TCBW C92

Chapter 92

He, too, was no less flustered by what had happened the day before—and by the unexpected confession.

He had merely asked about yesterday while treating him as usual, never imagining it would end in tears.

“Come here.”

Lowering his head, Dowoon rubbed his forehead with his fingertips as he called to Suhoe.

Suhoe slowly rose from his seat and approached with hesitant, tentative steps.

Dowoon tugged him by the wrist and settled him onto his lap. Then he wrapped his arms around that small body and slowly buried his face at the nape of Suhoe’s neck.

Once again, pain crept up to his shoulder blade, dull and aching.

“I’ll do as you say.”

At those words, Suhoe hastily wiped away tears that looked ready to fall at any moment. His face flushed as his chest tightened.

When Suhoe gave no reply, a brief silence settled between them.

Sensing Suhoe’s pheromones gradually stabilizing, Dowoon spoke at last, his voice unhurried.

“…And let’s talk. There was something else that happened yesterday, too.”

“Something?”

“Yes. Yesterday, in a room where every door and window was shut, something knocked an object out of my hand.”

Something knocked it away.

It didn’t sound like a mistake—especially coming from Dowoon.

“But this place is close to where people live, so it’s bright even at night. Ghosts don’t usually appear in places like this… Ah.”

Suddenly recalling that even a god had appeared here yesterday, Suhoe realized it might not have been impossible for a ghost to appear as well.

No—wait. Come to think of it, why was it yesterday, of all days, that a god had come—specifically to him, an akbaji?

The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. Absurdly so, considering he was only realizing it now.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh—nothing. Just yesterday.”

But there was no one he could ask. He couldn’t return to Unbangsan, nor could he send word there.

Of course, since it hadn’t felt malicious, he could simply let it go—but not knowing a god’s intent left him uneasy.

“So you’re saying that thing I mentioned really is what you’ve been talking about?”

“I—I think it might be. If divine energy gathered, it would make sense for ghosts to follow.”

Suhoe trailed off uncertainly.

In any case, there was no reason for a god to return here, and as he’d said, the area was bright even at night—so ghosts were unlikely to appear again.

“…Still, just in case, should I offer a prayer tomorrow morning?”

When Suhoe finally voiced the thought he’d been turning over, Dowoon asked skeptically,

“Do your prayers actually work?”

“Well… I can’t guarantee it. Ah—speaking of which, that tree.”

Suhoe puckered his lips awkwardly, then murmured as if something had just occurred to him.

“The tree? The one from Unbangsan?”

“Yes. It holds sacred energy well, so it gathers good fortune around it. Over time, bad things stop appearing.”

“That’s why you like it?”

“That’s part of it… but actually, I planted the tree behind the shrine myself when I was young. That’s why it’s special to me. The branch I brought for the wedding came from that tree, too.”

“You planted it yourself?”

“Yes. There was a reason.”

Suhoe assumed Dowoon wouldn’t ask what that reason was and pressed his lips together—but Dowoon, apparently curious, did ask.

“What reason?”

Caught off guard, Suhoe stumbled before searching his memory.

“Huh? Ah—well… when I was very young, on a day I had a raging fever, I followed a voice calling to me and wandered through the fog.”

He’d been delirious with fever and coughing, and that day the shrine had an important guest who was even sicker, so no one had been able to look after him.

“When I came to my senses, I was standing at the edge of a cliff.”

Looking back, it had been terrifying—dangerous enough that he could have lost his life.

“That’s when Unhyo appeared and saved me. After that, I realized that whenever I was feverish or sick, I started seeing things I shouldn’t. So I planted that tree behind the wall—to block them.”

“….”

“So if I ever get lured again, I can snap a branch and tap myself with it to come back to my senses.”

When Dowoon still didn’t speak after he finished, Suhoe glanced at him awkwardly.

“…I know it’s late, but thank you for the gift. Really.”

“You said you wouldn’t take it.”

“Even so. I was happy.”

Dowoon watched Suhoe’s clear, gentle smile in silence for a long while. It held his gaze completely.

Even as pain flared at the tips of the fingers where the curse manifested, he forgot it, focusing only on that expression.

“Dowoon…? What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing. By the way—did you see something on the floor?”

The abrupt change of subject made Suhoe tilt his head.

“Huh?”

“What I dropped yesterday—it was an Omega pregnancy test.”

An Omega pregnancy test—!

At those words, Suhoe stiffened. Cold sweat dampened the hand that still remembered holding the positive test.

“I looked for it after waking up, but it was gone. Do you know anything about it?”

Dowoon’s gaze felt as though he already knew something, making Suhoe swallow hard before answering.

“…I’m not sure. M–maybe it was that ghost you said appeared?”

“Ghosts steal things now?”

“Y–yes.”

It wasn’t something he’d ever heard before, but Suhoe lied without thinking. After all, he couldn’t exactly return a test that had come back positive.

“Then why did you have it in the first place?”

“Professor Eun gave it to me. She said she wanted me to keep testing until today.”

“Th–then I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

“It’s fine. When I couldn’t find it this morning, I told Choi Haeeon to bring another one. He should be here soon.”

“What?”

“Why? Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”

“N–no. Just… I was thinking it was strange to test outside the hospital.”

This was bad.

Suhoe had to make sure the result came out as a single line.

Haeeon entered with a knock and carefully handed over the test. Dowoon accepted it with an unhurried gesture.

“C–can I do it?”

Dowoon hesitated briefly at Suhoe’s request, then handed the test over—his gaze never leaving him, as if supervising.

“W–why are you staring like that?”

“…Just wondering if you’ll do it right.”

“I–I’ve done it many times. I’m used to it.”

As he spoke, Suhoe pricked the back of his hand with the needle attached to the test. Tilting his clenched fist, he let a drop of red fall, then handed the test back to Dowoon—never taking his eyes off him.

Thump, thump. His pulse pounded loudly in his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, Dowoon finally spoke in the flat voice Suhoe had been anxiously waiting for.

“One line. Negative.”

Suhoe let out a small sigh of relief and casually wiped his hand with a nearby tissue.

Dowoon, who had clearly been tense, shifted his gaze to the test with its definitive result.

It was just as he’d half expected—one clear line, proving Suhoe’s innocence.

Having seen the blood drawn with his own eyes, there was nothing left to doubt. Dowoon quietly set the test on the table.

While wiping his hand and watching Dowoon’s reaction, Suhoe picked up the test the moment it was set down, checking whether the fake blood he’d applied looked natural.

The red liquid clinging to the tip was convincing enough to pass as blood.

Though he had pricked his hand with the needle because Dowoon was watching closely, it hadn’t been difficult to let the tomato juice he’d been hiding in his palm drip onto the test instead.

Of course, if he had to do it again, his heart would pound too hard to manage it.

“Three weeks?”

“It’s a business trip that’s been scheduled since last year.”

At that, Suhoe’s shoulders drooped visibly. His disappointment was plain.

Dowoon gently pulled him close by the waist and spoke softly.

“If you want, stay here. If you’re anxious, you can remain at the hospital longer.”

It was his way of saying Suhoe could live as he wished.

“Then… I’ll stay here.”

Leaning against him, Suhoe answered in a small voice. Though his treatment was finished and he could have returned to the Balhwadong house, the thought of entering it alone still frightened him.

It was already a place Director Han knew, and without Dowoon, he didn’t trust himself to go back alone.

From a distance, Haeeon watched the two of them and signaled the attendants with his eyes. They promptly looked away.

Dowoon wouldn’t have cared who watched him, but Haeeon was different. As his secretary, he had to be sensitive to even the smallest matters involving his boss—especially after such an unbelievable incident had occurred while he was absent.