The emergency room was a symphony of controlled chaos—beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and the soft, desperate crying of a family huddled in the corner. Dr. Kang Taewoo's voice cut through it, calm and definitive.
"Congratulations. It's a boy. Father and baby are stable."
The tension in the air shattered into relieved sobs. An elderly Alpha, his earlier fury replaced by tearful gratitude, gripped Taewoo's hand. "Thank you, Doctor. You saved them. My son… he was nearly…"
"We just did our job," Taewoo replied with a professional smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "The nurses will update you."
He turned and left, the family's joyful chatter fading behind him. In the sterile sanctuary of the staff changing room, the persona of the compassionate doctor slid from his shoulders as easily as his bloodied scrubs. He stripped off the surgical gown, mask, and gloves, tossing them into the biohazard bin with a quiet finality.
"Kang Taewoo, you did a great job today."
Taewoo glanced up. Dr. Kim, a senior resident with a perpetually friendly demeanor, was leaning against the lockers.
"Thanks. It was tricky. The Enigma father's stress pheromones were making the Alpha father's labor unstable." Taewoo pulled a fresh shirt from his locker, his back momentarily turned. "The risks are always higher with dynamic presentations."
"But with you here, it seems easier," Dr. Kim said, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on the line of Taewoo's shoulders as he dressed. "Hey, Taewoo… you're an Alpha, right?"
Taewoo paused, buttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness before turning. His expression was politely blank. "Why do you ask?"
"I mean, just look at you. You're physically… impressive. And handsome. It's hard to believe you don't have a pack of admirers following you home." Dr. Kim's smile was bright, but his eyes held a keen, searching light.
"I don't really have plans for that kind of thing," Taewoo said, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
Dr. Kim blinked, his smile faltering for a split second before bouncing back. "Oh. Okay. Well, see you around."
"You too."
Alone again, Taewoo finished suiting up in his crisp, civilian clothes—a sharp contrast to the man who had just commanded a trauma room. In his office, he stared at his silent phone until a knock interrupted him.
"Come in."
A nurse peeked in, grinning. "We're going to The Pretty tonight for drinks. You in, Dr. Kang?"
Taewoo manufactured a warm smile. "Sure. I'm in."
"Great! Seven o'clock!" She disappeared, and Taewoo's smile vanished. He sighed, picking up his phone.
To Mom: Working late. Don't wait up.
Mom: 👍 Good luck on your date, son!
Taewoo: It's not a date. It's a work thing.
Mom: 😊 Don't be shy. Have fun!
Taewoo shoved the phone away with a quiet, "Ugh, Mom."
The Pretty was loud, crowded with hospital staff unwinding. The air was thick with the smell of fried food, beer, and the faint, mingling scents of various designations. Taewoo nursed a single drink, feeling the weight of Dr. Kim's gaze from across the table.
"Dr. Kang," a nurse from Pediatrics leaned in, her voice teasing. "Don't you have plans to settle down? Get married?"
Taewoo took a slow sip. "Not yet."
"Do you have a girlfriend?" another asked. "Or a boyfriend?"
"No. I don't."
"By chance…" the first nurse giggled, gesturing between Taewoo and Dr. Kim, who was watching intently. "Are you two…?"
"No," Taewoo said, his voice firmer now. "It's not like that. I'm… most likely asexual."
A ripple of disappointed "ohs" traveled around the table. The hopeful glint in several eyes dimmed. Taewoo stood. "I'm going out for some air."
The night outside was cool and dark. He leaned against the brick wall, lighting a cigarette. The door opened and closed behind him.
"You know that's dangerous for your health," Dr. Kim said, coming to stand beside him. "Of course, you're a doctor."
"I don't smoke much," Taewoo murmured.
Dr. Kim took the cigarette packet from Taewoo's hand, his fingers brushing Taewoo's. He lit one for himself. They stood in silence for a moment, the twin embers glowing in the dark.
"I'm single too, you know," Dr. Kim said softly.
Before Taewoo could react, Dr. Kim moved. He grabbed Taewoo's collar, pulling him in, and pressed his lips to Taewoo's in a sudden, forceful kiss.
Taewoo went rigid.
Dr. Kim broke away, breathless, a triumphant smirk on his face. "See? You like that. You're no asexual."
A cold, controlled fury washed over Taewoo. He placed a hand on Dr. Kim's chest and pushed him back, not with violence, but with an immovable, Alpha firmness that made the other man stumble.
"I am going home," Taewoo said, his voice a low, dangerous monotone. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his heel, and walked away without a backward glance.
In the taxi, Taewoo leaned his head against the window, letting the city lights blur. Asexual. It was the simplest label, the easiest shield. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was safer than the real one.
A violent crash shattered his thoughts.
Up ahead, a luxury sedan had T-boned a delivery motorcycle. The rider was sprawled on the asphalt, his leg bent at a wrong angle. The well-dressed driver of the sedan was already out, shouting.
"You blind fool! Look what you did to my car! This is a limited edition! Who's going to pay for this?"
The delivery driver, pale and shaking, could only stammer apologies. Taewoo tapped the partition. "Stop here."
He approached the scene, his doctor's eye immediately assessing the motorcyclist's compound fracture. He stepped between the injured man and the furious Alpha in the expensive suit.
"Sir," Taewoo said, his voice shifting into that soft, soothing tone he used with frightened patients. He offered a gentle, conciliatory smile. "Your car is a concern, yes. But this man's leg is injured. A true gentleman of your standing would surely prioritize helping someone in need first?"
The rich Alpha blinked, his anger momentarily derailed by the stunning, polite doctor with the calming voice and impeccable manners. He flushed slightly. "I… I have first aid in my car."
"That would be very kind of you," Taewoo said, his smile deepening, almost beatific.
Flustered, the man retrieved the kit. As Taewoo efficiently stabilized the leg, the Alpha, now thoroughly pacified by Taewoo's careful manipulation, pulled out a wad of cash and thrust it at the delivery driver. "Here! For your bike and your trouble. I'm… sorry."
The driver looked ready to refuse, but Taewoo placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "You should accept it. It's the right thing." His smile was so genuine, so trustworthy, that the driver silently nodded.
Finished, Taewoo handed the first-aid kit back. The Alpha fumbled in his pocket and produced a sleek, black business card.
"Here. My personal number. In case you… need anything."
Taewoo accepted it with another graceful smile. "Thank you. Drive safely."
He waited until the car and the limping motorcyclist had departed. Then, the smile dropped from his face like a discarded mask. He glanced at the embossed card—Kaito Volkov, Volkov Holdings—and, without a second thought, flicked it into a storm drain.
"Ah, now there are no taxis," he muttered to the empty street.
"Doctor!" His original taxi pulled up beside him. The driver grinned. "I saw the whole thing. A kind person like you shouldn't be stranded. Get in."
"Thank you. You are very kind as well."
The taxi wound its way up to an opulent hillside neighborhood, stopping before a grand, modern house. Taewoo entered to find his mother waiting in the marble foyer.
"Oho! You took so long! How was your date?" she trilled.
"Mother, I told you, it was with colleagues."
Her face fell into an exaggerated pout. "I just thought, maybe finally, a daughter-in-law! Some grandchildren from my son…"
"You have plenty from my brothers and sisters," Taewoo said wearily, kissing her cheek.
"I want yours," she said, but she squeezed his shoulder, her expression softening. "You look tired. Go rest."
In the sanctuary of his bathroom, steam fogged the mirrors. Under the scalding spray, Taewoo finally let his guard down. The water beat against his skin, and as it did, the carefully applied concealer on his back began to dissolve.
There, just above the waistline of his hips, a tattoo became visible—intricate, dark, and partially obscured, as if telling a story he wished to forget. His fingers traced the old ink.
I was eighteen, he thought, the memory a dull ache. Careless. Reckless. Fucking around with anyone who'd have me in those clubs, trying to feel something, anything, through the numbness.
He had gotten the tattoo in a fugue state of rebellion. He'd stopped that life at twenty-two, when his father and eldest brother had forcibly steered him toward medicine, toward being a "good person." A respectable Alpha.
Now, at twenty-six, the past was supposed to be buried.
But sometimes, in the silence, he felt it. Not the memory—that was a blur of neon and bass and anonymous bodies. But the feeling. The phantom, shameful sensation of being utterly overpowered, of being taken by someone whose face he could never recall in the sober light of day.
His hand pressed against the tile wall as the hot water ran over the mark.
I am an Alpha, the thought was a rigid, forced mantra. So the one who fucked me… who marked me like this…
The logic broke down, as it always did. No Beta could have projected that kind of primal command. The only designation that could dominate an Alpha so utterly…
An Enigma.
The word was a cold shock in his mind. He turned off the water, the sudden silence echoing in the lavish bathroom.
The secret, like the tattoo, was still there. A mark left not by a lover, but by a force of nature he couldn't remember and didn't dare name.