Caesar's smirk deepened, like he was thoroughly entertained by Eun-jae's suffering.
"Ah, I see." His tone was light, teasing, but it did nothing to hide the fact that he absolutely knew Eun-jae had been internally cursing him for the past ten minutes.
Eun-jae clenched his jaw. "This guy is insufferable. Like, actually, clinically, certified-by-a-psychiatrist, insufferable."
But fine. Whatever. He wasn't going to let Caesar get under his skin. Not today. Not when they had bigger things to deal with.
Shaking off his irritation, Eun-jae leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, who owns the house Hyunji is in now?" he asked, forcing his voice to sound neutral.
Caesar leaned lazily against the wall, tilting his head slightly, as if bored by the question. "Well, from the look of things, I'm sure it's the Karpov-Troitsky."
Eun-jae frowned. The name wasn't unfamiliar, but it wasn't exactly one he liked hearing, either.
"How sure are you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Caesar's gaze flickered toward him, sharp, assessing—almost mocking the fact that Eun-jae even questioned him.
"I saw the Karpov-Troitsky crest on the gates." His tone was laced with amusement, like this was all just a game to him. "Everyone knows it."
Eun-jae stared at him for a long moment.
Of course. Of course Caesar would just know that.
This was the fundamental difference between them. Eun-jae needed research, solid leads, background checks, and actual proof. Caesar? He just saw things. Picked up on tiny, insignificant details, stored them in whatever terrifying supercomputer of a brain he had, and somehow, miraculously, always ended up being right.
It was infuriating.
"Wait," Eun-jae said, shaking his head. "Their crest? How does it look, though?"
Caesar tilted his head, watching him with an expression that made Eun-jae deeply uncomfortable. Like he was being studied. Like he was some kind of fascinating little experiment.
"Two eagles," Caesar said finally, his voice smooth as silk. "Their faces facing opposite directions. And the crest in the middle."
Eun-jae felt his stomach twist.
If Caesar was telling the truth—and he always was when it came to shit like this—then they had, in fact, come to the right place.
Which meant one thing.
This just got a whole lot more dangerous.
Eun-jae let out a slow breath, trying to push down the unease creeping up his spine.
"Alright," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's keep things on the low and find a way to get into that house."
He expected some kind of snarky response from Caesar. Some cocky remark, some infuriating comment. Instead, Caesar simply hummed, "Hm, sure," and started walking—only to stop abruptly.
Eun-jae frowned. "What?"
Caesar turned, looking at him with an expression that could only be described as obnoxiously casual.
"There's a sauna here," he said, adjusting his fur coat. "You should come join me." Then, just like that, he walked off.
Eun-jae blinked.
"…A sauna?" he muttered, feeling like he had just hallucinated that entire conversation.
He wasn't even sure which part to be more annoyed about. The fact that Caesar had completely derailed the topic of breaking into a high-security mansion—or the fact that he'd said it like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Does this man not feel fear? Like, at all? Does he have some kind of brain malfunction that prevents him from processing danger like a normal human being?"
Because, seriously.
One second, they were talking about infiltrating a deadly crime syndicate's hideout. The next, this lunatic was inviting him to a goddamn steam room.
Who even does that?
Eun-jae groaned, dragging a hand down his face.'
Eun-jae sat alone in the sauna, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, the thick heat curling around his body like a lazy serpent. The wooden bench beneath him was warm, the scent of cedarwood thick in the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the hot coals. Beads of sweat traced slow paths down his bare skin, and despite the humid stillness of the room, his mind was a full-blown hurricane of absolute, utter nonsense.
"What am I even doing here?" he thought, scowling at the ceiling.
He had walked here on his own. Nobody dragged him. Nobody coerced him. He—Eun-jae, an individual with free will—had willingly stepped into this heat chamber of questionable decisions. And for what? Because Caesar suggested it?
"Tsk. Idiot. You're an idiot, Eun-jae," he muttered under his breath. He threw a little more water on the coals out of pure frustration.
Steam curled upward in thick, rolling waves, the heat swallowing him up completely. His muscles—tight from days of tension—slowly began to loosen, and he hated to admit it, but… it was kind of nice. For once, Caesar had actually suggested something not borderline insane.
But just as he was beginning to appreciate it, his eyes snapped toward the door.
"Where the hell is he?"
Because, of course, the same man who invited him wasn't even here.
What was the point of suggesting this whole sauna plan if he was just going to disappear like some kind of ghost? Did he get lost? Fall asleep? Or—Eun-jae's stomach twisted—was he planning something?
Because Caesar always planned something.
That man's idea of "relaxation" was slipping into a dark alley, pressing a knife to some poor bastard's throat, and whispering with an almost obscene level of enjoyment, "I wonder how much pressure it takes before the blood spills?"
Eun-jae had seen it firsthand.
The way Caesar's lips curled just slightly as he pulled the trigger. The way his breathing slowed right before the kill, as if he was savoring the moment, like a chef appreciating the final touch of a perfectly plated dish. The way his eyes darkened—not with fear, not with hesitation, but with something far worse.
Excitement.
He didn't kill out of necessity. He didn't kill out of revenge. No, he killed because he liked it. Because it thrilled him. Because it sent some sick, twisted rush through his veins like a drug he couldn't quit.
And now, Eun-jae was sitting here, roasting like a damn piece of meat, while that man was off doing who-knows-what with who-knows-who.
"Ugh, I should've just stayed outside," he thought, rubbing his temples.
His foot tapped against the floor impatiently. He looked toward the door again. Then—his brain did something stupid.
Wait a minute…
This was a sauna.
Caesar would have to be… shirtless.
Eun-jae's body stiffened. His eyes widened slightly. Oh.
His mind was suddenly cursed with imagery.
Caesar—sweat-slicked, his usually pristine clothes discarded, steam rolling off his body in slow, curling wisps. Muscles shifting beneath golden skin, damp strands of hair falling messily into those dark, piercing eyes. A lazy smirk. A slow stretch.
Eun-jae's hand shot up to his face like he had been physically slapped by his own thoughts.
"NOPE. NOPE. NOPE."
He groaned, shoving his palm against his burning face, as if he could physically block the mental images from forming.
"Why am I even thinking about that?! It's just a man's body. A MAN'S. BODY. I have seen plenty of men's bodies before. This is NOT a big deal!"
And yet, his brain was like, But have you ever seen Caesar shirtless? Like, really seen him?
Eun-jae slammed his fist against the bench in frustration. "FUCK."
Because the truth was… he hadn't.
Not once. Not during any mission. Not even in passing. Hell, not even when they'd— NOPE. Not going there. Not THINKING about that.
Caesar was always fully clothed. Even in bed. Even when things got… complicated.
Which was suspicious as hell, now that Eun-jae actually thought about it.
"What is he hiding? Does he have a secret tattoo? Scars? A third nipple?" His thoughts were spiraling now, completely unhinged. "Or is he just built like some Greek god and doesn't want me to pass out from shock?"
His face was on fire. He fanned himself dramatically, as if the actual steam suffocating him wasn't enough.
"This damn heat is messing with my brain. That's the only explanation. I'm dehydrated. Delirious. Hallucinating. Clearly, I need water."
He poured more over the coals instead, sending another thick wave of steam into the air.
"I am NOT going to think about Caesar's abs. Or his stupid smirk. Or how he'd probably—"
His brain cut him off before he could complete that sentence, but the damage was already done. He was doomed.
Eun-jae clenched his jaw, forcing himself to sit up straighter, like some form of discipline could erase the absolute mess of thoughts in his head.
"Damn it! Why does he always have this effect on me? It's infuriating!"
And worst of all?
Caesar knew.
He always knew.
That bastard could read people like an open book, and Eun-jae just KNEW—somewhere, somehow—Caesar was already aware of this mental catastrophe happening inside his head. He was probably laughing about it, too.
Cocky, insufferable, smug, psychotic…
The door creaked open.
Eun-jae's breath hitched.
A silhouette stepped inside.
The heat in the room suddenly felt twice as suffocating.
Eun-jae was not prepared.
Not even remotely.
He had walked into this sauna expecting, at most, an awkward moment, maybe a little bit of forced conversation, or perhaps, if the gods were merciful, absolute silence where he could just sit, close his eyes, and pretend for a few minutes that his life hadn't completely spiraled into this chaotic, mindfuck of a mission.
But no.
Because the moment he stepped inside, the moment he turned his head—
His soul almost left his body.
There stood Caesar.
Completely. Stark. Fucking. Naked.
Holding a vodka bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, like this was some kind of casual business meeting and not a scene straight out of Eun-jae's worst fever dream.
For a solid three seconds, Eun-jae's brain shut down.
Like, fully.
A full-system crash.
He wasn't looking. He wasn't going to look. He refused to look.
But his eyes betrayed him.
Before he could stop himself—before his better judgment could kick in—his gaze flickered down.
And that was the moment he knew.
He had fucked up.
His entire worldview was shattered.
His eyes widened, and for a split second, he just—
He couldn't breathe.
He knew Caesar was tall—hell, he towered over him like some walking skyscraper, moving through life with that same unbothered grace of someone untouchable, someone who owned every damn room he walked into.
But this?
This was a different kind of problem.
This was an actual crime against humanity.
Eun-jae had seen weapons before. He had seen knives, guns, bombs, and various means of destruction in his line of work.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.
Because the sheer size—the absolute audacity of it—was something that should be classified information.
It wasn't even hard.
And yet—
And yet, it was still the kind of big that made Eun-jae question his entire existence, his choices, his place in the universe.
For one horrifying second, he looked down at his own.
He wasn't small.
He was, in fact, very well-endowed, thank you very much. He had never once had any complaints.
But compared to that?
He felt like he had just walked onto a battlefield with a knife, while Caesar was standing there with a nuclear warhead.
Eun-jae did the sign of the cross.
He had never been religious, but some moments in life required divine intervention.
"Holy fuck… How… Is that where Seraphim went?"
His entire soul needed cleansing.
He immediately shifted his gaze away, forcing himself to stare at anything else, anywhere but there—but then Caesar moved.
And it swung.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Like a damn pendulum of doom.
Eun-jae barely held back a strangled noise.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
He was not doing this today.
Not in this godforsaken sauna.
Not on this godforsaken mission.
Not with this godforsaken Russian menace in front of him, completely unfazed like he hadn't just shattered the foundation of Eun-jae's sanity.
Caesar, the bastard, just sat down.
Directly in front of him.
Like he hadn't just committed war crimes with his entire existence.
Eun-jae's face was on fire.
The heat of the sauna was not helping.
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe, but his body was betraying him, his mind was betraying him, and the mental image was already burned into his brain like some cursed brand of suffering.
His voice, when he finally spoke, came out strained—like he was physically struggling to keep the sheer hysteria out of it.
"Why are you even naked?"
Caesar didn't even blink.
"It's a sauna."
Like that was a valid explanation.
Like that justified all of his sins.
Like Eun-jae was the crazy one for questioning it.
"We're supposed to do it naked," Caesar continued unbothered, pouring himself a glass of vodka as if this was some casual Tuesday night conversation. Then, as if his complete lack of shame wasn't already a personal attack, he added,
"I'm Russian, by the way."
Like that somehow excused his war crimes.
Eun-jae swore under his breath, immediately turning his gaze away, far, far away—anywhere but at Caesar and his swinging monstrosity.
He snatched the glass of vodka without thinking.
And then, without hesitation—
He downed the entire thing.
Eun-jae knew he shouldn't look again.
He knew better.
He should've learned his lesson the first time.
He should've just kept his eyes up, minding his own business, drinking his vodka like a normal human being in this godforsaken sauna.
And yet—
His eyes betrayed him.
Again.
Like some reckless, self-destructive fool, he let his gaze flicker downward, just for a second, just to double-check, just to confirm that his brain had not been exaggerating—
And immediately, he regretted everything.
Because there it was.
Still big.
Still long.
Still veiny in a way that felt borderline aggressive.
It wasn't just large, it was fucking obscene.
And since Caesar was pale, the sheer contrast between his smooth, ghostly skin and the pinkish hue of his girth made everything so much worse.
It was thick.
And veiny.
And looked like it was breathing.
Eun-jae physically flinched, his fingers tightening around his glass like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.
"Why does it look like it has its own heartbeat?"
"Why does it look like it could file for taxes on its own?"
And worst of all—
"Why the fuck does it look so smooth?"
His brain snapped, shattering under the weight of this unholy revelation.
"This bastard waxes."
"He fucking waxes."
"More than me. More than some of the women I know. More than an Olympic swimmer preparing for a championship race."
Eun-jae felt his entire existence crumble.
He had some hair—just a normal, acceptable amount—but Caesar?
Caesar was pristine.
Completely bare, like a goddamn marble statue, sculpted with inhuman precision, as if he had been handcrafted by the gods themselves.
Eun-jae hated it.
He hated that his brain had noticed this, that he had catalogued it in his mental database, that this was now a piece of information he would never be able to delete.
Just as he was about to rip his own eyes out—
"You should stop staring."
Eun-jae froze.
His entire body went rigid, like a deer caught in headlights, like a man who had just been caught committing a federal crime.
Before he could even begin to process his shame, Caesar's voice dropped even lower, smooth as silk, thick with mock amusement.
"If you get it up…"
A pause, deliberate, smug, cruel.
"I might have to fuck you."
Silence.
Dead.
Fucking.
Silence.
Eun-jae forgot how to breathe.
His soul left his body, ascended to another plane of existence, reconsidered its entire life, then descended back just to suffer.
The sheer audacity of this man.
The unhinged, villainous confidence.
The absolute lack of shame.
This was why men deserved less.
This was why karma existed.
Eun-jae inhaled sharply, his knuckles whitening around his glass, forcing himself to look away, to pretend that Caesar hadn't just said that with a straight face.
"Ugh… he's saying bullshit again."
His brain short-circuited, scrambling for a distraction, for literally anything else to think about.
And so—against his better judgment, against every warning his subconscious was screaming at him, his gaze drifted over Caesar's body.
And just like that—he regretted it again.
No scars.
Not a single goddamn scar on that smooth, pale skin.
It was all muscle, all taut, lean strength, a body that looked like it had been crafted for war, and yet—no battle marks.
As if no one had ever been able to touch him.
As if he had never once been on the losing side of a fight.
And yet—this bastard hid it all under layers of expensive suits, walking around like some mysterious, untouchable aristocrat, as if he was above the rest of the world, as if he was a secret that could never be fully unraveled.