Chapter Text
Jungkook was floating.
No, not literally. His feet were still on the cracked pavement of a backstreet in Seoul, his shoes barely holding together with the help of some determination and expired glue, but he felt light.
Buoyant, even.
He clutched the crumpled wad of tips in his hand like it was sacred scripture. Eight crisp bills and some loose change. The shift at the diner had been brutal-three birthday songs, one screaming toddler, and a soup spill on his pants-but someone up there must've decided to throw him a bone.
One ahjumma had given him ₩20,000 just for helping her with her coat. Some rich-looking girl had winked while dropping a ₩50,000 note into the tip jar.
He didn't know why.
He didn't care.
"I'm getting pork belly tonight," Jungkook declared to the sky, grinning like a lunatic. "Not that half-rotten crap on discount. Real meat. Fatty. Juicy. Beautiful."
He bounced on the balls of his feet, skipping once as he passed a convenience store, then again as he crossed the alley toward the bus stop.
The late summer breeze brushed his skin. His apron fluttered behind him like a cape. He might've looked ridiculous, but for once, he didn't care. His heart felt warm, and not because he had ramen to eat. He was actually-dare he say it-happy.
So, of course, the universe retaliated.
He never saw the truck.
One second he was humming a cheesy pop song, the next-
BOOM.
Pain exploded through his body.
He heard metal.
Felt wind.
And then-
Nothing.
---
When Jungkook opened his eyes, he wasn't sure if he was dead, hallucinating, or both.
The light above him was sterile white, way too clean. The air smelled like antiseptic and lemon. His body ached, especially his ribs, and there was something stuck in his arm. He blinked slowly, trying to orient himself.
"...hospital?" he croaked.
He turned his head. The bedsheets were silk, or at least something smoother than anything he'd ever touched. The walls were painted a soft ivory. There were lilies in a vase. Lilies. Like the expensive kind he saw in fancy department stores.
"Oh, hell no."
Jungkook sat up, slowly at first. The IV tugged uncomfortably, but he ignored it. A small monitor beeped somewhere near his head. His arm had some device clipped to his finger. A heart monitor? He peeled it off with a wince.
This wasn't just a hospital.
It was one of those hospitals. The luxury kind. The kind with private rooms, personal chefs, and bills that added a digit every time you breathed.
"I don't have insurance," he mumbled in horror.
He scanned the room again. No nurses. No doctors. Just a quiet corridor beyond the glass door. He swallowed.
With as much calm as he could muster, Jungkook slid his legs off the bed, gently lowered himself to the floor, took a deep breath-
-and bolted.
He didn't bother with the IV. The monitor started beeping frantically behind him as he sprinted barefoot through the hallway, half-wrapped in a hospital robe. His butt was probably on display, but modesty wasn't the priority here.
He passed a stunned nurse, ducked past a gurney, and made a break for the exit sign.
Freedom.
Just a few feet more.
"Mr. Jeon!" someone shouted behind him.
He ran faster.
He was almost at the door when two enormous men in suits appeared out of nowhere and caught him mid-stride like a badly timed action movie.
"Let me go! I'm broke, I'm irrelevant, and I will fake a seizure!" Jungkook yelled, flailing in their grip.
They didn't respond. Just carried him like a flailing cat to a sleek black car waiting outside.
"Is this how I die? Kidnapped after hospital fraud?!"
The door opened, and Jungkook was shoved into the backseat.
Sitting there, looking mildly amused, was an old man with sharp cheekbones, silver hair slicked back like a villain in a chaebol drama, and a glass of amber liquid in hand.
"Jungkook," the man said with a disappointed sigh, "was the hospital escape really necessary? You're a grown man."
Jungkook blinked. "Who the hell are you?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "Don't start that nonsense again. I'll tolerate your disinterest in the company, but if you're going to live like a hedonist, at least stop making headlines."
"I-headlines? What?"
The man sipped his drink. "And with your shirt half open. What if the paparazzi had been outside?"
"Are you... are you insane?"
The old man exhaled sharply. "The accident was unfortunate. I had hoped it would give you time to reflect. But clearly, nothing has changed. Do what you like-waste the family name, chase your little parties-but please, Jungkook, no more scandals."
Jungkook opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain was trying to catch up, but the words just looped.
Scandals? Family name?
What family name?
And then the headache hit.
Like a jackhammer to the skull.
He grabbed his temples with both hands as the pain sliced through his thoughts-and suddenly images flashed through his mind. Sharp suits. Expensive wine. A luxury car. A smirking face that looked too much like his own, leaning against a bar, flirting with a man in a white suit.
And then it clicked.
He'd seen all this before.
In a webnovel.
A crappy, overly romantic, fan-service-packed Omegaverse webnovel he'd hate-read just because it had a character with the same name as his.
Jeon Jungkook.
The side villain.
The arrogant second-gen chaebol who existed solely to cause minor drama before being punched by the main character and conveniently forgotten.
"No," Jungkook whispered. "Oh god. No, no, no."
He looked up at the man in front of him.
This wasn't a stranger. This was Chairman Jeon-the fictional father character who handed over black cards like candy.
"I got isekai'd into a gay Omegaverse novel," he muttered in horror.
"Pardon?" the old man asked.
"I'm gonna throw up."
---
It took him a full day to process it.
After they returned to the house-a mansion, more accurately-Jungkook was left alone. A butler gave him a tour, then left him in a room with silk curtains, a glass chandelier, and a TV the size of a small theatre screen.
The realization didn't sink in until he saw his reflection.
Same face. Different world. Better eyebrows.
And he was an Alpha.
"Thank f**king god," he muttered, collapsing on the sofa. "If I woke up as an Omega in this pheromone-filled hell, I'd walk into traffic again. I am not giving up my asshole to a fictional man."
He took a deep breath.
So. He was in a novel. A stupid ABO romance novel. But he wasn't the main character, or even a love interest. He was a background mess-a throwaway villain who got one scene of attention.
He could work with this.
As long as he didn't go near the main character trio-the pretty Omega lead, the cold Alpha CEO, or that creepy villain Enigma-he'd be fine. He could coast. Play rich. Eat cake. Sleep all day.
It wasn't a bad deal.
Back in his old life, he had no one. No family. No real friends. Just late shifts, worn-out shoes, and a list of regrets he didn't talk about. He was a university dropout working dead-end jobs for minimum wage. His dreams died years ago.
But here?
He had a bed softer than heaven. A personal chef. A closet that had heated floors. Toiletries arranged by brand and season. A bathtub the size of a kiddie pool. His underwear probably cost more than his old apartment's rent.
Jungkook laughed. Like really laughed.
It started as a small chuckle. Then a snort. Then full-on giggles as he flopped backward on the couch, limbs spread out, staring at the ridiculous ceiling mural of a cherry blossom tree.
"This is insane," he whispered, voice breathless. "Insane and beautiful."
He kicked off his shoes, dragged his blanket over his head, and buried his face in the plushness of it all.
Screw the plot.
He was rich.
He was hot.
He was not an Omega.
He'd never work again.
And as long as he stayed the hell away from the main charachter and the rest of the drama squad, his life was now all luxury, naps, and daily bubble baths.
Jungkook sighed happily.
"I win."