Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 106: I Love You ♡

Time slips away in Mr. David’s room, measured in shared stories and easy laughter. The initial awkwardness has melted completely.

He tells me about Deniz’s childhood—the time he cried for an hour over a dropped ice cream, the way he used to line up his toy cars with military precision.

A genuine, unguarded smile stays on my lips.

I feel... light.

Happy in a way that has nothing to do with schemes or survival.

"Son, do you know," Mr. David says, his eyes twinkling, "when Deniz was about ten, I fell sick. That little boy tried to cook soup for me."

He chuckles, the memory warm.

"He made a surprisingly decent broth. And a spectacular mess. Flour everywhere. Looked like a ghost had exploded in my kitchen."

I laugh, the image clear in my mind: serious, small Deniz, determined and covered in white powder.

It’s a perfect, precious picture.

The moment is broken by the soft click of the door opening.

We both turn. Deniz stands in the doorway, a paper coffee cup in his hand.

His eyes sweep the scene—his father and me, sitting close on the edge of the bed, the air still vibrating with shared amusement.

He scans it all silently, his expression unreadable.

He walks in and hands the coffee to his father.

"I’m sorry for the wait, Dad. The canteen staff were tied up."

Mr. David smiles, patting my shoulder again. "It’s fine. Mr. Kael has been giving me excellent company."

"Please," I interject, warmth in my voice. "Call me Zyren. It feels better."

"Okay, okay," Mr. David acquiesces with a grin.

"But then you should call me Uncle. ’Mr. David’ makes me feel like a stranger."

I smile.

"I will... Uncle."

Mr. David’s gaze shifts to his son.

"Now, you should go."

Deniz blinks. "But, Dad... Tonight I’m staying here with you."

Mr. David waves a dismissive hand.

"Deniz, I’m perfectly okay. You should go home. I’m already sleepy—having you here will just keep me awake."

He says it with quiet finality.

Deniz’s face is a picture of confusion. "Dad... why are you saying this? Weren’t you the one who wanted me to stay here?"

"Ahh, yes, I did," Mr. David says, not missing a beat.

"Now we’ve met, it’s enough. Don’t cling to your old man, Deniz. You’re not a child anymore. Be an adult."

His tone is light, but the message is unmistakable.

I stand up, sensing the delicate nudge for what it is.

"You should rest, Mr.—I mean, Uncle."

He smiles up at me. "Yes, I will. You two, go quickly. Before the snow gets worse."

Deniz just stares.

"Dad..."

Before he can formulate another protest, I reach out and take Deniz’s hand, lacing my fingers firmly with his.

He stiffens, his eyes flying to mine, wide with shock.

I give Mr. David one last, soft, grateful smile.

"Good night."

"Good night," he replies, his eyes crinkling with knowing warmth.

I turn to Deniz, whose gaze is darting between our joined hands and my face.

"Let’s go," I say, my voice quiet but leaving no room for argument.

"But—"

I don’t listen. I just start walking, gently pulling him along with me. After a second of stunned resistance, he follows, silent and confused in my wake.

A new, determined smile touches my lips as we step into the hallway.

Mr. David’s words echo in my mind, clear as a bell:

You should talk.

Yes. He’s right. No more silence.

No more shy glances and burning cheeks and terrified guessing games.

The time for quiet is over.

Now it’s time to talk.

Freely.

With my shy Deniz.

We walk out of the hospital’s automatic doors and into a world transformed. Snow falls in fat, silent flakes, painting the night in soft, forgiving white.

Deniz’s hand is still in mine, a warm, anchoring point in the cold.

My driver spots us immediately, hurrying forward with quick, efficient steps. He opens a large black umbrella, holding it over us like a shield.

"Young Master, we should return. The roads may block soon with this heavy snow."

I take the umbrella handle from him.

"You may go."

"Young Master, but—"

I meet his eyes. He swallows his protest, gives a shallow, obedient bow, and retreats.

Deniz is still silent beside me, his face lowered, a portrait of beautiful, troubled confusion.

I start walking, pulling him gently along, the umbrella creating a small, private world for just the two of us.

The street is a blank canvas of white, our footprints the first marks upon it.

His voice, when it comes, is so quiet it’s almost lost in the hush of falling snow.

"You should go."

I don’t look at him. I don’t answer. I just keep walking, leading him toward a destination he doesn’t know.

A destination I, myself, am only discovering step by snow-muffled step.

After a long, silent trek, we stop.

Before us is a small, hidden garden, a secret tucked between sleeping buildings. It’s buried under a pristine blanket of snow, but within it, defiant and breathtaking, winter jasmine blooms.

Delicate yellow stars against the pure white, their fragrance a cold, sweet whisper in the air.

I hand the umbrella to Deniz. He takes it automatically, his brow furrowed.

"Zyren, why are we here? You’ll catch cold again."

I don’t listen. I walk into the garden, my shoes sinking into the deep powder. I bend and carefully pluck a single, perfect jasmine bloom.

I brush away the clinging snow with my thumb, the gesture tender, almost reverent.

The petals are cold and silken against my skin.

I turn and walk back to him. He stands under the umbrella, utterly confused, watching me.

Then, I kneel.

My knees sink into the deep, cold snow with a soft crunch. The chill seeps through my trousers instantly, a sharp, grounding shock.

Deniz’s eyes fly wide.

"Zyren! What are you—? Please, stand up!"

I stay where I am.

I lift the winter jasmine, offering it to him like the most precious of vows.

The yellow flower is a tiny sun in the monochrome night.

Our eyes lock.

His are dark pools of shock and dawning, tremulous understanding. Mine, I hope, hold only truth.

The world narrows to this circle under the umbrella, to the falling snow, to his face, to the flower between us.

My voice, when it comes, is soft.

Cleared of all pretense, all games, all fear.

It is simply, honestly, me.

"Deniz," I whisper, the name a cloud of warmth in the frozen air.

"I love you."