*looks down at a receipt*
Who ordered a Trash of the Count's Family fic with a side of depression?
--
Cale is very good with kids.
He doesn't seem like the type, initially. But he's genuinely good with them.
Calm, accommodating, and firm when he needs to be. A very stabilizing, comforting force.
Choi Han makes that observation one day, and Cale scoffs it off, insisting he's no better with children than anyone else.
As though the human hasn't managed to endear and sufficiently baby a severely abused dragon toddler into becoming the least selfish and most amicable of his species.
. . .
Sometimes, Cale gets a faraway look on his face. After all, staring into space is one of his favorite pastimes, as he says.
But On feels like it's different this time.
He sits at a desk, looking out the window, his left hand supporting his chin. His right one rests on his lap, thumb moving in absent circles.
It didn't happen as much before, but after Choi Han mentioned Cale being good with kids, Cale started daydreaming more often like this, with a far-off energy about him.
"...Cale?"
He turns to her.
"Hmm?"
A glimmer of red fades from his eyes.
She comes up with an excuse for having interrupted him. Something about a snack for the afternoon. It's clearly something she could've talked to Beacrox about, and both of them know it.
Both ignore it, and Cale accepts the interruption without question.
. . .
Upon realizing that Cale is actually a transmigrated Korean from his same world, there's another question on the tip of Choi Han's tongue.
He could just look through Cho Jungsoo's memories for it, but he'd rather ask. After all, it's a very personal thing, you know? And, well, he's already pretty sure he knows the answer...but it would be wrong to assume.
So he does eventually ask, when they have some time mostly alone. Of course, Raon is also there. But it's fine, since Raon knows their secret and is keeping it very well.
"Hmm?"
"Ah, if it's not too personal. I was wondering what your dynamic was before you became Cale."
"Dynamic? What's that?" Raon asks, eyes glittering with curiosity.
Of course, the word with its context didn't actually translate into the this world's language. There was no word for it here, in a place without secondary genders for the general populace.
Cale's neutral expression shifted into something a little humored.
A little...
"Omega."
"Omega? Mm. That makes sense," Choi Han nods.
And it does. In so many, various ways, it does. Perhaps someone else would've been surprised and insisted he would've been an alpha, but his levelheaded dominance and consideration reminded Choi Han most of the vague wisps of omega members of his family.
Since he told him what his dynamic had been, it's only fair that he tell him what his is.
"I'm—"
"An alpha. I know."
He blinks, surprised. Cale just taps his nose.
"Different world, different body, but it seems my nose carried over. Just a little."
"Ah."
Their world had been a cacophony of smells and nonverbal communication. To navigate it, the general person had heightened senses compared to the general person here, particularly their sense of smell. Differentiating your friend's happiness from a stranger's depression was very important, after all.
Finding your prospective mate in a crowd was also a very overplayed but evergreen romantic plot for day dramas.
The absence of that communication was just as torturous as a solitary confinement in a white padded room. For tens of years. Hundreds. Desperate for survival.
And the first people he sees, he reaches out to scent, for them to smell him, to understand him because he didn't have the words, only for them all to smell so...
Cale's hand held his shoulder. He didn't realize it he had started to shake.
"I can't talk that way anymore. But I know what you're saying."
Choi Han looked up at him. When had he looked down?
Their eyes met.
Cale's calm copper met his dark, swirling black.
"I hear you."
I can't speak back anymore, but I hear you.
"...Yes, Cale-nim."
A moment later, little claws land with some weight on his other shoulder.
"...Raon is great and mighty, you know. I am not one of these dynamics, but I can listen to Choi Han if you want to talk, too."
"Mm. Thank you, Raon," he replies, smiling.
Although they move on from the topic eventually as Raon starts asking what dynamics are, Choi Han still files the little look Cale had on his face away. He knows better now than to ignore those little tidbits when they appear.
Perhaps Cale feels lonely in his own way, too.
. . .
A little after recognizing that he does, indeed, still smell some pheromones (though to a lesser extent than before) he begins experimenting with what else carried forward from his previous body.
He thinks back to a book he'd read in Billos' café.
Title...
Chapter. Page. Line. Word.
Chapter. Page. Line. Word.
Chapter. Page. Line. Word.
Chapter. Page. Line. Word.
Chapter. Page. Line. Word—
...Hah.
So it did come with him after all. He'd been using it unconsciously, as naturally as he'd always been.
He's been recording without thinking much about it.
That then makes him wonder about the extent to what was brought over. After all, he was transmigrated. As an avid fantasy reader, he knew there were differences depending on the type.
He gazes in a mirror at his own eyes, the same dark copper red as in his previous body.
Did his brain come with him, or was it just a transference of souls? He would think his brain had to come to process and properly categorize the information that came from Record and to understand the hormonal data from pheromones. Or, perhaps any animal could do the latter if they knew what to smell for and had the capacity to do it.
He thinks of what the ancient powers said about plates. Did he bring his plate over from his world? Was his plate thin because he had no need for a thicker one in his environment? That wouldn't really explain Choi Han, but his family's an outlier anyway. Or, was the original Cale's plate thin from the start?
He blinks and thinks of...
...
...hm.
Right.
His plate was his own, wasn't it? The ancient powers said it themselves. It was the power of his soul.
Vast, but thin.
No amount of physical or spiritual activity could strengthen it. There was no known way to make a plate stronger.
Having a lot of potential, but no real output.
He'd had a teacher say something like that to him once.
Well, he hadn't faulted them. It wasn't like they were wrong. His life thus far, and even now, was full of him relying on the strength of others because he couldn't do it himself.
He's gotten used to that helplessness by now. That's why he's quite comfortable working hard for the moment to pursue his slacker life.
Well. Anyway. The Cale he is now is quite clearly somewhere between Cale Henituse and Kim Roksoo in physical composition.
Enough of the latter to bring over Record. Not enough to fully return his sense of smell or...other aspects of his previous dynamic.
That was likely for the best.
. . .
Raon Miru has a mother.
A vestige of one, left behind by the last bit of her surviving magic, attached to his very being in a bond poorly understood by any human magic. But a mother nonetheless.
It's awkward for the little dragon, who stumbles over the word and hides behind Cale and stares at her like she's a foreign entity.
But Cale insists on finding a way to bring her with them somehow.
It's necessary, you see.
Her magic is strong, and her shield is impeccable. Her wisdom is also more than enough to make up for her lack of general mobility. If they can just find a way to move her closer to home, then Raon can spend more time with Sheritt.
They deserve that. They deserve a happy reunion and many years to spend with each other.
He pointedly does not address how much seeing that desecrated nursery had hollowed something out in his chest—freezing him in place and filling his ears with white noise—just imagining how horrific it all was. Sheritt described it, and his mind filled in the rest.
Raon didn't deserve that. Sheritt didn't deserve that.
They should at least get the opportunity to be together.
To be happy.
Having been done so wrong by the dragon slayer she once trusted and then cursed to never again be able to experience love...for her magic to have lasted this long, it must mean something. He'd like it to mean something more than a temporary flicker, a passersby reunion.
Even if a little twist of misplaced jealousy curls very briefly in his raw-scraped stomach, he pushes the feeling away with the soft rub of his thumb.
Raon still seems to prefer him, anyway, for now.
He'll enjoy it for however long it lasts. And, if Raon eventually decides he prefers the company of his mother to him, that will not only be perfectly logical, but he will step aside graciously.
It would be the right thing to do.
. . .
Knowing that the White Star cannot truly experience love as the bastard cooes at and hugs him whilst he is disguised as Naru fills his mouth with ash.
What a fucking liar.
It's even worse when he finds that their faces are entirely too similar to each other.
The White Star continues to drive on his nerves more. Something about him stings his senses and makes his skin crawl with hatred, and every tidbit more he learns worsens his distaste. Like magnetic forces utterly opposed.
It feels ingrained at a certain point.
As in, Cale starts to wonder when he began to hate the White Star, or perhaps he's just always hated him intrinsically. Because this bastard was always going to be a thorn in his side, an obstacle to his slacker life, they couldn't help but be enemies.
He hates the "omnipotent", all-powerful types, anyway.
...The thought that the man smiling at him from behind that white face mask tore out a baby dragon's heart for chimera experiments, has committed various war crimes over centuries to procure dead mana, and is lying to his face when he sees his current disguise only as a means to an end makes him want to kill him right this moment.
But, there are too many variables. Too many ways an attempt right now could go very wrong.
So, he holds back every intent to kill that he has and simply gazes back with the despair of a child who is worried about his father.
At least he doesn't have to force a smile him. Silver linings and whatnot.
That night, before bed, Cale stares at the ceiling and thinks of many, many dead children.
He'll be glad to talk to Raon tomorrow.
. . .
Choi Han didn't get to experience how society collapsed before he was taken from his world. He didn't know how the monsters changed and adapted, and how the people had to change and adapt to survive around them.
Upon entering the Sealed God's test, he finds out that monsters are quite vicious when it came to exploiting pheromones.
Weaker monsters can let out the scents of infants not even off their mother's milk, who haven't developed their own scents yet. You follow the smell of fresh, wet blood and human-like cries, only to turn a corner to a many-eyed beast with a gaping maw. Some stronger ones can appeal to the various sexes, musking and attempting to induce heats and ruts to distract their prey and consume them whilst they are indisposed in vicious fashion.
Choi Han's decades alone should have meant he was extra sensitive to them, but perhaps as a boon from the God of Death or his own hardiness, he finds himself rather unaffected. If anything, the monsters are more affected by him, mistaking him for a higher grade monster. Moreover, even other humans cower at his pheromones—they are apparently weak from gradual disuse and his own sense of privacy, but upon smelling them, alphas in particular are stricken with a deep-seated dread. Most omegas steer clear of him altogether, as though by instinct. Betas, while not having as visceral reactions, eye him like one does an errant shadow with no discernible source, doing double-takes and long looks as though spooked.
Regardless, with the various types of pheromone-based attacks, unmated alphas and omegas have a much harder time dealing with monsters in the current world. That was why, despite how crucial mating is, partnering has become a much more hurried affair, their bodies thankfully adapting to the changes. Choi Han wasn't one to judge how others dealt with desperate situations.
That being said, even he's a little taken aback by this.
He doesn't say anything out loud, moving as requested and speaking normally to Cale (currently Kim Roksoo, who is somehow even thinner and more frail than his otherworld counterpart). And he wasn't, not unless it came up at all.
He's thankful when Cale mentions it himself.
"You're wondering why him."
"Hmm?"
The thin but not particularly short man looks at him, familiar copper eyes darker than usual with dark circles and more prominent collarbones. He's not healthy, a lack of nutrition pulling his skin taut, and it makes the bite mark on his neck stand out more.
"'Why Park Jintae', right?"
"He seems like...an odd choice."
"Mm. I didn't want to choose him either... Ah, he didn't force me, though. It was a matter of convenience for both of us, in the end."
Choi Han's glare softens immediately. "I see."
Thinking about the shelter's population, it's true that most are betas. Alphas and omegas are already a smaller portion of the general population. With more frontline ability users being alphas, they became even more scarce. It seems it wasn't rare anymore for an alpha to mark several omegas at this point, just to stave off monster-based pheromone attacks for as many people as possible, even if it meant a different kind of pheromone attack via heat competition.
Kim Roksoo was just one of about four omegas partnered with Park Jintae. There were two other alphas there. One was Lee Chulmin, who partnered with two omegas. The other alpha seemed to be exclusive with their omega partner.
"Not a lot to work with. He's not the worst, but not exactly my first choice."
"That's unfortunate. In your real past, did you...?"
"Yes. Most things seem to have matched up, even up to the partners. I feel the sealed god must have looked for this place on purpose."
Choi Han watches as Cale rubs his stomach, seeming a little hungry. However, he hasn't eaten much of anything since he arrived, and food storage is already scarce since the monster wave has yet to finish. Night would be upon them in a few hours, so their work was really just ramping up.
"You should eat something, Roksoo-hyung."
"Mm?"
"Since you used your powers." He nods toward Cale's hand.
The man looks down at it, blinking in surprise. He hadn't even noticed he was expressing his own hunger.
"...Right. I'll get something later."
Choi Han nods, but pauses.
There's a little smell. Soft and underlying. Incognito, much in the same way his own seems to be, and faint from disuse.
It smells very, very lightly of refined, sweet lanolin and tilled earth.
And it's tinged quietly with a question.
. . .
In his world, it had taken him a good while before he'd seen Lee Soohyuk again in Busan. Many things had happened by then, and he was a different person, changed and molded by loss.
Here, it takes just a few days.
He's still molded by loss, but it's loss from years past now. Loss so old that the wounds have long closed and only ache from the memory of having hurt rather than being actively painful. Seeing the living, breathing faces of bodies once strewn in jagged pieces is much more pleasant, after all.
This world is easier to deal with in many ways.
He was once a team leader. He's dealt with international stressors. He's had his hands full with hecklers on a grand stage. He knows how to navigate battles with pinpoint precision, where every second counts. And he knows exactly how he fits into them.
He also has more power. The ancient powers embedded in his soul, the Records he cannot forget, Choi Han, Alberu - Dark Tiger ver., the Grade 1 Steel Feather Hawk and White Rabbit... As hard as trying to prepare for the first unranked monster is, having so many prime resources on his side is a boon he can only be grateful to his comrades, foresight, and negotiation skills for acquiring. Without them gathering, his plans to smack the sealed god in the face would be infinitely more tedious.
But then—
"Dongsaeng. Dearest dongsaeng, whom I cherish. Would you happen to be carrying something around you haven't mentioned to anyone else right about now?"
This world is also very, very difficult in one extremely specific way. A way he'd somewhat anticipated but very carefully intended not to think about.
But of course.
Of course something like a sealed god who thrives on despair would leave no stone unturned.
Not even this one.
Before anyone else can ask what the dark tiger means, Cale excuses them, moving their conversation elsewhere. Choi Han, of course, joins as well. He likely knows where this is going himself, the sword master having grown more cautious about him as the days have gone by, his strong senses likely warning him despite how quiet Cale has been keeping himself.
But, he cannot fool a monster's nose. Nor Choi Han's.
Cale closes the doors to the space they come to occupy, both men staring at him expectantly. Cale sighs.
"What are you referring to?"
"I'm sure you know what I mean, considering your reaction," Alberu murmurs, a tinge of humored exasperation to his voice. "It's a bit hard to explain though. Something about your smell that my nose keeps twitching about. You're being very secretive, I can tell that much."
"I guess it's similar for me." Choi Han fiddles with his scabbard. "But it's familiar. I've smelled it. I just don't remember where."
"...May I know what brought this to mind now?"
"You're always hiding things. Can't you rely on us just this once? Mm? I'm not so unreliable, now, am I?"
His smile is tight, fake, even on the dark tiger's face. It's the smile of a scammer, much like his own. Choi Han doesn't have that sort of capability—or if he does, he doesn't bother with it. He instead gazes at him seriously.
"Cale-nim, please. If it's serious, I need to know. Has the sealed god done something to you?"
Well. Hmm. He can understand the misconception. It's a misunderstanding. An unfortunate one, but one nevertheless. They're just worried about him, which would be a little heartwarming if it didn't make him feel weird every time.
He was fine. He would always be fine. This was just...a little tedious to figure out. And hide. Which he couldn't do from them anymore because of their entirely too-good noses.
"...Right then."
Cale clears his throat.
Why it feels thick is a little odd.
"I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant."
Both of the other two stare at him. Choi Han's eyes slowly widen, all of his prior experience in their shared world reawakwning his knowledge. Meanwhile, Alberu manages to make utter confusion look majestic.
"...Excuse me?"
"I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant."
"Ah, yes. I heard you. It's just. Hm. I was. Trying to figure out. How that was." He waves a paw in a vague circle, his gaze glancing down very briefly. "Possible."
"In this world, some men can also get pregnant and have reportedly stronger children."
"...Ho."
"These people are known by many terms, like omegas. People like Choi Han have stronger bodies and fertility, known as alphas. Alphas and omegas usually pair up due to strong pheromone compatability. Or something like that."
"...I see." Alberu looks over to Choi Han for confirmation, only to see the man contemplating something deeply. "That explains some of the odd behavior I've noticed from some people."
"Mm. Since the monsters in this world adapted to take advantage of how the people here communicate via pheromones, alpha-omega partnerships help mitigate some of the negative effects monster pheromones could have on us. However, when too many omegas pair with an alpha or vice versa, their bodies may go into heat or rut competition to try to prove their hormonal worthiness to each other. Basically, you get really horny and fuck about it, apocalypse be damned."
"Ahah. And that has led to your. Current condition."
"Yes. Specifically, I was already pregnant before the test began."
"...So, I'm going to be an uncle."
"Congratulations, your highness."
"Call me, hyung."
"–Hyung-nim."
Cale looks over, meeting Choi Han's dark gaze, and he can feel the way it bores into his own. There's a shaky quality to his voice.
Ah...he's...
He's figured it out, probably.
Well. It's probably a part of the test. Never underestimate the invasiveness of a god.
The goal of the test. The sealed god of despair, digging into every crevice possible.
Cale rubs a thumb over his stomach.
"Everyone from the central shelter died. And later, we couldn't kill the unranked monster without massive losses."
Alberu's gaze drifts to his thumb, and the same realization begins to bloom in his wise, regal face.
"The win condition is now to kill the unranked monster without major losses. To save as many people as possible."
"...You..."
"I'm not sure where Haepari fits into this, but for the time being, I have to consider that means keeping it alive, too."
« « «
Kim Roksoo woke slowly to tinnitus.
His waist hurt terribly. His whole body did, really, but his lower waist and hips especially.
Opening his eyes cause lightning-like strikes of agony to thrust into his brain, and he winced. That just woke him more, hurt him more. It felt like he'd gotten mauled, which, knowing his luck, maybe he did.
He'd thought he found a safe place to rest, last he remembered. But everything...his memories get so blurry after that. Even now, it's hard to pieces his thoughts together.
He feels hot.
His eyelids try to lift up again, managing with some success, and the bright world comes into more focus.
People are moving around. They're in what looks like medical outfits, or what passes as them right now. Efficient enough for the time being and the area.
A tent? Emergency setup. A few people. Maybe he got caught in an attack. Wouldn't be the first time. They're more tenacious the closer he gets to Busan.
A shudder passes through his body, and he tries to look around. Moving his eyes in their sockets causes visceral, wet aching, so he moves his whole head instead, which somehow hurts less.
There's an IV in his left arm, which says a lot. He must've been in pretty bad condition for someone to waste crucial medical supplies on him.
He looks up to see it's a blood bag.
Ah. It really was serious. At least they got his blood type right.
He moves his head a little more, realizing there are packs around his neck and head. They feel somewhat lukewarm but strongly chilly in some spots. Cold packs? He still feels very hot, though.
And wrong. Kinda flayed, if that made sense.
He's about check elsewhere when someone comes over.
A woman in nurse scrubs. They're a little messy. She looks like she's been working a while. Strands of her hair are falling out of her ponytail, and her eyes are drawn in deep above her mask.
He still can't hear beyond the ringing on his ears. She is looking at him now, possibly speaking. He can't understand. He frowns.
That hurts. Thinking hurts. He feels very hot.
His hand reaches to his stomach.
—and finds the little lump missing.
He stills.
He looks.
Looking hurts. That wet, visceral pain.
But he doesn't turn his head, forgets to. His reaction is too immediate to remember to be careful with himself.
He had a bump there. One that had formed despite all odds. Despite his weakness and frailty.
Despite never getting a lot of food at the shelter, that bastard Park Jintae had always fed him enough to let him run away. (Did he know? On that last day, did he find out? Was that why he stayed behind until he left?) And now, on the run, heading to Busan, to some place safer, Kim Roksoo was at least able to pick up scraps here and there.
The little bump ignored the laws of survival and grew on what little he could provide. A brainless little thing that faced hardship from within him without giving him morning sickness or weird cravings. It ate anything without complaint, just like its parent.
Mother. Hm. Haha.
A generally troubleless little thing that made space in him for itself. Sure, he got tired more easily and hungered more frequently, but they both dealt with hunger in stride and slept whenever safe.
Polite. Quiet. Patient. Present.
Little jellyfish, mindlessly marching forward inside him. The one thing he was willing to keep of Park Jintae and their dissolved partnership besides his own life.
The jellyfish is missing.
Haepari is missing.
He feels hands on his shoulders.
The hands push him down.
His eyes shoot over to whomever is confining him, a demand in his throat, ready to burst out.
He has to find— He has to go find it.
But he sees the nurse. He still can't hear her. He just sees her.
The tinnitus stops.
Exhaustion.
Pity.
Guilt.
Apology.
...oh.
Kim Roksoo lies back on the bed, sound still escaping his senses. His body complains at him ferociously for trying to move the way he did. He can feel the nurse's presence by his side until she replaces the cold packs with cool towels and leaves.
He's very, very hot.
But inside, there's a cold, empty spot.
He rubs his thumb over his bellybutton, where he and the jellyfish were once connected.
He feels nothing but bandages, and under it, scar tissue.
