Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 171: It Feels Like Heaven

The bus glides through the darkness, its engine a low, steady hum vibrating through the worn seats.

The interior is bathed in dim fluorescent light, empty except for us—two souls tucked away in the back, alone in a world that feels like it was made just for this mont.

Deniz’s head rests heavy on my shoulder, his body slack with exhaustion, his eyes closed.

His breathing is slow and even, a peaceful rhythm. But his eyelashes are still wet, clumped together from tears he thought I didn’t notice, from confessions he was brave enough to make.

The sight makes my chest ache—a deep, tender ache that’s becoming familiar whenever I look at him.

I glance down, my chest tightening with sothing too large to na. My hand lifts slowly, with the kind of gentleness you use when handling sothing precious.

My thumb brushes across his lashes, catching the last trace of moisture before it can fall.

His eyes open imdiately.

For a mont, he’s disoriented, blinking in the dim light, his dark eyes unfocused. Then he straightens, looking around at the darkness rushing past the windows, unfamiliar and distant.

"Where are we?" His voice is rough with sleep.

I smile softly, warmth spreading through . "I don’t know."

He looks at , brow furrowing. "Why didn’t you wake ?"

"You were sleeping so peacefully."

I reach up and brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead, tucking it behind his ear. The gesture is unconscious, automatic—I just need to touch him.

"I couldn’t bring myself to disturb you."

He peers out the window, trying to read the passing landscape—the occasional light, the shadowy shapes of trees and buildings.

"It’s almost morning." A pause. "And we don’t even know where we are."

My fingers continue their gentle work, smoothing his ssy hair, tracing the line of his temple.

"Don’t worry. I’ll call my driver. He’ll find us."

Deniz nods, but uncertainty still lingers in his eyes.

The bus slows. Then stops. The doors hiss open with a pneumatic sigh.

I take his hand, lacing our fingers together. "Let’s go."

We step out into air that’s different—cooler, fresher, carrying scents I don’t recognize.

Salt? Sothing green?

The pre-dawn darkness is softening at the edges, the sky beginning to lighten imperceptibly.

Deniz looks around, orienting himself, his brow furrowing in concentration. Then his expression shifts, sothing like recognition flickering across his features.

"It feels like..." He pauses, turning slightly, as if following so internal compass.

"If we walk straight, I think we’ll reach the beach."

"Really?" The word escapes sharper than I intended, excitent slipping through.

He nods, more certain now. "I’m pretty sure."

I squeeze his hand, a smile tugging at my lips. "I want to see the sunrise. Let’s go."

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck in that sheepish way he does when he’s embarrassed.

"Aren’t you tired? I’m sorry I fell asleep on your shoulder. It must be numb by now."

I reach up and squeeze his cheek, grinning at the way his eyes widen, the way surprise and pleasure war on his face.

"I’d let you sleep on my shoulder for the rest of my life," I say, letting him see the truth in my eyes.

"I can bear it."

His cheeks flush that beautiful pink I’ve co to love, the color spreading to his ears, down his neck.

He looks away, shy and flustered, and sothing in my chest expands with warmth. I love him like this—vulnerable, unguarded, completely, utterly mine.

I tug his hand. "Co on. Let’s find the sea."

He follows, still pink-cheeked, still silent, but his fingers tighten around mine.

We walk through the softening darkness, the path growing clearer as the sky lightens. And then, suddenly, the world opens up.

The beach stretches before us, endless and vast, sand pale and soft in the dim light. The sky is a masterpiece in progress—yellow and orange bleeding into each other like watercolors on wet paper, painting the horizon in shades of fire and honey and sothing I don’t have words for.

The sea whispers in its ancient rhythm, waves kissing the shore in a steady, soothing pulse that feels older than ti.

I stare.

The sunrise glow warms my face, catches in my silver hair, paints everything in gold. My eyes shine with sothing that might be tears or might just be reflection—I can’t tell anymore.

In my real life—Neon’s life—I had never seen the sea. I lived in a landlocked city, surrounded by concrete and desperation, with no money or ti for dreams. The ocean existed only in pages, photographs, and the imagination of a boy hungry for stories.

I always wondered what it would feel like to stand here. To feel the sand beneath my feet. To watch the sun climb out of the water like a living thing being born.

Now I know.

"Zyren?"

Deniz’s voice pulls gently from the mont. I blink, turning to find him watching with those dark eyes that see too much.

"Do you like it?" he asks softly.

I look back at the sea, at the endless water eting the endless sky in a line so perfect it could be drawn.

"Yes." My voice is quiet, reverent. "I love it." A pause.

"It’s my first ti seeing the ocean."

I stop.

The words hang in the air between us. The truth slipped out, carried away by the beauty of the mont, by the vulnerability of standing here with him.

And now it’s there—a confession that makes no sense coming from Zyren Kael, heir to a fortune, a man who could have anything he wanted.

Deniz doesn’t ask.

Doesn’t question.

Doesn’t demand explanations.

He just smiles softly—that gentle, understanding smile that makes feel seen in ways I never thought possible—and kneels in the sand before .

I look down, frozen, as his fingers carefully work at the laces of my shoes, gentle as if touching sothing fragile.

"What are you—"

He cuts off gently, his voice warm as the sunrise beginning to paint the sky. "Then we should walk in the water. I think you’ll like it."

He removes my shoes, one by one, setting them aside in the sand. Then he takes off his own, placing them neatly beside mine. He stands and offers his hand.

"Let’s go."

I smile, the tension dissolving like morning mist.

"Okay."

We step onto the sand.

It’s soft beneath my feet—softer than anything I’ve felt, warm and yielding in a way that feels strange and wonderful. My toes sink lightly, leaving delicate prints behind us.

"How does it feel?" Deniz asks, watching my face.

I wiggle my feet, a small laugh escaping at the sensation.

"Weird." Another step. "And soft. Like nothing I’ve ever felt."

He squeezes my hand. "Take a deep breath. Just relax."

I do. I breathe in the salt air, let my shoulders drop, let the tension of years—of two lifetis—drain away into the sand beneath .

It’s really relaxing. Really peaceful.

We walk toward the water, and I stop.

Deniz looks at , concern flickering in his dark eyes.

"What happened?"

I look at the waves, at the endless expanse of water stretching to the horizon, and sothing cold flickers in my chest.

Ancient. Primal. Irrational.

"I’ve never... really been in water like this before." My voice trembles slightly, caught between curiosity and caution.

He looks at the sea, its gentle waves, its vastness. Then back at . Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tie—the one from earlier, the one that marked us as adults in a world that demanded we grow up too fast.

I watch, confused, as he holds it up.

"Close your eyes," he says gently.

"Why?"

"Please." His voice is soft, coaxing. "Just close them."

I hesitate, then nod. "Fine."

My eyes close. Darkness. Then I feel his fingers brush against my head, gentle, deliberate, tying the fabric loosely over my eyes. Darkness surrounds , but his hands—warm, reassuring—block out the fear, leaving only trust.

"Just feel," he whispers. "Don’t speak. Just feel."

I nod, trusting him completely.

He takes my hand, and we step forward together.

Cold water touches my feet first—a shock that makes gasp, then a pleasure that makes sigh. The salty scent of the sea mixes with the crisp morning air. Each step feels alive, the sand shifting, the water lapping rhythmically, enclosing us in a world that exists only for this mont.

"Zyren." His voice is soft, close, his breath warm against my ear.

"How does it feel?"

I open my mouth to answer—

His lips find mine.

Soft at first. A question. A promise. Then deeper, surer, answering itself. My heartbeat hamrs in my chest, echoing the waves around us as I kiss him back, hands finding his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

The blindfold keeps in darkness, heightening every sensation—the warmth of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the way his heartbeat races against my chest.

Blindfolded, standing in the water, on a beach I never thought I’d see, kissing the man I love more than I ever thought possible—

It feels like heaven.