Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 73: I Didn’t Think You’d be This Useless.....

I sit in my office, the silence a stark contrast to the earlier tension. I’m trying to focus on work, but my brain keeps replaying the meeting on a loop.

Moon Arden’s stare. That weird, unwavering, analytical gaze pinned on me, not Angel.

And Angel’s own behavior—that strange, detached blankness, his eyes never once lifting toward the man he’s supposedly destined to fall for.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the images.

Neon, just forget about it. Your only job here is to get them together. In the novel, they meet at the Kael mansion. Moon Arden sees Angel mopping the floor, their eyes lock, and he’s instantly, irrevocably smitten. He never looks at anyone else again.

But the script has changed. Their first meeting was in a sterile conference room, not a sun-dappled mansion hall.

Angel was in a tailored suit, not humble servant’s clothes. And instead of a fateful, locking gaze... nothing. Not a single glance. It’s utterly confusing.

I run a hand through my hair, a frustrated sigh escaping.

Neon, just relax. The story will correct itself. It has to.

Then—

The office door bursts open—without a knock.

I look up, startled by the sudden sound.

It’s Angel.

He walks in, still in the elegant clothes from the photoshoot, but he looks... shattered. His eyes are fixed on the floor, his face pale, his expression a mix of profound nervousness and a deep, quiet sadness that makes my chest tighten.

My voice is instantly laced with worry.

"Angel? What’s wrong? Are you okay?"

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look up.

I stand, my chair scraping back. I walk to him, stopping a careful distance away, not wanting to crowd him.

"Angel," I say, softer but firmer.

"Look at me."

Slowly, he raises his head.

His eyes are wet, gleaming with unshed tears.

My own eyes widen. Before I can think, my hands are cupping his face.

"Angel, why are you crying?"

My thumb brushes his cheek just as a single tear escapes, tracing a hot path over my skin.

He swallows hard, his voice a broken whisper.

"I’m sorry... I can’t do this."

"Shh," I murmur, wiping the tear away with my thumb.

"Just tell me. Who made you cry?"

His gaze drops again, a clear sign he’s hiding something, burying the real hurt.

Before I can press further, a knock sounds at the door. My eyes don’t leave Angel’s face.

"Come in," I say, my voice cold. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

The door opens. It’s Ziya. His young face is etched with open worry. "Angel, are you—?" He cuts himself off, seeing me.

I turn my gaze to him, the coldness in my voice sharpening into a blade.

"Ziya. Who made Angel cry?"

Ziya’s eyes drop. He hesitates, wringing his hands. "Sir... during the photoshoot, Angel was very nervous. He... he couldn’t get the poses right with Mr. Moon. The photographer... he spoke very harshly to him. And some of the staff... they laughed."

The words land like punches.

A cold, violent anger ignites in my chest, burning away all confusion, all thoughts of plots and male leads. It’s a pure, protective fury.

I look back at Angel, his beautiful face marred by tears and shame. Without another word, I take his hand firmly in mine.

This isn’t about novels or male leads anymore.

"Let’s go," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Before he can react, I’m leading him, pulling him gently but insistently out of my office.

The paperwork, the company, Moon Arden’s strange stares—none of it matters.

Someone hurt my Angel. And now, they’re going to find out exactly what happens when you make Zyren Kael’s precious person cry.

I stride into the company’s photoshoot studio, the heavy door swinging shut with a final thud behind Angel and me. The scene is a tableau of glamour and industry—bright lights, reflective umbrellas, the low hum of generators.

And at the center of it all, lounging in a director’s chair as if it were a throne, is Moon Arden. A makeup artist dabs at his brow with a powder puff, his face a mask of bored perfection.

I stare at him. He should be the hero. He should have been the one to sweep in, to shield Angel, to burn the world with a single glare for anyone who dared upset his fated Omega.

That’s the script. That’s the plot.

But he’s just sitting there. Calm. Untouched. Complicit.

The manager spots me, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Sir...!" His voice cuts through the studio’s murmur.

Every head turns. The staff’s attention shifts from their idol to me. I don’t try to hide the fury on my face. It’s a cold, sharp thing, etched in every line.

"Who," I say, my voice slicing through the quiet, "is the one who made Angel cry?"

Moon Arden’s gaze shifts to me. He just watches, calmly. Observing.

The manager stammers, "Sir, it was just a misunder—"

"SHUT UP!"

The photographer freezes, light meter clenched in his hand, eyes glued to the floor.

I step toward him.

He starts shaking.

I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.

My voice is low, a graveled threat.

"How dare you make my Angel cry."

The entire studio freezes. No one breathes. All eyes are downcast.

The photographer’s voice is a terrified squeak.

"I’m sorry, sir... I was just trying to get the shot..."

I don’t let him finish. I look away from him, my disgust palpable.

"Get out."

He swallows audibly.

"Sir, please, I—"

"Don’t," I say, turning my back on him as I walk toward the center of the room, "show your face here again."

I lower myself calmly into the chair. Moon Arden’s blue eyes are fixed on me, but I pay him no mind. I let my gaze sweep over the cowering staff.

I don’t need to say another word. The cold, silent fury of Zyren Kael is enough.

The manager finds his voice again, weak and pleading.

"Sir... we... we already have a contract with him. How will we...?"

I look at him. Just look.

He swallows hard, straightening his spine.

"I’m sorry, sir."

"Do you really think I care about contracts?" My voice is flat, absolute.

He looks at the floor. "No, sir."

"Hire someone else. The photoshoot starts again tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

The studio is dead silent, save for the quiet hum of electricity. The glamour has evaporated, replaced by a chill that has nothing to do with the air conditioning.

Finally, I turn my head. My gaze lands on Moon Arden, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken.

I stare at him, this flawless, famous male lead.

I didn’t think you’d be this useless.

I’m having to protect the person you were written to cherish.

And he just... watches. Like I’m the most interesting part of the show.