Chapter 15

Yi-jae did not return the following day, nor the day after that. Jinseong woke at dawn, read for ten hours straight, and watched television until his eyes burned. He wondered where the Alpha had gone, but never asked; Jeongwoo’s scowl discouraged conversation. Gourmet meals arrived on schedule; the remainder of the day was his own. The routine felt less like freedom than being pampered livestock, and the luxury grew more unsettling the longer it persisted without explanation. By the fourth day, he had devoured every book in the carton. With his mind unoccupied, memories of Gold Class rushed back to torment him. Then, the electronic lock chimed. Relief washed over him so quickly it burned with shame, accompanied by the paranoid suspicion that this calculated boredom was part of Yi-jae’s psychological design.

Just past noon, a cheerful voice called, “Hello there.” Yi-soo leaned around the doorway, smiling warmly. “I came to check on your foot. Oh, do you like sushi[1]?”

Yi-soo waved toward the corridor. “You two, bring the bags inside.” Jeongwoo and Sijin filed in carrying branded paper totes. Jinseong bowed politely, and Yi-soo’s smile widened.

“You’ve got some color back in your cheeks,” she noted.

“…” Noticing her gaze tracking his bare thighs, Jinseong flushed, taking a step back behind the counter. Receiving guests in an oversized shirt and boxer shorts felt humiliating, but he had no other clothes.

Yi-soo clicked her tongue in amusement. “Yi-jae really does have a delightfully sadistic sense of humor.” She crossed to the dining table. “Let’s eat first. Sit down, everyone.”

Jeongwoo and Sijin pulled out chairs immediately. Dressed in a relaxed V-neck, tailored trousers, and a leather jacket with her hair in a high ponytail, Yi-soo remained impossible to age.

“When did Yi-jae say he’d arrive?” she asked.

“Seven tonight. We’re meeting him directly at Wall Street,” Sijin answered. When Yi-soo began unpacking the containers, both guards rose to take over.

“We’ll handle that,” Sijin offered.

Yi-soo pointed firmly at their seats. “Sit.” The two hulking enforcers obeyed instantly. Jinseong found the dynamic unexpectedly comical.

“He’s early this time. Usually he stays buried for days before gracing us with his presence,” she remarked, glancing at Jinseong.

Jinseong missed the look entirely, his attention captured by the colorful array of nigiri and rolls. “Thank you. I’ll enjoy the food,” he murmured, separating his chopsticks and bowing before reaching for a piece. Mimicking the guards, he brushed the fish against the wasabi-spiked soy sauce and took a bite. He chewed slowly, his entire expression freezing in profound concentration.

“…”

“Delicious, isn’t it?” Yi-soo asked with an affectionate smile. “People queue for two hours around the block just to get a table at that restaurant.”

Jinseong barely heard her. He stared down at the glistening fish in sheer wonder. “So this is sushi…”

Yi-soo watched him with fond curiosity. “Jinseong. How tall are you?”

Jinseong paused, a piece of salmon gunkan halfway to his lips. “I’m not sure… maybe a hundred and seventy-seven centimeters?”

“Fucking runt. Little midget bastard,” Jeongwoo grumbled into his tea. Jinseong was hardly short, but Jeongwoo would seize any excuse to demean him.

“And your shoe size?” she pressed.

“Around two-seventy…” Jinseong answered cautiously, a sudden, cold terror piercing through his chest. He lowered his chopsticks to the plate. “Am I… being sold to somebody else?”

“What?” Yi-soo blinked, caught completely off-guard by the question. “No. Why on earth would you think that?”

“…Ah.” Jinseong’s rigid shoulders dropped instantly. A second later, his face smoothed into an emotionless mask, and he resumed eating in silence.

Yi-soo studied him through several beats of silence before turning her sharp eyes toward the guards. “Where exactly did Yi-jae pick this boy up?”

“The Gold Class manufacturing site,” Sijin replied, setting down his cup. “He claims he was an apprentice technician, but we never got much detail beyond that.”

“Weren’t you under orders to kill every technician there?”

Jinseong froze mid-chew, his cheeks full of rice.

Sijin cleared his throat awkwardly into his fist. “The boss made an exception.”

Yi-soo smiled, but her eyes held a razor-sharp appraisal. “An exception, is it? From that Baek Yi-jae?” She tapped her chopsticks against the porcelain. “Fascinating.”

After lunch, Yi-soo inspected the dressing on Jinseong’s foot. With deft, gentle fingers, she peeled away the medical tape and examined the laceration. The edges had closed cleanly under the surgical adhesive, the angry redness subsiding into healthy pink tissue. “That’s healing nicely,” she said, applying fresh antiseptic and a clean pressure pad. “No running, and keep it dry for another three days.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jinseong murmured.

“Now then,” Yi-soo said, dusting off her trousers as she stood up. “Let’s get you dressed like a proper human being. We have shopping to do.”

* * *

Inside an opulent private tailoring boutique in Gangnam[2], Yi-soo bypassed the reception desk and nodded to the head fitter. “Bring out suits that will flatter his frame.”

The first selection included tailored slacks. That alone was enough to send Jinseong hurrying into the dressing cabin. When he emerged, he stood as stiff as a mannequin while the tailor adjusted the drape of the shoulders and pinned the cuffs. Every professional touch made Jinseong glance nervously toward the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight against the unfamiliar scrutiny.

Yi-soo watched from a velvet sofa, thoroughly amused by his bewilderment. Flipping through an oversized lookbook, she appraised him with an expert eye. “Let’s see the others,” she commanded, having him cycle through three different bespoke ensembles.

“They complement the gentleman’s proportions exquisitely,” the tailor praised smoothly. Though practiced salesmanship, the assessment was accurate; the clean lines flattered his lean physique, transforming the haggard captive into a striking young nobleman. Jinseong cared nothing for the aesthetics; he only cared that Yi-soo seemed pleased.

By the fourth fitting, Jinseong was visibly drained. He sat on an upholstered ottoman, nursing an iced tea while Yi-soo reviewed the swatches.

“Jinseong, let’s put you in the charcoal three-piece today.” The ensemble she selected was sleek, featuring a subtle silk sheen that felt far too extravagant for him.

He accepted it without protest, retreating into the cabin while she instructed the staff. “Package the remaining selections and deliver them to the penthouse.”

Waiting outside on the curb, Jeongwoo’s jaw slackened as Jinseong stepped out in crisp shirting and tailored wool, before his face hardened into an immediate scowl. “Fuck me. Put expensive cloth on a stray dog and it almost passes for human.”

Sijin planted an elbow firmly into Jeongwoo’s ribs, cutting him off before he could spit on the sidewalk.

Handcrafted leather oxfords came next, followed by an elite private salon where the creative director rushed forward the moment Yi-soo crossed the threshold.

“Oh, Madam, welcome!”

“Give him a proper cut, but keep some length.”

The excursion had wildly exceeded Jinseong’s expectations. To him, clothes had meant modest streetwear, not bespoke tailoring; a haircut had implied a neighborhood barbershop. He wanted to understand why they were investing such resources into him, but Yi-soo had promised he wasn’t being prepared for sale. For now, that thin reassurance was his only shield.

After his hair was washed, three stylists converged around his chair. Jinseong stared wide-eyed at the mirror, overwhelmed by the flurry of scissors and brushes.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have gorgeous bone structure,” the mustached director cooed, gently patting Jinseong’s crown with theatrical warmth. “And that jet-black hair against your pale skin? I’m not touching the color, all right?”

The sugary tone made Jinseong uneasy, and he could only nod stiffly. Floating beside the stylist’s head, rounded, rainbow-colored text pulsed gently:

[True Gay]

Every few minutes, the director paused to admire his work, sighing with theatrical delight. “Look at you, sweetheart. Just gorgeous.”

Yi-soo was relishing the transformation when her phone vibrated in her clutch. “Ah. It’s Yi-jae.” She stepped toward the private balcony to take the call.

Jinseong tracked her reflection in the glass before catching himself and lowering his gaze.

“Yes, he’s having a wonderful time!” Yi-soo laughed into the receiver. “I’m absolutely taking him out again. Everything’s new to him—he jumps every time he catches himself in a mirror. It’s adorable. Underwear? Of course. Six pairs. What was he wearing before? I had those rags incinerated on the spot. Why on earth did you leave him dressed like that?”

Her voice faded down the hall. Jinseong turned his gaze back to the mirror. Sijin and Jeongwoo sat behind him like stone gargoyles, their eyes scanning the exits, checking him, and scanning again. Yi-jae’s instructions were absolute; the two enforcers had even flanked him outside the restroom stalls. Jinseong closed his eyes to the rhythmic snip of shears.

“All finished, darling.”

He had drifted off. When he opened his eyes, his bangs had been styled cleanly away from his forehead, and the reflection staring back was unrecognizable. Jinseong knew the features were his own, yet they seemed to belong to an entirely different person.

“Here. Put the jacket on.” Yi-soo held the tailored blazer open and helped him slide his arms through the silk lining.

Whispering broke out among the junior stylists behind them. The attention was different from the disgust he had drawn in boxers and a hospital gown, yet no less suffocating. Jeongwoo scowled at the floorboards, while Sijin offered a measured nod of approval. Beaming with satisfaction, Yi-soo produced a sleek leather presentation case from her handbag.

“And this is a gift from Yi-jae.”

A man who had vanished for four days had sent him a gift. Inside rested a platinum luxury wristwatch, its heavy craftsmanship screaming exorbitant wealth. The monetary value meant nothing to Jinseong; he only searched the dial for the hidden trap behind it.

“Show this at Wall Street and security will let you through,” Yi-soo explained gently. “Don’t wander into any restricted areas without it, understand?”

Jinseong nodded, slipping the heavy timepiece onto his left wrist. Checking the date and time on the sapphire dial only drove home how many days had passed since he was torn away from Yeonjung.

“That’s enough shopping for one day,” Yi-soo declared with a bright smile. “Make Yi-jae buy you a proper dinner tonight.”

By the time the shopping, grooming, and late lunch concluded, night had fallen over the capital.

“Thank… you,” Jinseong whispered, bowing deeply at the curb.

“Don’t mention it. I had more fun than you did. I’ll see you soon,” she replied, turning toward her private sedan. After a few paces, she paused, pivoted on her heels, and walked straight back to him.

“Do you… need something else?” he asked, confused.

Yi-soo leaned in close to the curve of his neck without warning, and he stepped back half a pace on instinct. She drew a quick, sharp breath, testing the air around his collar. Jinseong’s discomfort flared, and Yi-soo straightened with the triumphant expression of someone whose theory had just been validated.

Smoothing his silk lapels, she lowered her voice to an intimate whisper. “Baek Yi-jae.”

“…”

“He likes kissing.” Jinseong’s chin dropped instantly, his face burning with sudden heat. Yi-soo offered a wicked, knowing smirk before turning away into the waiting car.

* * *

“Ugh… what are we eating tonight?” Jeongwoo stretched lazily across the passenger seat, yawning wide enough to crack his jaw.

“Seolleongtang,” Sijin answered from behind the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the congested boulevard ahead.

Jeongwoo dragged an irritated hand through his buzzcut. “You and your damn soup. Aren’t you sick of that peasant shit yet?”

“If you don’t like it, buy your own food.”

Jeongwoo glared at Sijin’s flat response, and for lack of a target, kicked backward toward Jinseong. His heavy boot slammed into the rear of the driver’s headrest instead.

“Hey! I’m driving here!” Sijin barked, swerving slightly before steadying the sedan.

“My foot slipped, my bad.”

While they bickered, Jinseong stared out the tinted glass at a monolithic tower sheathed in reflective obsidian glass. Wall Street—Nyx’s flagship legitimate casino and entertainment complex—blazed against the night sky, its multi-tiered entrance flooded with lights while its penthouse levels pierced the low clouds.

“I’ll be right back,” Sijin said, pulling smoothly into the private VIP drive.

Jeongwoo opened the rear door, remembered something, and reached inside his jacket. He pinned a small silver insignia badge to his lapel—a crest identical to the engraving on Jinseong’s watch face.

“Get out.”

The man heading the welcoming contingent was instantly recognizable—the massive, scarred enforcer from the factory raid. Young-joon had been acknowledging Jeongwoo’s greeting when his eyes snagged on Jinseong, cutting his sentence short.

The way his captors deferred to Young-joon told Jinseong where the man stood in the syndicate hierarchy. He bowed politely. Young-joon took a long drag from his cigarette, appraising the polished youth from head to toe through the drifting smoke. Beside the scarred temple, bold text pulsed:

[Loyal Dog]

Jinseong quietly averted his eyes, keeping his head low.

“You boys eat yet?” Young-joon grunted, tapping ash onto the asphalt as his sharp gaze swept across them.

“Not yet, sir,” Sijin answered respectfully from behind the wheel, keeping his hands politely clasped while Jeongwoo straightened beside him.

“Then follow me to Yeongsaenggak.”

“Yes, hyung-nim!” Jeongwoo bowed again, then planted a heavy hand against Jinseong’s spine, shoving him forward with deliberate force. “Whenever you see Young-joon-hyung-nim, you show some respect. Got it? Don’t make me tell you twice.”

* * *