And he had to do it before it was too late.
Eun-jae stepped into the hectic chaos of the kitchen.
The heat was stifling—steam rising from boiling pots, the sharp scent of spices mixing with the savory aroma of roasted meats. Cooks bustled back and forth, their movements sharp and efficient, knives clattering against cutting boards as orders were barked across the room.
"CHOP THOSE VEGGIES PROPERLY, OR YOU'RE GETTING FIRED!" the head chef roared, his voice slicing through the air like a whip.
Eun-jae barely spared him a glance.
His mind was already working at full speed.
"First, I need to get to that room upstairs… But how?"
It's definitely guarded.
There was no way Bes, the Vice President, and the Minister of Foreign Affairs would be having a private meeting without security stationed outside.
Which meant—
"I need another way in."
His thoughts shifted back to the blueprints Caesar had shown him earlier.
There had to be—
There.
A back door.
"According to the blueprints, there should be a secondary entrance somewhere nearby… If I can find it, I might be able to sneak in without setting off any alarms."
His sharp eyes scanned the kitchen, analyzing the layout, the exits—every possible way out.
Then—
"Ah! Found it."
A narrow, unassuming door near the back of the kitchen, half-hidden by shelves of ingredients and stacks of dirty dishes. It was easy to miss.
Which meant it was perfect.
Now he just needed—
His gaze landed on a large, almost overflowing trash bin.
His lips curled slightly.
"Oh… The trash."
A plan formed in his mind in an instant.
With practiced ease, he grabbed the trash bin, hoisting it up as if it were just another chore. Casual. Natural. Unnoticeable.
Blending in was an art.
And Eun-jae had mastered it.
He made his way toward the back door, feigning the weary sluggishness of a worker stuck on cleaning duty.
But the moment he pushed the door open—
A guard.
Tall, broad-shouldered, standing like an immovable statue.
The man's sharp eyes flicked to him immediately.
"Where are you going?" the guard asked, his voice deep, suspicious.
Eun-jae barely hesitated before slipping into character, letting out a small groan as he shifted the trash bin for emphasis.
"Ah… aigoo…" He exhaled dramatically, scrunching his nose as if he were annoyed but resigned.
"Boss told me to empty this bin," he said, adding just the right amount of frustration in his tone, like a worker tired of his mundane job. "It's almost full, and he said he doesn't want it to attract flies."
The guard's expression remained stone-cold.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Suspicion.
A few seconds passed—just long enough to be dangerous.
Then—
"MOVE IT OR YOU ARE GETTING FIRED!" the head chef's voice boomed from inside the kitchen.
The guard turned slightly, glancing toward the direction of the voice.
It was all the confirmation he needed.
"You may go," the guard said gruffly, stepping aside.
Eun-jae forced a smile, bowing slightly as he pushed forward.
"Ah, thank you," he said politely.
Then he walked out.
Now outside.
Cool night air greeted him, a stark contrast to the heat of the kitchen.
But he barely noticed.
Because his eyes were already locked onto his next obstacle.
The two guards stationed outside the secret meeting room.
"Now comes the real problem."
Taking them out quietly was the only option.
If he made even the smallest mistake, everything would fall apart.
His pulse quickened, adrenaline beginning to buzz in his veins.
But there was no hesitation.
No fear.
Just the cold, calculated focus of a man who had no choice but to succeed.
Because failure wasn't an option.
And Eun-jae never failed.
Eun-jae slowed his movements, keeping his pace natural, unhurried.
I need to get rid of them.
But it had to be quick. Silent. A single mistake—one wrong move, one second of hesitation—and everything would unravel. If anyone heard them go down, he was done for.
He barely had seconds to formulate a plan before one of the guards turned toward him, suspicion flickering in his sharp, dark eyes.
"You," the man called, his voice clipped and firm. "What are you doing out here?"
Eun-jae reacted instantly, his face shifting into an expression of mild annoyance. He let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off fatigue. Then, with calculated sluggishness, he set the trash bin down beside him.
"Ah, man…" he muttered, shaking his head. "I was just told to empty the bin. Do you know how heavy this thing is? Aish… My back's killing me."
The guards exchanged a glance. Not suspicion—just disinterest.
Good. Keep it that way.
Eun-jae took a single step closer, feigning exhaustion, keeping his shoulders loose and his movements natural. He rubbed the back of his neck, offering them an easy, harmless grin.
"You guys must be bored out here, huh?" His voice was light, conversational, as if he wasn't calculating the exact distance between them, as if he wasn't counting the seconds it would take to drop them both.
One of the guards scoffed. "Shut up and do your job."
Eun-jae grinned wider.
Then he moved.
Fast.
Explosive.
Before the guards could register the shift, Eun-jae's right hand shot forward like a striking viper. His fingers curled into a precise, razor-sharp spear, driving into the first guard's throat with brutal accuracy.
The man's eyes bulged. His mouth opened to scream—
But no sound came.
Eun-jae's attack crushed his airway, cutting off any chance of warning. His body spasmed, hands clawing at his neck in desperate panic.
The second guard barely had time to react. He flinched, reaching for his weapon—
Too slow.
Eun-jae was already moving, his body spinning in a controlled arc. His left arm snapped forward, driving his elbow into the second guard's temple with bone-crushing force.
A dull, sickening thud.
The second guard crumpled like a marionette with its strings severed, collapsing to the ground in a motionless heap.
The first guard staggered, his breath coming in weak, ragged gasps. His knees buckled, his body threatening to follow his partner's fate—
But Eun-jae didn't give him the chance.
In one swift, fluid motion, he reached out, gripping the man's head with both hands.
And twisted.
A sickening crack echoed in the empty corridor.
The body went limp.
Eun-jae exhaled.
Slowly.
Steadily.
His pulse remained steady. His breathing even. He barely blinked as he crouched down, fingers deftly checking the guards' pockets, searching for anything useful. A keycard. A pass. A weapon.
His hands wrapped around the cold, familiar weight of a pistol. Sleek. Loaded.
Perfect.
He slid it into his waistband, then grabbed the second guard's gun as well. No wasted movement. No hesitation.
Always be prepared.
With quiet efficiency, he bent down and hooked his arms beneath their lifeless bodies, dragging them toward the nearest hiding spot—a large industrial dumpster tucked into the shadows. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
He worked quickly, arranging their bodies so they wouldn't be immediately visible if someone walked past. The shadows swallowed them whole, erasing any trace of their presence.
Eun-jae took a step back, scanning his work. No stray limbs. No obvious bloodstains. Just two missing guards no one would notice until it was far too late.
He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers.
Then, without another word, he turned toward the mansion. He looked up only to see one room window the light was on...
On the second floor, the faint flickering of shadows behind the curtains confirming that something important was happening inside.
But there was a problem.
The doors were a no-go.
Guards patrolled the hallways. Security cameras covered the entrances. Every potential point of access was a risk, each one an opportunity for failure. He had no way of slipping in undetected. No easy way, at least.
"Looks like I'll have to take the high road."
His fingers instinctively brushed over the small, sleek grappling gun concealed within his belt. It was compact, custom-made for situations just like this—silent, efficient, and reliable. Or at least, it had been up until now. He hadn't used it in a while. Not since the last job where things went sideways.
But now wasn't the time for hesitation.
A soft click echoed as he unlatched it, adjusting his grip before angling it toward the ledge above. He took a steadying breath, feeling the cool metal press against his palm. The night was eerily quiet, the distant hum of city traffic barely reaching his ears. Every second spent standing still was another second closer to being discovered.
He aimed.
Thwip!
The hook shot out, the thin but impossibly strong wire zipping through the air with precision.
A second later—
Clink!
The hook latched onto the edge of the balcony, securing itself with a firm, almost reassuring hold.
"Alright. No turning back now."
He took a few quick steps back, his body coiled like a spring. Then, with a burst of motion, he sprinted forward, boots pounding against the ground before he kicked off, launching himself upward. His feet pushed against the wall, his muscles coiling and flexing as he scaled the building with practiced ease. The rough texture of the stone grazed against his gloves, offering just enough friction to aid his ascent.
The wind lashed at his skin, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. His mind was singularly focused, his thoughts reduced to a single directive: keep climbing.
Then—
Rip.
A faint tearing sound reached his ears.
His heart lurched. His breath caught in his throat.
Wait—what the hell—
Another tear.
His eyes flicked downward just in time to see the grappling wire fraying near the middle. The once-reliable lifeline was unraveling before his very eyes, strands of reinforced steel snapping under unseen pressure.
"Shit."
A moment later—
Snap!
The rope gave way completely.
Gravity seized him in an instant, yanking him downward with unforgiving force. The world tilted. Air rushed past his ears, his body plunging toward the cold, hard ground below.
But Eun-jae's instincts kicked in before panic could take hold.
His hands moved before his mind could register the action. At the last second, he lunged upward, fingers stretching, grasping—
And catching.
His fingers curled around the edge of the balcony railing in a death grip, the impact jarring his entire body. His arms trembled under the sudden strain, muscles screaming in protest. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts as his feet scrabbled against the stone wall, desperate for support.
For a moment, he just hung there, heart hammering against his ribs.
I was this close to dying.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, disappearing into the collar of his jacket. He couldn't afford to slip. Not now. Not after getting this far.
With sheer, gritted determination, he forced himself up, arms shaking as he hauled his body over the railing. He collapsed onto the balcony floor, chest heaving, lungs burning from exertion.
He let himself stay there for only a second, staring up at the night sky, before rolling onto his knees. His hands braced against the cool surface beneath him as he steadied his breath. His limbs still buzzed with the leftover adrenaline, a sharp, electrifying reminder of how close he had come to failure.
Gotta focus. No mistakes from here on.
The room ahead was dark. Empty.
No one was here.
The silence stretched, pressing in around him. The only sound was the slow, measured rhythm of his own breathing.
Then—
A voice crackled in his ear.
"Where are you?"
Eun-jae flinched, nearly losing his balance. His pulse spiked before he realized it was just Caesar's voice filtering through the tiny microchip earpiece.
Damn it.
He had completely forgotten about it.
"Shit—" he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to calm down.
Caesar chuckled, low and amused. "If you're done playing around, try using your ears, genius."
Eun-jae scowled, rubbing a hand over his face. "What the hell does that mean?"
Then—
He froze.
From beyond the thin walls, voices drifted in—low, deliberate, and serious.
His expression darkened.
There they are.
"How is the Voron coming along?" a deep, commanding voice asked.
Eun-jae's heartbeat pounded in his ears, a steady rhythm against the quiet hum of the air duct. He pressed himself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing, ears straining to catch every word.
"Voron."
The name alone sent a chill crawling up his spine.
He had seen it before—buried deep within confidential reports, hidden behind layers of encrypted intelligence files that only the highest-level agents had access to. A prototype weapon. An advanced system designed for precise, lethal efficiency. The kind of weapon that could tilt the balance of power in an instant.
And now, he was hearing about it in real time, spoken in hushed, serious tones by men who held the fate of nations in their hands.
"We're still waiting on Dragunov," the second voice said, irritation bleeding into his tone. "They're searching for someone skilled enough to fix it."
Eun-jae's jaw tightened.
"Dragunov."
That name wasn't just some company—it was a legacy. A family of Russian arms manufacturers known for their ruthlessness in the underground military market. If Dragunov was involved, this wasn't just about Korea anymore. This was global.
And whatever the problem was, they were desperate to fix it.
A chair creaked. The first man exhaled, sharp and frustrated. "I don't understand. When we first tested it, the Voron worked perfectly. The targeting system was stable, the energy output was lethal. And now you're telling me it's malfunctioning?"
A malfunction?
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes.
That meant the weapon had already been built. Already tested. Already used.
And they were still perfecting it.
"It worked in controlled conditions," the second man explained, voice tight with tension. "But when we took it for a live demonstration, there were… complications."
"Live demonstration?"
Eun-jae's stomach twisted.
That meant real targets. Real casualties.
He had to find out where.
"Complications?" The first man's voice dipped into dangerous territory—low, quiet, sharp like a blade sliding from its sheath.
"The heat signatures became unstable. The targeting system lagged by a full two seconds. And in real combat, that's the difference between a direct hit and a complete failure."
A silence settled over the room. Heavy.
Two seconds.
It didn't sound like much to the average person, but in combat? Two seconds was everything. It was the difference between life and death, between eliminating a threat and letting it slip away. If their weapon couldn't guarantee precision, it wasn't just unreliable—it was useless.
"So that's why they need Dragunov."
They were scrambling to fix it before their buyers—whoever they were—lost interest.
Then—
A third voice entered the conversation. Smooth. Calculating.
"And what about South Korea? How are they responding?"
Eun-jae felt his body stiffen.
His fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening.
So now they were talking about Korea.
A rustle of papers. A shift in the air, as if someone leaned forward.
"When we first introduced the Voron as a theoretical concept, we had their full attention," the smooth voice continued. "But now, with these technical issues, they're growing hesitant."
The first man scoffed, a harsh sound that crackled through the air. "Hesitant? South Korea has no choice but to cooperate. They're already too deep into negotiations. If they back out now, they risk—"
"—a complete economic backlash," the second man finished. "Yes. But we still need to ensure they remain compliant. If they sense any weakness on our part, they will pull out before we finalize the deal."
A pause.
Eun-jae swallowed hard, his throat dry as the weight of their conversation sank in.
"South Korea… is involved."
He hadn't wanted to believe it—hadn't wanted to entertain the idea that his own country was tangled in something this dangerous, this classified.
But now, hearing it with his own ears…
There was no denying it.
His heartbeat pounded in his chest, an almost deafening rhythm, as his mind worked at lightning speed to connect the pieces.
"If South Korea is part of these negotiations… then that means…"
His breath hitched.
"Voron… could be the same as Seraphim."
The realization slammed into him like a freight train.
His entire reason for coming to Russia—the one thing that had driven him this far, through every risk, every sleepless night, every dangerous encounter—was because of Seraphim.
The project that wasn't supposed to exist.
The project that had vanished from all official records.
The project that, until now, had been nothing more than a whisper in the shadows—a rumor buried so deep that even he had struggled to track it down.
And now, in this room, on this night, he had finally found his answer.
"It's the same."
His pulse roared in his ears, his chest tightening as a flood of questions and suspicions stormed through his mind.
"Was this why South Korea was negotiating? Was this why they were so involved in Voron? Was this why the government had buried every trace of Seraphim?"
His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms, his body so tense he could feel the strain in his muscles.
"Damn it."
He had thought he was prepared for anything.
Had spent years sharpening himself into a weapon—training, infiltrating, learning how to move in the dark, how to slip through the cracks of the world unseen.
But this?
This was bigger than he had imagined.
His stomach churned, his breath shallow and uneven as he forced himself to stay focused.
"I need more."
"So what are the Canadians also about?" one of the voices chimed in, casual, almost dismissive.