The Heat Ends, But Something Begins

The heat cycle ended surprisingly in just one day.

Even when he had been called a low-heat Omega in the past, his heat cycle would last at least two to three days, so having it end in one day felt both relieving and strangely unsettling.

Was it because he was in his thirties now?

But even so, he had been receiving hormone injections for years—if the changes were this drastic, didn’t that mean the medication had been wrong somehow?

He thought about it as he crunched on cereal for breakfast.

• RRRR –

His phone rang.

His body flinched at the long-unheard ringtone.

The uneasiness of maybe mixed with the disbelief of no way crossed his face as he checked the caller.

It was an international number.

There was only one person who would call from that number.

Jaekyung immediately answered.

“Hello.”

[Oppa!]

His younger sister’s voice sounded noticeably brighter, and Jaekyung’s mood lifted at once.

[What are you doing?]

“I’m eating breakfast.”

[What are you eating?]

“Cereal. What about you?”

[I’m at our house in Canada~]

After her fifth injection, her health had visibly improved, and she was now on the path to full recovery.

He was relieved.

If nothing else, at least he had gained his sister’s health in exchange for those five years spent in that house.

[Oppa, why are you eating cereal~ I need to buy you something delicious.]

“Haha, really? I’ll come to Canada—”

Ah.
He couldn’t.

He couldn’t leave.

[I called to tell you good news.]

“Mm? What is it?”

[I’m going back to Korea soon!]

“What?”

[They said I can go now. I don’t have to continue treatment at the hospital anymore.]

“R-really?”

[Yeah, hehe. I wanted to tell you first. I’m finally free from that awful hospital. When I go back to Korea, I’ll take care of you this time. Oppa should only walk on flower petals now.]

“What are you talking about.”

[I mean it. I’m really going back for you. So just wait a little longer, okay?]

“It sounds like a proposal.”

[How did you know?]

Hearing good news in his sister’s cheerful, teasing voice—he couldn’t help but laugh freely.

All the heaviness of the heat cycle felt like it had blown away.

Ever since he had left that house, life had gone smoothly.

There had been moments of regret and partings here and there, but perhaps that was how people grew, and how their world widened.

Then one day, he realized something he wanted to do.

He wanted to open a gallery.

A gallery for unknown artists.

Working under Director Ji at the gallery had taught him one unpleasant truth.

The price of a painting was only properly set after the artist died.

At most a few million won—considering the time, the artistic struggle, and the emotional labor involved, it was absurdly low.

If the artist was desperate for money, their paintings would be bought for even less—practically stolen.

And then once the artist died, the price would soar into the hundreds of millions.

What was the point of that?

After watching several artists live difficult lives and die without ever being recognized for their worth, Jaekyung wanted to help them.

During his time in the gallery, his eye for art improved too.

And there were many days when he found comfort in art—when his own wings couldn’t carry him outside.

He couldn’t build something as big as the Han Art Gallery…

And he couldn’t attract attention either, so he would start small.

From that day, Jaekyung began searching for a building.

At first he thought location wouldn’t matter much for a gallery.

But then he realized—because it was small, it needed to stand out more.

So he searched on foot through good locations along the main street and narrowed it down to a few.

He ended up purchasing a former phone shop property near Hongdae.

21 pyeong of usable space, near the station, on the first floor.

Price: 2 billion won.

A large chunk of the divorce settlement money disappeared at once, but he thought it was a worthwhile investment.

After signing the contract, Jaekyung toured the empty store.

There was a lot to do, but he had a feeling that many things would happen here.

◆

It was a quiet night.

The hour when even towering buildings slept.

In the quiet office on the 30th floor of a 45-story building, the soft scratching sound of a fountain pen echoed in the heavy silence.

Knock, knock.

The door opened, and footsteps that had sounded distant came closer, but the pen did not stop.

“Executive Director Han.”

Secretary Oh’s voice sounded, but he remained focused on his papers.

“…He has moved to Gangbuk District.”

Finally, the pen’s movement stopped.

“And he purchased a commercial building in Hongdae under his name.”

Secretary Oh handed him the documents he had investigated.

Han Taeseok set down his pen and took the papers.

His brow tightened.

“The purpose?”

“According to the real estate office, he said he will open a gallery.”

“A gallery…”

“What should we do?”

Han Taeseok tapped his finger lightly against the desk, then rose and looked out the window.

Even though the city slept, tangled lines of unresolved emotions flickered through the darkness.

He closed his eyes.

It had only been five months since their divorce.

He stood with his eyes closed for a long time.

Five months.

It felt both brief and endless.

The divorce papers had been stamped, the key had been returned, and the silence that followed was clean enough to be called death or rebirth—depending on whose heart it was measured by.

“…Hongdae, you said.”

Han Taeseok opened his eyes again.

“Yes, sir.”

Secretary Oh answered quietly.

“Should I monitor the gallery preparations a little more closely?”

Taeseok didn’t respond immediately.

His gaze swept over the sprawling city night, sharp and cold like steel.

“Do not interfere.”

“…Understood.”

“But keep watching.”

“Yes, Executive Director.”

Secretary Oh bowed and left the office.

Only the sound of the door closing lingered.

Taeseok remained by the window.

The city lights reflected faintly in his eyes.

Opening a gallery…

He hadn’t expected that.

He thought Jaekyung would choose a quieter life.

Or at least something safer.

Not a life where he had to stand in front of people and speak and persuade and struggle.

Was it really what you wanted… or are you trying to endure alone again.

He exhaled slowly.

He remembered the way Jaekyung had once spoken about art.

Not for beauty, not for wealth, but as though it was a language to breathe by.

So you chose to live.

Without me.

His hand tightened against the windowsill, veins surfacing beneath the skin.

It was too late to ask him to come back.

He had been the one to push him away first.

He had been selfish enough to think that letting him leave was a form of mercy.

But Jaekyung had taken his wings back.

He had found a sky that was not Taeseok’s.

That night, Taeseok didn’t go home immediately.

He drove.

Without deciding where.

The city blurred past, unfamiliar in its familiarity.

When he eventually stopped the car, he realized he was in Hongdae.

Near a small shop with its lights still on inside.

He stayed in the car.

He did not get out.

Through the window, he could see Jaekyung inside the empty space—standing in the middle of the bare floor, holding a sheet of paper, pacing, measuring, visualizing.

He looked… alive.

More alive than at any time Taeseok had ever seen him.

Taeseok’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

His chest felt heavy, and he didn’t know whether it was regret or relief.

Probably both.

He watched for a long time.

Until the lights inside finally turned off.

Jaekyung locked the door, glanced once up at the dark sky, and walked down the street—hands in his pockets, shoulders light.

He didn’t look back.

Not even once.

Taeseok stayed still.

He didn’t call out.

He didn’t step out of the car.

He simply watched the place where Jaekyung had disappeared from sight.

“…You look well.”

His voice was almost a whisper.

And no one heard it but the night.