GHOST
Ghosts, spirits. So few they might as well not exist. Terrifying, eerie, relentless. Everyone says they fear them, yet they drift through our lives “alienated,” vague apparitions, sotis nothing more than a curious distraction.
The room sat heavy with the dank humidity left by all-day monsoon rains.
Outside the window, a bluish dawn was slowly brightening, but in the study—where the slats of the blinds were tilted downward—the gloom of night still pooled.
The man sat motionless, slumped in a high-backed armchair, with no light on. His hand, holding a glass with a bulge at the bottom, did not stir. His face, propped at the temple by his elbow resting on the armrest, remained frozen as if under hypnosis. Only the slow rise and fall of his bare, broad chest proved he was not a beautifully sculpted wax figure but a living being.
Breaking the air that was solidifying around him, he suddenly straightened his waist, deep into the chair’s backrest.
It was 5:59 AM. In Boston, it would be about 4 PM.
After calculating the ti difference, he picked up the phone on the side table—the one he’d rely glared at until now.
It might not connect—his contact was hardly free—but luck was with him. After fewer rings than usual, he bridged the fourteen-hour gap and heard that welco voice.
Even the man’s face—rigid as if it embodied the concept of expressionless—broke into a faint smile.
A brief exchange of greetings, mischievous yet marked by deep affection and trust, followed—words one might share only with soone close.
But he couldn’t tarry. Not just out of courtesy for the other’s ti, but because he feared he couldn’t hold himself together a mont longer.
“Sigh... I don’t even know how to begin...”
He let out a hollow laugh to himself, then bit his lip in troubled thought. Finally, as if resolute, he spoke aloud:
“I underwent Changing.”
Though steeling himself had been hard, his voice was oddly calm. He closed his mouth again, as if repeating the words to see if he really said them.
Silence answered from the other end.
“Of course there was another party involved. Would I call it Changing if I’d just noted and climaxed alone?”
Frowning, he closed his eyes and pressed his temple, replying through mild irritation, then quickly regretted the outburst and apologized politely.
“The first issue is... it wasn’t by my choice, nor did I have the other’s consent.”
As he continued, his once-impassive face gradually collapsed into an expression that seed to give form to agony. To dull the pain, he raised the glass on the table and slamd back a gulp of harsh single malt whiskey.
“I couldn’t help it. It was impossible—but I was utterly dominated by pheromones, not in my right mind, and when I ca to... I realized I’d noted while under Changing.”
Recalling that dizzying mont, his face went pale in the darkness.
“I told you it was impossible.”
His voice grew urgent, losing calm.
“No, he’s not an Oga. No, he’s not an Oga... and he’s not a Beta either. That’s the second problem.”
Frustrated by his own rambling, he sighed and brushed his face with the free hand. Taking a deep breath, he sat up straight to explain more composedly.
After a few sips of whiskey, he recalled when they had first t not long ago.
“He was definitely an Oga, but he insisted he was one hundred percent Beta. At first, I thought maybe he hid it for so reason, but it didn’t feel that way. He claid to know he was Beta and that tests confird it. At first... I didn’t sense any pheromones, but independent of that, I still thought he was an Oga. You can distinguish any Oga even if they don’t release pheromones. Yet no Alpha around detected him as Oga. Strange, but I assud he was an Oga on heavy suppressants. As °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° you know, even an Oga practically overdosing on suppressants is almost impossible for not to detect.”
He rembered Choi Inwoo’s mocking—jeering that he despised using pheromones to lure partners or during lovemaking—at that Spanish tavern.
He was the type who distrusted strangers by default, showing he was watching them. It was partly to make others treat him cautiously. He’d treated this man the sa, whether Yuni had brought Juhan or with anyone else.
Yet it didn’t take long to conclude that this man—who once learned painting from Chief Han—was not soone to guard against.
First, his diligent composure drew the eye: the way he sealed pamphlets into envelopes, the slight tilt of his head when hanging and taking down works in the gallery—simple motions beautiful enough to catch one’s gaze.
His features, the line of his body in motion, even the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice seed fresh as if they still dripped water from a recent wash, as though he hesitated between boyhood and manhood.
He wasn’t especially sociable, seed shy, yet didn’t sharpen his defenses against people. Even taking Inwoo’s brash advances at the tavern without flinching showed a confidence—no shrinking or stamring.
“I’m... not even an Oga,” he’d said, face troubled, eyes transparent, without disguise.
From the mont he claid to be Beta—not Alpha, not Oga—he beca for the man more than a curiosity; he beca a subtle preoccupation.
“I was convinced,” he went on, “he really believed himself Beta. Here, those who can beco pregnant are exempt from military service. I confird his discharge papers, so until enlistnt, he never exhibited Oga traits. If he’d manifested in the military, a normal discharge would be impossible. Thus, it follows he’s never manifested as Oga—even now.”
He rembered the man’s steady gaze, as if saying, “If I were Oga, I wouldn’t hide it.” His deep black eyes were unripe yet never murky—a condensation of pure youth present in everyone.
“To see his reaction, I opened my pheromones a little. He’s undeniably Oga, but Beta? I couldn’t believe it.”
He couldn’t recall how long he’d refrained from releasing pheromones. To confirm whether he truly wasn’t Oga, he’d let them loose—an uncharacteristic act no matter how he looked back on it.
“At first, I felt a wall—then he responded. He began answering with pheromones complentary to mine. I thought perhaps he was a rare, little-known subclass of Oga. Though he detected my pheromones and responded, he thought it was fragrance.”
Even after that first uncharacteristic move, he continued opening pheromones. He could never forget the pure, unsuspecting face that, in front of Shushu’s work, tilted toward his shoulder as if sniffing perfu.
It was the first ti he felt not disgust but a thrill—an electrifying jolt—that soone detected his pheromones.
When the other offered an interpretation over the phone, he shook his head decisively.
“No... he’s not cunning enough to fake it. If he’d known they were pheromones and still acted, I’d have noticed. Could I really fail to catch even one ten-year-younger man’s deception?”
Realizing he’d enticed soone a decade his junior, brought him to climax three tis under pheromone influence, he fell silent, embarrassed.
He just hoped the man didn’t recall how Inwoo had rebuked him for finding younger partners appealing. But he’d never considered anyone that young—not as a date or a sexual partner.
“At any rate... sothing happened to him, and though I normally despise that thod, to calm him I used pheromones to make love. He responded unmistakably—far more intensely than before, opening his own abundant pheromones. I was certain he was Oga... but—”
Recalling the excitent and dismay when his hand roved between the man’s legs, he set his jaw.
“There was no cum. None at all.”
A heavy, long silence settled. He was recounting truly impossible events.
“At the ti, I intended only to soothe him so he’d sleep, so I didn’t penetrate. But afterwards... the pheromones grew stronger. When we made love the second ti—believe it or not—I lost all control of my pheromones.”
By the ti they were to leave for Hong Kong, his interest in the man had grown complex beyond pheromones, but his purpose on the call wasn’t relationship advice. It was to learn anything—anything—about this pheromone mystery.
Despite a house broad enough that presence alone wouldn’t deter sex, he’d planned the second encounter so eagerly—even switching to a hotel instead of his usual lodgings—that he didn’t need to admit it.
“Oral, neck, groin, armpits, genitals, anal...”
He trailed off, realizing how much private detail he’d shared. It was clinical, like reporting symptoms to a doctor, yet learning so much of another’s private life felt anything but pleasant.
“I’m sorry for making you hear all this...”
Whether soothed or not, he steadied his voice and continued.
“Sweaty areas, strong natural odors, mucous mbranes, even bodily fluids—all matched pheromone characteristics. He beca more sensitive to mine, becoming candidly lustful in ways unimaginable from his usual character. When penetration happened... we were both so dominated by pheromones we weren’t ourselves, and when I ca to... he’d tried noting and Changing. I could... neither control nor resist...”
His voice slackened into a daze. His eyes, bereft of aning, cast about the room.
Like piecing together a fading dream, he narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“I thought it a forgivable mistake. I tried to stay calm—of course I did. But without birth control, if he’s Oga, a pregnancy likelihood is over ninety percent, and if he’s Beta, it counts as Changing... How could I have been sane?”
He drained the last of his drink in one go. With the bluish veins on his hand standing out, he wiped his lips roughly, hunched forward, and ruffled his hair.
“I know one or two Changings won’t change anything. But... a defense I’d never breached was shattered so easily. By the most unlikely adversary. Do you understand ?”
His bare shoulders and chest swelled with emotional intensity.
“What’s more astonishing is that after noting him, he was perfectly fine.”
He lifted the empty glass but found no whiskey left.
“I told you it was impossible. A Beta withstanding my noting without so much as a scratch—twice? You know Ogas would suffer at least a day or two, Golden Ogas too. Yet he—”
Perhaps the other spoke, for he cut himself off and faltered like a scolded child.
Why did I even have a second penetration? he seed to ask himself, lips trembling.
He’d blad the stronger pheromones, but he couldn’t fool himself—or the one on the line—for not actively avoiding that situation.
What if he hadn’t co up to my bedroom? What if I’d gone to sleep quietly?
What he was sure of, from the mont he saw the man trembling, soaked in rain at his doorstep, was that he’d felt such fierce anger to destroy whatever had made him like that—and with equal force, an overwhelming lust for him.
He knew from education what kind of instinct that mix of rage and desire was.
From long exchange with a single Oga, the protective instinct an Alpha develops toward his Oga—at least that seed closest.
Though such chances were rare now, he also knew that an Alpha faithful to one Oga wouldn’t hesitate to die for that Oga.
He recalled his sex-ed teacher’s impersonal explanation: that as biological fixtures prioritizing reproduction, Alphas protected pregnant Ogas above all—a definition he’d hated as a boy, as if reducing him to a breeding vessel.
But if the anger and desire he’d felt at the gate were akin to an Alpha’s protective instinct, it hadn’t repelled him as theory had.
Rather, he’d never seen a more pitiable, lovable creature. He’d felt he could give everything to protect him and make him smile—and all his energy had concentrated simply on that being.
That misplaced willingness to sacrifice hadn’t repulsed him, but it baffled him nonetheless.
First, this wasn’t his Oga from long acquaintance. Indeed, he wasn’t even an Oga. How could his Alpha instinct be triggered by soone whose very existence was uncertain?
“The second ti, I was completely dominated by his pheromones—dragged into noting and even Changing again. I fought to keep pace, but... it was useless. His pheromones seed designed to compel to note and Change. It’s beyond now—his pheromones don’t just stimulate mine...”
He moved his lips and, with a sigh that seed to push out the cold wind within, said:
“What on earth... is he?”
It felt as if he’d told that long story just to speak that one line.
“No. No, no.”
He shook his head repeatedly, rejecting the answer from the other end.
“Unstable, immature Oga pheromones? For a Golden Alpha like ... to lose control to immature Oga pheromones? Is that possible?”
Amid rising arousal, he gripped his head in painful frustration.
“If that were so... then what about ? Am I really a Golden Alpha? A Ghost?”
He wrapped his head in his hands; his shoulders rose and fell in the darkness.
“I tried to calm down, to be rational. So many tis.”
His voice bore the sharp edge of desperation—regret, self-reproach, and the fear of an unknown future.
“But lately, whenever I face him, I feel drawn helplessly. My best defense is to suppress releasing pheromones. Even that... if the place and conditions let us touch, I fall into a madness of craving him. If he sends his pheromones first, I can’t resist—there is no will to resist in ; I’m utterly powerless before his pheromones...”
With elbows on his thighs, he raised his head, palm spread, stroking his jaw as though crushing it.
“To be conquered by re pheromones, to lose all self-control and go into heat... is this what a Golden Alpha is? After all my training, am I to beco such a beast?”
Now his voice softened into emptiness. His gaze at the void was just as hollow.
When the other offered words of comfort, he gave a short, mirthless laugh.
“I’m not afraid. I’m confused.”
He didn’t get the clear answer he wanted—yet he’d never expected one. Even he, versed in Alpha-Oga lore, had never heard of such a case; the other sounded just as unsettled.
Perhaps unburdening himself had eased so weight, he thought—but no. The problem remained, and only he could face it alone.
“I’m going to Chicago in September for an exhibition. I’ll co see you then. And if you learn anything before that... well, let know. Okay?”
When he hung up, he remained frozen, leaning forward. Only after a long mont did he straighten, pressing his eyes and muttering a curse under his breath.
Rising to fetch more whiskey, he crossed the carpet and caught his foot on the floor lamp’s cord. Instinctively, he reached to steady the lamp—but its thin, rigid tal just missed his grasp.
He managed to break his fall with knee and thigh, sparing the shade and bulb, but furious at such a careless mistake, he swore again.
Forgoing his drink, he laid the lamp on its side, sat on the floor, blinked several tis, then, in resignation, leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.
He said he wasn’t afraid, that fear was impossible—but deep down, he couldn’t be sure.
No longer could he be certain of anything—not even his own existence.
If he looked in a mirror, he felt he wouldn’t even recognize himself there. And that, he knew, was fear.
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