There was a long pause between my sentences. After some time, he added quietly—his hesitation sounded as if he found it hard to bring up that night’s events. We both knew I hadn’t actually been ill.
“Yes, I’m only having one or two more.”
I’d assumed he wouldn’t mention that night again, so his words made me tense.
All week at Phantom, he’d looked me in ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the eye and talked business without any awkwardness. His manner and tone were exactly as before. I’d taken it to mean that everything that happened that night—the painting Alienation, the hyperventilation, even sleeping together—was simply an unavoidable accident outside our everyday lives.
[You tend to drink whatever’s in front of you when you’re nervous. Didn’t you drink quite a lot that night at that Spanish bar?]
On the day we went to the tapas place, he’d seemed uninterested in our whole table. At least on the surface. But that had been the only time I’d drunk wine. As he pointed out, I was already drinking more than I’d planned just because I was nervous.
I mumbled the same assurances over and over, unsure how to respond to his concern, and he sighed deeply. Even over the phone I could almost feel his breath on my cheek—it reminded me of how he’d ruffled his thick, fine hair.
He said nothing more. I couldn’t tell what his silence was leading me toward. Hearing only his breathing over the line, I felt a shiver behind my ears and hunched my shoulders. His scent circled the tip of my nose.
All week I’d endured that unexpected assault of his pheromones. Even when he wasn’t at Phantom, I sometimes felt that trace in the air. Now his scent inevitably reminded me of that night’s sexual encounter. It was... awkward.
Unable to bear the silence, I took another sip of wine. Over the line I heard a click, then the sound of deep inhalations and soft exhales. He must be smoking.
Behind Inwoo, a couple at a high planter by our table were taking a long selfie. Our silence stretched on until, after a few more puffs, he spoke in a voice so light it seemed he’d made up his mind.
[Could you hand me Choi Inwoo?]
After such hesitation, I didn’t think his story would be simply a request to switch callers.
“Sure.”
My answer came slowly, caught off guard. I bit my lower lip at the anticlimax, then offered the phone to the still-gleeful Inwoo.
[Why? I called to ask about the art fair listings.]
As soon as I put it to my ear, his expression tightened—then eased into a sly grin as though he had an ulterior motive.
“Well, I’m not as obsessive about pheromones as someone else I know.”
He drained the last of his wine, swirling his glass before swallowing.
Perhaps I was overthinking, but he seemed deliberately provoking the other side. His teasing tone lent that impression, though I couldn’t guess the exact words exchanged.
[Mr. Lau, what are you worried about? Betas can’t sense pheromones. Why are you acting like it’s the early stage of heat? You’d think with pheromones alone there’d be nothing you couldn’t do—people would strip off your clothes on the street just walking by?]
As soon as his call ended, a server refilled his glass from a metal basket on our table.
My interlaced fingers tightened on my lap. Beta. Pheromones. The very topics I’d wanted to ask him about were coming from his mouth first. I wondered what Director Ryu had said to prompt Inwoo’s exasperated response.
[Pay some attention to the Hong Kong Art Fair. I want to sell paintings abroad, too. I’m hanging up now.]
He ended the call abruptly—giving the other side no chance to reply—and shrugged as he slid the phone toward my end of the table.
“He’s impossible.”
He added as if the person on the line might still be listening.
“Sorry for the sudden switch. I just wanted to show off.”
“...”
“That I’m here meeting with you, alone.”
He held my gaze while lifting his glass to his lips.
To boast, your listener must envy the boast. If he truly wanted to brag about meeting me, he’d chosen the wrong audience.
His effort to show off must’ve gone to waste. I smiled faintly, lifting the glass to my mouth out of reflex, then set it down again after barely touching it.
“About what you said earlier....”
After several hesitant mouth movements, I found my opening. The timing felt right.
“Betas... can’t detect Alphas’ or Omegas’ pheromones, right?”
Inwoo crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against the armrest.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m a Beta... so even if our clients are Alphas or Omegas, can I work without worrying about pheromones?”
Inwoo, his gaze still holding a hint of amusement, leaned forward and reached out his hand.
“May I see your hand?”
He offered both palms up, as if inviting mine. I hesitated, then laid my hand lightly in his. His fingers curled around mine.
His smile faded. Like a doctor searching a patient’s complexion for symptoms, like a fortuneteller reading past and future in a client’s eyes, he studied my gaze deeply.
I couldn’t tell his intention, but I couldn’t laugh or look away—his seriousness was unlike anything I’d seen. A passing staff member noticed our joined hands over the table and glanced between our faces. I shifted in my seat, and Inwoo chuckled, releasing my hand.
He grasped his glass instead and leaned on the table, eyes narrowed in a knowing smile.
“If Betas could detect Alpha pheromones...”
“...”
“We’d probably already have rushed downstairs and been tangled together in the backseat of my car by now.”
If I understood him correctly, he’d just tested releasing pheromones toward me.
But... nothing. No sexual arousal, no extraordinary sensation. Only the early summer breeze at the fifteenth-floor rooftop and the curious glance of a passing server.
I came out here on impulse to resolve the question in my mind, but even that simple experiment had given me an answer.
“Basic information is just a quick internet search away, so you know it... Alpha and Omega pheromones aren’t mere scents. They’re classified as releaser pheromones, which trigger an immediate response in the recipient... in short, sexual pheromones.”
He paused, as if his professional explanation had been too technical, then defined Alpha and Omega pheromones in one word: sexual pheromones.
Yes. Though “Alpha and Omega pheromones” might sound clinical, they were, at their core, sexual pheromones—substances meant to induce sexual arousal, not merely interest or affection.
Inwoo set down his glass and pushed his phone aside. I drank the deep red liquid, smoothing the tightening sensation in my mouth and throat.
“In other animals, pheromones are sensed by the Jacobson’s organ, an auxiliary olfactory organ. In humans, that organ is completely vestigial. The same goes for Alphas and Omegas.”
“So....”
He propped his elbow on the table, cracked open a nut from our appetizer, and continued.
“Alphas and Omegas can detect pheromones by scent, but that’s really a secondary brain function triggered by that scent—not a primary olfactory process. When they smell pheromones, some substitute mechanism in the brain takes over what the Jacobson’s organ would do. It uses the olfactory pathway, but the brain’s reaction is different from mere smell. For Betas, the brain is just a repository for odors—you can remember and recognize smells, but you don’t analyze them or trigger powerful secondary effects.”
He crushed the nut’s shell completely, revealing the kernel, and rolled it in his hand for a moment.
I met his gaze as he looked down toward my chest, as if lost in his own thoughts. For an Alpha like him, pheromones might serve as a key to unlock various memories—experiences Betas never had to live, nor even be aware of, driven by pheromonal effects.
“Unpleasant, fragrant, soothing... Betas have olfactory sensations too, but it’s hard to say smell compels behavior. Smelling something and suddenly going on a destructive rampage or falling asleep instantly like taking a sedative... or being overwhelmed by uncontrollable sexual desire and wanting someone in a daring place one would never consider otherwise... smells alone don’t provoke such extremes in Betas.”
He set the nut’s kernel on the plate, rubbed his fingers together to shake off the crumbs, and met my eyes. I nodded in affirmation, though... that “overwhelming sexual desire” was exactly what had confounded me and brought me here tonight.
Yet that had been my first sexual encounter. Was such passion an innate trait of mine—passionate by my standards, at least compared to my solo experiences—or was it that special context? I had nothing to compare it with, and my mental state had been unstable.
Throat parched again, I reached for my wine.
“How do humans identify so many diverse odors with only about a thousand olfactory receptors? That physiological basis remains unknown. So understanding the mechanism of Alpha and Omega pheromones is even more speculative. Why Betas can’t even detect that scent is likewise a matter of hypotheses and experiments—modern science hasn’t settled it.”
Media portrayals of Alphas and Omegas were extreme.
In films, dramas, and variety shows, they were consumed as romantic figures—beautiful, capable, yet helpless in love—despite no genetic evidence of any real superiority. On the news, their sex scandals among the privileged and the sex crimes committed by socially vulnerable Alphas and Omegas painted them as a dangerous, uncontrollable problem.
That many Alphas and Omegas succeeded socially did not mean most successful people were Alphas or Omegas. The majority of humanity were Betas. In a world where Betas were “normal,” I’d never known how Alphas and Omegas forged their identities.
I’d never indulged in mere curiosity about their physiology, nor shown them genuine interest. Morae was the closest Alpha to me, but because she didn’t reveal it, I’d accepted her as a Beta. Whether she hid her Alpha nature, or Han I was an Omega, or Imorae was an Alpha, didn’t change who they were.
Rumors and misinformation—curiosity-driven or bordering on fiction—flitted through my mind, the kind you easily find online. Perhaps even today, because science hasn’t clarified pheromonal mechanisms, Betas perpetually attach romantic myths or baseless rumors to their existence.
I paused under his steady gaze, fidgeting with the edge of my coaster before speaking.
“This is... difficult.”
“Is it my explanation?”
I shook my head. Inwoo’s description had been clear and kind enough for someone as ignorant as me to understand.
“I understand the explanation... but living under those mechanisms—what does that feel like? That feeling can’t be captured by a single word like “mood.” It’s a realm Betas can’t truly grasp.”
