Chapter Text
There were many moments in Gihun's life when time seemed to stop.
When he first lost a large sum of money at the horse races. When he saw the divorce papers. When Ali held him and Gihun had one task—to stay still, not to twitch. When he realised that he would have to kill his gganbu. When he understood his vest would save his life, that he would live because others died clearing the way for him. When he stood before Sangwoo's mother, feeling the weight of her son's death on his hands.
Now, the world froze for Gihun once again as he caught a faint trace of that scent—subtle and citrusy, a sparkling note of lemon freshness. The scent of an omega. The scent of his other half.
He looked up frantic, scanning the masked workers for any sign of the source. The smell lingered everywhere in the vast hall, wrapping around him, pulling him in. That lemon freshness stirred something deep within him—an instinct, an ache, a promise of something eternal, something unrepeatable.
He wanted to believe it was one of the players, but doubt gnawed at him. What were the chances of that? Of course, there could have been some kind of suppressant used here that, at least for a period of time, could have dulled his alpha senses enough that he wouldn't have sensed his soulmate. As he was approaching the pink-suited guards to vote, the citrus scent faded slightly, diluted in the sterile air near the guards.
His omega must be among the players after all.
Please, let's go home.
His eyes darted around the room as he inhaled the citrusy air, his mind racing. He nervously ran his tongue over the spot in his mouth where the chip should be, the one meant to connect him to his fellow teammates. A burning sensation flared behind his ear—the chip for his identification had been re-implanted.
Please, let us go home.
His gaze fixed on the growing number near the zero. He felt a prickling stare on his back, but he forced himself to focus, trying to figure out how to set things right, how to put these dorky zeros out on the right track. The tension in the room climbed with each passing second, in perfect sync with the rising score on the screen.
When a cocky young rapper—barely more than a kid—cast his vote to continue the game, pushing the score to a dangerous gap of six votes not in favour of adequacy, Gihun’s nerves snapped.
"Wait, stop!" Gihun shouted, stepping onto the neutral ground between the two zones. "Don't do that! Come to your senses, please!"
The room fell silent. All eyes—zeros and crosses alike—were on him. Gihun raised his hands, palms open, desperate to be heard. This moment...this was the dreams that had haunted him for so long.
He dreamed of traveling back in time, of undoing the pain and loss. Of saving Kang Saebyeok. Of sparing the poor man with the number one on his vest. Even of saving that nasty Jang, because saving any life felt like a victory to him.
He dreamed of stepping in before the marble game, urging the others to pair with strangers, not friends.
He dreamed of holding onto the number one vest himself, of crossing the glass bridge safely, of saving them all.
He dreams that Sangwoo wins, he dreams that it is only himself who dies, and that he is truly innocent of everything. That he can finally rest in peace.
He dreams of the very smell from the car in which he was brought bound and blindfolded with the blood money card stuffed in his mouth.
He dreams of the same subtle citrus scent—warm, heavenly—that feels like salvation itself he felt in the car that day. He dreams of a voice softly saying: "It was a dream. Just think of it that way. And it really wasn't a bad one for you either".
And indeed, he wakes up in Seoul. No debts. No worries about food or shelter. Yet, deep down, Gihun is still the same man—the same Gihun in that green uniform, number 456 emblazoned on his chest. A man with a hero complex who cannot find peace in this mortal world. And now, in addition to his image matching his worldview, there’s that scent. Faint but ever-present. Instincts scream at him: the omega must be found, must be protected, cherished, pampered.
"This isn't just child's play! If we keep playing, we're all going to die!" Gihun shouts, his voice breaking as he tries to make them see reason. His plea is more than desperation—it’s also a call meant for his omega. The one who should be by his side. "We need to get out of here now." He clings to that intoxicating scent as though it’s a lifeline, even as the clueless zeros around him yell back, insisting the game must continue. The air grows thick with tension, the room electric with agitation. And through it all, his instincts rage, screaming at him to find the omega. To reach him. To shield him from harm.
Crosses steps in for him, for which Gihun really grateful. Even though that doesn't save him from everyone's growing discontent, doesn't save Gihun from being haunted by thoughts of the likelihood of the next game, doesn't save him from his ruffled instincts and heightened sense of justice. Gihun scans the crowd again, inhaling deeply. The omega’s scent tells him they’re calm—neither happy nor sad. Perhaps mildly curious. Gihun grimaces. The disconnect between the omega’s indifference and the storm raging within him only deepens his irritation. Plan B has failed, leaving him raw with frustration.
"... Because I played the fucking games!" Gihun suddenly yells, the words bursting out of him in a frenzied outcry. Once again, all eyes turn to him. "Because I played, and it’s not worth it! Please, let’s go home!"
He catches the faintest shift in the omega’s scent—a hint of bitterness, like discontent. It spurs him on, propelling his words into the room with more urgency.
He speaks fervently, vividly, his voice rising and falling like waves as he describes what he’s been through. He hopes, prays, that his words will reach them, will make them understand. Make them realize the hell they’ve been thrust into—and how much deeper they’ll sink if they vote to stay.
"So, you’re saying you can give us a strategy on how to win?" The sharp voice cuts through the air.
And that's all the money-hungry debtors take from his speech. Gihun grits his teeth, wanting to scream, to force them to listen. He knows desperation can make people blind, can make them deaf to everything. Perhaps these players see things he didn’t when he voted for quitting during his first games. The omega’s scent changes again, this time tinged with a sour sweetness. It’s almost tangible, clinging to the air like a tease. They’re pleased—amused, even—by this turn of events. Gihun’s frustration boils over, but before he can speak again, a sharp warning from the Square forces him to bite back his words. All he can do is watch the numbers on the counter rise steadily, one by one.
The scent remains constant, cutting through the tension and burrowing into Gihun’s very soul. Gihun occasionally glances at the players who have not voted yet and wonders who of the remaining players could be his omega. The players are all voting and grouping up, and the source of the divine scent is still in that zone.
182 to 182.
The final vote belongs to his omega.
Somewhere inside Gihun believes that the omega despite not knowing him, not being able to sense behind those suppressants and evaluate him as a potential partner, will choose him. That they’ll feel the bond of soulmates. They’ll choose him. They’ll go home, if only for a little while. Just long enough for Gihun to plant the stealthier bug he needs to destroy this entire shithouse.
Gihun believes, until the very end, that everything will be all right.
But when the sparkling scent of amusement clogs his senses as 001 walks by, he realizes with chilling certainty: there will be no going home anytime soon. The counter near zero changes to 183. Gihun stares blankly ahead, his chest tightening with a heavy, bitter weight.
This hell is going to continue.
Despite the instincts surging within him and the dreams he had clung to, Gihun does not rush toward the lemon-scented man. He feels bitter and devastated that the omega wears a different mark on his chest, which only reinforces how different they are. Gihun lets himself be distracted by his old mate, Jungbae, as if it will help him block out the unpleasant spiral of thoughts clawing at his mind. He tries to focus on something—anything—else, but the scent remains inescapable, lingering in his subconscious like a cruel taunt. Calm. Sparkling. And worst of all, tinged with anticipation, as though the omega is waiting for something exciting to happen.
Gihun feels like screaming.
But instead, he keeps his composure, channeling the rising storm within him into sharp words aimed at Jungbae, making it clear exactly what he thinks of the whole situation.
"So, help us, mister," Gihun shifts his gaze knowing in advance who's standing there.
His omega.
Brilliant.
The man radiates intelligence, though it’s hard to pinpoint exactly why. It isn’t in his attire—001 doesn’t even wear glasses to justify the impression. His voice was soft, and in his eyes you could almost drown. Gihun forces himself to look away, lowering his gaze and trying not to breathe too deeply.
"I only chose the zero because of you," 001st says, his tone almost casual.
Gihun feels like screaming.
He looks back at the omega, fury bubbling inside him. If it weren’t for the suppressants practically erasing his pheromones, the omega would undoubtedly feel the weight of Gihun’s anger bearing down on him.
"Honestly," the omega continues, entirely unbothered by the intensity in Gihun’s eyes. "I was scared and was going to leave, but after what you said, I thought... maybe I'd play one more game?" His voice carries an infuriating calmness, measured and deliberate, his words punctuated by subtle gestures. Around them, the encircled men hum in agreement, as if to affirm 001st’s decision. Gihun averts his gaze again, though it takes effort. He has to force himself not to stare at the omega, who is—truthfully—too handsome for his own good. In any other situation, that scent, calm and sparkling, would have been a blessing. But here, now, it feels like mockery. "You know what the next game is, don't you?"
Now Gihun snaps his head back toward him, certain now that the omega’s calmness isn’t just coincidence. It’s deliberate. A taunt.
"Dalgona." Gihun says through gritted teeth, watching closely for any reaction from the omega. He’s hoping for some sign of emotion, some disruption in that maddeningly placid scent, but nothing changes.
001st’s face shifts slightly, an emotion flickering across his features as Gihun explains the details of the game. Yet it still doesn’t reach his scent. The omega’s clarifying questions—about the difficulty of choosing certain shapes, followed by his own reasoning—only confirm what Gihun already suspects.
He knows.
001st knows exactly what the next game is.
"We'll tell everyone about it when I'm sure that the next game is exactly like this," Gihun says firmly, glancing at the people around him who are beginning to stir with anxious curiosity. To his surprise, a burst of sweetness erupts in the omega’s scent, subtle but undeniable.
And yet, 001st remains nearby, only half-turned toward the other departing players, as though drawn back to Gihun
"Can I ask you something?" the omega says suddenly, his voice soft but carrying a note of genuine curiosity. "Why are you back in the game?" the omega asks. His sincerity is disarming, his voice so unguarded that Gihun finds himself unable to ignore the question. It cuts deeper than he expected, demanding a response that matches the omega's candour. Gihun tries to gather his thoughts, the weight of the question settling heavy in his chest. But as the silence stretches, 001st seems to interpret it as reluctance, gently pressing further. "You said you won and got out of here, so you got more than 45 billion? Did you spend it all?"
"It's blood money," Gihun says finally, his voice firm but low, as though the words themselves are a confession. "Money earned from the deaths of other people. I refuse to spend it." For a moment, 001’s face betrays nothing—perhaps a faint concern, but otherwise neutral. Yet Gihun can sense something deeper in the scent that wafts from him: mild irritation. It feels sharper now, clashing with the omega’s composed expression. "And this money is the same," Gihun continues, gesturing toward the glowing piggy bank above them.
"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?" 001st says, his voice carrying a faint edge of annoyance.
Gihun looks at him, startled. The irritation in 001st's tone and scent is more pronounced now, and it takes Gihun a moment to process.
"Not at all," Gihun replies, a hard edge creeping into his voice. "If you had pressed the cross, we'd all be out of this danger by now."
"And if I had pressed the cross," 001st counters, his restraint slipping, "do you think the others would be happy? These 182 zeros would they thank me? And those 181 crosses in few months? You're a billionaire here, with blood money you refuse to touch. You probably don't even remember what it's like to be in poverty, clinging to nothing but your life." The words are delivered with composure, but the omega’s scent and the glint in his eyes betray his true feelings. Gihun is hit by a surge of emotions—anger, guilt, and an overwhelming desire to protect this omega, to comfort him and do as he says. "I understand that you and some of the others want to go home," 001st continues, his voice softening as he glances back at the players milling around, "but I…" He pauses, the hesitation in his voice leaving Gihun unable to tell if he’s acting or being truthful. "I can't go home."
Omega doesn't wait for an answer and walks away, his steps steady and deliberate.
Gihun doesn't call out to him.
***
In a way, Gihun realises that some people can't be saved. Not because they’re beyond redemption, but because saving them is beyond his reach.
He knows this because he was one of them. Even if someone had handed him 100 million at his lowest point, he would have squandered it on debts and wound up back where he started. But that doesn’t mean he’s willing to let these people die. But that didn't mean he was going to let them die. He sat on the bed with his eyes closed, feeling neither hungry nor sleepy. His mind churns through endless scenarios that will never happen, every thought circling back to the same haunting truth.
"Excuse me," a soft voice pulls him from his half-slumber. "If you're not going to bed, can we talk?"
Gihun opens his eyes to see the omega standing nearby, his expression guilty and hesitant. The guilt is reflected in his scent, a bittersweet mix that makes Gihun smile despite himself. For once, the omega’s face matches his emotions, and that small detail brings Gihun an odd sense of comfort. He nods, moving to make room on the bed and pulling his legs up. 001st sits down on the metal steps beside him, his slight smile tinged with bemusement.
"I'm sorry," 001st begins, his voice quiet and earnest. "If I offended you earlier, or if I was the reason the game is still going… I understand your motives, but I hope you'll understand mine." The omega doesn’t meet Gihun’s gaze, his fingers twisting nervously. "I need to pay my wife's medical bills." Gihun looks at his ring finger, which has no trace of a ring on it, but somehow he can't tell from the smell or the look on his face that 001st is lying. "You see..." 001st pauses, the silence stretching awkwardly before he continues in a whisper. "You see, I'm an omega."
In fact, if he wasn't his soulmate, this would’ve been a revelation to Gihun, because 001st did look like an alpha. Gihun doesn't think he managed to portray believable surprise. But omega is too preoccupied with his own nervousness to notice.
"My wife and I wanted a baby," the omega says, his voice trembling slightly. "We tried IVF… too many times. Eventually, it led to cancer." He takes a shuddering breath. "There were special programs offered help to encourage birth rates, but the number of attempts was too high. And the cancer funds… they don’t pay much attention to adults." 001st’s gaze shifts to the piggy bank with blood money, his voice dropping even lower. "I buried my wife on Thursday. I left everything behind in my unpaid goshivon and went to jump off a bridge."
The omega looks directly at Gihun then, and the raw bitterness in his expression and scent leaves Gihun breathless.
"So, I apologize for pressing zero," the omega finishes, his voice steady despite the grief in his eyes. "But I couldn’t do otherwise."
"I understand," Gihun says hoarsely. "When we get out of here, I’ll pay off your debts, and…" He hesitates, his instincts screaming one thing while his mind struggles to find the right words. "And if you need anything else, I’ll help. I’ll… I’ll make sure you never have to live in a goshivon again. It’s not a good place for sing… sorry, for omegas in general."
The sadness in 001st’s scent softens slightly, the bitterness lifting as a faint smile touches his lips.
"Thank you, Gihun. May I call you that?" The omega tilts his head sideways. "390th called you that, so I hope I'm not crossing any lines?"
"I... Of course you can!" Gihun replies, perhaps too eagerly. "And what can I call you?"
"Oh Youngil," 001st says, extending his hand with a politely sincere, albeit weak smile.
For Gihun, time seems to stop.
In that moment, there is no doubt left in his mind. Oh Youngil is someone from the main staff.
And yet, Gihun can’t stop himself from taking the offered hand. He can’t stop himself from drowning in that scent, those eyes, and the overwhelming realization: he would do anything for this omega.