Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 113: Teddy Bear

The words hang in the sterile air, a verdict.

You’re the one who changed.

I have no defense.

How can I argue about a past I never lived?

I can only sit in the silence of his accusation, a thief in the body of the accused.

Slowly, I sit up. His arm around my waist loosens, letting move, but his gaze never wavers. It feels heavier than his touch.

"Moon," I start, my voice careful. I et his eyes, willing sincerity into my own.

"I haven’t changed. Not in the way you an. I’m still your cousin, Zyren. But everyone changed after they found out I was a D-Class Alpha. Everyone looked at differently. That... that does things to a person."

He says nothing. Just watches , a statue absorbing sound. Then, with a fluid motion, he sits up too, bringing us eye-to-eye on the soft mattress.

The green light casts deep shadows under his eyes, making him look carved from sothing ancient and weary.

I press on, leaning into the half-truth.

"Moon... I don’t rember. Anything about the past. Our past."

His expression shifts. Not with anger, but with a chilling, dawning realization. The silence breaks.

"You really don’t rember?"

I give a small, hesitant nod.

He laughs. It’s a short, sharp sound with no warmth, a brittle crack in the quiet. Then he leans in, so close I can see the flecks of silver in his blue irises.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, the words a venomous caress.

"Or are you just trying to play the innocent amnesiac? It’s a convenient little shield, isn’t it?"

I blink, forcing my eyes wide with a confusion that isn’t entirely fake. "Nope. I don’t rember anything." I inject a thread of frustrated honesty into my voice.

"If we have so... unfinished thing between us, we can clear it. But please, just stop. Stop with the weird hot-and-cold behavior. I’m fed up with trying to guess which Moon I’m going to get."

His gaze sharpens, pinning to the spot.

"So I’m irritating to you now?"

"It’s not like that!" I say quickly, then falter. I look down at my own hands, clenched in the sheets. My voice drops to a murmur.

"You just... you’re happy one mont, then so angry the next. I don’t understand. Please, just tell . What did I do to you?"

He doesn’t answer. His eyes perform a slow, ticulous scan of my face, as if he’s reading lines of invisible text written on my skin.

Then, his hand rises. His fingers are cool as they cup my chin, tilting my head back up, forcing to look at him.

"Why," he asks, each word a asured drop, "did you suddenly forget our past?"

Think, Neon. Think!

I can’t tell him the truth.

Hey, I’m actually a broke teenager from another world who used to hate the villain character—and sohow ended up here.

He’d think I was insane. Locked up.

My mind races, grabbing the first plausible lie that flashes by. "Two years ago," I say, the words coming out in a shaky rush.

"There was a car accident. It wasn’t... it wasn’t major. But I hit my head. After that... a lot of things just faded. Like they were written in sand and the tide ca in. Most of my past, it’s just... gone."

I hold my breath. My fists are clenched so tight in my lap my nails bite into my palms.

Please, just believe it. Just this once.

He blinks. Once. Twice. The intensity in his gaze doesn’t lessen, but it changes—shifts from accusation to a deep, unsettling scrutiny.

Then, without another word, he lets go of my chin. He lies back down on the pillows, his movents slow, deliberate.

"Let’s sleep," he says, his voice flat.

Before I can process the dismissal, his arm snakes out again. It wraps around my waist and pulls, a firm, undeniable tug.

I fall back against the mattress, my side pressed flush to his. He arranges against him like a doll, tucking my head against his chest.

"Moon—"

"Zyren," he cuts off, his voice a drowsy murmur near my ear.

"I’m sleepy. Don’t make a sound. Just sleep. Good night."

He says it like a command. Then he closes his eyes, his breathing already deliberately evening out.

But his arm around doesn’t relax. It tightens, pulling impossibly closer until my face is buried in the soft cotton of his hospital gown, my body curled into the heat of his.

He holds like a child clings to a beloved, tattered teddy bear—a grip that is both possessive and, sohow, desperately needy.

And in the dark, with the steady beat of his heart loud in my ear, I am left to wonder which one of us is really the teddy bear..?

Moon’s eyes are closed, his breathing a slow, even tide. Mine are wide open, staring at the dark hollow of his throat.

Sleep is impossible. Not like this. Not with his arms locked around like steel bands, my face mashed against the solid plane of his chest.

I am a captive in a cage of warmth and stubborn muscle.

Finally, I can’t take it. "Moon..."

His eyes drift open. Lazy. Unconcerned. He looks down at .

I inject every ounce of my frustration into a whisper.

"Can you stop clutching like a stuffed toy? I’m uncomfortable. I can’t sleep."

He doesn’t blink. Just stares, as if processing a foreign language. Then he says, "You’re uncomfortable."

I nod, eager.

Yes. Finally.

Instead of releasing , his arms tighten. He pulls even closer, eliminating the last whisper of space. My body is now flush against his, every line and contour aligned.

My eyes fly wider. "Hey, are you—?"

"Just take a deep breath," he murmurs, his voice a low, hypnotic rumble against my temple.

"You’ll get comfortable."

"How can I breathe," I hiss, struggling weakly, "when you’re holding like thi—"

The words die in my throat.

I inhale.

The air... changes.

It thickens, warms, saturates with a scent that is no longer just a background note. It’s amber wood, but deepened, enriched, woven through with sothing profoundly... soothing.

It feels less like a sll and more like a physical presence, a golden haze I can almost see glowing in the dark room. It wraps around my head, seeps into my lungs, and spreads through my bloodstream like ward honey.

My body... gives up.

It’s not a choice. It’s a physiological surrender. The tension leaching from my muscles is instantaneous. The frantic alertness in my mind softens, blurs at the edges.

My eyelids, so stubbornly wide a second ago, grow impossibly heavy. They drift halfway shut.

A soft, confused sound escapes .

"Moon... what is this...?"

My voice is a drowsy slur. I fight to keep my eyes open, to cling to my irritation, but it’s slipping away, dissolving in the fragrant, golden fog.

He smiles. I feel the curve of his lips against my hair. His finger brushes my cheek, a feather-light stroke.

"My soothing pheromones," he whispers, as if sharing a secret.

A last flicker of resistance sparks. "I’m an Alpha..." I murmur, the protest weak, distant.

"Not an Oga... How can I...?"

The question remains unfinished. My eyes flutter, then close completely. The argunt, the discomfort, the rigid line of my own body—it all lts away.

His warmth.

This deep, drugging comfort.

It’s... heavenly.

The last thing I know is the steady, sure beat of his heart under my ear, and the scent of a tranquil forest wrapping in a deep, dreamless peace.