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Today's Special Shoutout:
~ ◇ ~ NobleFox ~ ◇ ~
🥰🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️🙇🏻♀️Thank you sincerely
for the Power Stones!
I hope today's update doesn't disappoint. 😘🥰
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The Chef x The Celebrity
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~ Date: June 26th – Interstellar Year 2422 ~
~ Location: Luna Bellflower Moon ~ Terra Anka PXD2422
~ The Golden Dragon Star Nexus Intergalactic Empire ~
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🐦🔥 [ Phoenix ☯ POV ] 🐦🔥
The silence held for one breath too long. Phoenix kept his gaze lowered, Solaris's warmth still brushing the edge of his mind like a down feather. He wanted to look up and read his family's faces, but the longer no one spoke, the harder it became to lift his eyes from his lap.
His fingers fidgeted against his knees. He truly did not want to hurt them, and the thought of causing them pain made his heart clench with a sharpness that surprised him. He was not sure why he felt this strongly about them already, but he did. What surprised Nix—the soul beneath the name Phoenix was still learning to wear—even more was that he did not mind.
Then the silence stretched another breath, and Phoenix's heart sank. He lowered his head farther, unable to keep the hurt from showing despite his best efforts.
That small movement woke the Beyols from their shock. They did not mind that he wanted to go by Phoenix or Nix; that was not what had frozen them.
It was what he had said about his status as a dominant omega becoming public that left fear gripping them like a vise. But fear could wait. Phoenix was hurting.
Abeoji was the first to move, though only barely. His hand tightened around the edge of the table until his knuckles paled, the motion restrained and quiet in a way that said more than words. The fear in his eyes was not rejection. It was the horror of a father realizing his son had already imagined the family being hunted by strangers and had quietly placed himself in front of them.
Eomeoni's face went still in that dangerous way Phoenix was beginning to recognize. Her anger arrived first, sharp enough to cut the air, but none of it pointed at him. It turned outward—toward the future viewers, gossip sites, greedy reporters, and anyone foolish enough to think her child was a spectacle they could devour.
Nuna pressed one hand over her mouth. At the mention of Bong, of the phoenix constellation birthmark she had loved before Phoenix had even been old enough to understand it, her eyes shone wet and bright. She looked as if she wanted to cross the room and gather him up, but she held herself still, afraid that one sudden movement might make him retreat.
Beyol Joon, who usually had at least three dramatic comments ready for any family crisis, looked briefly and completely speechless. His gaze flicked from Phoenix's lowered head to the imagined shape of a signboard only he could see, then back again. For once, even his practical instincts waited behind the ache in his chest.
Yong-Jae was the quietest of them all.
He sat very still, eyes fixed on Phoenix with an expression that looked almost wounded. Not because of the name. Not because Phoenix had chosen something different. It was the way Phoenix had explained it—as if love had to be made useful, as if safety had to be bought with distance, as if the little bird Yong-Jae had once tucked beneath his arm had learned to measure affection by how well he could bleed without worrying anyone.
The realization hit Yong-Jae so hard that his breath caught.
Tears welled in the same sapphire-blue eyes they had not seen cry since he was very young, and the sight struck every Beyol at once. Beautiful, vulnerable, and trying so hard not to break, he looked younger than any of them were prepared for.
Phoenix tried to steady himself, but his emotions kept slipping through his fingers. His voice trembled when he spoke. "I am sorry. I did not mean to disappoint you. I understand if this hurts, but I—"
He did not get any further before Beyol Yong-Jae, who was sitting beside him, lifted his chin lightly with his thumb and index finger.
Upon looking into his hyung's eyes, Phoenix saw the concern and worry there and had to bite his lip to stop it from trembling. Though he was bravely holding back the tears pooling in his eyes, a single tear rolled down his right cheek, to his dismay.
Yong-Jae's thumb stilled beneath Phoenix's chin. For one fragile second, he simply looked at him—the boy he had called Jageun-sae — 작은 새, "little bird" — for years, the brother who had carried that name like a secret place to hide.
Then Yong-Jae's expression crumpled in the smallest, quietest way. Not enough to frighten Phoenix. Just enough to show that the words had reached him.
His other hand rose slowly, almost reverently, and brushed the tear from Phoenix's cheek with the back of his finger, as if even wiping it away too quickly might hurt him.
"Oh, Jageun-sae," Yong-Jae breathed, the words barely more than a broken exhale. "Little bird... you never had to carry that alone."
In the next moment, Phoenix was swept into a warm, tight embrace.
Yong-Jae gathered him close with careful strength, one arm around Phoenix's shoulders while the other cradled the back of his head. His fingers trembled once before settling into a slow, soothing rhythm through Phoenix's hair.
The hug did not crash over Phoenix like restraint. It closed around him like shelter—firm enough to keep him from drifting away, gentle enough not to make him feel trapped.
Phoenix could not hear Yong-Jae's thoughts, not truly, but the restraint in his embrace said enough. Hyung was trying not to crush him. Trying not to shake apart. Trying to hold every broken sound Phoenix made without making the moment about his own fear.
The careful way Yong-Jae's hand cupped the back of his head felt like an apology. The way his fingers kept returning to the same soothing path through Phoenix's hair felt like a vow.
He startled at first, his body going stiff, but the steady pressure of Yong-Jae's arms slowly pulled the tension from him. The warmth was solid. Real. Sheltering.
For a terrifying heartbeat, Phoenix did not know what to do with that safety. His instincts urged him to stay guarded, to laugh it off, to make some sharp little joke before anyone saw too much. But Yong-Jae's hand stayed steady at the back of his head, and the warmth of his chest beneath Phoenix's cheek told him he did not have to perform strength here.
He did not have to earn this. He did not have to be useful, clever, charming, or unbreakable to be held.
Something inside him buckled at the realization.
Emotion surged through him, turning his already restless thoughts into chaos. He was not sure how to feel or what to think.
All Phoenix knew was that he was safe and loved.
The thought should have comforted him. Instead, it hurt so badly that his breath caught. Safe and loved were not small things to him. They were impossible things—dangerous things—things that had been offered before only to be taken away, twisted, or buried with the hands that had once reached for him.
Yet Yong-Jae held him like love was simple. Like keeping Phoenix close was the most natural thing in the world.
Phoenix's fingers twitched uselessly at his sides before slowly, hesitantly, curling into the fabric of Yong-Jae's shirt. The grip was weak at first, almost afraid to ask for too much.
Then another tremor rolled through him, and his hands fisted tighter, clinging before he could stop himself. Shame flashed hot through him at the neediness of it, but Yong-Jae only tightened his arms in answer, and that quiet acceptance broke something open in Phoenix's chest.
He was not even aware his whole body was trembling until Yong-Jae stroked his hair with aching tenderness and spoke low and gentle so that only Phoenix could hear him.
"No, little Phoenix. Do not apologize for telling us what you need." Yong-Jae's voice was rough with worry, but steady. "We are not disappointed. Not for one second. We were scared because we love you—and because we should have noticed how much you were carrying. But your name? Your dreams? Those are yours. We will stand beside you no matter what you choose to call yourself."
As he spoke, Yong-Jae's hand never stopped moving. He combed his fingers through Phoenix's hair with aching tenderness, then pressed his palm there again, firm and sheltering.
His hold tightened only when Phoenix shook, not to restrain him, but to remind him that someone was there to catch every piece of him that came apart.
"I have you," Yong-Jae whispered into his hair. "Do you hear me? I have you, uri Jageun-sae. Cry if you need to. Break if you have to. I will hold you through it. I am not letting go."
For a few heartbeats, no one else spoke. Then Eomeoni made a soft, wounded sound that Phoenix felt more than heard.
"My child," she said, her voice trembling as she kept it gentle. "Do not ever think a name could make you less ours. Tae-Hwan, Phoenix, Nix—whatever you carry, you are still the child I fed, scolded, worried over, and loved. A mother does not lose her son because he chooses a name that helps him fly."
Abeoji drew in a slow breath and nodded, his eyes damp but steady. "Your reasoning is wise. Painfully wise for someone your age, perhaps, but wise all the same. A strong name can be armor, and if Phoenix gives you room to stand on your own terms while giving this family even a little protection, then I will not call that rejection. I will call it courage."
Nuna wiped beneath one eye with the side of her finger, trying and failing to pretend she was not crying. "And do not you dare say Bong is being left behind," she said, her voice thick. "I named you because of that mark. I saw a phoenix before anyone else did. If the world finally sees one too, then clearly I was just ahead of the branding department."
That startled a tiny, wet laugh out of Phoenix before he could stop it.
Beyol Joon seized the opening with the desperation of a man who had been emotionally ambushed before breakfast and urgently needed everyone to survive it.
"Also," he announced, lifting one finger with grave importance, "as the person who will absolutely be helping with promotion whether anyone asks me or not, I must say this is an excellent decision from a design standpoint."
Several tearful eyes turned toward him.
Joon nodded solemnly. "Beyol Bong Tae-Hwan is handsome, dignified, and deeply loved. It is also very long. Do you know how small the font would have to be on a sign? Tragic. Devastating. Potentially fatal to dramatic impact."
Phoenix blinked at him.
"Phoenix, however?" Joon spread both hands as if unveiling a masterpiece. "Clean. Memorable. Powerful. Fits beautifully on banners, menus, fan signs, apron embroidery, holographic overlays, and emergency celebratory cake toppers. Wise decision. Very marketable. Very majestic. Ten out of ten. No notes."
Abeoji coughed into his fist, suspiciously close to a laugh. Nuna made a strangled sound and covered her face. Even Eomeoni's mouth twitched despite the tears still shining in her eyes.
Joon leaned forward, expression softening beneath the playfulness. "But seriously, little brother. If this name helps you feel stronger, safer, and more yourself, then use it. We will learn how to protect it with you. You do not have to protect it alone."
Then, with all the solemn dignity of a general sending a warrior into battle, Beyol Joon raised his fist beside his cheek in the Korean cheering gesture and declared, "Fighting!"
The absurd earnestness of it cracked something warm through the room. Not enough to erase the fear. Not enough to make the danger small. But enough to remind Phoenix that this family did not only want to shelter him from sorrow.
They wanted to stand beside him, cry with him, tease him, cheer for him, and make ridiculous signs with his name on them until the whole empire knew exactly who Phoenix was.
For a few breaths, the warmth in the room held. It should have been enough. It almost was. Phoenix had Yong-Jae's arms around him, his family's acceptance surrounding him, and the echo of Joon's ridiculous cheer still trembling near laughter in his chest.
For one impossible moment, he let himself believe this could be simple.
Then Yong-Jae whispered the nickname again, soft and sure, and the name Phoenix had chosen suddenly felt less like armor and more like a door. Something far older than this room stirred behind it. Something that knew uri Jageun-sae before Nix did.
A sudden, violent jolt struck deep in Nix's chest, sharp and agonizingly familiar, slicing straight through the foreign nerve endings of his current mortal vessel.
The words uri Jageun-sae did not just ring in his ears; they vibrated against the very fabric of his soul.
Nix choked on a breath, his mind scrambling in a sudden panic. He was a transmigrator. He was an interloper in this body, a stray consciousness navigating a scripted tragedy to siphon power and evade the Jailer System.
He knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no lingering soul left in this flesh to reject him. The original little brother was gone.
Yet the agonizing pull at the back of his mind was too personal. It was too intimate.
A heavy, suffocating wave of longing and an inexplicable, ancient unease rose from somewhere deep within his own core, completely independent of the body he inhabited.
For a split second, the dark, claustrophobic walls of his thousands of years of solitary torture seemed to crack, and a blinding, golden glimpse of something vast, celestial, and warm tried to break through.
He reached for it desperately, trying to focus the blurry edges of a memory he did not know he possessed, but the harder he concentrated, the faster it dissolved into the fog of his mind.
Frustrated and overwhelmed by the mental static, Nix had to let it go. He could not force it. Not now.
But the phantom warmth of that fleeting glimpse remained, leaving his soul trembling with a hunger so old it felt like a wound reopening. For the first time since waking in this life, Nix did not, only, want to survive. He wanted to remember.
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