NLFSD Chapter 113

Chapter 113 – Extra Episode 13

Buoyed by the power of their phone call, Seo Taecheon sprang back to life. With near‑superhuman stamina, he plowed through the murderous schedule.

Clinging to the thought that just a little more endurance would bring him back to Lee Jiwoon, he went all‑out until the final day. Then, with the quintessential Korean “ppalli‑ppalli” urgency, he wrapped every contract and boarded a flight twelve hours earlier than planned.

Landing at Incheon, he dismissed the driver and took the wheel himself. At the legal limit, he sped straight to Gangnam. When he stepped out of the car, Jiwoon was already at the gate.

“Taecheon!”

“Jiwoon.”

They embraced like lovers parted for decades, showering one another in kisses. Forehead, lips — nowhere left untouched, stamping one kiss after another, breaking off only to stare dumbstruck at each other’s faces before tumbling back in again.

Wrapping Jiwoon close, Taecheon drew in a deep breath. Only now did the hollow within fill; the drained batteries felt charged again. The past week had felt like not living; simply because Jiwoon wasn’t at his side, his heart ached and breath came hard. From this moment, he could not only function — he could breathe at ease.

“Have you eaten?”

As they stepped inside, Jiwoon asked.

“I had the in‑flight meal, I’m fine. You?”

“I ate too. Shall we rest a bit?”

He opened the bedroom door — but Taecheon blocked the way, hands clasped behind him.

“Just a moment, Jiwoon. There’s something we must do before resting.”

“What do you mean, what is it?”

At his question, Taecheon told him to wait — then produced what he’d been hiding behind his back: a crimson shopping bag stamped with a famous brand’s logo.

“Oh…?”

He wondered if it was duty‑free.

“A present?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you so much. Can I open it now?”

“No. This one, I have to open.”

One corner of his mouth lifted.

In truth, he’d prepared it some time ago. As soon as the trip was set, he secured the French stock through a domestic boutique. To engrave a serial number on the bracelet required a reservation; in the end, it had to be handed over in France.

“Wow…”

Inside the small box lay a rose‑gold bracelet. Not thin — and its design was androgynous, modern.

“It’s a bracelet, right?”

“Yes. Unusual, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen one like this.”

A bracelet is usually a ring; this one, oddly, was in two pieces. It looked like something to be assembled, and inside the box sat a component that looked like a tiny screwdriver.

“…Not to spoil the moment, but — Taecheon, is this… defective? Why is there a screwdriver?”

“There’s meaning in the screwdriver.”

He took Jiwoon’s white wrist and fitted the two halves around it.

“Let me show you.”

He aligned the pieces so no gap remained, then tightened the metal join with the screwdriver. As the parts locked, a perfect circle formed. Now complete, the bracelet glimmered on Jiwoon’s wrist.

“Amazing. It’s beautiful!”

Smiling at Jiwoon’s brilliant grin, Taecheon returned the smile.

“Thank you for liking it.”

“I didn’t know there were ones you put on like this… but — how do I take it off?”

“Oh, I’ll do that too. I’ll keep the screwdriver.”

He said it off‑hand and tucked the tool back into the box, setting it far aside. Hidden, it meant Jiwoon couldn’t remove the bracelet alone. In any case, it was a band meant to say he’d never let go — perfect.

“They say it loosens a little with wear. We’ll need to tighten it periodically — I’ll help then as well.”

“Thank you, Taecheon.”

Jiwoon gave a soft grin. Thus did Taecheon secure Jiwoon with no gap left; and Jiwoon, for his part, stepped willingly into the snare and nested there in comfort.

By his own diagnosis, this was a sickness. Not yet documented by any academy, nameless — but in the case of one Seo Taecheon, it existed: a pheromonal separation anxiety. And, he declared, it was incurable. There is no remedy to cure the desire for Lee Jiwoon.

As the last trimester began, even Jiwoon’s robust, healthy body changed. From one morning to the next, his belly seemed to grow astonishingly — proof the baby was thriving. The heavier the child, the more his energy depleted in proportion.

On doctor’s advice to avoid lying down all day but take short walks, he kept up a steady pace around the neighborhood; yet unlike the early months, even walking now was hard. He tried to make up strength by eating well — but his condition waned day by day, and his sleep rhythm fell to pieces.

Each time he tossed sleepless until dawn, Taecheon held him and stroked his belly. Palming that swell, he would scold Mango not to trouble daddy. As an Alpha, all he could do was comfort and share pheromones; shame pricked him.

“If I had known, I should’ve carried the baby instead. I’ve never once felt sad I couldn’t, but honestly — that is how I feel now. If I’d been the one, it might be better….”

The big man hunched, glum.

“Really?”

“I mean it. If possible, I want to have the second one. Here’s hoping medicine advances by then — is it possible? I should look into it.”

It sounded like a joke, but he was not a man of empty words. Knowing he truly wished for such advances, Jiwoon could giggle even in hardship.

In the end, it came down to willpower. He threw himself into eating, walking, sleeping — and at last, the due date drew near. As a male Omega, Jiwoon opted for a cesarean section. But the doctor advised moving the surgery up — Mango was large and heavy; otherwise, it would be hard on both baby and Jiwoon.

With the date advanced a full fifteen days earlier than expected, Jiwoon grew tense. He searched everywhere online, reading all he could about C‑sections. Blog or book alike, a common refrain emerged: recessive Omegas faced higher risk during delivery.

Because their pheromone regulation is weaker than the dominant’s, anesthesia makes levels swing wildly; unable to control them, some fall into shock.

The grim lines left him in despair. He worried and worried — and finally decided to write a will. He’d seen how somewhere: plain white paper, a thick brush‑pen; after washing and setting himself straight, he sat at the desk and wrote with care.

My beloved darling, my Taecheon, this is your one and only Omega, Jiwoon.

So began a letter full of unabashed love.

[…If you must choose between Mango’s life and mine, please save Mango. Raise our child well. That is my wish.]

The will ended solemnly. Folding the paper, he tried to tuck it in an envelope — but tears fell, blotting the brush strokes to illegibility.

“So… so beautifully sad,” he murmured.

Tricked by his own composition, he sobbed until he slept.

When he came to, it was admission day. Arriving at the hospital with Jiwoon, Seo Taecheon felt a boulder on his chest through registration. He had never seen Jiwoon so pallid with fear.

He wasn’t even entering the OR proper yet — just preliminary tests and prep — and already he trembled. Normally buoyant, laughing most things off, he kept reaching for a hand, cold and hard.

“Jiwoon. It’ll be okay. It’s general anesthesia — no pain, no memory. When you wake up, Mango will be here.”

“…Okay.”

“So don’t worry.”

He tried to steady him — but Jiwoon’s eyes still reddened.

“What if… What if this is our last conversation.”

“Hey. Don’t say that. Nothing good comes of dark fantasies.”

“You’re right… of course.”

Even agreeing, he couldn’t settle. The thought that everything would happen while he was unconscious — that made him feel trapped. What if, when he woke, the baby wasn’t okay? What if I don’t wake…

“Mango, Jiwoon — I’ll be waiting.”

Taecheon wrapped him close. His firm palm stroked Jiwoon’s back ceaselessly, desperate affection pouring through.

“Alright. I’ll be brave too.”

“Come back to me.”

“I’ll return safe!”

Clenching his fist, Jiwoon passed through the doors with the medical team. Moments later, the wall monitor lit: In Surgery. Silence fell on the hall. From now until the sign changed to Surgery Complete, Taecheon had no choice but to wait.

Barely five minutes since Jiwoon had entered, he was already splashing water on his face and pacing, nerves in tatters.

He’d acted strong in front of Jiwoon — but he was no less afraid. Not knowing the state of Mango or Jiwoon was maddening. That he could not enter the OR — despair.

If Jiwoon isn’t safe… what then? I suppose I should follow. There’s no other path. But if Mango survives, then I must survive too — I must raise our child.

In his head, he ran a full tragic drama — and writhed in the pain of it.