AS | Chapter 02

A year ago, in September.

Marvin sat in his hotel office chair, chewing an aspirin tablet with a crunch before tilting his head back. His jet-black hair fell messily over his forehead. A sigh escaped through his slightly parted lips, betraying his irritation. An unwelcome guest was coming.

He’d had a mild headache since morning and thought it might just be exhaustion, but by afternoon, it was unmistakable. His senses sharpened, and his temperature rose. This was definitely a heat.

“You know, timing is everything, right? You can’t inject it too early. The exact moment is when your dick starts twitching—right then. Got it?”

Yang Jinman had drilled that into him every time he handed over the suppressants. The usual nagging about behaving always followed.

Behave?

It was a symbol of helplessness, knowing what was coming but being powerless to stop it. That’s why it pissed him off every time.

It felt different from when he was an Alpha. Back then, he’d wanted to punch through walls. Now, he just wanted to lie down.

His body felt sluggish, like a mollusk melting into the chair. His long arms dangled limply, sticky like melted ice cream. It wasn’t pain, more like a complete lack of energy. Marvin stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind blank.

Ugh. Still not used to this. Seriously…

Every time the unwelcome guest arrived, it sent Marvin’s mood plummeting. If it were something he could just fuck away, it’d be easier. But no, he had to tremble like some addict, completely dependent on suppressants. That was the infuriating part. And the headache that came with it was pure torture.

What time was it? Marvin squinted and lifted his left wrist to check his watch. 11 PM. Past midnight, and the usual chaos would start—drunken brawls, ruts making idiots drop their pants in public. He wanted to get some sleep before then.

But less than a minute after closing his eyes, another call came in. His smooth brow twitched in annoyance.

“What is it?”

“Hyung, sorry, but the singer still isn’t here for the hall…”

The nervous voice of the youngest waiter crackled through the receiver. Marvin sighed. Of course, trouble had to start early tonight. With the boss away, every little thing fell on him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and sat up.

“Got it. Wait.”

He hung up and stood. Just before leaving the office, he caught his reflection in the nearby mirror. His irises were already fading. Marvin looked toward the locked desk drawer but turned away after a moment.

He should still be okay. Like Yang Jinman said, it wasn’t quite at the “twitching” stage yet. If it got worse, he could inject it after closing. The later he stopped it, the later the next cycle would begin.

Not that there was any medical basis for that. Maybe there was, but Marvin didn’t know much about pheromone science. He’d just been here long enough to operate on instinct. The thought of being slowly molded by this place was terrifying.

He closed the office door and headed for the emergency stairs. Pushing open the heavy metal door, the muffled thump of music from below seeped through. As he descended, he spotted an employee loitering near the basement entrance.

Recognizing Marvin, the man straightened up. A bloodied tissue was pressed to his forehead.

“You get hit?”

“Ah, just a little. Some excited guest—I was standing behind him, and bam! Beer glass to the face.”

He peeled away the tissue to reveal a cut on his forehead. Fortunately, it didn’t look deep enough to need stitches. Since it wasn’t intentional, Marvin couldn’t really scold him, and the guy had just been sitting there waiting for the bleeding to stop.

“Go home.”

The employee waved his hands. “No, it’s not that bad—”

“You think you can serve like that?  Go home. Stop by a pharmacy and disinfect it.”

Marvin took out a 50,000-won bill and handed it over. It wasn’t for medical costs—it was more like compensation. The employee stood awkwardly, a conflicted smile on his face. What if the boss finds out…—he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud and just fumbled.

With a light pat on the shoulder, Marvin signaled it was fine and pushed open the emergency door. A flood of noise and music burst out.

“Table 8 needs escorting!”

“Good evening!”

“Call for 24!”

The hall was packed. There were barely any empty tables, even in the back. It might have been a small provincial tourist hotel, but with nowhere else to go nearby, everyone gathered here on weekends.

The hall had been converted from a 1990s nightclub. It was tacky, but at least somewhat modern. There was a stage, and the venue frequently hosted performances and events, so Daegyeong Hotel had become the go-to spot for all kinds of gatherings in Oseong County.

There were plenty of guests staying overnight, too. After being designated a pheromone-regulated hotel, they even got Chinese tourists arriving by ferry. Prostitution was illegal, but the allocation system—pairing ruts with Omegas—wasn’t. The government sold this as a way to help average trait-holders who lacked partners and couldn’t afford expensive suppressants costing hundreds of thousands of won.

Of course, people exploited the system. Some faked ruts to get access to omegas, while some regular folks loitered around hoping to sleep with a trait-holder. Seoul had less of this. It was mostly provincial tourist hotels with lax enforcement that catered to the demand.

Daegyeong Hotel was profiting right at the edge of legal and illegal. The locals’ petty cash barely mattered—real profits came from wealthy regulars.

Legally, sex with omegas under the quota system had to follow a fixed pricing structure. But in practice, that money alone wouldn’t get you a booking. You had to bribe your way onto the waiting list. Since omegas made the final decision, the rich always got picked first.

On days when a heat hit, the price tripled. Still, people begged to pay. Some omegas who came here thinking they’d just make some pocket money ended up renting places nearby once they got a taste of the income. Even splitting the fees 50-50 with the hotel, it was a hefty sum.

That’s why, starting last year, Dae-gyeong only brought in strong male omegas. The price per session dropped, but they made up for it in volume. Some did two or three sessions a day, so the turnover was high.

A blatant cash grab, but the county government didn’t care. On the contrary, they even awarded the place another hibiscus flower last year, designating it a model business.

Marvin managed the hall. Officially, the boss had brought him in. Staff assumed nepotism, but to Marvin, it was forced labor. Still, he couldn’t explain his background, so he tried to act as normal as possible around others.

At first, curiosity about him ran high, but after a few months, no one cared. And Marvin? He’d adapted.

Aside from his name, he never revealed any personal info, so there was some curiosity at first. But after a few months, no one cared anymore. And Marvin had grown used to the life, too.

He made his way across the hall toward the stage. The tables were filled with ordinary customers who weren’t part of the quota program. They didn’t want to go home yet, so they stayed, nursing beers.

As the performance didn’t start on time, people began cursing at the DJ. A piece of apple someone threw hit the ground. Marvin bent down, picked it up, and placed it on a nearby waiter’s tray.

“Ah, Manager.”

“Where’s Jinyong?”

“Uh, with the dance team in the green room.”

Nodding, Marvin moved past couples glued together in curtained booths toward the backstage area. The youngest waiter was talking to the dancers near the performer’s lounge.

“That bastard Juseong’s causing trouble again.”

“Probably his live-in Alpha’s rut acting up. He always takes leave around this time.”

“Nah, he told me he’s moving out. Said they’re really done this time.”

“Broken up, my ass. You think he’d dump an alpha boyfriend he worked so hard to get? He probably crawled back home after a few days. I mean, come on, a beta trying to date a trait-holder? Idiot. He always comes back wrecked after taking that guy’s rut, but he still talks big…”

“What time’s the performance?”

The smooth voice cut through the chatter. Everyone turned.

“Ah, Manager’s here!”

“Hyung, you’re here?”

“Good evening!”

Everyone greeted Marvin at once. He squinted one eye in mild discomfort. He still couldn’t get used to this gangster-like culture.

Not wanting to make a scene, he ignored them and looked straight at Jinyong. Startled, Jinyong quickly responded.

“The show was at 10. An hour ago, he said he was coming, but now his phone’s off.”

Marvin checked his watch—already 20 minutes late.

“Name?”

“Juseong-hyung. Park Juseong. Used to be in Big City’s vocalist?”

Jinyong explained eagerly, but Marvin had no clue. He vaguely remembered the guy was some kind of ex-idol, like most people here.

“You know where he lives?”

“Huh? Uh… no?”

Jinyong blinked like he’d been asked something completely unexpected.

“Of course not. What good would it do to exchange personal info when you meet in a place like this?”

 

One of the dancers who’d been talking about the alpha boyfriend scoffed. Still, they looked up at Marvin, who was much taller, and asked:

“So what now? Do we go on or not?”

Marvin thought for a second, then looked back at Jinyong.

“The room attendants clocked in yet?”

“Yeah, saw them ordering food earlier.”

“Then have them play rock-paper-scissors and pick one to sing.”

“Sing? What?”

“Yeah. Just go on stage and sing anything they know. Idol songs would be even better. You guys can match the choreography, right?”

“Huh? Uh, sure…”

Caught off guard, the dancers nodded. It looked like the show would go on. Hoping to at least earn a taxi fare, the dancers headed back to the dressing room to change. Jinyong opened his mouth, looking confused.

Just then, Marvin’s phone rang again. This time, it was the VIP room staff.

“Uh, Manager! The guests for the fourth floor just arrived. But…”

A panicked voice leaked through the receiver. Marvin, listening quietly, sighed lightly as his expression darkened. It was hard to hide his irritation. It was one of those moments when the old saying felt too true: the more someone pays, the more creatively obnoxious they get.

“No, just stick to protocol. Try to hold out a bit. I’ll be there.”

He turned toward the elevator, Jinyong hurrying after him.

“Hyung, but today’s rotation is all newbies. They can’t sing.”

Jinyong matched Marvin’s long strides with a half-jog, staying close.

“Doesn’t matter. They’re Omegas. That’s what everyone’s here for anyway.”

“But this isn’t a karaoke bar, and it’s not like they look like celebrities…”

Wouldn’t it be better if you went up instead?

Jinyong muttered the last part under his breath, swallowing the rest of his thoughts. But Marvin didn’t stop walking. Before long, the two of them had reached the elevator.

“It’s fine. Send up the unbidded ones first. If a bid comes in, switch them out. You handle hosting. You’re good at keeping it entertaining.”

Marvin gave Jinyong’s shoulder an encouraging pat, then reached past him to press the elevator button. There was no arguing, Jinyong had once made it to the finals of a national comedy competition. Defeated, he rubbed his nose and sighed.

“Yes, sir.”

The doors closed, cutting off Marvin’s retreating figure.