Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most Chapter 67: I Mean— Every Single Word

My steps are a frantic, echoing staccato on the polished marble. I’m late. Angel must be waiting, probably bored, maybe anxious in this unfamiliar, imposing place. I skid to a stop in front of my office door and push it open.

Empty.

The room is silent, still.

No Angel.

No Ziya.

Only Silence...

My breath hitches.

Where is he?

And the boy?

A cold thread of worry winds through my chest. I trusted Ziya to stay with him. I turn on my heel and stride back into the hall, my expression tight with concern.

A staff girl walks by, bowing lightly. I barely register her. "Where’s Angel?" The question cos out sharp, edged with panic.

She looks confused.

I rub my temple, frustration mounting.

"My friend. The one I brought with today."

Her eyes widen with understanding. "Oh! Sir, Ziya and your friend are up on the company terrace."

I don’t thank her. I’m already moving, my steps urgent, eating up the distance to the elevator bank. I stab the button.

The terrace?

What are they doing up there?

The doors slide open and I step in, pressing the button for the top floor.

Neon, calm down. I lean back against the cold wall, forcing a slow breath.

Ziya is a good kid. A gentle Oga. He wouldn’t... But the worry is a live wire. Angel is too innocent, too precious for this harsh, unpredictable world.

The elevator doors open to the top floor. I’m almost running down the hall to the heavy door marked TERRACE ACCESS. I shove it open and step out into the open air.

And I freeze.

The sight steals the breath from my lungs.

The world seems to still. The sun hangs low, molten gold, painting the sky in streaks of amber and rose. And there, against that breathtaking canvas, stand two figures.

Angel and Ziya.

They’re standing at the glass safety barrier, not too close, a respectful distance between them. Ziya is talking, animated, gesturing toward the horizon. And Angel...

Angel is smiling.

Not the small, hesitant, polite smiles I usually coax from him. This is a real one. Unburdened. Free. It lights up his whole face, making his golden hair and eyes seem to drink in the sunset, turning him into sothing almost ethereal, a being spun from the light itself.

He looks more real, more alive in this mont than I’ve ever seen him.

A soft, involuntary smile spreads across my own lips.

He looks... breathtaking.

I watch, transfixed, as Ziya says sothing else, and Angel’s smile widens, a quiet laugh seeming to shake his shoulders. The sight makes sothing warm and tender unfurl in my chest.

He’s okay. He’s happy.

I made a good choice.

I take a slow, silent step forward.

Ziya is still talking, but Angel’s gaze shifts. It finds . His smile fades, not completely, but it softens, becos more familiar, more guarded. Ziya turns, sees , and instantly straightens, his playful ease replaced by professional deference.

I walk toward them, closing the distance. I stop close to Angel, a warm, genuine smile on my face. "I’m so sorry I’m late."

Angel’s cheeks, already ward by the sun, flush a deeper pink.

"It’s okay. Ziya gave good company. He’s very funny."

I look at Ziya, who keeps his eyes respectfully lowered. "Thank you, Ziya. For giving my friend such good company."

"It was my pleasure, sir," he murmurs.

I turn back to Angel, my voice softening further. "You made my friend smile. That’s a beautiful sight I always want to see."

Angel’s eyes hold mine, a soft curiosity in their depths. I glance at Ziya. "You may go."

He looks at Angel once more, a silent goodbye, and Angel offers him a small, parting smile.

"See you tomorrow."

"Okay," Angel says softly.

Ziya slips away, leaving us alone on the vast terrace, painted in the dying embers of the day.

Angel looks back at .

I smile. "You look happy."

He turns his gaze to the horizon. "He’s a good boy. He told about his life. Lots of funny stories."

I look at the sun, and the confession slips out, colored by a silly, possessive warmth. "I’m... kinda jealous of him."

Angel looks at , his expression shifting to one of open confusion. "Why?"

I smile softly, eting his gaze. "He succeeded in making you smile so freely. I haven’t managed that yet."

The air grows cooler as the sun dips lower. A gentle breeze stirs our hair, gilding our skin. Silence stretches between us, but it’s comfortable, charged with the unspoken. Our eyes are locked.

After a long mont, Angel looks away. "It’s not like that," he murmurs.

I take off my coat. Without a word, I drape it over his shoulders, the fabric still holding my warmth. He flinches slightly at the touch, pulled from his thoughts.

"The air is getting colder," I say. "You might catch a chill."

He looks at , concern in his eyes. "What about you? What if you catch a cold?"

I smile, looking directly into his eyes. "If I catch a cold... I have a sweet angel who’ll take care of ."

He stares at , and then, incredibly, a soft smile touches his own lips. He reaches up... and pats my head.

I freeze, stunned.

His eyes widen instantly, realizing what he’s done—

He snatches his hand back. "I’m so sorr—"

Before he can finish, I catch his retreating hand.

"Please," I whisper. "Do it."

He stares at , searches my face. Then, slowly, he raises his hand again. His palm rests on my head, warm and solid, and he begins to pat my hair, slow and soothing. It’s the most calming sensation in the world.

I smile softly, my eyes slipping closed for a second before opening to look at the spectacular sunset. "It’s so beautiful," I murmur.

He follows my gaze. "Yes."

I look back at him. My voice drops to a murmur ant only for him. "Just like your shining golden eyes."

He looks back at , and I give him another innocent, sweet smile, assuring him with my whole heart that I an— every single word.