Morning — Yohan's bedroom
POV: Ho In-su
In-su woke slowly, to the faint glow of sunrise filtering through gauzy curtains and the warmth of someone behind him—solid, steady, breath rising and falling in sync with his own.
He was in Yohan's bed.
More specifically, he was in Yohan's arms.
One of the Alpha's arms was wrapped loosely around his waist, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. The steady rhythm of Yohan's chest against his back was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. It was… grounding.
Yohan's scent clung to the linens—cool spice and faint smoke, but softened now by sleep and closeness. It made In-su's heart ache in ways he hadn't expected. Something quiet inside him stirred, stretched, and settled.
He didn't move.
Because for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.
"Awake?" came a quiet voice behind him.
In-su hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
Yohan shifted slightly, but didn't pull away. If anything, his hand settled more firmly on In-su's hip, grounding him like an anchor.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," In-su murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"I did," Yohan said. "You needed it."
A long silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy with something unspoken.
Then Yohan's voice dropped, low and serious.
"I need to tell you something."
In-su turned slightly to glance at him. Yohan's eyes were open now. Alert. That same sharpness he wore like armor when danger was near.
"It's not my men who've been sniffing around your brother," Yohan said quietly. "Or the school."
In-su's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There's another group. Not mine. Smaller syndicate—old nemesis trying to carve out territory. They've been watching him. And by extension…" Yohan's thumb brushed lightly over In-su's side. "You."
In-su sat up slightly, the warmth of the bed slipping away.
"You knew?"
"I suspected," Yohan said. "But I wanted to confirm it. And I didn't want to scare you."
"I live in your world now," In-su said, voice steady. "You don't get to protect me by lying."
Yohan held his gaze. "You're right."
"Who are they?"
"Arin, he's been asking about debt files your brother was tied to. And seeing you with me—" his voice tightened, "he thinks you're leverage."
In-su scoffed. "Great. Everyone wants a piece of the teacher now."
Yohan's tone turned cold. "He won't get near you. I've already put extra security on the school, even if you hate it."
"I don't," In-su said. "Not if it's yours."
That made Yohan pause. Just for a second.
Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against the back of In-su's neck.
"You're not leverage," he murmured. "You're mine."
In-su's breath caught. Not from fear—but from something warm and dangerously close to falling.
He turned, met Yohan's gaze.
"I know," he said.
And for the first time, Yohan didn't feel like a mafia boss staking a claim.
He felt like a man—terrified, protective, and already falling.
⸻
Early Afternoon — Elementary School
Still POV: Ho In-su
The day began like any other—chalk dust, spelling quizzes, juice boxes. In-su moved through the motions with practiced ease, even smiling through a chaotic group art project that ended with a child proudly presenting him a glitter-glued macaroni portrait labeled "Mr. Ho is my hero."
He tucked it into his desk drawer with a soft smile.
But something was off.
It started as a whisper in the back of his mind. Then a prickling at the base of his neck. He'd been watched before—he knew the weight of eyes that didn't belong.
And someone was watching now.
During lunch, he stood by the window of the teacher's lounge, sipping warm barley tea, and scanned the schoolyard without making it obvious.
Two unfamiliar men leaned against a van just beyond the fence. Not close enough to breach protocol. But not far enough to be innocent, either.
They weren't hiding.
They wanted him to see them.
In-su's gaze narrowed. Cheap shoes. Sloppy jackets. Sunglasses . Their movements were too stiff, too rehearsed.
They weren't Yohan's men.
His men were shadows—impeccably dressed, invisible until they chose otherwise. These two were thugs. Untrained. Probably overconfident.
Arin's men.
He reached for his phone. Not to call—just to open the secured app Yohan had installed weeks ago. It had one function: send a silent ping to the nearest protection team.
In-su tapped the icon once.
Seconds later, he felt the shift in the air.
A sedan near the entrance powered on, dark windows glinting. Silent response. Precise timing.
The van across the street jolted. The men inside stiffened—then scrambled back in, engine roaring as they pulled away like cowards.
In-su didn't flinch.
He just finished his tea.
But his hand trembled slightly as he set the cup down. Not from fear.
From anger.
They'd come to his place. His classroom. His sanctuary.
The only place he still felt human.
Later, after the final bell rang and the children were gone, he sat at his desk, staring blankly at the macaroni portrait. A small handprint in green paint was smudged on the corner.
A knock came at the door. Quiet. Controlled.
Seo Jin entered, immaculate as always in tailored gray and black, gloves still on.
"Situation's under control," he said calmly. "They're pulling security footage now. One team is posted two buildings over for the next seventy-two hours."
In-su nodded once. "Thanks."
"Yohan's on his way."
In-su didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
Yohan walked in—coat dark against the light of the classroom, presence unmistakable.
Their eyes met.
No words.
In-su stood without thinking, and Yohan was there in three steps, pulling him into his arms, holding him like something precious. Like something that had almost been touched by the wrong hands.
"They came too close," In-su said quietly.
"I know," Yohan replied, his grip tightening.
"They're not going to stop."
"No," Yohan agreed. "They're not."
"Then what do we do?"
Yohan pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. There was no hesitation in his voice.
"We make sure they regret ever thinking you were a way to get to me."