Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 107: A Shy Nod of Yes

Deniz stares down at . The shock on his face isn’t simple surprise; it’s a total systems failure. His world, the one where he has carefully placed in a category labeled ’unreachable,’ has just cracked open.

The silence isn’t empty. It’s full of the whisper of snow and the deafening roar of my own heart in my ears.

"Deniz," I say again, and my voice is softer now, more fragile. A thread offered across the chasm.

"I love you."

A tear betrays . It doesn’t fall dramatically; it wells, overflows, and traces a single, burning path through the cold on my cheek.

It is the most honest thing I have ever shown him.

"I love you so much," I whisper, the words gaining strength from their own truth.

"I’ve loved you since the first mont I saw you. I want to spend my whole life with you. I want to stay by your side, no matter what happens."

I have to pause. My throat is too tight. The next words are the most terrifying I have ever spoken, a plea that lays my entire soul bare.

"Please..." The word is a broken thing.

"Please be my lover."

His eyes, already glistening, shimr—a mirror to my own tears. He holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, then it breaks.

His attention drops, drawn inevitably to the winter jasmine in my hand, as if the tiny flower holds the answer to this impossible equation.

His cheeks are stained a deep, beautiful, agonizing red.

The wait is a physical pain. The snowflakes land on my outstretched hand, on the flower, on his lashes.

Each one is a second ticking by.

"Deniz..." It’s not a prompt, but a prayer.

He finally looks up. His eyes et mine, and a single, perfect tear escapes, tracing the exact sa path down his cheek as mine had.

His voice, when it cos, is shattered glass.

"But... didn’t you... have an Oga partner?"

The question isn’t an accusation. It’s a confession of its own. It’s the source of every hesitant glance, every step back, every wall of silence he’s built between us.

He saw Angel and at the bakery. He heard the old woman’s assumption.

And he, in his quiet, self-sacrificing way, accepted it as truth and decided his own feelings were an intrusion.

The realization hits like a warm, painful wave.

He wasn’t rejecting .

He was trying to be noble.

"Oh, Deniz," I breathe, the words laced with a heartbreaking tenderness.

"Angel is not my partner. He’s my friend. My family. Nothing more." I hold his gaze, willing every ounce of my sincerity into the space between us.

"That day, the granny just saw two people and made a wish. She didn’t know. But I know. My heart..."

My voice breaks again, a fresh tear following the first.

"My heart has only ever belonged to you."

The admission leaves trembling. The last of my defenses are gone, piled at my feet in the snow.

"Please. Be my partner."

He searches my face. His eyes trace my tear-streaked cheeks, my desperate eyes, my lips parted on a hope so fragile it could shatter.

He is looking for the lie, the trap, the cruel joke.

He finds only .

Just Neon, loving him.

A slow, almost imperceptible change cos over him. The tension in his shoulders, held for so long, begins to lt.

The fear in his eyes softens, replaced by a dawning, disbelieving wonder.

And then, he nods.

It’s not a dramatic gesture. It’s a small, shy dip of his chin.

But it is the axis upon which my entire universe turns.

His hand—the one not holding the umbrella—lifts. It trembles, just slightly. He doesn’t reach for my hand.

He reaches for the flower. His fingers brush against mine as he takes the stem, the touch a spark that echoes through my entire body.

He closes his hand around the jasmine bloom, cradling it against his palm as if it’s made of starlight.

That’s the mont. The ’yes’ isn’t in a word. It’s in the acceptance of the flower.

I rise from the snow, my knees numb with cold and emotion. I don’t pull him to .

I simply open my arms.

He steps into them.

The umbrella falls, forgotten, sinking into the white pillow beneath us. His arms co around , not tentatively, but with a firm, desperate clutch, as if he’s clinging to a lifeline he never thought he’d grasp.

I hold him just as tightly, my face buried in the cold wool of his coat, breathing in the scent of rose and snow and Deniz.

We don’t speak.

We just hold each other, and the tears co—quiet, relieved, cleansing sobs that shake us both.

They are the sound of walls crumbling, of silence finally breaking after too long.

I am smiling. I am crying.

I have never been so happy in either of my lives.

I draw back just enough to see his face. He’s crying too, his beautiful eyes red-rimd, his lips parted.

Our breath mingles in a cloud of warmth in the freezing air.

My hand lifts, and I wipe a tear from his cheek with my thumb, the touch infinitely gentle.

"Can I kiss you?"

I ask, though the answer is already here, shining in his eyes.

He looks down for a heartbeat, a last flicker of sweet, fluttering shyness, then gives that small, precious nod again.

This ti, I don’t rush. I lean in slowly, giving him every chance to turn away.

He doesn’t.

His eyes close.

Our lips et.

It is not a kiss of hunger, but of hocoming. Soft, sure, and devastatingly sweet. It tastes of winter jasmine and salt tears and a promise finally kept.

His grip on my waist tightens, and he kisses back, his lips moving against mine with a shy, perfect sincerity.

The snow falls around us, wrapping the world in a hushed, gentle blanket. But inside this circle of warmth, for the first ti, there is no cold.

There is no fear.

There is only this mont.

And I don’t want it to end.