SPW 17

Florian. Could I see you for a moment now?

Florian’s reply didn’t come until about an hour later.

It’s difficult right now, Sarang

A ten-minute gap passed before Sarang’s message was delivered.

Then when would be a good time to see you.

One minute later.

I’ll send a car, come in it.

The annoyance and insincerity could be felt even in the text. Sarang ignored the stinging pain and put on a jacket. He was wearing a matching sweatsuit and sneakers that a sports apparel company he had barely signed a contract with recently had given him as a gift.

The chauffeur, Dan, knocked on the door, and Sarang followed him to the parking garage.

“…”

Sarang hesitated after getting out in front of the Summers Viscounty before taking a step. Dan, who had dropped Sarang off as if he were tossing a newspaper onto the doorstep of the massive Victorian-style mansion, drove off alone and disappeared leisurely without even guiding him inside. Sarang, who had been left standing awkwardly in front of a fountain as ornate as the building itself, approached the entrance, where a man who had been watching him carefully blocked his path.

“An invitation is required for entry.”

The tone was polite, but the man was treating Sarang like a peddler, not an invited guest.

“Florian…”

Displeasure could be read from the man, whose eyebrows twitched. Everyone around Sarang—no, around Florian—was like that. If Sarang didn’t call Florian by his family name or official title, they acted offended, as if they themselves had been insulted. Even though Florian himself didn’t care at all.

It also meant that Florian was just as uninterested in Sarang, which hurt Sarang yet again. Wounds that Sarang himself didn’t even recognize were piling up inside him, layer by layer. As if they would soon tear through his chest and overflow.

Even though Sarang didn’t finish his sentence, the man, who recognized him quickly, cut him off.

“Please wait a moment.”

The man spoke simply and gestured to another man with his eyes. His intention to have someone watch Sarang carefully to make sure he didn’t cause any mischief in his absence was transparent. The man, who appeared to be one of the security guards, watched Sarang in place of the man who seemed to be the butler. A short while later, the butler stood before Sarang with a sour expression.

“The young duke says to let him in.”

As he spoke, his eyes slowly scanned Sarang from head to toe, his disdain for the other person glaringly obvious. It wasn’t the first time he had experienced this, so Sarang stepped in the direction the butler indicated. Only then did the butler notice Sarang’s sneakers and let out a sigh from behind him, loud enough for him to hear.

Sarang felt both shame and humiliation at the same time. If Florian or anyone else had told him the venue was a place like this, he would have dressed appropriately for the occasion. Rubbing his reddened ears, Sarang entered the mansion, which was decorated in a way that was both antique and modernly splendid.

“…”

Just then, the music was about to change. The gazes of the people in the banquet hall fell on Sarang, who had entered, breaking the brief moment of silence. For a moment, even Sarang couldn’t do anything about his face, which was flushing red. Florian, who was surrounded by people in the center of the hall, also deliberately turned to look at Sarang a beat later.

“…”

A gray sweatsuit, a single windbreaker issued by the club, and sneakers that had clearly been worn for a long time. The stranger with black hair and black eyes was left defenselessly exposed before the aristocrats, who were flaunting their wealth and power with all sorts of expensive clothes and accessories.

The murmurs of people talking behind his back reached Florian’s ears. There was no way Sarang hadn’t heard them either.

That Asian alpha.

The duke family’s nuisance.

A delinquent who’s precociously brazen for a minor.

A shameless and sassy little Asian kid.

An incomplete recessive entity with beta parents.

A young male prostitute who threw himself at Matthew Kaia.

A sexual deviant who’s serious about getting with anyone, regardless of whether they’re a beta or an omega.

Florian left Sarang standing alone amidst their malice, whispered loud enough to be heard on purpose, for a long time before setting down his glass. New music began to play as he excused himself from the people around him and crossed the hall. That short time must have felt like an eternity to Sarang.

Sarang, whose face and entire body must have turned red with shame, was struggling not to run away. Florian, who had deliberately abandoned Sarang in front of others who ignored and ridiculed him, did not quicken his pace.

☀️

Florian’s brow was deeply furrowed as he lifted his long eyelashes. Bailey, who had turned around to wake Florian, who had been catching some sleep during the drive, gave him a quizzical look.

“Florian, you fucking psycho bastard.”

Meeting Florian’s eyes, Bailey raised his eyebrows as if to ask if he had heard correctly. Florian shook his head slightly, as if to shake off the unpleasant feeling.

“Because of a shitty dream. Damn it.”

A dream he had forgotten about suddenly invaded Florian’s subconscious, as if demanding to be remembered. When he was in a coma, he had memorized and jotted down everything he could remember from the long dream that had dominated his subconscious, but he didn’t remember it every moment. Even in the dream, not every moment was shown.

Why did I act like that?

Whatever the reason, the fact remained that the Florian in the dream, who had unhesitatingly done such a thing to a mere seventeen-year-old child who had just lost his father and was in a period of upheaval in his life, was a bastard.

The banquet hall of the Summers Viscounty.

Shaking off the somehow unsettling feeling, Florian opened his mouth.

“Is this the Summers Viscounty?”

“Yes, boss. We’ve just entered the main gate.”

Even after entering the main gate, they had to drive for another five minutes before the ornate fountain came into view. Florian clicked his tongue softly upon spotting the fountain, which he had always thought was so overly extravagant that it looked rather vulgar.

What on earth is the identity of this dream?

Did I gain some kind of spiritual sight while I was laid up after being blown up?

Having such a ridiculous thought about the incomprehensible phenomenon, Florian’s blue eyes calmly settled. If it was an insignificant dream, he could ignore it. But if that dream was a warning about what was to come, then he just had to not act like a psycho bastard.

Lost in thought, Florian was, in fact, admitting it to himself. He was sure that if it weren’t for that dream, he would have treated Kim Sarang just as he had in the dream. He wouldn’t have given the Asian boy a second glance, nor would he have gone so far as to storm Matthew Kaia’s villa to get Kim Sarang out. Even when Matthew Kaia, having been one-upped by Florian, took his anger out on the boy by committing all sorts of cruel acts, he would have dismissed it as just another piece of disgusting information.

Then, when he needed him, when his pheromones became difficult to control, he would remember that his compatibility rate with Kim Sarang was 92% and seek him out belatedly. The recessive alpha with a 95% compatibility rate would have already died from a drug overdose by then. In the end, he would have forcibly taken Kim Sarang from Matthew Kaia and become a bastard who used him only as a heat partner, not even giving him the position of a lover, let alone a fiancé.

It wasn’t that Florian was particularly evil or had any specific malice. It was just that to Florian, Kim Sarang, a dominant alpha whose parents were betas and thus had a high probability of producing recessive offspring, was not even considered a candidate for a spouse in the first place. Like many other subgenders, Florian was nothing more than a typical subgender individual.

But this Florian didn’t act like a typical subgender individual towards Sarang. It was because he had already witnessed the death of Kim Sarang, who was only twenty-four, in his dream. In the dream, it was Florian who had driven Kim Sarang to the edge of the cliff. The Florian in the dream was not the Florian in reality. Nevertheless, the Florian in reality felt a sense of responsibility for the death of the Kim Sarang in the dream.

What was it that Sarang, who had endured the humiliation in the midst of the contempt and ridicule of the self-important aristocrats, had requested after finally facing Florian?

“Are you really not going to claim him? You’re not going to raise him and eat him up? I thought Asians weren’t your type?”

Florian, still trying to interpret the dream, had missed Harrison’s words but did not miss the vulgar question thrown as a last joke.

“Harry, let me be clear. It’s uncertain if your drug-addled brain will understand, but my mood right now isn’t pleasant enough to care about that.

“What…?”

Harrison, who had attended the same schools from kindergarten to university, naturally knew that Florian was not just the kind and gentle person he appeared to be. He knew how to be angry like a gentleman, but he also didn’t hesitate to act like an American-style brute when necessary. It seemed he was somewhere in between right now.

“Open your ears and listen carefully. I won’t say it twice. I am Sarang’s guardian, and over my dead body will I even let you get a matchmaking meeting with someone like you. No, I won’t even tolerate you drooling your filthy saliva and spouting dirty jokes like you are now. So Harry, shut up. Before I break your jaw.”

Florian, who had carefully planted each word into Harrison’s ear with an elegant and precise pronunciation, took his phone out of his pocket. It was a message from Sarang.

Hello, Florian. It’s Sarang. Can I see you now?