned slightly, convinced the doctor wasn’t letting himself be persuaded. Then he remembered that alphas responded well to direct compliments and personal validation. So he tried applying it.

"I saw how you were watching the training," he said suddenly, attempting to sound friendly, jerking his chin toward the window. "And I also heard you were a great soldier at the base where you did your service. You got out recently, didn’t you?"

Jungkook choked on air.

"Uh, yes. I just finished, but that… that’s exaggerated," he protested, blushing to the tips of his ears. "It wasn’t a big deal."

Convinced he was making progress, Taehoo leaned his body slightly forward, shrinking the distance between them even more.

"I don’t think it’s exaggerated, Jungkook. If you help me with this…" his voice dropped into such a subtle register it was almost a whisper, "I might invite you to participate as a corporal in the next training. What do you think?"

Jungkook felt like his head was about to explode. What did he just say? Was that… an invitation? Shit, he wanted to say yes—how the hell was he supposed to not sound desperate?

"All right… I like that idea… and yes, of course… of course we can do the check-ups at the hospital," he blurted in one breath. Well, he definitely did sound desperate. Taehoo looked at him, interpreting that he had finally agreed, not realizing that Jungkook was on the verge of crumbling.

The older man allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. It was small, but charming enough to completely disarm Jungkook. It was the first time he had ever seen him smile. And that detail—insignificant to anyone else—hit the doctor like a direct strike to the chest. Heat flooded his cheeks with violent force.

Oblivious to the internal chaos he was causing, Taehoo stepped closer and, in a clumsy gesture, placed his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. The grip was firm but not too strong. Just a few seconds of contact—enough for Jungkook to feel warmth flood his entire body. Then, without adding another word, Taehoo turned and headed toward the door. Before leaving, he turned his head just enough to glance at him again.

"We’ll see each other at the hospital. Send me the date by email."

After that, he strode out of the office, leaving behind an oppressive silence.

Jungkook reacted far too late. For a few seconds, he stayed frozen, still processing the feeling on his shoulder and the smile he had just witnessed—one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen in his life. Only once the room was empty did his body finally snap out of the trance.

"Shit…" he whispered under his breath, one hand over his heart and the other covering his face.

The pounding against his chest was so intense it felt uncomfortable, as if he had run miles. And the heat burning his face was so strong he was sure he was bright red. He drew several deep breaths, trying to recover, but it was useless—he was undone.

He was definitely attracted to him. And it wasn’t professional admiration or something platonic. It was a real attraction. The worst part was that he didn’t even understand why—Kang Taehoo wasn’t his type, not even close. He had always preferred omegas; it made no sense that, out of nowhere, an alpha could make him feel all this.

He buried both hands in his face and exhaled hard, frustrated. The only thing he knew for certain was that he had missed the chance to say something, to invite him to anything, even if just a coffee. He genuinely wanted to push past the nervousness and get closer to him, but his nerves and clumsiness had betrayed him. By the time he reacted, Taehoo was already gone.

"Great, Jeon, just great," he muttered, his own voice sounding like a reproach.

He didn’t know what to do with this revelation. He didn’t want to leave it at that, but he also had no idea what step to take next without making a fool of himself.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

Hours later, Taehyung was back in his office. The jacket of his uniform rested on the back of his chair, while the short sleeves of the shirt beneath exposed the tension in his forearms.

His phone began to ring, and after answering, he lifted it to his ear.

"So? How did it go?" Hoseok asked casually, the sound of typing echoing in the background.

"It’s all settled," Taehyung replied, leaning back against his chair.

"Did you get him to accept?" Hoseok asked right away, pausing his typing. "Did you end up using your charms to convince him?"

Taehyung rolled his eyes, lips pressed together.

"I don’t know if what I did could be called ‘charms,’" he muttered, running a hand along the back of his neck. "It was… clumsy."

On the other end, Hoseok burst out laughing so loudly Taehyung had to hold the phone away from his ear.

"Clumsy!" he repeated between laughs. "Are you telling me the great Sergeant Kang Taehoo was flirting like a teenager on his first date?"

"It wasn’t flirting," Taehyung growled, though a faint blush crept up his face as he remembered the scene. Just imagining how it must have looked filled him with secondhand embarrassment. "I just… tried to be convincing."

"Convincing, sure," Hoseok laughed again. "What did you do, tell him he looked cute while taking notes?"

"No, idiot," Taehyung shot back flatly. "I already told you, I don’t even know what I did," the omega repeated, sighing with a hint of frustration in his voice. "I looked it up online. But honestly, Hoseok, I’m sure he didn’t accept because of my so-called ‘flirting’. I don’t think it was because of me."

"What do you mean, not because of you?" Hoseok asked, intrigued. "Why would you say that?"

Taehyung leaned forward, resting his elbow on the desk and pressing his forehead into his hand.

"Because I’m not attractive. Not in personality, not in appearance. I never was, and all my life people made that clear to me," he replied without hesitation. "They told me to my face what was wrong with me. They listed it out."

He paused, pressing his lips together, shifting in his chair.

"On top of that, I have this damn body…" he added, staring at his large hands, scarred and covered with small cuts. "Too strong to be an omega, too built. Alphas like delicate, fragile omegas they can protect. Not someone with scars from knives, bullets, missions, and training. My skin is marked by war, and that’s not attractive. Nobody looks at someone like me and thinks: I want him. What they think is: that guy is scary. And omegas… they want alphas who give them security, not someone who looks this broken and this…" He paused for a moment. "This worn down. I’m also a pretty lousy alpha. I don’t have the height or the aura."

Hoseok stayed silent, listening, though his expression grew more and more twisted.

"My shoulders are too broad, there’s nothing delicate about me. And if I’m an alpha, other alphas won’t look at me twice because I’m competition, and on top of that, I don’t have the pheromones that should command respect or authority. I’m cold and distant. I lack charm, the kind of thing people want. I don’t have anything an omega would want, or anything an alpha in his right mind would desire."

The older man let out a horrified snort.

"Do you hear yourself, Taehyung?" he asked, his tone filled with reproach and a tinge of sadness. "You’re talking like you’re trash. Like everything you are is just a list of flaws lined up."

"I’m not exaggerating," Taehyung arched a brow, confused by the sudden shift in tone. "I’m just telling you the truth—that’s what I am."

Hoseok stilled in his chair. Taehyung spoke with such ease about what he considered defects, it was terrifying to think how many years he had carried that perception of himself.

"I’m socially awkward. I don’t know how to read signals, I don’t know how to approach someone. I’ve never even known what flirting looks like because no one ever paid attention to me, I’ve never been anyone’s type. Not omegas, not betas, not alphas. I don’t even know if I like alphas, betas, or omegas—I haven’t had the time to figure it out. My whole life has been about taking care of Beomgyu, and in recent years, fulfilling this mission. I didn’t have space to feel anything else."

He paused, lowering his gaze to the desk, recalling his beginnings.

"In school, some alphas tried to take advantage of me. They forced me to kiss them, but I never learned how to kiss. It was always rough and forced. You can’t call that a kiss. And as for sex… I’ve never had it. Who would even want to with me?" He let out a dry, joyless laugh. "And besides, I’d risk irresponsibly being discovered. I might look somewhat like an alpha, but down there I scream omega. I can’t be with anyone, and I know they wouldn’t want to anyway."

Hoseok opened his mouth to stop him, but Taehyung kept going.

"And none of that bothers me. I’m used to it—it’s the kind of sacrifice I have to make. I know exactly what’s wrong with me. My scent, my face, my voice, my attitude, my clothes, my walk. I heard it so many times it stopped hurting. I’ve accepted it, and it’s fine."

On the other end, Hoseok clenched his fists on the desk, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"Taehyung…" he finally said. "Stop it."

"What?" Taehyung asked naturally.

"Stop talking about yourself like that. What you’re saying isn’t true."

"Of course it is," he replied calmly, without the slightest trace of resentment. To him, it was an absolute, normalized truth.

"No, it isn’t," Hoseok countered firmly, his chest heavy with the weight of hearing his friend speak that way about himself. "You have no idea how others see you, do you? You only see the hits, the scars, the things you hate about yourself. But I see something else."

Taehyung stayed silent, intrigued but unconvinced. Hoseok seized the chance to continue.

"You’re imposing, even if you claim you’re not. Every soldier on this base straightens up when you walk in. They respect you, Tae. Your scars are medals of everything you survived. And if you haven’t had time to figure out who you like or what you want, that doesn’t mean no one could find you attractive. It just means you’ve been busy saving your brother and yourself."

"That doesn’t change anything," Taehyung muttered with a shrug, like someone who had already accepted a sentence.

Hoseok went quiet for a moment, lips pressed tightly together, struggling to find the right words. He had heard him tear himself apart too many times, but it never stopped hurting.

"Believe me when I tell you that nothing you’re saying is true, Tae. You need to have more faith in yourself. It’s no coincidence that you convinced Jungkook."

"I didn’t convince him because he thought I was cute. It was because I offered him the corporal training program. I convinced him because I let him play soldier. Clearly, that caught his attention."

The beta huffed into the phone.

"You’re impossible. Impossible!" His voice rose a little, though it didn’t sound angry, just frustrated. "You need therapy."

"I’ll go to therapy when I kill Changwoo," he replied with absolute seriousness.

"Then I’ll just have to raise your self-esteem myself, in some other way," Hoseok said, his voice shifting into a warmer, almost playful tone. "You’re attractive, Taehyung. And I don’t just mean physically—what you see as flaws are actually part of your charms for everyone else. For example, you’ve got broad shoulders, an intense gaze, a deep voice that could silence anyone. And personality-wise…"

"Stop," the omega cut him off sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I’m not fifteen anymore to put up with a cheap self-help speech as some kind of intervention. I’m thirty-three, Hoseok. This is the life I got, and that’s it."

"Taehyung…" Hoseok tried to argue, but Taehyung had already made his decision.

"I don’t have time for this. I have work and so do you." His voice was curt, and before Hoseok could insist, he hung up.

Taehyung set the phone down on the desk, leaned his elbows against the wood, and massaged his neck, forcing his mind to focus on the pile of documents waiting for him. However, after only a few minutes, a faint burn rose up his throat.

Thinking about what Hoseok had said, about the possibility of someone seeing him differently, made him uncomfortable. In the end, when everything was over and they could stop pretending to be that, he knew his body wouldn’t change; he’d still be himself, with all those marks that wouldn’t fade. Not only physical ones—he’d never be the same internally either, not after all the chemicals he shoved into his system nearly every day. He had practically destroyed himself.

When it was all finally over, with luck, his brother wouldn’t suffer as many biological consequences, and Beomgyu would surely find his mate and build a life of his own. Taehyung would be left alone, but that was fine. The only thing that mattered was that his brother was safe and happy. That was enough for him.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

The clock struck six in the evening when Taehoo left the office and walked alongside Sergeant Min Yoongi. The air at the base was beginning to cool, and the sky was painted in muted orange tones. They headed together toward one of the specialized training fields, where the corporals were supposed to be ready for the stealth session Yoongi was leading. That was his specialty, but Taehoo wanted to supervise because he wanted to see the corporals’ progress.

"Seokjin’s been avoiding me since the medical checkup," Yoongi commented in a low voice. "He won’t look me in the eye. He gets nervous, turns away, and runs."

Taehoo glanced sideways at him, raising an eyebrow.

"And which part of that is supposed to be good news?" he asked, his voice laced with irony.

"The part where he’s also avoiding Kim." Yoongi gave a faint smile, shrugging, and Taehoo rolled his eyes with visible exasperation at the comment.

"You really should try to move on already," he muttered with a sigh.

"That’s impossible," Yoongi replied without losing his calm smile. "My feelings for Seokjin are too strong. It’s not something I can just switch off overnight."

"So what then?" Taehoo asked, incredulous. "Are you going to spend your whole life sighing after him, waiting for him to leave Namjoon and maybe give you a chance?"

"Oh, stop being so pessimistic. I’m not going to spend my entire life in this situation because I’m going to marry that beta someday," Yoongi said firmly, with the same serenity as if he had just declared, It’s going to rain tomorrow.

"You’re incorrigible," Taehoo muttered, shaking his head. He was about to make a biting remark about his absurd determination when something suddenly caught his attention.

First came a warm, earthy scent—cedarwood. He didn’t need to look hard to recognize it, since he had memorized it that very morning. His nose twitched, and almost mechanically, he turned his head toward the direction it came from. There, walking down the hallway, three figures approached: Jungkook, Jimin, and Seokjin, chatting without a care.

Sergeant Kang elbowed Yoongi in the ribs, his gaze fixed on the group.

"Look," he muttered quietly.

Yoongi turned slightly, and the moment he saw Seokjin walking, the corner of his lips curled into a smile that stripped him of all his usual intimidating air. Inevitably, his scent spread—whiskey, tinged with a hint of happiness.

Being a beta, Seokjin couldn't smell common scents, but he could detect them if they were strong enough—just like now—and he had Yoongi's scent in his mind whether he wanted to or not.

The first to detect it were Jimin and Jungkook. The alpha wrinkled his nose, but the omega seemed curious rather than disgusted. The shorter one said something in a low voice, and Seokjin turned to look in his direction, finally smelling it after a lot of effort, his eyes landed on Yoongi’s smile, and color rushed to his ears before spreading to his cheeks. He faked adjusting his uniform, leaned toward Jungkook and Jimin to whisper something, and within seconds, changed course with quick steps.

"See that?" Yoongi said, almost excited. "Adorable, isn’t it?"

"Congratulations, Min," Taehoo replied dryly. "From crumb to crumb, maybe you’ll manage to bake a whole loaf."

The older man shot him a glare, offended by the remark, but didn’t have time to respond. Jimin’s enthusiastic greeting broke the moment, forcing the others to notice them.

"Sergeants!" he called, waving his hand slightly, making them stop.

Sergeant Min raised an eyebrow, scanning the brunette from head to toe as he approached with Jungkook by his side.

"And who’s this little bouncing goat?" he asked, not even trying to hide the disdain in his tone.

"Park Jimin," Taehoo clarified. "Head of Psychology. I mentioned him before, remember? And do try not to be reckless, thank you very much, Yoongi."

The curious glint in Jungkook’s eyes instantly fixed on Taehoo after those words. 'I mentioned him before'? Why had he talked about Jimin with Yoongi? What had the two sergeants said about him?

"I’ll ignore the ‘little bouncing goat’ thing for the sake of peace," Jimin replied lightly, though irony dripped from his words.

Yoongi stared boldly, tilting his head.

"A psychologist, huh?" he repeated mockingly. "I was just thinking of sending Kang in for a stress session. But honestly, I’d say what he really needs to release is tension… with an omega." His smirk turned brazen as he leaned a little closer to Jimin. "Can you help him with that as part of the treatment? You’re cute."

What part of don’t be reckless didn’t Yoongi understand? Taehoo felt his blood boil, ready to snap at him, but Jimin was quicker, stepping forward with a smile that never reached his eyes.

"Tell me something, Sergeant Min…" he began softly, leaning toward him just slightly. "Do you enjoy your job?"

"Of course I do," Yoongi answered confidently, almost amused.

"Then I’d advise you to shut your fucking mouth before I file a complaint with HR," Jimin shot back. "And trust me, Sergeant, I’d make sure they kicked you out on your ass."

The man blinked, dumbfounded, unable to believe that the small omega had confronted him like that. His eyes darted immediately to Taehoo, seeking backup, expecting him to step in and scold the psychologist. But Taehoo didn’t move in his favor—if anything, he looked at him sternly and shook his head.

"Learn not to be a dumb alpha, Min Yoongi," he said sharply. "I’ve saved you from being kicked out more than once, but this time I won’t even bother trying to help, because I’m siding with Jimin."

Jimin smiled in satisfaction, crossing his arms with a victorious air. Meanwhile, Jungkook was struggling to hold back his laughter. He had never seen anyone shut an alpha down like that, let alone an alpha of Yoongi’s caliber—an omega had completely dominated him.

But Jungkook’s gaze kept drifting to Taehoo. That morning, he had admitted to himself that he was attracted to him, and now he couldn’t stop noticing how handsome and magnetic he was overall. Strangely, admitting it had given him a little more confidence, easing the panic of the unknown. Now he knew what it was, and he wanted to do something about it.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, crossed his arms, and raised a brow.

"Fine, sorry," he muttered half-heartedly with a shrug. "Still, it’s weird—you two are basically brothers-in-law to each other’s brothers."

"Not this stupidity again." Taehoo rolled his eyes, letting his arms drop to his sides in exasperation. "Gyumin has told you like a thousand times that it’s not like that."

Jimin’s expression shifted from curious to instantly confused. He frowned slightly, leaning in.

"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously, glancing first at Yoongi and then at Taehoo, waiting for a coherent explanation.

"Don’t mind him, Jimin. Min’s convinced that your brother Jihoon and Gyumin have some kind of… I don’t know, romance or something."

"That’s old news," Jimin cut in immediately, waving a hand dismissively with a disbelieving laugh. "Jihoon and Gyumin have been friends all their lives, period. And besides, Jihoon isn’t into omegas."

Hearing that, Taehoo’s eyes widened, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach.

"What did you just say?" he asked, a hint of fear in his voice. Panic surged inside him. Did Jimin and Jihoon know? Did they know Gyumin was really an omega? Had his brother been so reckless as to confess it without consulting him?

"That Jihoon’s a Solenic," Jimin repeated casually. Taehoo appeared calm, but every fiber of his body screamed danger.

He couldn’t contain himself—Yoongi, of course, didn’t miss the chance to gloat. He burst into loud laughter, leaning forward and smacking Taehoo’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Told you! Fuck, I told you!" he cackled, still pointing at him. "There’s definitely something going on between them! You see? I’m a fucking genius."

"What’s going on?" Jimin asked, glancing between the two of them.

Yoongi didn’t hesitate to twist the knife.

"What’s going on," the alpha said with a shameless grin, "is that they’ve been lying straight to your face. Gyumin’s not an omega, Park. Gyumin’s an alpha."

The shout tore out of the psychologist’s throat almost violently.

"What?!"

"Clearly your little brother lied to you," Yoongi continued cruelly, savoring the drama. "Probably so they’d let Gyumin stay at your house without suspicion, or so he could sneak out with him and do dirty shit."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake! That lying, manipulative omega—how did I not see it before?!" Jimin snarled, running a hand through his hair. "When I get home, I’m going to have a talk with him. That’s it. No more trust!"

Taehoo had been silent the entire time, his shoulders wound tight like a bowstring about to snap. But gradually, he began to relax as realization settled in. They hadn’t uncovered the truth. His secret was still safe. The relief was so overwhelming that for a moment he nearly lost track of the conversation. Jungkook noticed and found it oddly intriguing.

Jimin, on the other hand, was boiling with rage.

"That brother of mine is going to pay for this," he muttered to the air, staring at nothing. "He owes me an explanation, and then I’m telling my moms."

"Hold on… how old are your brothers?" Jungkook interjected.

"They were both born in 2001," Taehoo answered, meeting his gaze. Jungkook felt a jolt of excitement just from being addressed directly. "Gyumin is twenty-four, Jihoon twenty-three."

Jungkook nodded slowly, surprised. He hadn’t expected them to be that old—he’d pictured teenagers.

"So they’re adults already," he said. "For a moment, I thought you were talking about minors."

"Age isn’t the issue, Kook," Jimin shot back tensely. "Jihoon has been lying to us since he was fifteen about Gyumin’s rank. Since they both took their first range exams at fifteen. They studied together in school, got into the same university, and all this time I was sure my brother’s best friend was an omega. Do you realize what that means? It’s a lie that’s lasted almost a decade. That’s why I’m pissed. I used to walk around the house in my underwear when he was there! One time, my heat hit me out of nowhere—I had to rush home, and they were watching movies in my living room. I managed to kick them out, but I was leaking pheromones like hell… and he was an alpha! Do you know how bad it could have been if he had reacted?"

"Relax, man. Look at Taehoo, he’s calm," Yoongi said, gesturing toward the sergeant with his chin. "It’s not that serious. Let the kids be kids."

Jimin glared at him, outraged, then jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Of course he’s calm! His brother’s the alpha, Yoongi. Mine’s the omega. Do you know what that means? Jihoon is the one who could get pregnant. He’s in residency, for fuck’s sake. He hasn’t even declared a specialty yet, and a pregnancy could ruin his entire career."

In silence, Jungkook glanced sideways at Taehoo, noticing the way the sergeant’s jaw clenched for a few seconds before he responded.

"I taught him sexual responsibility well," Taehoo said firmly. "I’m sure he’s careful, so don’t worry."

"Yeah, right, and accidents still happen—especially if they’ve gone through heats together," Jimin scoffed with a laugh full of sarcasm. "Ask the doctor here about the numbers."

"Well, during heat, the probability of pregnancy in an omega shoots up to nearly 100% without a barrier method like a condom. Even things like the morning-after pill drop to around 50% effectiveness. And condoms—regular ones—don’t do much either, maybe 60%, because with the bursts of strength they often tear. That’s why it’s always recommended to use condoms specifically made for heats, and…" Jungkook began rattling off quickly but stopped when Taehoo raised a hand to silence him.

"Jimin, then I raised him well enough to take responsibility if the omega in question decides to keep it. And if not, Gyumin will support him every step of the way. I raised a good alpha."

In his thoughts, though, he almost laughed. Because there was absolutely no chance of that happening. Gyumin was an omega, and he knew well that he wasn’t into other omegas. And even if they had gone through a heat together—which he doubted with every fiber of his being, since it would’ve been impossible to hide that he was an omega—the chances of pregnancy between two omegas were practically nonexistent.

Besides being certain that his brother wasn’t into Jihoon, Taehoo knew his Gyumin didn’t lie.

Jimin let out a long sigh, allowing some of the tension to dissipate.

"Fine… fuck, I know. Gyumin is a good kid, I’ve known him for years and I know he wouldn’t be that kind of… of alpha who abandons an omega," he conceded, lowering his tone just a bit. "But either way, he deserves a proper scolding. And not just Jihoon, Gyumin too. They both lied, and they’ll have a very serious talk with me. If they’re dating, I want to know."

"They’re not, I swear they’re just best friends." Taehoo smiled, and when Jungkook saw it, he felt warm inside. He liked his smile—it was unique.

"You knew this whole time they were alpha and omega?" Jimin tilted his head, and Taehoo nodded sincerely. "Why didn’t you ever say anything?"

"How was I supposed to know they lied to you?"

"Now I’m mad again."

"Well, fine… maybe I did accuse Gyumin several times of being with Jihoon, I said it making a scene, but it was a joke, let them be," he added with a mocking tone. "Park, remember we were all in our twenties once. Don’t be so hysterical."

Taehoo turned his face toward him, exasperated because he didn’t want Jimin to get angrier.

"Don’t you have a training to run, Min?"

"Ah, right, that. Yes, I do, and you’re supposed to supervise, so we better both get going."

"Ugh, fine."

At that moment, Jungkook felt an impulse course through his body. He was about to open his mouth to ask if he could go with them. He had three perfectly justifiable reasons in his head: he wanted to observe the Special Forces training; he wanted to test if there was any chance of participating, even if only in a simulated way; and, of course, he wanted to spend more time next to Taehoo, to try and figure out what to do with these feelings that were growing inside him.

But before he could say a word, Jimin stepped forward.

"Taehoo, can I talk to you for a moment before you leave?" he asked, using a softer tone compared to how angry he’d been before.

Jungkook noticed how Jimin, just for a second, looked at him before turning back to the sergeant. The doctor pressed his lips together, watching as Jimin brushed a lock of hair back. Taehoo first looked at Yoongi, weighing the situation, before answering.

"Of course," he finally said, turning his eyes to Jimin. "If it’s about your brother—"

"We’ll talk about that later," Jimin cut him off. "This is about something else. Something more… personal."

Jungkook’s brow furrowed immediately. He felt a knot form in his throat. Personal? What did Jimin want from Taehoo? His mind filled with uncomfortable possibilities.

Yoongi raised both hands in an exaggerated cheer.

"That’s it, that’s it!" he encouraged with a crooked grin. "Go on, go ahead. I’ll run the training and then catch you up when you get there, Kang."

The sergeant gave him a thumbs up, which earned Yoongi a sharp look from Taehoo, though with Jimin he kept the formal tone.

"Very well, let’s go then," he replied respectfully, inclining his head slightly toward the psychologist. Then he turned to Yoongi and Jungkook. "Sergeant Min. Doctor Jeon."

The tone was brief but correct. Jungkook felt his tongue heavy when returning the greeting.

"Ah, yes… yes, of course. Have a good day, sergeant," he stammered.

In contrast, Jimin said goodbye with a cheerful smile, lifting his hand and waving.

"Bye, see you later."

And just like that, the two of them began walking side by side toward the end of the hallway, leaving behind Yoongi and a Jungkook whose chest tightened with every step he watched them take together.

The older one let out a long, almost theatrical sigh before speaking.

"I hope that stiff idiot drops the bullshit and makes a move," he muttered.

Jungkook turned to him with an incredulous expression, but Sergeant Min continued without giving him a chance to respond, his eyes shamelessly trailing after Jimin’s body in the distance.

"Look at him properly." He tilted his head, letting his gaze roam once more over the omega’s figure. "He’s a very cute omega. If I weren’t in love with someone else, believe me, I’d do something about it. Kang’s lucky."

The comment tied a knot in Jungkook’s throat. He cleared it uncomfortably and lowered his gaze to his boots before mustering the courage to ask.

"Does Sergeant Kang… like Jimin?"

Yoongi arched his brows and shook his head without much weight.

"I’ve never heard him say that. And the fact that I didn’t even know Park existed until a few days ago says a lot, so obviously not. But you don’t need feelings to fuck, right?" he finished with raw bluntness. "Though I’ll tell you, Kang is really reserved, too much, and that alpha needs an omega already."

The word omega stabbed into Jungkook’s stomach, a reminder that clearly, both of them were alphas. The right thing was to be with an omega, or even a beta—especially a female beta, for successful reproduction. He wanted to argue, but stayed quiet. Jungkook realized his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

"Hey, what do you say? Want to come to the training?" Yoongi asked in a lighter tone. "Wouldn’t be bad to have a doctor present. I plan on making those idiots suffer, and you know how it goes, there’s always one who twists an ankle or faints."

Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, and for a moment he thought this was the perfect chance to be close, to see how they trained and maybe blend into that world, even a little. But the surprise came when he heard his own voice say something different.

"I appreciate the offer, really… but no. I have… I have other things to do."

He didn’t know what other things, or why he had answered like that. It was as if his body had spoken faster than his mind.

"As you wish." Yoongi shrugged and started walking in the opposite direction, toward the training grounds. "See you, doc."

The doctor watched him go, feeling a strange weight in his chest. Then, almost without thinking, he turned on his heel and began walking in the same direction Jimin and Taehoo had gone.

He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to achieve. Maybe he wanted to know what they’d talk about, or to see why Jimin had suddenly shifted his attitude. Or maybe… he just wanted to stay close to Taehoo, even if he had no excuse to.

That would be a problem for future Jungkook… the very immediate future, literally in about five minutes.

Chapter Text

Monday, April 15, 2025.

Jungkook couldn’t hear a single thing. From where he was standing, he could barely see through the small gap between the poorly closed curtains of Sergeant Kang’s office. He had stopped by the side window, half-hidden behind the bushes along the corridor—completely out of place—but at that moment, he didn’t care if anyone caught him spying.

His attention was entirely fixed on the room inside, where Jimin and Taehoo were.

The omega had decided to sit on the sergeant’s desk, one leg crossed over the other, looking perfectly relaxed and comfortable—as if he were lounging on his couch at home, not perched on an alpha’s office table. He wore that smile—the one Jungkook already knew too well—the one he used whenever he was manipulating a conversation or trying to tempt someone.

Taehoo, on the other hand, stood a few steps away with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t seem uncomfortable, not really, but he also didn’t look like he was talking much.

Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. Not a word. He could only see Jimin’s lips moving, and Taehoo’s short responses that seemed to be just a sentence or two. If only he could get a little closer… but he knew he’d be caught if he tried.

What were they talking about? Why was Jimin being so friendly with him? Since when were they that close? Sure, they probably knew each other for years because of their brothers, but that didn’t mean they were actually close. In all the time Jungkook had spent around Jimin, the omega had never spoken of Taehoo as a friend—if his name ever came up, Jimin spoke of him with distance and respect. Yet now, they looked oddly comfortable around each other.

Something about the way Jimin tilted his head while speaking, smiling shamelessly, bothered him more than it should have. What was worse—the sergeant didn’t tell him to get off his desk or to shut up. If anything, he was watching him too closely.

The air around the medic began to change. His inner wolf stirred—restless, agitated—and his scent started to sour. Every fiber of his body wanted to move, to barge into that office, but of course, he couldn’t. He didn’t even understand why the hell he felt such an irrational need over another alpha. If it were an omega, fine—that would make biological sense—but an alpha? That was different.

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress his scent as much as possible. Shit, he wasn’t some territorial pup, especially not over something that didn’t even make instinctive sense. His rational mind wasn’t doing him any good either. He was an alpha, and something in that scene clawed at his insides.

Inside the office, Taehoo’s face remained unreadable, though inwardly, he was just as confused about why Jimin had dragged him there. He knew the omega could be intrusive when he wanted to be, but he hadn’t expected this level of familiarity. Jimin looked perfectly at ease, glancing through the papers on his desk and spinning a pen between his fingers.

“I didn’t think you’d let me in,” Jimin said lightly, almost teasing. “Is your office always this neat?”

“Yes, it is. I like it that way,” the alpha replied, giving the room a quick glance.

“It must be hard to keep it that tidy when you work so much,” the omega smiled. “Though I guess you don’t like people touching your things.”

“That depends on who touches them,” he finally answered with a shrug.

Jimin smirked and leaned back, placing his hands behind him, arching his spine slightly. He was studying reactions, analyzing—it was his job, and he was good at it. Very good.

“Jimin,” the sergeant called, sighing afterward. “No offense, but I was supposed to go with Min to the stealth training session. It’s my job to evaluate the corporals’ performance. You asked to talk, and here I am—so I’d appreciate it if you got to the point, because I’m running late and—”

“Taehoo, relax,” the black-haired man laughed. “Listen, I actually needed to talk to you about some work-related things…”

“You said it was something personal…” he tried to interrupt, but couldn’t.

“…But you look really stressed out from all your duties,” Jimin went on, completely ignoring him. “Just a reminder—I’m a psychologist. I can read you. You need a break.”

“I don’t have time for that.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Jimin pressed his lips together. “Tell you what—I’ll do you a favor. I’ll postpone the professional talk, and you’ll take a few minutes for yourself. Let’s talk about something else, alright?”

“No, it’s not alright, I have wor—”

“Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not my doctor.”

“I am now, I claimed you,” Jimin grinned mischievously. “Come on, relax. Loosen up those massive muscles of yours.”

“Did you seriously come all the way here just to talk about nothing important?” Taehoo asked, tilting his head.

“Well, not exactly just to talk,” he said with a casual tone. “I was curious. It’s been a while since we’ve met in a calm setting. We usually talk about work at work, and I thought it’d be nice to maybe talk more. For our brothers’ sake, of course. If we talked more, I would’ve realized that ridiculous lie those idiots told me ages ago.”

“I don’t usually have calm settings,” Taehoo replied.

“Yeah, I know that. You’re like a machine, Taehoo,” Jimin said warmly. “Always busy, always supervising, always carrying more than your share. Don’t you ever get tired? Oh wait, that’s a dumb question—I know you do, that’s why I’m trying to give you a few minutes of a pressure-free conversation.”

Taehoo lowered his gaze to the floor, thoughtful for a moment.

“Fatigue is part of the job. If you don’t accept it, you don’t survive,” he said simply.

“Of course,” Jimin replied, leaning forward slightly and swinging his legs. “But I don’t just mean physical exhaustion. I mean… don’t you ever get tired of not having personal space? You know—resting, going out with friends, spending time with your brother, dating…”

“Dating?” Taehoo raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, dating,” Jimin repeated lightly, shrugging. “I mean, you’re an attractive alpha—disciplined, educated, financially stable. Don’t tell me there isn’t anyone trying to get close to you. There aren’t many like you left.”

The sergeant let out a slow sigh. His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes reflected mild discomfort.

“I don’t have time for that,” he said again—it seemed to be something he repeated often—then glanced back down at the floor. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I think that happens a lot with people of your rank,” Jimin continued thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. “You focus so much on your responsibilities that you forget you also have a life. Relationships, friends, partners…”

There it was—the key word. Partner.

“I don’t have a partner,” Taehoo cut in, and Jimin had to hold back a smirk. His instinct screamed, there’s an opening there.

“Never had one, or just not now?” he asked curiously, without sounding intrusive.

“Never.”

The honesty in the answer caught him off guard. He said it like it was just another simple fact. But to have never been in a relationship at… what was it, thirty-three? Jimin thought that was rather unusual.

“Ah…” Jimin looked down at the desk, playing with the pen he had picked up earlier. “That explains a few things.”

“What things?” Taehoo asked, barely frowning.

“Nothing bad,” Jimin raised both hands innocently. “It’s just that you’re very reserved, that’s all. Most alphas I know can’t go five minutes without trying to get the attention of an omega—but you seem… calmer.”

“I’m not interested in that kind of thing,” the alpha scoffed.

“In general?” Jimin tilted his head. “Or just not when it comes from omegas?”

Taehoo watched him with an unreadable expression. For several seconds, he didn’t respond. Jimin managed to catch something—just a faint flicker in his expression: doubt.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he finally said. “I guess I never really focused on that.”

That confirms it, Jimin thought, spinning the pen between his fingers with satisfaction. Taehoo truly didn’t know what attracted him—not because he was indifferent, but because he had never allowed himself to feel it. And that was valuable information for a certain alpha.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “Though I have to say, I’m surprised. I’d say you’re the kind of person who inspires trust. I wouldn’t be shocked if more than one person has tried asking you out.”

“Some have tried,” the sergeant sighed. “But I didn’t accept.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone,” he answered in the same calm tone.

“Not even out of curiosity?” the omega insisted. “Sometimes it’s not about commitment, just about connection and company.”

“I don’t think I have much to offer.”

Jimin watched him in silence for a few seconds, reading between the lines. It didn’t sound like modesty—it was more of a deeply rooted belief. There was sadness in those words, even if Taehoo didn’t realize it.

“That’s not true,” Jimin said softly. “But fine, I won’t psychoanalyze you in your own office, don’t worry. Just keep in mind that everyone needs bonds, not only professional ones. I mean, even the toughest alphas end up needing someone to talk to—someone to share more than just training with.” Jimin tilted his head, studying his reaction. “Haven’t you ever felt... lonely? Not even once?”

Taehoo thought for a moment before replying.

“Not really. I learned not to depend on others. And I have my brother—that’s enough for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Jimin said curiously, giving the desk a light tap. “But Gyumin doesn’t count—he’s your brother, and I’m not talking about family. I mean someone who sees you differently.”

The sergeant didn’t respond right away. The word differently seemed to echo inside him. He stayed motionless, eyes fixed on the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower.

“I don’t know if anyone could see me differently. I’m not interested in projecting anything onto others.” The sergeant lifted his gaze and gave him a wry look. “You said you wouldn’t psychoanalyze me, remember? Enough.”

“Right, right, I’ll stop,” the black-haired man laughed, and Taehoo exhaled lightly, almost relieved. Jimin allowed himself a small change of topic; he needed to steer the conversation toward something else that interested him without raising suspicion. “By the way, I’ve heard good things about the new military doctor, Jeon Jungkook. What do you think?”

Taehoo looked at him closely.

“Well, you’d know more about that than I do since you work with him. I don’t know him much. We’ve spoken about basic things, only what’s necessary. I think the longest conversation we had was when he ran my medical exams.”

“Oh, so that’s what he did. That was Friday, wasn’t it?” Jimin asked with interest.

“That’s right. And to be honest... I don’t have the best impression of him. He seemed a bit clumsy to me.”

The omega smiled. Inside his head, he was connecting the puzzle pieces like a madman. If he had seen Jungkook on Thursday acting normal, and by Saturday the kid had been in clear internal crisis, something must have happened on Friday. And now Jimin was sure—that was it. Jungkook had examined Taehoo and, apparently, had been nervous as hell. That explained why Jungkook said he had made a fool of himself and that his crush probably thought he was useless.

He had to help Jungkook, because Taehoo definitely had the wrong impression of him.

“Maybe he was nervous since it was one of his first important tasks. It was his first week on duty—it’s completely normal to feel anxious,” Jimin began. “But let me tell you, Jungkook’s actually really good at what he does. Very professional—one of the best doctors I’ve ever seen. His control under pressure in emergencies is amazing; he always makes the best calls.”

“I can’t really say,” Taehoo replied with a shrug.

Jimin frowned slightly when he noticed the sergeant looking away. He tried again from another angle.

“He’s actually a pretty attentive alpha beneath all that muscle and ink.”

“Oh, really?” Taehoo raised both eyebrows. “I’d say the opposite—he looks careless to me.”

“I mean, he’s attentive in the sense that he’s meticulous. He’s really good with patients,” the omega insisted. “He has this energy that puts people at ease. You’d like him if you got to know him better. Why don’t you give him a chance to be part of your circle? I think you two have several things in common. You’d get along well—and honestly, you both could use more people to rely on.”

“In what way could he and I possibly be similar?” Taehoo asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Well... aside from the obvious—that you’re both alphas—and that neither of you is one of those typical idiots trying to act territorial or one-up another alpha…”

“He doesn’t seem that way? He looks like the type.”

“No, he’s actually quite assertive. He doesn’t have that fragile masculinity thing going on. He gets along easily with other alphas like you.”

The sergeant nodded slowly.

“Good to know he’s not a brute, then.”

“He’s also passionate. Like, a lot. When he wants something, he really commits,” Jimin explained. “He’s genuinely passionate about everything related to the military. I know he would’ve loved to serve under your command, but... something happened, I’m not sure what, and he had to settle for serving here through his profession.”

“And you know this because...? You’ve barely known him for what—what, a week or two?” Taehoo asked with a hint of amusement.

“I’m just very good at my job,” Jimin replied innocently, and Taehoo let out a quiet laugh at his confidence.

“So why are we even talking about Dr. Jeon during my supposed ‘personal time’ that you suddenly prescribed out of nowhere?”

“It was just a topic. It didn’t bother or make you uncomfortable, did it?” Jimin laughed.

Taehoo seemed to think about it for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not really. I just find it odd.”

The subject seemed closed, but at least Jimin had gotten all the information he needed.

Sergeant Kang Taehoo: single, no romantic experience, probably a virgin, with no defined orientation—but a mind too structured to have ever explored that kind of thing. And most importantly, he hadn’t shown any hint of discomfort when talking about another alpha. That small neutrality was a powerful clue.

Taehoo lifted his eyes to the clock hanging above the wall, right above an old frame of the Division’s insignia. He had lost track of time talking with Jimin, so he looked at him and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “But I really have to go. Sergeant Min is already training the corporals, and I don’t want to miss their suffering for too long.”

Jimin chuckled softly, hopping down from the desk with ease.

“That was a good talk,” he commented, walking beside him toward the door. “And my condolences for having to deal with Min.”

Taehoo gave the faintest hint of a smile—one of those rare, fleeting but genuine ones.

“I’m used to it,” he replied calmly, almost resigned. “But still, let me apologize for him. He’s a foolish alpha—sometimes he doesn’t think before he speaks.”

“Don’t apologize for him,” Jimin replied with a grin. “But I appreciate the gesture. It’s rare to find good alphas like you, for instance.”

The alpha let out a low laugh. It was unusual to see him that relaxed, but Jimin had that strange ability to make people open up—like he said, he was a good psychologist. When they reached the door, the sergeant turned the knob, and just as he opened it, he found himself face-to-face with Jungkook, who was walking down the hall with an apparently casual pace.

The movement was so sudden that both of them froze, staring at each other for a few seconds. Jungkook had both hands on his military medical uniform, and his breathing seemed slightly uneven.

“Ah, Jungkook,” Jimin called out immediately, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. “I thought you’d already left since your shift ended a while ago. You, Seokjin and I were actually on our way out before we ran into the sergeants.”

“Yes… no, I mean, yes but no,” he stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “There were a few things I wanted to finish before leaving. I wanted to check on some recovering patients. Nothing serious. I still have energy.”

Jimin gave him a once-over, perfectly aware of the truth, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. Taehoo, on the other hand, remained calm and neutral-faced, only turning his head slightly toward Jimin, unaware of the subtext floating between them.

The doctor tried to focus on Jimin, but every two or three seconds, his gaze inevitably drifted back to Taehoo. Though he tried to keep his composure, his body wasn’t cooperating—his fingers trembled slightly, his temperature rose, and above all, there was his scent.

The air grew thick with a stronger smell of cedarwood mixed with a sweet hint of adrenaline and nerves. Taehoo noticed immediately—his sense of smell was too trained not to catch even the smallest change. That scent wasn’t just spreading; it was trying to dominate the space, pushing against the sweet, floral, and citrus aroma of Jimin’s orange blossom.

The sergeant frowned slightly. He didn’t fully understand, but he could feel a certain tension in the air. Why was his scent so strong? Was he marking territory? Trying to scent Jimin or something? He tried to find a logical explanation and figured maybe the alpha had some sort of interest in Jimin. That would explain everything.

Alphas are idiots, Taehoo thought, shaking his head softly. Either way, it wasn’t his problem, he didn’t care at all.

Jimin, however, understood the situation perfectly with just one look at the intensity in Jungkook’s eyes toward Taehoo—and at the same time, at the sergeant’s calm demeanor, completely unaware of what was going on. It was a fascinating, almost entertaining scene.

Taehoo turned slightly toward Jimin and made a polite gesture with his hand, subtly indicating that he should go first. The omega did, while the sergeant made sure to turn off the lights inside. As soon as he crossed the threshold, Taehoo spun on his heels, closed the door, and turned the key, locking it before tucking it into the inner pocket of his military jacket.

“Excuse me, both of you,” he said in his firm tone. “I have to head to Sergeant Min’s training. I don’t want to interrupt any further.”

With that, he tilted his beret slightly in a courteous farewell. He turned around with the intention of leaving and had only taken a few steps down the hallway when a voice stopped him.

“Sergeant Kang!”

He halted and turned his head slightly, confused. Jungkook stood a few meters behind, his hands trembling a little and his heart pounding against his chest. He had used every bit of courage to say those words, and now he didn’t know what to do with the alpha’s expectant gaze fixed on him.

“Yes, Doctor Jeon?” Taehoo asked, one brow raised.

“I…” he started after swallowing hard, trying to sound casual. “I wanted to ask if… if I could go with you to the training,” he said, stumbling over the words, and Taehoo looked at him, not understanding. Jungkook rushed to justify his request, gesturing nervously with one hand. “I’m free now, and I thought it’d be useful to have a doctor present in case of any accidents. You know, cuts, sprains, dehydration… anything.”

Taehoo looked him up and down, evaluating the doctor’s physical state. From what he’d heard, his shift had already ended, so logically, he should be longing to collapse on his bed and sleep for hours.

“Aren’t you too tired?” the sergeant asked in a low tone, and Jungkook immediately shook his head.

“No, no. I’m fine, I still have energy,” he said with disarming innocence. There was a clumsy enthusiasm in him that caught Taehoo off guard.

Jimin crossed his arms and smiled faintly. He could read both their body languages better than anyone, and he could perfectly guess that Taehoo was seconds away from rejecting the proposal. Before he could, Jimin intervened.

“It’s not a bad idea, Sergeant,” Jimin said respectfully. “Stealth training tends to be demanding, and having a doctor observing for precaution’s sake is never a bad thing. Besides, the presence of a superior from the medical division might help the soldiers maintain discipline.”

Taehoo looked at him, considering the argument. It was reasonable. When Jungkook nodded eagerly to support the idea, his eyes shone with a touch of hope, and Taehoo sighed in resignation.

“Alright,” he said simply. “If you want to come with me, I don’t see a problem.”

Jungkook blinked, surprised by the affirmative response. He froze, processing that yes—he’d actually said yes. The rush of excitement hit him so fast he couldn’t even move. He just stood there with that dumb, nervous expression plastered on his face. Taehoo, already turned to continue walking, stopped after two steps when he realized the other wasn’t following.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you planning to move?” The sergeant’s dry, rough voice snapped him out of his trance. Jungkook jumped, pressed his lips together, and almost tripped as he took his first step.

“Ah, yes! I’m— I’m coming right away,” he hurried out, walking beside him and trying to match his pace.

Before turning at the end of the hallway, Jungkook turned around for a brief second to glance at Jimin, who was still standing where he’d left him. He gave a small, respectful bow—tinged with shyness—before walking away. Jimin’s face remained completely neutral.

Because, of course, psychologists don’t react. They don’t show surprise at foolish confessions or at decisions that are actually worth something. They have to look composed—and Jimin was good at that. But as soon as Jungkook disappeared down the hall with Taehoo, Jimin let out a silent laugh, pressing a hand to his chest. Poor thing. He’s doomed.

. . . . . . . ╰╮˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗╭╯. . . . . . .

Walking beside Taehoo looked perfectly normal to anyone watching them walk through the concrete corridor connecting the base buildings. Both looked calm, impeccable in their uniforms, moving in sync with shoulders aligned. No one would ever imagine that inside the doctor, an entire war was raging.

Jungkook was so focused on keeping up with the pace and not tripping or bumping into the sergeant. He was about to explode at any moment.

One, two… one, two… don’t fall, don’t slip, don’t breathe weird, don’t stare at him too much. One, two… one, two… one, two… walk properly.

Meanwhile, Taehoo walked straight and composed, completely unbothered. He definitely didn’t feel the need to overthink every single move. He didn’t even spare a glance at Jungkook. And somehow, that frustrated him even more.

Chapter Text

Friday, April 19th, 2025.

At the military hospital of Baekho Citadel, even at such a late hour, no one slept if they were part of the medical team. On the stretcher beneath the harsh white lights descending from the ceiling lay a man—unconscious and motionless—his body covered with surgical drapes that barely revealed the areas of intervention. His breathing depended entirely on the machine to which he was connected.

The man seemed to be around thirty years old, probably an alpha judging by his height and the faint trace of pheromones on his skin. The accident had been severe—he had crashed head-on into a concrete barrier on the highway that connected the citadel to the nearest city.

When he arrived at the ER about six hours earlier, his face had been unrecognizable. The left frontal region of his skull was sunken in. His forehead bulged in some areas and caved in others, the clear result of a comminuted fracture. The subdural hemorrhage—a buildup of blood between the brain and its membrane—had been slowly increasing intracranial pressure, and the skin around his left eye had already turned a dark violet hue from the spreading hematoma.

He also had a deep laceration running from the corner of his mouth to the edge of his chin. His neck was immobilized with a cervical collar, and an extensive contusion on his right shoulder suggested a blunt impact.

Fortunately, during the six-hour surgery so far, Jungkook had managed to repair most of the damage alongside his resident. Now came the 'easy part', so to speak, for a trauma surgeon, so he had sent the beta, Lee Hyunseo, to assist in the ER while he finished up.

However, the faint, irregular beeping of the heart monitor was a constant reminder that the alpha was still fighting to stay alive. Seokjin wasn’t done with his part yet—neurology always took several hours—so he asked a nurse to adjust his headlamp while he still had both hands inside the patient.

"Pressure one-oh-four over sixty-two," announced the anesthesiologist without taking his eyes off the monitor.

"Keep it stable, doctor," Seokjin ordered, his voice muffled by the mask.

He stood beside the patient, the man’s exposed brain glistening under the light. His dark-blue scrubs and white coat were covered by the standard fluid-resistant surgical gown. The headlamp illuminated his field of vision, projecting a circle of light across the cranial area. Only his eyes were visible above the mask, focused with intense precision.

"Hold the retractor right there, Park," he instructed firmly. "Not a millimeter of movement, understood?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim," replied Park Jihoon—the R2 resident—who obeyed instantly, adjusting the position of the retractor along the bony edge of the skull. The pressure had to be exact—not too much, or it would compress the brain tissue, but not too little, or the field would collapse.

Meanwhile, across from him, Jungkook worked on the patient’s facial area. The contrast between the two doctors was stark. Seokjin was the meticulous, deliberate type of surgeon. Jungkook, on the other hand, was instinctive and fast—a trauma guy through and through. Determined, agile, efficient.

"Hold the suction there," Jungkook instructed the scrub nurse, who nodded silently and adjusted the aspirator’s angle. Jungkook looked up briefly, scanning the patient’s face. "No abnormal pupillary reflex."

"Thank God," Seokjin replied. "Do we have a name for our John Doe yet?" he asked without looking away from his field.

"Not yet, Dr. Kim," said the nurse stationed near the intercom, ready in case they needed to call out. "They’re checking the documents he had on him right now."

Seokjin exhaled quietly. "What a shame. I hate operating without knowing whose life I’m giving back."

"Sometimes it’s better not to know," Jungkook murmured, adjusting the jaw angle and tightening the fixation screws. "Keeps you from overthinking."

"Well, I don’t like it," Seokjin countered. "Nurse, call and request an update."

"Right away, I’ll check with reception to see if he’s been identified."

"Perfect. Let us know the moment you hear something," he said evenly. "This poor bastard got hit by life and concrete at the same time."

"With fractures like these, he’s lucky to have made it here alive," Jungkook muttered under his mask.

"If you call ‘lucky’ having half your face rebuilt with titanium, then sure," Seokjin replied dryly.

"I’ve seen worse," Jungkook said.

"Of course you have, Mr. I-can-handle-anything," the neurosurgeon remarked sarcastically. "You doing alright there, or should I call Dr. Ahn from Plastics to lend you a hand?" he added more sincerely this time, and Jungkook shook his head.

"I’m fine. Back in my residency, the head of Plastics and the head of Trauma fought over me."

"Oh, really?" Seokjin smiled beneath his mask. "Cocky much?"

"I’d say in demand," Jungkook replied, his tone teasing. The nurse handed him a sterile gauze pad, which he used to clean the wound’s edge before continuing.

Their movements never stopped for even a second. Seokjin was draining a hematoma, inserting the suction cannula beneath the dura mater to extract the accumulated blood. The suction chamber made a faint noise, and from time to time, the anesthesiologist adjusted the settings in silence.

"Saturation at ninety-four, doctor," the anesthesiologist reported.

Seokjin made a sound of approval and, without breaking his rhythm, continued. Jungkook picked up a bone clamp and checked the plate’s fixation.

"Plate’s stable. I’ll need reinforcement on the lateral zygomatic edge."

"Here, Dr. Jeon," the scrub nurse said, handing him a thinner one.

"Thanks." Jungkook slipped it between his fingers with practiced ease, aligning the edges of the reconstructed cheekbone.

The screwdriver vibrated lightly between his gloved fingers as he secured the micro-screws. Beside him, Seokjin suctioned blood from the bone margin and checked the consistency of the brain tissue.

"Pressure dropping to fifteen," the beta announced with satisfaction. "Park, hydrate with saline—I don’t want the brain drying out."

"Already on it, doctor," Jihoon replied, sprinkling the area with a syringe of saline solution.

The cold lights reflected off the metal instruments and the doctors’ visors, scattering flashes that shifted with every movement.

"Pass me another gauze," Seokjin said, and Jihoon promptly placed the white square into his palm.

Seokjin pressed gently on a small vein that had started to bleed, and without lifting his gaze, exhaled with a trace of exhaustion.

"I hate Fridays in the OR," he muttered, adjusting his headlamp for a better focus. "They always bring in the wrecked ones. Makes me want to vent with awkward conversations since I can’t go to a bar and drown my sorrows."

Jungkook arched an eyebrow, still focused on the titanium plate he was securing to the malar bone.

"Awkward conversations?" he asked absently.

"Yeah—the kind where an alpha sergeant tries to flirt with you while you’re checking his pupillary reflex," Seokjin replied casually.

"Are you talking about Sergeant Min?" Jungkook asked carefully, using forceps to hold the facial edge in alignment as he placed the next anchor screw.