Jerome stared intently at Zion before finally stepping inside and approaching Mocha, who was still slumped on the floor. The perpetrator of the violence merely watched the scene unfold with a relaxed demeanor, showing not a hint of remorse.
"I didn't know your omega was that precious."
The light brunette-haired man's voice was low, almost a murmur, as he knelt beside Mocha and gripped his arm to pull him up. Mocha only clicked his tongue in irritation, but let himself be helped. Without a word, Jerome unbuttoned his suit jacket and handed it over. Mocha immediately threw it over his head, concealing his bloodied, swollen face.
Hearing Jerome's remark, Zion immediately understood who he was referring to. His gaze shifted to Suga— the only omega in the restroom. Sure enough, Jerome's sharp eyes followed, locking onto Suga for a moment before returning to Zion. And honestly, Suga had no idea what to say in a situation like this.
