ATGRA 6

I don’t know how he interpreted my step back, but Jung Pureum stood there, hand still outstretched, looking at me. Unfortunately, I had turned off the central light, so half of Jung Pureum’s face was swallowed by shadows.

“Is your body okay now?”

“Yeah. I ate the porridge well. I gave the container to your noona.”

“You could’ve given it later. I was worried, so I came right after school.”

“I told you to at least pretend to go to the study room.”

“What’s the point of pretending now? That’s not going to suddenly raise my grades.”

“You never know. Maybe the last-minute exam prep you glance at will show you the way. Life is like the proverb about the old man’s horse, full of unexpected turns.”

Despite being an examinee with the college entrance exam looming, Jung Pureum didn’t seem tense. Well, the ones who are truly nervous at this time are those betting everything on regular admission with just their pride.

To begin with, Jung Pureum could easily get into most universities as a sports special admission. He’s not an Alpha but a Beta, yet he’s been an athlete since childhood with decent competition results.

I’d gone to watch Jung Pureum’s swimming meets a couple of times.

Jung Pureum, whose main event was long-distance, was said to have better endurance and tenacity than most Alphas. To someone like me, who’s practically clueless about sports, the only thing I could tell was that Jung Pureum’s physique was impressive for a nineteen-year-old.

“Oh, since you’re here, take the Gongjindan.”

“You already made it?”

“When I came to my senses, the one for you was done. I’m a genius, after all…”

I handed the neatly packaged Gongjindan to Jung Pureum. He accepted it readily, then leaned toward me and gave a bright smile.

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Do well on the exam. Living next to the great genius Moon Yeonghwa for seven years, you’re bound to become something.”

“Yeonghwa hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m almost an adult now.”

“Oh, right. Hey, just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you should drink a lot. That’s bad for your liver…”

“Stop nagging.”

“Okay, okay.”

I don’t know what he was trying to say, but Jung Pureum awkwardly rubbed his cheek a couple of times. For a kid, his eyes were overly serious.

What’s going to change just because he becomes an adult? Going from nineteen to twenty doesn’t dramatically alter the world.

Of course, high school and university are different. As an adult, he’ll manage his own schedule, and as a freshman, he’ll probably get lots of invites to blind dates or group meetups.

“Yeonghwa hyung, I like you.”

I listened to his words with one ear and let them slip out the other, popping a packet of herbal medicine into my mouth.

That’s because, by my count, Jung Pureum has said “I like you” to me about 3,891 times. It might even be more.

For about seven years, he’s been saying he likes me constantly. The number of times Jung Pureum has said he likes me might outnumber the packets of herbal medicine I’ve taken in my life.

Well, if I had a next-door hyung who bought me beef before my exam, I’d like him too. And it’s always wise to stay on good terms with people in the medical field. Who knows what help you might need in old age?

“I really like our Pureum too.”

“…”

“Where else in the world is there a little brother like you? If all Betas were like you, our society wouldn’t be so messed up.”

“…”

“Take the Gongjindan and go. You need to study.”

Jung Pureum, not looking like an examinee with the exam approaching but rather like someone who’d lost the world, had a sad expression. Even if he’s pretending otherwise, the nearing exam must really be stressing him out.

So, I gave Jung Pureum not only the Gongjindan I made but also a bunch of other nutritional supplements. But when I told him to eat these, get energized, and score a first-grade, his expression grew worse.

As expected, the plot twist of realizing my report card was filled with first-grades is reserved for geniuses like me.

I looked pityingly at my next-door little brother, who wasn’t particularly gifted at studying outside of sports. Still, did he need to look so devastated? Poor guy.

*

On the day of the college entrance exam, Jung Pureum collapsed. Not just anywhere, but during the third period’s English listening section.

During the sacred English listening time that even stops airplanes, a big high school boy fainted with a thud in the exam room. Good heavens. It’s a miracle the other examinees didn’t sue.

And the reason Jung Pureum collapsed was… because he became an Alpha.

This was unprecedented, not just in Korea but worldwide. Shock incarnate! Not at fourteen, but at nineteen, manifesting from a Beta to an Alpha during the exam? Truly amazing, shocking, fantastic news.

Jung Pureum was rushed to the hospital mid-exam. After numerous tests and analyses, the reason for his Alpha manifestation was revealed.

It was because of the Gongjindan I gave him.

…Does that even make sense?

I held the diagnosis prescribed by Western doctors for Jung Pureum, insisting it was all a lie. I adamantly claimed there was absolutely no problem with my Gongjindan.

But deep down, I knew. There wasn’t just a problem—it was overflowing with issues.

I’d fallen into the same category as those who accidentally made Viagra while developing heart medicine. I intended to make Gongjindan (拱辰丹) but ended up with Gongjindan (攻進丹), so it’s not an exaggeration to say I outdid the Viagra developers.

Ms. Kim Miyoung, upon hearing this, immediately prepared a patent application for the Gongjindan (攻進丹). I learned then that getting approval from the Korea Food and Drug Administration could be that easy.

I rushed to the neighbors’ place and knelt before their mom. I felt my life was in danger. It wouldn’t be surprising if the former shot-put athlete killed me for ruining her son’s life.

But she, with a calm face, simply said, “My son’s a sports special admission anyway.”

She’s right. Even if he messed up the exam, Jung Pureum, an excellent swimmer, wouldn’t fail to get into university. Now that he’s an Alpha, universities would eagerly recruit him for special admissions.

But her forgiveness didn’t make me innocent.

Jung Pureum himself could sue me anytime. Becoming an Alpha overnight from a Beta without warning—how mentally shocking would that be?

I went to Jung Pureum, ready to kneel again as I did with his mom. My knees are light. Pride? What’s that? My oriental medicine license, earned through four years of main studies and two years of pre-med, was at risk.

As soon as Jung Pureum saw me rushing in, he burst into tears. I instinctively knew I was done for. He’s not the type to cry over something like this, even if he’s emotional. How devastated must he be to become an Alpha…

“Hyung…”

“Pureum-ah, I’m really sorry. I committed a grave sin. I must have messed up studying prescription formulation in oriental medicine school.”

“Hyung, you have to take responsibility for me…”

I poured out all sorts of sweet words to calm the crying kid, but there seemed no way to soothe Jung Pureum, who was sobbing.

In the end, I had no choice but to say something resolute to get out of this mess. Fine, whatever. What could happen from taking responsibility for a kid who just became an Alpha?

“Alright, I’ll take responsibility. Stop crying.”

That’s why I said it. Like an adult promising candy to calm a crying child.

But seriously, what responsibility am I supposed to take?

My heart grew uneasy. It was good that Jung Pureum stopped crying, but what came next was tricky. To avoid a lawsuit, what should I do? Since he’s lived as a Beta, he probably doesn’t know much—should I give him sex education like he’s a middle schooler?

Seeing Jung Pureum giggling while hugging me made my body and mind feel heavy.

“Then, let’s write a contract.”

“Huh?”

“You might just be saying you’ll take responsibility without meaning it.”

“…”

…Was this kid always this sharp?

Whether it was the pheromones or Jung Pureum reading me too easily, my heart trembled uneasily.

I planned to calm the crying kid, convince him not to sue, and send him off, but this long-time next-door little brother wasn’t the easy opponent I expected.

“What contract?”

“I suddenly became an Alpha. I lived as a Beta for nineteen years…”

“I committed a grave sin.”

“So, I don’t know anything. They’re saying the media wants to interview me about suddenly becoming an Alpha, and I don’t even know what to do…”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, hyung, teach me.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You said you’d take responsibility.”

His words left me speechless. I wanted to brush it off as a verbal promise, but Jung Pureum insisted on writing a contract.

Unable to resist his persistence, I wrote the contract as he wanted. The content wasn’t much—just that since I turned Jung Pureum into an Alpha, I had to take responsibility.

Still, his request for specific guidance on how to safely navigate rut cycles or fend off Omegas trying to bond was a bit startling.

How am I supposed to teach that? I can’t just sit a grown next-door brother down for sex education… I majored in oriental medicine, not love and sex counseling.

But whenever I tried to subtly back out, saying the contract terms weren’t great, Jung Pureum would make a sad face and say, “Then I’ll sue you,” coming on strong.

Just hearing the word “sue” made my mind go blank. No way. The thought of stepping into a courtroom drained my energy. This was an opportunity that rolled in—kicking it away because it seemed tough wasn’t an option.

“But what’s this about a date clause?”

“I don’t know how to interact with Omegas as an Alpha.”

“Neither do I. I’m an Omega, but I have no idea how Omegas are supposed to interact with Alphas.”

“Then that’s perfect. We can figure it out together.”

“No, I’m saying I don’t know, so I can’t teach you.”

“You said you’d take responsibility… You always lie… If this is how it’s going to be, I’ll sue…”

“Fine. Let’s figure it out step by step.”

The clause about going on at least one date a week to learn how Alphas and Omegas interact in relationships felt utterly insane no matter how many times I thought about it.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being conned, but I couldn’t resist Jung Pureum, with his teary eyes, clinging to me and saying, “Hyung, you said you’d take responsibility…”

If you think about it, I’m the one who turned his life upside down in a moment, so even if I felt uneasy, there was no reason I couldn’t sign the contract. It’s not like Jung Pureum, of all people, would scam me. That’s truly absurd.

In the end, I skimmed the contract once more and scribbled my signature.

I had no intention of fulfilling every clause. It was just a contract to avoid getting sued by my next-door little brother—what’s the harm in breaking a few terms? People need to be flexible.

But at that time, I didn’t know.

Unlike me, Jung Pureum was dead serious about this contract, and flexibility was something he didn’t have an ounce of.