SAV Chapter 10

Adults could suppress their heat or rut cycles through physical intimacy, but minors couldn’t. As a result, they were sent to specialized wards for treatment until their cycles ended. It was there that Kim Juyoung happened to meet the CEO of a company competing for the top spot in the financial world, which ultimately put an end to his impoverished life.

 

“Heat treatment takes 14 days. Kim Juyoung was taken to the hospital on Friday. According to school rules, differentiated individuals cannot attend school until their cycle subsides. So what you’re saying is impossible,” Choi Jeha said confidently.

 

If I hadn’t read the synopsis, I might have agreed. A regular heat cycle would indeed take 14 days, but the real reason Kim Juyoung was hospitalized was because of his extremely rare second-stage differentiation —transitioning from a standard trait to a dominant one.

 

“That’s why I’m suggesting the bet. Since it’s impossible, it works in your favor,” I said, provoking him with a smug expression.

 

During a second differentiation , heat cycles also occur, but dominants have shorter cycles than regulars. That’s why Kim Juyoung would return to school earlier than expected. I knew this because I had read it in the synopsis.

 

“When you see Kim Juyoung at school on Wednesday, don’t come running over all shocked and yelling, ‘What the hell? Did a god intervene?’ asking for my lotto numbers,” I teased.

 

That part wasn’t in the synopsis, after all.

 

Lost in thought for a moment, Choi Jeha let out a dry laugh.

 

See? He doesn’t believe me again. This guy wouldn’t believe me even if I told him I wasn’t Cha Eunseong. Just because he doesn’t believe something doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Come Wednesday, he’ll be so shocked that his eyes will pop out of his head, and he’ll come running to me. Imagining his dumbfounded expression, I accepted his mocking laughter with a relatively calm demeanor.

 

That aside, the pain in my shoulder from hitting the flowerpot earlier was starting to worsen.

 

“Don’t forget—you agreed to disappear from my sight if you lose the bet,” he said coldly before turning to leave for class.

 

I grabbed hold of his sleeve and tugged him back. “Wait a second.”

 

“What now?” he asked irritably, looking at me like I was an annoying fly buzzing around him. His attitude annoyed me too, but since the spot where my shoulder hurt was hard to reach on my own, I held back.

 

“Sorry to bother you, but since you already helped earlier—could you stick one of those patches on my shoulder before you go? Trust me, I don’t want to ask someone who doubts me either, but I can’t reach it.”

 

“Why should I help with your shoulder pain?” he shot back with a scornful look as if asking if I’d left my conscience at home.

 

What an arrogant jerk. How could he be so cold when I got hurt trying to save him? Or did he not realize that’s how I got injured? If that was the case, it was time to emphasize this “badge of honor.” Though the pain was bearable, I hunched over and grimaced as if it hurt more than it did.

 

“I must’ve been hit from the flowerpot earlier.”

 

“You hit it?” he asked, staring into my eyes intently. Those suspicious eyes of his—always doubting everything—needed some undeniable proof this time. Luckily for him (and me), the evidence was right here on my body.

 

I unbuttoned my school shirt down to my chest and took off my vest in one swift motion.

 

“Here,” I said as I turned my back toward him.

 

“Well? What do you see?”

 

Since even a small collision with the flowerpot would’ve left marks, there had to be bruises. What better proof could there be? Yet Choi Jeha didn’t respond to my question.

 

“It’s bruised as hell, isn’t it? All purple and nasty?”

 

I turned around to look at him for an answer. He closed his horizontally stretched eyes briefly and ran a hand through his bangs before rubbing his forehead in frustration. Then he reached out and snatched the patch from my hand without saying a word.

 

“What’s wrong? Are you going to accuse me of lying about where I got hurt?” I challenged sarcastically.

 

“I can tell when and where an injury came from just fine,” he retorted sharply.

 

Of course, he had to have the last word—always so self-assured and never willing to lose even once.

 

His arrogant gaze, indifferent even when faced with evidence, irritated me. It was clear he didn’t want to admit that the bruise was his fault. He seemed so reluctant to help that it took him 30 seconds just to peel the film off the patch.

 

“Seriously, when are you planning to put it on? After school? At this rate, I might as well wait for the nurse to come back,” I said, frustrated by how slow he was. I told him to forget it if he didn’t want to do it and reached out to snatch the patch from his hand. But as I moved, his shoulders flinched like he’d seen something he shouldn’t have, and his head whipped around with wide eyes.

 

I caught his gaze dropping sharply from my face to my body and immediately understood what had startled him.

 

My younger sibling had designed Choi Jeha’s character as an Alpha with exceptional muscle mass—practically a “Golden Alpha.” His body was naturally muscular without needing much exercise, and his chest and thighs were particularly well-developed, allowing him to endure long periods of physical activity without tiring. It was even noted in the setting that his stamina was “extraordinary,” though I skipped over the exact meaning of that word.

 

In this world’s lore, Alphas often pursued physically demanding professions like athletes or laborers, while Omegas frequently worked in fields where their exceptional appearances could shine, such as on television.

 

Meanwhile, Cha Eunseong—my current body—was set to manifest as a recessive Omega. As differentiation approached, his body would become softer and weaker, with just enough stamina for basic survival. Once fully differentiated, his physical growth would stop entirely.

 

‘And my sibling thought of me while creating this character? Just wait until I get back home, Park Seyoung.’

 

My irritation turned toward Choi Jeha, whose perfect appearance benefited from an ideal character design.

 

‘Arrogant jerk. Just a product of Park Seyoung’s delusional imagination.’

 

Even through his spring uniform, the solid shape of his chest muscles was evident. I pursed my lips in annoyance as I glanced at him.

 

“Stop looking over here and look out the window,” he said, gesturing toward it with his chin.

 

‘Who’s the one getting annoyed here?’

 

I noticed his ears turning red, thinking he was angry, I turned away with a sigh. A moment later, I felt his fingertips brush against the area near my shoulder blade.

 

His fingers lingered for a moment before slowly moving toward the injured spot. It felt like a soft cat’s tail grazing my skin, making me instinctively hunch my shoulders.

 

“What are you doing? Are you ever going to put that patch on?” I asked gruffly, feeling awkward about the unfamiliar touch. I rolled my shoulder exaggeratedly but winced in pain again, letting out a small yelp.

 

Then came his low, dark voice from behind me.

 

“Hey… You’re bleeding.”

 

“What? I got hit by a falling flowerpot—of course I’m not fine… Wait, bleeding?”

 

I quickly grabbed the clothes I had taken off earlier and separated my shirt from my vest. It seemed that when I was hit by the flowerpot’s edge or a sharp corner, it had torn into my back—there was a palm-sized bloodstain on the back of my shirt.

 

“Is it ripped? Do I need stitches?”

 

“It’s not that bad; just a scratch.”

 

“A scratch? Then why is there so much blood?”

 

Suddenly feeling lightheaded, I muttered something about excessive blood loss. Ignoring me entirely, Choi Jeha stood up and walked over to the shelf where medical supplies were kept.

 

A moment later, he returned with various items in hand and sat down beside me on the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight.

 

“Disgusting,” he muttered, nudging me to turn around. Though he didn’t specify what was “disgusting,” his fleeting glance at my chest gave it away.

 

“Are you seriously calling your friend’s body dirty?”

 

“Who said we’re friends? The bet hasn’t even started yet.”

 

*Consistently prickly as ever.*

 

As I turned around, I noticed a silver tray nearby containing what looked like disinfectant. My eyes widened in alarm as I watched him pick up the bottle with a determined look.

 

“You’re not… you’re not going to put that on me, are you?”

 

“What, did you think I was going to drink it?”

 

“But it hurts!”

 

I yelped, jumping up slightly. Choi Jeha gave me a withering look as I bounced on the mattress.

 

“Oh, come on. Just stay still, will you?”

 

He covered my head with his large hand and turned me towards the window. My neck cracked audibly. At this rate, I’d need physical therapy next.

 

“That’s enough. I don’t need treatment. It’ll heal on its own. Ugh!”

 

Just as I was about to push Choi Jeha away, not wanting to deal with the pain, a searing sensation erupted from the wound. I clamped a hand over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. A tingling current spread from my back to the tips of my hair. It hurt so much that my nose stung and my jaw ached.

 

“Damn it, that really hurts!”

 

“It wouldn’t hurt if you’d stop squirming.”

 

Choi Jeha gripped my trembling shoulders tightly and brought his lips close to the wound. He blew a cool breath over it. As his breath scattered slowly across my back, the burning pain miraculously subsided.

 

“Jeha…”

 

“Don’t call me that familiarly.”

 

When his breath stopped, the pain flared up again as if by magic. Wincing, I hesitated before speaking again, deciding that embarrassment was preferable to pain.

 

“This might sound weird, but… could you keep blowing? It starts stinging again as soon as the air stops.”

 

“You know you’re more shameless than average, right?”

 

“Shameless? I’m an unfortunate patient who got hurt trying to save a friend.”

 

“I told you not to look this way.”

 

At his curt voice, I faced forward and sat up straight. A gentle breeze touched the affected area again. Despite his cold words, he continued blowing until I said it was enough.

 

‘It feels even more awkward when he’s being cooperative without his usual prickliness.’

 

Whether it was due to his soft breath or the gentle touch of his fingertips on the wound, I started to feel goosebumps rising on my skin.