Snake Venom Ch 111

Chapter 111

Lee Yeonwoo murmured, “I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”

It was not a lie. He truly felt nothing unusual. His body felt a little sore here and there, but nowhere was in pain. Even the foreign sensation between his legs was simply that—a sensation, not something one could call pain. Which only made it harder for Yeonwoo to understand. He glanced at Cheon Wooshin, or rather, downward toward him.

Cheon Wooshin had clearly said they had sex. Sex meant penetration. The shock of feeling someone else—someone with a different persona—enter his body was still vivid now. Something so terrifying had supposedly moved in and out of him, and yet he was perfectly fine. Had he really done anything with that man…?

Just then, Cheon Wooshin’s gaze, previously fixed somewhere in midair, shifted toward Yeonwoo. One eyebrow lifted sharply, and those keen eyes seemed to read his thoughts whole. Flustered, Yeonwoo quickly turned away.

In that brief moment, the catheter was securely fastened. Seolkyung, after attaching the IV tube, watched the steady drip flow with meticulous eyes. Satisfied with the pacing, she turned to Cheon Wooshin standing behind her.

“You said you had something to say. Here?”

Asked so casually, Cheon Wooshin just shook his head just as flatly.

“No.”

There was no trace of their past shadows in the indifferent gaze he cast her way. He signaled his intent with nothing more than a glance, then stepped out of the room first. Seolkyung offered Yeonwoo a kind smile.

“Then, Lee Yeonwoo-ssi, rest your eyes for a while.”

The door closed, leaving silence behind. As instructed, Yeonwoo lay back and stared up at the ceiling. The quiet view, the warm air, the pleasant heaviness in his limbs—conditions perfect for sleep, yet his eyes remained wide open. He was still a little shaken.

The last image of the two he remembered had been precarious, ready to shatter at any moment. Seolkyung had dismissed Cheon Wooshin’s earnest offer, and Cheon Wooshin had criticized the revenge she considered the very purpose of her life. They had stabbed at each other’s most vulnerable wounds mercilessly. Yet now, they acted as if nothing had happened.

As Yeonwoo turned over that memory, understanding dawned. Between those two existed a solid foundation of trust, understanding, and shared purpose.

They had their own principles and their own order. No matter how deeply they cut each other, time had already built a bond that would not break. They had long acknowledged that they could wound and be wounded. They had a shared destination—shaken at times perhaps, but never lost. These were things Yeonwoo could not have, not after mere months together—and not after failing even to hold fast to that limited time.

Even knowing this well, discomfort still churned in him. Yeonwoo clenched his fist sharply, as if scolding himself.

He had thought that accepting his feelings would be the end of it. Instead, his affection kept growing—recklessly and in impossible directions. He knew full well what Seolkyung was to Cheon Wooshin, and still he felt jealousy. That was wrong.

It was greed. Toward someone he owed only gratitude, he harbored selfish emotion. For the first time, Yeonwoo resented his own heart. The feeling he thought was a flower—pretty and delicate—looked instead, in this moment, like a stubborn, shameless weed.

So this is why first love is frightening.

Yeonwoo curled onto his side. Outside, the weather was dazzling. Though cold wind stirred inside him, the air beyond the window held a faint touch of spring. He stubbornly stared into the sunlight creeping near his nose, brow furrowing, feeling small for doing so—yet he did not smooth his expression, glaring at the sky instead.

But it lasted only a moment. Something mattered more than his own emotions. Yeonwoo turned toward the direction Cheon Wooshin had disappeared. A faint scent drifted to him. His rising jealousy, and the frustration at failing to control himself, scattered like mist.

Regaining his center, Yeonwoo drew a deep breath—as if to fill himself with Cheon Wooshin’s scent.

Seolkyung pointed silently toward the study. It was the quietest place in the house.

The wall-to-wall bookshelves and calm-toned interior resembled Cheon Sejun’s disposition. Sitting on the single armchair, Cheon Wooshin stared at the neatly arranged desk. Traces of Cheon Sejun were unmistakable there as well. He lifted his gaze as Seolkyung entered.

The composed look he had worn before Yeonwoo vanished as soon as the door shut. With a stiffened expression, Seolkyung handed him a mug of soy milk. Then she circled the desk, sat, and immediately raised her voice.

“I’m not apologizing.”

Her tone was firm, yet her reddened eyes trembled as though tears might spill any moment. Her breathing, agitated, betrayed her fragility. Cheon Wooshin met her eyes coolly.

“Don’t.”

At that calm response, she bit her lip. Then she forced a brittle smile.

“Fine. I’m crazy about revenge, just like you said.”

She twisted her lips as though strong, but her expression gradually crumbled.

“You’re letting yourself be used by me. It’s not like you didn’t know.”

Cheon Wooshin rose. He plucked a few tissues from a box at the edge of the desk and tossed them to her.

“Isn’t it the other way around?”

Seolkyung caught the tissues easily and pressed them to her teary eyes.

“I know. Oh, trust me—I know all too—”

“Lee Yeonwoo stays with me.”

A calm, unwavering pronouncement. Seolkyung, stubbornly holding back tears, broke entirely. Pressing her face into the tissues, she sobbed aloud. Soon enough, she lifted her head again, composed as if nothing had happened. But her reddened eyes and nose betrayed her.

Used to her fluctuations, Cheon Wooshin neither looked away nor attempted comfort. He simply waited with a bored expression, like thinking, Here we go again. With a sniff, Seolkyung spoke.

“Good. That’s the right choice. Staying alive comes first. What’s the point if you die?”

“I won’t.”

So firm, so confident it was irritating—and Seolkyung burst into tears again.

“Hngh, I swear, I’m so embarrassed.”

Mortified as she was while making a scene, she was still pitiful. With a sigh, Cheon Wooshin lifted his gaze to a photo of Cheon Sejun at the corner of the desk—as if seeking agreement, eyes holding faint yearning.

After pouring out another wave of emotion and recovering as quickly as she fell apart, Seolkyung cleared her throat. She took a few gulps of the soy milk she had brought and continued evenly,

“I checked the results. It’s close, but he’s not in rut yet.”

A rut test could be determined easily with a kit.

“Certain?”

“That’s what the results say.”

Cheon Wooshin, silent in thought for a moment, straightened his posture. Then he spoke quietly.

“Yeonwoo underwent a partial beast transformation.”

Seolkyung’s expression shifted instantly. Only then did she understand why he had asked about rut testing. Cheon Wooshin continued,

“Arousal stimulants used on humans don’t usually trigger transformation. And someone like Yeonwoo, who takes suppressants properly, least of all.”

The only hybrid in that hellish Sodom who hadn’t become a beast. Yeonwoo had taken suppressants without fail—even going into debt to do so, because his unstable genetics required strict control. So they tested rut—but it wasn’t rut.

“More importantly, he must have been really startled.”

Startled was an understatement. From that moment, Yeonwoo’s rationality had collapsed. Cheon Wooshin recalled him—demanding sedatives in desperation, fingers trembling pitifully.

And instead of pitying that fragile sight, he had simply observed him with forbidden intent. In hindsight, he too had begun to lose his sanity then.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

What Yeonwoo was experiencing was beyond normal range. Without professional assessment and a clear plan, he could not burden Yeonwoo with anxiety.

Seolkyung frowned in thought. She was piecing together information in her own way; tension flickered and faded across her refined face. At last, she arrived at an answer and looked up, gaze steadied.

“My hypothesis is this: the traits of the hybrid manifesting in you did so involuntarily because you were influenced by him. If you’ve become similar enough to be affected by a hybrid, then it’s possible you could influence him in return.”

Her theory aligned closely with what Cheon Wooshin had already suspected.

“We’ll need to determine in what form it manifests, but…”

She trailed off, gauging him—worried he might demand she stop research.

“If it happened because of me, then I need to know how to reverse it.”

“Yes.”

After her brief agreement, Seolkyung picked up a pen. Cheon Wooshin leaned forward as she filled the memo pad swiftly.

Silence settled—so still the scratch of the pen was distinct. Then, eyes lowered in thought, Cheon Wooshin lifted his gaze. Light shadowed his sharp features—brow, nose bridge, jawline sculpted in contrast.

“Still, you will pay the price for disregarding my best.”