His eyes darted over the words again, searching for something—anything—that would make this message less ominous. But no matter how he looked at it, there was only one conclusion.
'Voron. That's real. That actually exists. And it was broken? Fixed? Inspected? By who? And for what purpose?'
The implications were staggering.
'This message isn't just a casual update. It's for people involved in whatever the hell Voron is. And Caesar—Caesar got this message.'
His stomach twisted.
'Does that mean… he's involved too?'
The thought was suffocating. He had already known Caesar wasn't normal—not by any definition of the word—but this? This was something else. This was deeper. Darker. More calculated than the reckless, gun-happy lunatic he had come to expect.
'No way. No way in hell he's just some hired hand. If he's getting this message, that means he has connections.'
His pulse pounded in his ears.
'Then… what else has he been hiding?'
The sound of the door clicking open sent his nerves into overdrive. Eun-jae barely had time to close the laptop before Caesar's voice slithered into the room.
"If you asked nicely, I would've shown you."
Eun-jae whipped around, trying—and failing—to mask his shock.
His body tensed as he watched Caesar step inside, the usual smugness draped over his face like a second skin. That knowing smirk. That glint in his eyes. He had caught Eun-jae red-handed, and he was enjoying it.
"What's all this?" Eun-jae demanded, forcing his voice to stay even.
Caesar didn't answer right away. He just let the silence stretch, gaze flickering lazily over the laptop, over the phone in Eun-jae's hands—over every little clue that screamed guilty.
Caesar exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as if the weight of his words meant nothing. His gaze never wavered, steady and unshaken, even as Eun-jae's eyes burned with suspicion.
"I stole it."
Eun-jae's stomach tensed at the casual way he said it, like it was nothing—like it was as simple as stealing a pack of gum from a convenience store.
"What do you mean by that?" Eun-jae asked, voice sharper than he intended.
Caesar only smirked, tilting his head slightly, as if amused by the reaction. "You remember Anastasia? The lady who showed me around?"
Eun-jae's mind flickered back to the woman—sleek, polished, and dangerous in her own right. She had been polite, professional, but there was an edge to her, a wariness that never fully left her eyes.
"What about her?" Eun-jae said, crossing his arms, willing himself to stay calm.
Caesar took his time, walking towards him at a leisurely pace, as if he were speaking about the weather. "We exchanged numbers that day." His smirk deepened at the way Eun-jae's jaw clenched. "But you see, I'm not the trusting type. And I had a feeling she wasn't, either."
Eun-jae's fingers twitched, a bad feeling curling in his gut. "Get to the point."
Caesar exhaled dramatically, like he was humoring a child's impatience. "When I took her phone, I decided to download a little hacking app. Nothing crazy—just a tiny, unnoticeable program. Something that wouldn't trigger alarms but would let me see... what I needed to see."
Eun-jae stiffened. "You hacked her phone?"
Caesar's expression was unreadable now. "I borrowed access."
Eun-jae's lips parted, but no words came out. He wasn't sure if he was more horrified at the audacity or impressed by the sheer boldness of it. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus.
"So that message—" Eun-jae gestured toward the screen, where the cryptic text still glowed back at them. "That wasn't meant for you?"
"No." Caesar's voice was calm, patient, like he was guiding a child to a conclusion they should have already reached. "It was meant for the people actually involved. People she trusts."
Eun-jae's mind whirred. His gut told him to doubt, to question every word coming out of Caesar's mouth—but damn it, the man had a way of making even the most outrageous things sound reasonable. Manipulative bastard.
"You're lying."
Caesar's smile didn't falter. "If I were lying, you wouldn't have been able to unlock my phone with the same code I used in the basement."
Eun-jae flinched.
Damn him.
Doubt clawed at his certainty. Caesar had a point. If he truly had something to hide, wouldn't he have been more careful? More secretive?
"But why go through all that trouble?" Eun-jae challenged, grasping for something—anything—to counter the smooth logic being woven around him.
"Because, Eun-jae," Caesar said, voice dipping lower, more intimate, like he was sharing some grand truth, "knowing things before others do? That's how you survive."
Eun-jae inhaled sharply.
There it was—that damn logic again. Cold. Precise. Unshakable.
Caesar watched him, reading every flicker of doubt, every hesitation. And then he delivered the final blow.
Silence.
Eun-jae clenched his fists.
Because damn it…
Caesar was right.
Eun-jae's jaw clenched as he met Caesar's gaze, his fingers instinctively tightening around the edge of the laptop. He hated this—hated the way Caesar could throw his words like daggers, always aiming for the soft spots, always pressing right where it hurt.
"Then why didn't you tell me earlier about your plans?" Eun-jae asked, his voice sharp with accusation.
Caesar tilted his head slightly, an almost amused smirk tugging at his lips. His golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable, like a predator toying with its prey.
"Why should I share it with you?" His voice was smooth, almost lazy, yet laced with something far more dangerous. "You're just my temporary partner, after all." He leaned in just slightly, as if confiding a secret. "Have you ever—just once—considered me your comrade?"
Eun-jae's breath caught in his throat. His fingers twitched. A flash of irritation burned through his veins because, damn it, Caesar knew exactly what he was doing. He knew Eun-jae didn't trust him. He knew Eun-jae had spent every second of their partnership keeping his guard up, watching his every move, expecting betrayal. And now he was using that against him.
'Son of a bitch…' Eun-jae thought bitterly, his grip tightening around the laptop. 'He's always one step ahead.'
But the worst part? The absolute most infuriating part? He wasn't wrong. Eun-jae hadn't trusted him. Not once.
Caesar sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulders as if this conversation bored him. "Anyway," he drawled, "at least I got something useful. We're finally getting closer to our goal—"
Eun-jae exhaled sharply, deciding to drop it. He wasn't about to let this bastard get in his head. He reached for the laptop, ready to close it and put an end to this conversation.
But then—a hand.
A strong, firm grip wrapped around his wrist, halting his movement. Cold fingers, deceptively gentle yet unyielding.
Eun-jae froze.
Caesar leaned in, his breath ghosting against the shell of Eun-jae's ear, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate murmur.
"Even though we're only temporary partners, I have to say…" His grip tightened just slightly, his tone soft, teasing—dangerous. "I can't believe you'd sneak through my phone like that. You really don't trust me that much, do you?"
Eun-jae swallowed hard, every nerve in his body on high alert.
He refused to give Caesar the reaction he wanted.
"Tch."
Eun-jae clenched his jaw and, with deliberate force, shut the laptop.
Click.
Caesar exhaled a quiet laugh—low and dark.
"You've hurt my feelings, you know," he murmured, his lips curling into an insincere pout.
Eun-jae scowled, shaking off Caesar's grip.
"After my survey, I found nothing," Eun-jae reported, his voice edged with frustration. His fingers tapped restlessly against the surface of the wooden table, his irritation barely concealed beneath a thin layer of forced calm. He had gone over the data three times, retracing every step, every scan, every possible angle—yet the result remained the same.
"It was like the mansion was empty," he added, his brows furrowing as he spoke the words aloud, testing them.
Empty.
The idea unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
It didn't make sense. There had to be something. A place like that—fortified, highly classified, and rumored to house one of the most dangerous figures in the underworld—couldn't possibly be unguarded. No patrols on the perimeter. No stationed men at the gates. No snipers on the rooftops. Even the surveillance cameras seemed inactive. It was almost too easy.
And easy meant a trap.
He exhaled sharply. "The guards must be inside," he concluded, his mind racing through the possibilities. "They're gathering there. Something's going down." His jaw tightened as he leaned forward. "Which means sneaking in might be our only option."
He shot a glance at Caesar, expecting a reaction.
Something.
Anything.
But all he got was…
"Yeah, I guess."
Eun-jae blinked.
That was it?
That was all Caesar had to say?
"I guess?" he repeated, staring in disbelief.
Caesar, the reckless bastard, merely stretched out his arm, dragging a chair back with an agonizingly slow screech before plopping himself into it with all the energy of someone who had nothing better to do.
Eun-jae's eye twitched.
'Look at him.'
There he was, lounging as if they weren't discussing a dangerous infiltration mission. As if they weren't about to walk straight into the mouth of a beast.
Relaxed.
Completely, utterly, and infuriatingly relaxed.
'You'd think we were planning a goddamn picnic.'
He took a slow, deep breath. Then another. Calm, Eun-jae. Breathe.
His patience was hanging by a thread.
"When do you think we should go?" he pressed, determined to keep the conversation on track. "Today? Tomorrow? When?"
Caesar didn't even look concerned.
Didn't so much as flinch.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and—because of course he would—tilted his head slightly, as if he were humoring a conversation he wasn't particularly invested in.
Eun-jae's fingers curled into fists.
He hated that look.
That smug, overconfident, know-it-all look.
"You talk and behave like this mission is a game to you," he bit out, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation.
Caesar smirked.
"And you," he replied, "are way too reckless, Agent Eun-jae."
Eun-jae's nostrils flared.
"Oh? And you're not?"
Caesar hummed, pretending to think about it. Then, with absolute audacity, he said, "We can just use the front door."
Silence.
Eun-jae stared.
Then he let out a slow, disbelieving breath.
'No fucking way.'
Did this bastard actually say that?
Was he serious?
He had to be joking.
'Yeah, right. Let's just knock and ask politely. Maybe they'll even offer us a cup of tea before they kill us.'
Sarcasm burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it down, replacing it with a sharp laugh. "Yeah. Great way to die."
Caesar smirked, unfazed. "I mean, if we did it your way? Probably."
Eun-jae exhaled sharply, his patience hanging by a thread. "Do you ever take anything seriously?"
Caesar let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, I do," he mused. "I just happen to be smarter about it."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes. "Then enlighten me, genius."
Caesar grinned. "Gladly."
Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, he leaned forward, resting his elbows against the table. His voice lowered, turning quieter, smoother—like a man revealing something that wasn't meant to be shared.
"You see that hacking app I showed you earlier?"
Eun-jae crossed his arms, waiting.
"That app isn't common," Caesar continued, his tone calculated, his gaze unwavering. "In fact, it's not even supposed to exist. It's extremely rare. Custom-built. Not found in any black-market database. Not sold on any underground site. You can't buy it. You can't steal it. The only ones who have it?"
Caesar smiled.
"Are the ones who made it."
Eun-jae felt something shift in his gut.
This wasn't Caesar's usual cocky attitude. There was an edge to his voice now—something controlled.
He wasn't just boasting.
He was leading him somewhere.
Eun-jae's grip tightened. "…And?"
Caesar drummed his fingers against the table.
"I'm saying," he drawled, "that anyone with access to this kind of tech? They aren't just another cybercriminal. They're in a league of their own."
A pause.
Then—
"And that," Caesar murmured, "is exactly what we'll use to get in."
Eun-jae froze.
The realization hit like a shock to his system.
Caesar was playing him. No—orchestrating this. Leading him along step by step, revealing just enough information to let Eun-jae piece it together himself.
And the worst part?
It was working.
"We don't sneak in."
Eun-jae's breath caught.
Caesar leaned in closer, his voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial.
"We walk in."
Eun-jae's mind raced.
That didn't make sense.
It shouldn't make sense—
But the way Caesar said it—calm, calculated, completely sure of himself—made it impossible to dismiss outright.
"How?" Eun-jae finally asked, his voice quieter.
Caesar's golden eyes gleamed.
"We go in as weapons dealers."
Eun-jae inhaled sharply.
Caesar continued before he could speak.
"The Karpov-Troitsky group deals in black-market arms trades, but their inner circle is tight. Newcomers? Not a chance." His smirk sharpened. "But… what if we don't go in as arms dealers?"
Eun-jae's heart pounded.
"What if," Caesar said, voice lowering, "we go in as something better?"
His fingers tapped against the table.
"What if we present ourselves as dealers with access to top-tier cyber warfare technology?"
Eun-jae's breath hitched.
It clicked.
It fucking clicked.
If they posed as cyber-weapons dealers, offering a hacking tool capable of disabling entire security networks in minutes—
The Karpov-Troitsky group wouldn't just let them in.
They'd want them in.
Eun-jae exhaled sharply.
It was crazy.
It was dangerous.
It was reckless as hell.
And yet—
It could work.
He met Caesar's gaze.
"Then we find Voron," he said quietly.
Caesar's smirk returned.
"Now you're getting it."
"But how sure are you that they'd believe us?" Eun-jae asked, his voice carrying the weight of his skepticism.
His arms were crossed, his brows furrowed, and there was a distinct tightness to his jaw that only appeared when he was genuinely unconvinced.
And honestly?
He had every reason to be.
This wasn't just some back-alley arms deal where a smooth tongue and a few fake documents could get them through the door.
This was the Karpov-Troitsky syndicate—a network of some of the most paranoid, ruthless, and well-connected criminals in the world.
These men didn't just do business.
They suffocated their competition.
They didn't just run background checks.
They dug up entire graves.
If they so much as sensed a whiff of deception, they wouldn't hesitate. There would be no second chances, no room for slip-ups. A single wrong word, a single inconsistency, and—
Boom.
Game over.
So no—Eun-jae wasn't just going to blindly trust this ridiculous plan.
They weren't talking about sneaking into some low-level gang hideout.
They were talking about walking through the front door of one of the most dangerous arms-dealing syndicates in the world.
Pretending to be something they weren't.
Risking instant death if they were caught.
And yet—
Caesar didn't look worried.
If anything, he looked entirely unbothered.
Reclining in his chair, he reached into his pocket with slow, deliberate ease, pulling out a single cigarette.
Eun-jae's eyes flickered to his hands.
No rush. No hesitation.
Like they were talking about weather instead of a suicide mission.
With a casual flick, Caesar lit the cigarette, the tiny flame casting fleeting golden glows against the sharp lines of his face.
Click.
A sharp inhale.
Then—
A slow, controlled exhale.
Smoke curled in the air between them, dancing in slow, lazy patterns before dissolving into nothing.
Eun-jae felt his fingers twitch.
That bastard.
Even now, when Eun-jae was brimming with tension, Caesar looked as though he was on vacation.
Unbothered. Effortless.
As if he wasn't just walking into this mission with confidence—
As if he had already won.
"Who wouldn't believe me?" Caesar finally said, amusement laced in his tone.
Eun-jae stiffened.
That voice.
That cocky, self-assured tone.
There was something dangerous about it.
Something that shouldn't be convincing—
And yet, somehow, already was.
Caesar leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Then, lips curling into a smirk, he murmured:
"I'm like the perfect illusion."
Eun-jae felt something cold trail down his spine.
That wasn't just confidence.
That was certainty.
And that certainty was dangerous.
Caesar took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling a smooth trail of smoke before continuing.
"People, Eun-jae," he mused, tapping the cigarette lightly against the ashtray, "see exactly what they want to see. No more, no less."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes.
There was something about the way he said it—
Like it was a fundamental law of the universe.
Like gravity.
Like time.
Like truth itself.
Caesar leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him with casual ease.
"You ever watch a magician work?" he asked suddenly.
Eun-jae blinked, thrown by the question.
"What?"
"A magician," Caesar repeated smoothly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "A good one."
Eun-jae stayed silent.
Caesar smiled.
"They don't actually make things disappear," he murmured. "They just make you look at the wrong thing. The wrong hand. The wrong direction. They control where your eyes go, where your thoughts go. They let you convince yourself of the impossible—because that's what you want to believe."
Eun-jae's breath hitched.
Caesar took another slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling as he continued, his voice smooth.
"That's what I do."
Eun-jae's heartbeat spiked.
That bastard.
That actual devil.
He wasn't just confident.
He was assured.
He wasn't just saying they'd be believed—
He was saying that belief itself was something he could bend.
Twist. Shape. Manipulate.
Caesar's smirk widened, sensing the shift in Eun-jae's demeanor.
"You think Karpov's men are smart?" he mused. "Sure. But at the end of the day?"
He exhaled, watching Eun-jae through the thin veil of smoke.
"They're human."
Eun-jae swallowed.
"They have patterns. Habits. Weaknesses. And the greatest weakness of all?"
Caesar tapped his cigarette lightly against the ashtray.
"People trust what they expect."
A pause.
Eun-jae stared.
"You really think it's that simple?" he murmured.
Caesar chuckled.
"It's not just simple," he said.
"It's inevitable."
Eun-jae sucked in a slow breath.
Caesar's words weren't just convincing.
They were inescapable.
This wasn't a half-baked scheme.
This was a performance.
A magician's act.
A trap so well-crafted that once they stepped inside, the enemy would think it was their own idea.
And the worst part?
It wasn't a lie.
Eun-jae had seen it. Felt it.
The way Caesar could walk into a room and make people listen.