Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 176: He’s A Foodie Now?

Flashback — The Lunch Between Moon and Angel

Angel sits across from Moon, his hands twisted together in his lap, fingers winding and unwinding in a rhythm of quiet distress.

His eyes dart to the man before him, then away, then down at the food he cannot bring himself to touch. The steam rises from the pasta in lazy spirals, carrying the scent of garlic and herbs, but his stomach is a knot he cannot untie.

He doesn’t understand why Moon Arden—the Moon Arden who commands rooms with his presence—would ask him to lunch.

Alone. In a private room. With no cameras, no witnesses, no reason.

Moon leans back in his chair, his posture the picture of relaxed confidence. One arm draped over the armrest, the other resting on the table, his fingers inches from his water glass.

His blue eyes are fixed on Angel with an intensity that seems almost lazy, almost indifferent—but nothing about Moon Arden is ever truly indifferent.

"Why aren’t you eating?" His voice is casual, as if they do this every day. As if this is normal.

Angel blinks, startled from his spiral. He fumbles for his fork, stabbing at the pasta without lifting it to his lips, his movements mechanical, thoughtless.

Moon watches him for a moment longer, then reaches for his water glass. He sips slowly. Deliberately. His eyes never leaving Angel’s face.

"Angel."

Angel’s fork pauses. He looks up, wary.

"I want to ask you something."

Angel’s face shifts—confusion first, then something closer to surprise. Moon Arden, asking.

Not demanding. Not commanding. Not the cold, sharp-edged Alpha who makes the world bend to his will. Just... asking.

"About Zyren." Moon sets his glass down with a soft clink.

"You’re close to him. What does he like? What does he dislike?" A pause, almost imperceptible.

"What makes him happy?"

Angel sets his fork down slowly. The metal clinks against the plate, a small sound that seems too loud in the quiet room. He stares at Moon, his mind turning, trying to find the shape of this request, the hidden edges, the trap that must be there.

Why does he want to know? What does he want with Zyren?

"I’m sorry." Angel’s voice is quiet, but it doesn’t waver.

"I can’t help you with that."

Moon’s expression hardens. The lazy calm drains away, replaced by something sharper, something that glints like a blade held just below the surface.

"Why?"

Angel looks down at his hands, at the way they’re still twisted together, knuckles white. He thinks of Zyren—the Zyren he knew, the Zyren he’s come to know, and the chasm between them that no one seems to want to name.

"I’ve been with Zyren since he was little." His voice is soft, distant, as if he’s speaking to himself as much as to Moon. "I thought I knew him. I watched him grow up. He was..."

He searches for the words. "Stubborn. Angry. Always ready to fight anyone who looked at him wrong. He carried his anger like a shield, like armor. Like if he stopped being angry, there would be nothing left underneath."

He pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Wondering.

"But what he is now... I don’t know who that is."

Moon goes very still. The air in the room seems to thicken, to press in from all sides. His voice, when it comes, is sharp as glass, cutting through the silence.

"What do you mean?"

Angel meets his eyes, and there’s something there Moon doesn’t expect. Not fear. Not evasion. Just simple, unadorned truth.

"Zyren isn’t like this. Not the Zyren I knew."

Angel’s voice is soft, almost reverent. "I was so shocked when he started to change. It was like... like someone flipped a switch. He just suddenly wanted to be good. He said he wanted to be different. And he was. He is."

Moon stares at him. The words settle in his chest like stones dropped into still water, the ripples spreading outward, touching everything.

I don’t know who he is.

"Is that so," Moon says. His voice is flat, but something moves behind his eyes.

Angel nods slowly. "Now I know him. He’s good. Innocent. Kind." A small, unconscious smile touches his lips, softening his features.

"Caring. He cares so much, about everyone, about everything. He wants to make things right, even when nothing was wrong to begin with." He pauses, and the smile lingers.

"I like him. The way he is."

Moon’s eyes narrow, something flickering in their depths. "What do you mean, like?"

Angel’s smile falters. He looks down, suddenly aware of how that sounded, how it might be heard.

"I mean... he’s a good person. That’s all."

Moon leans back, his expression unreadable, a door closing behind his eyes.

"Fine. Tell me something else." A pause. "What does he like? Now. Recently."

Angel bites his lower lip, thinking. The memory comes slowly, then all at once—Zyren at the dining table, his face brightening when he saw the cake Angel had made. The way his eyes closed when he took the first bite, savoring it like a secret. The quiet, contented sound he made, unaware he was being watched.

"Before, Zyren didn’t like sweets," Angel says slowly, the memory warming his voice. "He would push them away, say they were for children. But now..."

He shakes his head, almost smiling. "Now he loves them. And he loves good food. All kinds. When he eats something he likes, he gets... happy. You can see it on his face. He can’t hide it."

Moon’s eyebrow lifts, a fraction, a crack in his composure.

"He’s a foodie now?"

Angel nods, a shy smile tugging at his lips. "You could say that."

A soft smile spreads across Moon’s lips. Not the smirk he wears like armor, not the sharp-edged grin he turns on the world. Something genuine. Almost fond. Something that transforms his face into something younger, softer.

"I didn’t think my little cousin was such a foodie." He tilts his head, considering. "I should buy him a famous restaurant."

Angel’s smile widens, encouraged. "He especially likes handmade food. Things made by someone who... cares. You can tell when food is made with care. He can."

Moon’s smile fades. His expression shifts, becomes distant, calculating.

"Handmade."

Angel nods, not understanding why this detail seems to matter so much.

Moon goes still.

His mind catches on a single thought—

Learn.... cooking?