After the incident at the grave where black magic had been uncovered, nothing strange had happened in the village—at least, not yet. Life on the surface seemed normal.
The village was small, no more than 60 or 70 houses, surrounded by endless fields. Almost every family relied on farming, but for the past few years, their crops had failed—diseases spreading, harvests rotting, and yields dropping lower each season. Out of desperation, the village chief had appealed to the government for help. That was how Seo Joon's company had been assigned to step in, to provide solutions and guide the farmers toward organic methods to revive their fields.
For the villagers, city people rarely visited. Only a few from the chief's household had traveled back and forth. So, the arrival of two young men from the city was a matter of both fascination and curiosity.
Rumors spread quickly.
"They say the men are from Seoul," whispered Ahn Mi-ra, a young woman carrying water jars. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Do you think they look like handsome actors? Maybe like the ones in the dramas?"
Her friend Kim Hye-jin giggled, "If they are, then maybe one will fall in love with a village girl."
Old women sitting near the well shook their heads, muttering to one another. Grandmother Lee, the oldest in the village, frowned deeply. "City people bring trouble. They look different, they think different. We don't know what they carry with them."
Children ran near the guest house, peeking through the windows whenever they dared. "Hyung! I saw them! One has really pale skin," a boy shouted, pulling his brother's sleeve.
Inside, however, the two men remained completely unaware of the gossip storm outside.
Seo Joon's room was neat, every item carefully placed. His phone charged quietly on the bedside table, his bag unpacked with clothes folded properly inside. His blanket was pulled over him neatly, his body lying straight, disciplined even in sleep. His Alpha instincts never truly rested—his ears almost attuned to any sound, but exhaustion had finally dragged him under.
Across the corridor, Woo Bin's room told another story. His bag was still lying on the floor, half-open, clothes scattered across the chair and bed. His damp towel was tossed carelessly on the side, and the blanket had slipped onto the floor. Woo Bin lay shirtless, wearing only black shorts, his hair still slightly wet from his rushed shower. His breathing was soft, lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with the deep sleep of pure exhaustion.
The contrast between the two rooms was stark—Seo Joon's control, Woo Bin's vulnerability. And yet, somewhere in that difference was a strange balance.
Meanwhile, outside, the villagers were restless.
"Have you seen them yet?" asked Park Jong-ho, a farmer in his forties, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to his neighbor.
"Not yet. But my daughter says they're tall and handsome. She's already dreaming too much," his neighbor chuckled.
"But why haven't they come out yet?" another voice joined, suspicious. "Are they hiding something?"
The news reached the chief quickly. He sat inside his large wooden house, his face wrinkled with age, his hands resting on the carved armrest of his chair. On the surface, Chief Nam Dae-hyun, a man of fifty-five, was seen as kind and generous, the protector of the village. He had never married, dedicating his life to leadership. People trusted him, bowed to him.
But beneath that image, in the silence of his empty home, his eyes carried a different shadow—one no villager dared to see.
When a servant entered to inform him of the guests, he listened with a slow nod."So," he said in a calm, gravelly voice, "the men from the city have finally arrived.""Yes, Chief. They are resting in the guest house.""Good. Let them rest," Chief Nam replied, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile. "Tomorrow, we will see what they are truly here for."
Back in the guest house, silence thickened. The air felt heavy, as though the house itself was listening. Its ancient wooden beams seemed to hum with secrets, its walls holding echoes of stories never told.
Seo Joon turned slightly in his sleep, his instincts tightening as though sensing unseen eyes. In the other room, Woo Bin remained shirtless, tangled in half-kicked sheets, vulnerable yet strangely peaceful.
Outside, the villagers waited with eagerness and whispers. Inside, the Alpha and the Omega slept, unaware that the village's eyes were already upon them—watching, judging, expecting.
And somewhere in the shadows, the guest house seemed almost alive, as if it too had been waiting… for them.