Trapped in a Novel as the D-Class Alpha I Hated Most-Chapter 40: I Have Good Cleaning Skills

The lift doors slide open with a soft chime.

Deniz steps out first. I follow, hands in my pockets, my footsteps slowing as the corridor stretches before us—narrow, warm-lit by warm yellow lights. Faintly smelling of detergent and old paint. It feels... lived in. Honest.

We stop in front of his apartment.

Deniz suddenly looks nervous.

He pats his pockets once. Twice. His movements are stiff, slightly rushed—like he’s afraid the keys might vanish if he hesitates too long.

Before he finds them, an old woman walks past us, her slippers scraping softly against the floor.

Her sharp, curious eyes land on me.

Then on Deniz.

"Deniz," she says, voice bright with familiarity.

He straightens immediately, the instinctive politeness kicking in. "Hello, Granny. How are you?"

"I’m good, I’m good," she replies, then tilts her head, studying me openly. "But who is this omega?"

Omega?

I blink.

Seriously?

I roll my eyes and look away. She’s old. I’ll let it slide.

Still—do I really look that fragile?

Stil— is that really how I look to strangers?

Deniz glances at me quickly, checking my reaction, then clears his throat.

"He’s my friend, Granny."

Her face brightens immediately.

She steps closer to him, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret, though she isn’t subtle at all.

"Don’t tell me he’s your partner."

Deniz freezes.

His eyes widen. His ears turn red.

She continues, now looking straight at me with approval. "He looks rich. And very beautiful."

Deniz coughs, adjusting his glasses nervously. "G-Granny, no—he’s just my friend."

She sighs dramatically, waving a hand. "Don’t be shy. I know better. You never bring friends home."

Deniz gives up arguing.

He pulls out his keys too fast, steps forward, and unlocks the door with hands that clearly don’t want to cooperate.

As she walks away, the old woman laughs softly.

"Have fun, you two. Lovey-dovey," she sings, waving.

Deniz’s hands tremble as he unlocks the door.

He glances at me, mortified. "I’m sorry... she’s just like that."

I smile lightly. "It’s okay."

The door clicks open.

I step forward to enter—but Deniz suddenly blocks the doorway.

"W-Wait," he blurts out, face burning red.

I stop. Look at him.

His gaze drops to the floor. "Can you... stay outside for a moment?"

I tilt my head. "Why?"

"I didn’t clean," he admits, voice low. "It’s messy."

Eyes down embarrassed—

I smile softly. "I don’t mind."

I try to step in.

"Please—just ten minutes," he says quickly. "I’ll clean fast."

There’s something almost desperate in it.

I sigh, amused. "Deniz, it’s fine."

I gently push past him anyway. He stumbles back a step, and we enter together.

I stop.

My eyes widen.

Clothes everywhere.

Snack wrappers and popcorn scattered like evidence of long nights. Soda cans crowded on the table. Nothing staged. Nothing polished.

Just real.

A tiny apartment, clearly lived in—and very, very human.

I take it all in, slowly.

Deniz stands beside me, completely still, eyes fixed on the floor. His face is burning red, embarrassment practically radiating off him.

The silence is thick.

Not awkward.

Just exposed.

...Somehow, it’s adorable.

I stare at the apartment for a long moment.

Then my gaze shifts to Deniz.

Then back to the apartment again.

The apartment.

Then Deniz.

Then the apartment again.

It doesn’t make sense—and that’s exactly why it does.

This space is chaos. Clothes draped without care, empty cans scattered like forgotten thoughts, the couch half-buried beneath things that were never meant to stay there. It’s loud without sound.

And Deniz—

Deniz is order. Discipline. Control.

The contrast hits me all at once—this place is the complete opposite of him.

The realization bubbles up before I can stop it.

A laugh escapes.

Not sharp. Not mocking.

Just... surprised.

"Hah—"

Then another breath.

"Hah... hah..."

It builds before I can stop it, spilling out warm and unfiltered. My chest tightens, eyes stinging faintly as I laugh too hard, too honestly.

Deniz stiffens beside me.

I feel it instantly.

His face turns an even deeper shade of red.

"Why... why are you laughing?" he asks quietly.

I wipe the corner of my eye, still smiling, and look at him.

"Because," I say, breath still uneven, "this place is the complete opposite of you."

The words land.

I watch his shoulders draw inward—just slightly, but enough. His gaze drops to the floor. The color on his cheeks deepens, not from embarrassment now, but something quieter.

The laughter drains out of me.

The air changes.

I stare at him in silence.

Shit.

Neon, you messed up again.

He looks sad now, the kind of sadness that isn’t loud, but lingers.

Idiot.

Neon, you absolute idiot.

I step closer before the silence can grow teeth.

Slowly—carefully—I lift my hand and touch beneath his chin with one finger, guiding his face up until his eyes meet mine. I don’t force it. I wait.

"I’m sorry," I say softly, guilt threading through my voice. "I didn’t mean to make you feel bad."

He hesitates, then shakes his head.

"It’s not that," he murmurs. "I just—"

I don’t let him finish.

A small smile curves onto my lips, warmer now, steadier.

"Let’s clean this together."

Deniz’s eyes widen in surprise. He just stares at me, silent for a moment, then asks slowly, almost unsure, "Together...?"

I nod, cheerful, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Yes. Together. Let’s do it."

He shakes his head at once. "No. I can do it alone."

I don’t argue. I simply take off my coat, draping it aside with exaggerated confidence. "Come on. I have good cleaning skills."

He freezes.

Completely.

As if he’s just heard something impossible.

Like I’ve just told him the president of Kael Holdings washes dishes for fun.

I almost laugh again—but this time, I don’t.

Of course. Why would he believe it? To him, I’m Zyren Kael, president of the biggest business empire, someone who’s never touched a mop in his life.

But I’m Neon. And in my real life, cleaning floors, washing dishes, wiping tables—that’s how I live. That’s how I survive. I’ve been good at it for a long time.

Deniz keeps staring at me, silent, processing.

I glance back at him, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Come on."

He blinks hard, then finally nods—quietly, as if surrendering to something he doesn’t quite understand yet.