2
✦ ✦ ✦
Jiheon was in fourth grade when he took his first secondary gender test. It was a routine test required annually for upper-grade students at school.
The school version was a simplified screening. If pheromones were detected in sweat, saliva, and other bodily fluids, the student was an omega. If a pheromone response element or PRE was found in the blood, the person was classified as an alpha. If neither pheromones nor a PRE were detected, they were classified as a beta.
The result sheet used phrases like, “There is a possibility the subject is an omega.” Students assessed as potential omegas or alphas were referred to a hospital for a more accurate check-up. If a student was determined to be a beta—meaning no pheromones or PREs were detected—no further testing was necessary.
There were rare cases in which someone tested as a beta for years, only to be told that they might be an alpha or an omega by their third year of middle school or the first year of high school. That was why schools required students to take the test once a year until they reached maturity.
Ever since his first test in fourth grade, Jiheon had been told he was likely a beta. That remained the case through elementary and into middle school. In addition to the school tests, Jiheon’s parents took him to a private hospital every year for a check-up. They did this even though Jiheon wasn’t a late bloomer—he was actually one of the tallest in his class.
There was a good reason for this, of course. Jiheon’s father had tested as a beta for years, only to be confirmed as an omega at the age of twenty. Jiheon was the spitting image of his father, though their personalities could not have been more different.
His father was a professional soldier. Whenever the press discussed the impact of the Anti-Discrimination Act, they often cited the rise in the number of omega soldiers following the introduction of conscription[6]. Jiheon’s father was one of them. He joined the military by choice, first serving as a noncommissioned officer, then becoming a commissioned officer through a candidacy program.
When people found out, they praised him for his achievement and asked whether it had been difficult. Jiheon’s father laughed out loud each time. He always said there had been no difficulties at all. “An omega is no different from an alpha or beta—except for the pheromones,” he often said.
When his father first joined the military, suppressant chips hadn’t been introduced yet. There were plenty of effective medications with few side effects, and unless someone disclosed their status, even dormmates wouldn’t know whether they were an alpha, omega, or beta. Jiheon’s father had been so tall and well-built that his friends and superiors had assumed he was an alpha.
By all accounts, Jiheon looked like he’d been stamped from the same mold as his father—tall, broad-shouldered, and with the exact same face. But Jiheon’s personality was completely different. Unlike his father, who had reportedly asked his then-girlfriend, now-wife, whether he should bear a child for them too when he was declared an omega at twenty. Jiheon had been left speechless, staring at his check-up results in silence. He didn’t deny it. In fact, part of him had seen it coming.
The second thought was that maybe this was for the best. He could still remember smiling faintly to himself, thinking this might be his excuse to quit swimming.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Mr. Jung Jiheon?” a voice called.
Jiheon rose from his seat in the reception area. A nurse pointed to a doctor’s office.
“Please go inside.”
Jiheon bowed to the nurse and walked into the office. Dr. Lim greeted him as soon as he was inside.
“Ah, Jiheon! It’s been a while.”
Her hair had grown grayer. She was the director of a family medicine clinic that had been operating in Ilsan for nearly thirty years. Jiheon had been treated by her since he was in elementary school whenever he caught a cold or had a stomachache. She had also performed his yearly secondary gender checkups and was aware of how late Jiheon had been declared an omega, along with his family’s entire medical history.
This was why Jiheon continued to visit this clinic whenever he needed to replace his suppressant chip or consult about relevant issues, even after moving to Seoul for college and leaving his parents’ home. His body produced only a small amount of pheromones, and a standard dosage of suppressants always caused side effects. Because of this, he preferred taking a half-day off to come here, rather than going anywhere else.
“How have you been? No discomfort, I hope? You’re here to have your chip replaced, right?” Dr. Lim said, glancing at the monitor on her desk.
“Yes. I also had a question,” Jiheon said, then briefly explained what had happened yesterday. “I was wondering if there might be a problem with my chip.”
“Is that so? Let’s see... Your chip was replaced... exactly three years ago. Three years ago—in July.”
“Yes. I had it replaced early, just before I started working at a new job, just in case.”
Suppressant chips were small devices implanted under the skin to suppress pheromone production. Though commonly called chips, they were actually miniature applicators with an electronic microchip inside. When first released, they could only suppress pheromones and prevent pregnancy. But these days, there were versions that only blocked pheromones, and even pair chips made for couples.
“It’s been exactly three years as of last Wednesday. I heard it could last another six months, so I figured I’d replace it sometime this month.”
Just because three years was the typical replacement period didn’t mean the chip stopped working the moment the time passed. The manual stated that the device’s medication would remain effective for forty months.
“A week past the three-year mark shouldn’t be a problem. You never produced much in the way of pheromones anyway, Jiheon.”
Just then, the results from the testing kit Jiheon had submitted while in the reception area came in.
“You actually have a bit of pheromones,” Dr. Lim said, scanning the report.
“What? Really?” Jiheon said, frowning.
“But it’s a very small amount. I doubt anyone would notice,” Dr. Lim said, tilting her head slightly, puzzled, eyes still on the monitor. “The person who told you about it is an alpha, right?”
“Yes. He’s an athlete, though, and he’s on medication that lowers his pheromone sensitivity. He said his levels are at their minimum.”
“Hmm,” Lim grunted with a frown, clearly trying to figure out how this could be explained.
Jiheon was just as puzzled. What exactly had happened here? He was lost in grim thought when something suddenly came to mind.
“I’m not sure if this is true, but he told me that he’d smelled my pheromones before, too.”
“Is that so? How long ago was this?”
Dr. Lim finally looked away from the screen.
“Almost ten years ago. Between nine and ten years, to be exact. I tested as an omega in the summer of my sophomore year in high school. He and I had trained at the same swimming center since the year before, and we kept running into each other for about two months after I found out. Then I quit swimming altogether.”
“Two months shouldn’t be an issue. You got your chip right after the diagnosis,” Dr. Lim said, resting her chin on the back of her hand. She tapped the desk with her other hand as she thought, then she asked, “How old was he nine years ago?”
“Eleven.”
“Was he known to be an alpha at the time?”
“Uh, yeah, that happened when he was twelve, but a little after me. About a month after I found out I was an omega.”
“That’s only because that’s when he was tested. It’s safe to assume he’d already presented as an alpha by then,” she said, rising from her seat. She walked over to the bookcase behind her desk.
“You don’t know how sensitive he was to pheromones before he started the medication, do you?”
“No... I wouldn’t know something like that...”
Lim nodded, then produced a very thick book.
“Here it is.”
She seemed to have found exactly what she was looking for. She brought the book back to the desk.
“I think this is pertinent.”
Lim slid the book over to Jiheon. A word at the center of a page was highlighted. Jiheon squinted at the page, trying to read the word.