"Listen, I'm very sure it was Bes Ilay," Eun-jae said, his tone firm despite the growing irritation gnawing at him. He wasn't some rookie to be dismissed like this. He had instincts, damn good ones, and he knew what he was talking about.
"How sure are you, really?" Jin replied, his voice laced with doubt. "Nikolai, on the other hand, has more enemies than I can count. For all we know, it could've been one of them mistaking you for him."
Eun-jae froze, Jin's words hitting him like a slap to the face. He hated admitting it, but the director had a point. It wasn't beyond reason that some enemy of Nikolai's could've been behind the attack. His impersonation of Nikolai wasn't exactly flawless, and the people chasing after him weren't fools.
He sighed internally, running a hand through his hair as Jin continued speaking. "Ah, yes, before I forget, we'll be assigning you a second agent."
"What?" Eun-jae snapped, his irritation spilling over. "That wasn't mentioned before."
"Well, now it's mentioned," Jin said dismissively, the sound of papers shuffling in the background. "He's Russian and familiar with the surroundings. You'll need the backup. I've sent the file again—go through it. And before you argue, yes, all 900 pages of it. You need to be fully prepped. There's a program coming up, and you'll have to wear the mask and go in as Nikolai again."
Eun-jae opened his mouth to protest, but the line went dead before he could get a single word out. Jin had hung up on him. Typical.
A soft chime on his phone alerted him to the new file. He opened it reluctantly, scrolling through the document that seemed to go on forever. Pages upon pages of intelligence, dossiers, operation plans, and coded messages. "Nine hundred goddamn pages," Eun-jae muttered under his breath, flopping onto the couch with an exaggerated groan. "Does he think I'm a goddamn machine? Who has the time to memorize all of this? Is he out of his mind?"
He threw his phone onto the coffee table and glared at it as though the device itself were responsible for his misery. His thoughts spiraled into a tirade, fueled by both frustration and exhaustion.
Who even writes a 900-page file? Is this some sort of sick joke? Does Jin sit in his office, sipping his fancy coffee, thinking, "Oh, you know what Helix needs? Homework!" Like I don't already have enough on my plate, dodging bullets and pretending to be some Russian mobster. Now I'm supposed to become a walking encyclopedia on Nikolai too?
He ran a hand down his face, groaning audibly. "I should've gone into accounting," he muttered to himself. "Or maybe flower arranging. Hell, anything but this."
The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made him laugh. Almost. Instead, he leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself into some semblance of calm. But his thoughts kept racing, the irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
And who is this second agent? Russian, familiar with the surroundings... great, just what I need—someone else breathing down my neck, probably judging every move I make. What's next? Jin sending me a babysitter? Maybe a team of them, just to make sure I don't screw up. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me.
Eun-jae let out a long sigh, picking up his phone again. He scrolled through the file reluctantly, skimming over the first few pages. There was no way he was going to read all of this tonight. He'd glance at the important bits, the mission-critical stuff, and maybe, maybe, skim the rest tomorrow. For now, he needed a drink. Or ten.
He grabbed the pack of cigarettes he'd bought earlier, lighting one with a flick of his lighter. The smoke curled lazily in the air as he exhaled, his mind still racing but his body finally starting to relax. The next few days were going to be hell, and he knew it. But for now, he'd take this small moment of peace, however fleeting it might be.
Eun-jae stepped into the opulent dining hall, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. The air smelled faintly of aged wood and the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The warm light from the chandeliers bounced off the polished mahogany tables, giving the room an air of understated extravagance. At the far end, a table of sharply dressed men sat, their conversation ceasing the moment he approached.
"Mr. Ivanov," one of them greeted with a faint smile, his voice carrying the clipped efficiency of someone who wasted neither words nor time. "Are you feeling any better? I heard you were in a terrible accident the day you arrived in Moscow."
Eun-jae's lips curled into a faint, practiced smile. "I'm fine. Sorry to worry you." His tone was smooth, perfectly modulated, betraying none of the irritation bubbling beneath his calm exterior.
The man who spoke, a silver-haired executive with cold, calculating eyes, leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands on the table. His presence exuded power, the kind that demanded obedience without needing to raise his voice. "No, we're sorry you had to go through that."
Sure you are, Eun-jae thought, resisting the urge to sigh. These men didn't care about his well-being; they cared about what his injury might mean for their business. He maintained his polite demeanor as another man chimed in, his expression stiff.
"No, you don't owe me an apology," Eun-jae replied smoothly, his voice tinged with diplomacy. "I should've been more careful." The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he delivered them with the grace of a seasoned negotiator.
As the table delved into polite chatter about mergers and quarterly reports, Eun-jae tuned them out. His sharp eyes flicked to his watch, a sleek silver piece that gleamed under the soft light. The luncheon is at noon. Luncheon—ugh, could they sound any more pretentious?
Half an hour crawled by, yet the man of the hour, the elusive CEO of Volkov Energy, was still nowhere to be found. The tension at the table grew palpable, though the men disguised their unease with forced smiles and sips of whiskey.
Eun-jae suppressed the urge to scoff. Leave it to someone like Volkov to show up late to his own luncheon. I'd bet good money he's sitting in some luxury suite upstairs, laughing about making us wait.
'"What the hell do you mean you're sending someone instead of the CEO? You think time is on our side, eh?!" a man's voice thundered across the room, sharp and cutting through the air like a knife. Eun-jae's attention shifted from the lukewarm coffee in his hand to the figure pacing furiously near the windows, phone pressed tightly to his ear.
The man's tone didn't falter as he unleashed his anger. His words were biting, filled with frustration, and a kind of authority that didn't need to be announced. "I don't care if it's a scheduling conflict or the apocalypse—he should've been here himself. If you don't fix this, I swear, heads are going to roll!"
Eun-jae leaned back in his chair, tilting his head ever so slightly as he observed the man. His sharp eyes took in every detail, from the tailored suit that screamed "expensive as hell" to the way his hand gripped the phone as though it was the source of all his problems. Hmm… Is that one of the board of directors? Or just someone who thinks yelling makes them more important? Eun-jae mused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
He sipped his coffee lazily, letting the bitter liquid warm his throat as his mind buzzed with curiosity. Damn, I kinda love the drama. Should I butt in? Nah… not yet. Let's see how much more he explodes first.
Just as he was starting to enjoy the show, the man turned his fiery gaze toward the room, and Eun-jae quickly plastered on a friendly smile. He placed his cup down and rose gracefully, adjusting his tie like the picture-perfect professional he pretended to be. "Haha, excuse me," Eun-jae said, his tone light and disarming as he gestured toward the hallway. "I have to use the washroom."
He slipped away without waiting for a response, his steps quick but unhurried, like someone who had all the time in the world. As soon as he reached the bathroom, Eun-jae let out a dramatic groan, leaning over the sink. His reflection stared back at him, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to his sleepless night.
Thank God I had no problem blending in, Eun-jae thought, running a hand through his dark hair. I mean, sure, I spent half the night memorizing every single detail in that ridiculously thick file Boss sent me—because who needs sleep, right? But hey, it worked. They totally bought it. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. I swear, if my eyeballs fall out today, I'm mailing them straight to Boss. "Here, take these—they're yours now, since you clearly don't think I need them."
Straightening up, Eun-jae splashed cold water on his face, the chill snapping him out of his mental grumbling. Focus, Eun-jae. The person you need to see isn't even here yet. Maybe I should just wait a little longer…
That's when he heard it. Footsteps.
At first, it was faint, the soft echo of polished shoes against the marble floor. But with each step, they grew louder, more deliberate. Eun-jae froze, his ears pricking like a cornered animal.
Then came the voice. Low, smooth, and laced with an edge of amusement. "No, haha, that's crazy. I didn't even want to come, but what can I say?"
The sound of it sent an unexpected shiver down Eun-jae's spine. He straightened up slowly, his hands still under the faucet. The footsteps drew closer, each one heavy with purpose.
Who the hell is that? Eun-jae wondered, his heartbeat quickening. His eyes darted to the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of the person approaching. Is it one of the board of directors? Or someone worse?
The voice came again, but this time it was softer, darker, almost like a whisper meant to tease. "Do you want me to beat the shit out of him?"
The words hit Eun-jae like a slap, and he stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. There was something unsettling about the way the man said it—almost playful, like he was enjoying the thought. The voice had a strange pull to it, seductive yet menacing, as if daring anyone to challenge him.
And then Eun-jae smelled it.
A faint, unmistakable scent wafted through the air—tobacco. But not just any tobacco. This was the same scent from that night, the one that had clung to the attacker who had ambushed him. The memory slammed into Eun-jae with the force of a freight train.
No way. This scent… it's him. That bastard is here.
His blood ran cold, and his pulse quickened as the realization sank in. His wide eyes locked onto his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe.
What the hell is he doing here? Eun-jae's mind raced. Of all places, why here? Is he following me? Was this planned? Damn it, keep it together, Eun-jae. Don't let him see you panic.
The footsteps stopped just outside the bathroom door, and Eun-jae felt a knot tighten in his stomach. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the paper towel, drying them as casually as he could manage.
Okay, deep breath. Act natural. Pretend you're just some random guy washing his hands. You're not a target. You're not a threat. You're just a guy who really needed a bathroom break. Yeah, that's totally believable.
The door creaked open, and Eun-jae tensed, his heart hammering against his ribs. Here we go. Show time.
The door creaked open, and Eun-jae froze mid-motion, his hands hovering above the sink. His heart rate spiked, thudding like a bass drum in his chest as the man stepped inside.
Eun-jae risked a glance and immediately regretted it. The man was really tall—towering, honestly—easily over 200 cm. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, making the small, dimly lit bathroom feel even more claustrophobic. His striking blue eyes stood out against his cool, grey-blonde hair, catching the faint light and glinting like ice.
And those dimples. Dimples? Really?! What kind of unfair genetic lottery is this man winning?! They appeared briefly as the man smirked, adding a layer of charm to his already handsome face. Handsome didn't even cover it, though—he was cute too. The combination of his sharp jawline, strong features, and those ridiculous dimples made Eun-jae want to scream. How can someone look like they just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine while also being a walking, talking danger sign?
The man's presence was suffocating, radiating a kind of confidence that screamed, I own this room and everyone in it. Every step he took toward the sink felt deliberate, like he was in control of not just his movements but the entire atmosphere.
Why? Why of all places would he show up here? Eun-jae's thoughts screamed as he quickly averted his eyes, pretending not to notice the man. He plastered on a casual expression, his inner monologue rolling at full speed.
Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I need to leave before anything cray-cray happens, Eun-jae decided. Turning on his heel, he plastered on a nonchalant smile, like he hadn't just recognized the guy's scent as the same one from his attacker. He even whistled softly, pretending he didn't have a single worry in the world.
But just as he reached for the door, the man's voice stopped him cold.
"I believe we've met, Mr. Ivanov. Not even a 'hi'? Are Ukrainians this rude?"
The words slid through the air, smooth and taunting, with just a hint of mockery that made Eun-jae's blood run cold. His hand froze on the door handle, his mind racing a mile a minute.
Wait. WHAT?! How does he know my name?! How does he know where I'm from?! Oh yes it isn't even me. Oh, no, no, no, no, no—this is bad. This is so bad.
Eun-jae's heart jumped into his mouth, pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. Am I having a heart attack? Is this what a heart attack feels like? Because it feels like I'm about to die. Right here. Right now. In the middle of a freakin' bathroom.
He didn't dare look back, didn't even so much as flinch. Instead, he did what any self-respecting, self-preserving person would do in his situation: he bolted. Like a bat out of hell, Eun-jae jolted out of the bathroom, his legs carrying him down the hall as fast as they could without drawing too much attention.
His chest heaved, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as adrenaline pumped through his veins. Who the hell is that guy? And why does he have the audacity to scare the life out of me like this? I don't even know him, but he's acting like he knows my entire life story! Ugh, men like that are the worst—so smug, so cocky, like they think the world revolves around them.
Just as Eun-jae's mind spiraled further into panic, his phone buzzed in his pocket, snapping him out of his thoughts.
"Oh, great timing. My phone buzzes when I'm halfway to a heart attack. Thank you, technology," he muttered under his breath, fishing it out with trembling hands.
That's when it hit him.
Director Jin! He said he'd send me a picture of my partner.
Eun-jae's fingers fumbled with the screen as he unlocked his phone, praying the picture would provide some kind of reassurance. He tapped on the message, and the attachment began to load… slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
"Oh, come on! Of all the times for the internet to be trash, it has to be now?" Eun-jae groaned, resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall. The loading bar crawled at a snail's pace, mocking him with its refusal to cooperate.
And then, just as he was about to scream in frustration, he felt it.
The presence.
That same overwhelming, suffocating presence, like the weight of someone's gaze boring into the back of his skull. The scent hit him next—tobacco, sharp and distinctive, the same one that had haunted him since that night.
Eun-jae stiffened, his entire body going rigid. His eyes darted to his phone screen, willing it to hurry the hell up. Not now. Please, not now. Just load already, stupid phone!
Then, the voice.
"Oh… is that me?"