Chapter Two : Blood Doesn't Ask for Permission
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"Welcome, Noya."
I nodded softly to the guest.
I was already inside the tavern.
It was already midnight.
I walked along the edge of the room and saw the tavern owner polishing the glasses as usual.
I stepped toward him lightly and spoke:
"Anything new?"
"Everything's the same as always,"
he replied, then added with a flirtatious tone:
"As usual, you light up the place, Noya."
I shook my head slightly to cut his nonsense.
I noticed him leaning closer, whispering slowly, as if afraid his words might escape and leak outside.
Even though the hall was filled with noise,
there wasn't really a chance anyone would hear.
Yet Noya played along with the tavern owner.
"You don't look well—and your scent, really…"
Noya understood the reason for the whisper and was slightly surprised.
This man had managed to catch the scent of blood, even though Noya tried hard to conceal it.
"It's nothing to worry about,"
I reassured him.
Everything that happened stays with me, inside me.
I share it only with the sea when I feel like speaking.
The tavern owner had no business knowing.
All that mattered was maintaining the routine of life.
Noya took the glass from the tavern owner's hand and resumed his work among the annoying guests,
wondering why all these wealthy people chose such hours to begin their "activities."
He moved from table to table, speaking with many.
One of them shouted drunkenly from afar, holding up his glass:
"Noya, you look beautiful tonight!"
Noya responded as if he had grown used to this:
"Thank you."
Another called out,
"Noya, more over here, please!"
I rushed over to the man and his group,
placing down the drinks with practiced elegance.
Then another voice rang out:
"Noya, do you really reject me?"
Noya sighed, mocking the alpha's persistence inwardly.
"Thank you for your admiration. You truly have beautiful eyes."
I completed the sentence I'd memorized from saying it too many times before.
"But unfortunately, I don't have the time. I'm busy at the moment."
The man groaned dramatically,
as if Noya's rejection had broken him.
"You can always ask for someone else if you wish."
The man waved it off as if he didn't care.
What he really needed was to be alone
until he stood up again and asked Noya the same question.
The man clearly didn't want to let such a beautiful omega go to waste.
Noya walked steadily and continued his work.
He knew exactly how to respond to people and how to maintain good behavior—
years of experience had taught him.
The tavern, with all its multiple levels, was neither quiet nor comfortable,
but for the destruction within Noya, the hall felt like a meaningless blur—
just voices swallowed by the wind before reaching him.
Devoid of meaning.
Everything stirring inside Noya—
the rotten emotions and cold pain—
drowned out the noise around him:
the brawls between drunkards,
the losses in gambling games,
the sound of glasses breaking,
the moans from night-long games,
the parties among corporate managers.
Everything was loud and brimming with betrayal—
the deep scent of alcohol saturating every inch of the tavern,
the acrid aroma of food,
the stench of treachery, poison, and murder,
of schemes and rumors.
Everything around Noya was chaos.
Yet he remained steadfast—
standing tall amid the storm.
A chaos not worth mentioning.
Not because it was quiet,
but because Noya's life was worse.
It didn't deserve to be spoken of.
His life taught him how to endure,
how to walk with a stream that never rests.
So Noya held on.
He worked, and worked, and worked.
Until the fateful day came—
the day his hard-earned salary vanished.
That was his life—how it ended.
"Noya."
Noya was too busy to hear.
He continued working like a machine without a soul.
When the body memorizes its daily steps,
it moves without needing Noya's conscious presence.
He wasn't feeling or seeing—just working.
That's what kept him from hearing.
"Noya."
The voice didn't stop at the first call.
It continued, confident that the other would eventually respond.
Or perhaps he simply knew his state.
The guest approached and placed a hand on Noya's shoulder.
Noya reacted harshly,
grabbing the hand and shoving it away forcefully, his fingers gripping the guest's sleeves tightly—
almost tearing them from the pressure.
It was a relief that Noya hadn't pulled out a weapon and aimed it at the man.
Noya's green eyes met the guest's face.
He smiled through the tension.
It was obvious he had felt pain.
From that expression alone,
you could tell Noya had used real strength—
a strength that might have seemed like a mere touch,
but the other was an alpha—
a dominant one at that.
That explained the power behind the move.
Noya released the hand and apologized.
"I'm sorry, Lord Ritchard."
The guest flexed his wrist gently, rubbing it.
"It's alright, Noya."
Noya raised his head and met the man's gaze.
He was about his father's age, though he didn't look it—
that's the power of wealth.
The man standing before Noya was no ordinary figure.
He came from a golden family—
untouchable.
And he was its head.
Noya broke the silence.
"It's been a while since I last saw you, sir."
The alpha nodded, sensing the atmosphere.
"I'm doing well and lacking nothing—
but you look like the one who's wounded."
Another sly fox.
He was clever—
no, brilliant.
The fact that he secured leadership of his family and remained alive was a testimony to that—
to his skill, strength, and intelligence.
Noya responded, unchanged,
his world still shaded in the grey that had painted his life so gloomily.
"I'm fine, sir."
The man looked at him as if analyzing a file—
but Noya wasn't so simple.
He was a thousand shields, one atop the other.
No one could break through.
He didn't even allow attempts.
"Even if I asked, you wouldn't answer, would you?"
The man asked, but Noya gave no reply—
his silence speaking louder than words.
The guest reached out, brushing his hand through Noya's hair.
"I called you many times, but you didn't respond."
Noya allowed him to do as he pleased.
"I apologize, sir."
Ritchard waved his hand.
"Ah, don't mention it."
As if such formalities were unnecessary.
He gestured behind him.
"I just wanted you to serve me as usual."
Noya replied quickly, not letting him continue.
"People might misunderstand your words, sir."
"Forget the fools. I really need your drink tonight."
Noya walked lightly beside the man.
"Let's go, and you can tell me what you want."
"Thank you again, Noya."
The two walked in silence toward an elegant, luxurious room,
closed off from the noise—
peaceful.
No one dared raise their voice when the leader stepped in.
No one wanted to lose their job.
They sat.
Just sat,
with light music matching the mood.
Noya examined the room's atmosphere and glanced at the man.
"Really, this is…"
But a voice interrupted from one of the plush sofas:
"When I see this waiter, I can forgive you for chasing after him."
A beautiful, tall woman stood,
dressed in the finest of clothes,
adorned and heavily perfumed.
She had to be an alpha—
and was extremely sarcastic.
Few could speak so freely in front of this man.
He smiled at her words, speaking like a smitten lover:
"No one is more beautiful than my beloved wife."
His words were venomous—
not like some traitor or flirt.
He was simply enjoying himself.
Then he pointed at Noya.
"This one makes the best drink I've ever tasted. I'd pay three times the price just to have it."
The woman tasted bitterness inside, surprised by such a statement.
The silence began to crack,
and the room returned to its natural mood.
But Noya wasn't part of it.
He was there for work—
and would leave when done.
Noya ignored the man and moved toward the side table,
observing the drinks placed there.
Then looked back at the man.
"Do you want to invent a new drink or what?"
The man winked and took his seat—
at the head of the room.
"No, my dear."
"I've heard our pretty waiter has a unique taste in his own drink."
Rumors really did spread fast.
Noya was picky with his drinks.
No ordinary blend could satisfy his tongue or dull his mind.
He had spent his spare time experimenting with different flavors,
until he found one sharp enough to sting his tongue,
freeze his thoughts,
and numb his vanished emotions.
"That taste wouldn't suit you."
The man waved his hand.
"I'm just curious about the flavor that gets our waiter drunk."
"Would you like me to share a drink with you?"
The man glanced past the others' shoulders toward Noya, smiling.
"I'm still wounded from losing every single time."
He wanted Noya to drink with him—because of that stubborn nature of his, the one that refused to accept defeat, yet always ended up losing whenever they drank together.
So, when he heard there was a drink that could actually affect Noya, he became utterly thrilled.
Noya watched the man's reaction. He knew the man meant no harm, so he quietly went to prepare the drink.
"And the others?"
Noya didn't look back. He merely spoke.
Yet the man gestured toward the hostesses scattered across the hall.
"The place is already full."
"That's called monopolizing, you know."
"And who dares refuse?"
The man was right.
Who would defy his will?
Even if Noya monopolized the entire space for himself, no one would object.
Noya finished his task quickly and approached the man.
He wasn't afraid of him, nor did he flee like the others.
He stepped forward and sat beside him—something even sitting close to him scared people off from, let alone sharing the same couch.
Noya presented the drink and raised his glass.
"Drink it in one go."
The man smiled, brought his glass close to Noya's, and—
A soft clink.
A graceful, quiet gesture.
"To your health."
And with that, they both drank.
For Noya, the heat already began creeping into him.
One glass—just one—but it was enough to clear his thoughts, sharpen his gaze.
Like a beast waiting patiently for its prey to show.
He calmed. He steadied.
And he waited.
Waited to meet the right person.
But the intoxication vanished as swiftly as it came.
After all, it was only one drink.
The sensation wasn't meant to last.
Yet his flushed cheeks remained, stubbornly refusing to fade.
His breathing—warm and damp—was oddly soothing. Almost thrilling.
"We're done."
Noya rose, slightly dizzy.
He wasn't usually like this. Perhaps the stab wound in his stomach played a part.
"Would you like another glass?"
Though Noya was screaming inside, his expression remained cool as ever.
Only the faint heat on his cheeks betrayed that he had indeed been drinking.
"Noya, your taste is… truly unique."
The man chuckled, feeling the dizziness too.
He held his head briefly, then downed a large glass of water.
"It's awfully bitter… sharp."
"You're the one who asked for my drink."
"Seeing you like this brings peace to my heart."
"You must've gone mad watching me lose to you."
Noya struck a nerve with those words.
The man smirked and cleared his throat.
"If you were in full health, I'd have asked for another round—just to see you pass out."
The man didn't hold back his words.
But Noya understood—he was being asked to leave, to rest.
His wound hadn't healed.
The man hadn't seen it, but he felt it. He understood.
"Thank you… for your consideration."
Noya, who understood silence, signaled that there was no point worrying about someone who didn't even worry about himself.
The man understood that too—but didn't care much.
Nor did he feel the urge to offer advice or say anything more.
He simply raised his hand slowly, like the master of the hall.
"Everyone, leave. The meeting's over."
No objections.
Not a single wrong word.
Everyone turned and walked away with a respectful nod.
So did the staff.
Noya found it amusing—trying to understand what made this man behave this way.
Everyone left.
Silence settled thick between them.
"You drive me mad, child."
Noya looked at the man who always broke the stillness.
"I don't really understand you, sir."
"Stop with the formality. Come here."
The man patted the seat beside him, but Noya didn't sit.
He only stepped closer, stubborn as ever.
The man didn't mind—he seemed used to the omega's defiance.
"I heard there was trouble at your house."
"News seems to reach you fast."
"I've always paid attention to what's around me. That includes you."
"It's not a big deal. Just a boss demanding his money."
"I'd believe you… if I didn't know the one who came to see you was their leader."
"And does that change anything?"
"It changes a lot. Especially if he wants something from you."
"Not much, really."
The man pointed at Noya's clothes.
"They're soaked in blood, child."
Noya hadn't even realized when the bleeding started.
But he didn't care.
"I'll clean up. Everything will be fine."
"I'm not so sure."
"I really am fine."
"Is that something a man says after slitting open his own stomach?"
It wasn't Noya.
And it wasn't the man.
A third voice spoke—
Someone Noya hadn't expected to see here.
The figure stepped in, tilting his head slightly.
The tavern owner followed behind, visibly anxious.
"He's been asking for you."
Noya looked at the man briefly, then spoke.
"Who are you?"
"Chief of Police for the entire city."
"And why exactly do you want to see me?"
"Due to a mistake made by one of our officers, you were discharged from the hospital without proper treatment. A full report was delivered to me regarding what happened to you."
"So what's your business with me?"
Despite the throbbing pain in his gut, Noya fought to stand.
It seemed all that work had reopened a wound that never got the chance to heal.
Still sharp. Still cold as ever.
"I came in person to apologize—and to escort you to the hospital. Don't worry, all expenses are covered by the department. Consider it a small compensation."
Noya scoffed.
"You mean to see if I'm still capable of bearing children or not?"
Harsh words.
Yes, the police had wronged him before—but the highest-ranking official had come personally to apologize.
Still, Noya was burning with fever, drenched in blood, and his stomach screamed with pain.
He was too caught between agony and anger to choose his words wisely.
"No… we simply want to apologize for our behavior."
But Noya couldn't hear much anymore.
It was as if a barrier had fallen between him and the world.
A ringing filled his ears.
He stepped back.
The ground beneath him felt like it was shaking.
He grabbed the armrest of the couch, watching a rush of color he couldn't even name flow out of him.
A liquid that refused to dry, cascading like a waterfall.
The officer rushed to catch him.
"Why would someone who barely escaped death go back to work like this?"
"You should've just let me die."
Terrible words.
But no one blamed him.
The life he lived could hardly be called one.
But that didn't mean he deserved death.
The officer looked around—and his eyes landed on the man.
He froze.
Of course he recognized him.
How could he not?
The man smiled, but his smile was laced with anger.
"Shall we go to the hospital now?"
The chief knew this wouldn't be so simple—not if this boy had even the faintest connection to that man.
The tavern owner stepped forward nervously, holding his phone.
"Should I call his guardian?"
"Does he even have one?"
"Yes."
"Then call him. Tell him we're at Central City Hospital."