"From now on… I play my game."
The roar of the helicopter blades began to slow, cutting through the wind like a blade through silk. The chopper hovered briefly before descending on a private airstrip surrounded by icy ridges and pine-covered hills. Below, an array of sleek, blacked-out cars awaited like obedient shadows. The frostbitten wind kicked up Caesar's coat as the aircraft touched down, ruffling the hem of his heavy, grey fur like a crown worn by a wolf among dogs.
The moment the door swung open, he stepped down—not rushed, not in a hurry. Every motion was smooth, precise, like a man who knew the entire world bent at his feet. His black gloves adjusted his collar as he walked toward one of the cars. No words were exchanged. One of the guards opened the door for him with a bow of the head.
He slipped inside.
Dark leather interior. Heated seats. Quiet hum of power. Caesar leaned back, legs crossed with elegance, fingers tapping against his thigh to a beat only he could hear.
His eyes flicked toward the frost-covered window. "So dramatic," he murmured to himself with a smirk.
The car sped through a secured path lined with armed guards. Surveillance drones hovered overhead, silent sentinels watching everything. After nearly twenty minutes, they arrived at the testing grounds: a massive underground military facility veiled by a false exterior. On the surface, it looked like a remote mining operation—but beneath, the world's most dangerous weapon was about to wake.
The car door opened. Caesar stepped out into crisp air, his boots crunching against the salted stone. His presence was a ripple that turned into a wave—every person in sight turned toward him. Some whispered. Some straightened up. Some avoided his eyes entirely.
He took his time walking in.
Inside the control center, the air was thick with tension and sterile lighting. Men in suits. Generals with medals. Engineers in crisp white coats. They all turned when he entered.
"Ah, look who decided to join us," one of the men whispered to another.
Caesar offered a faint, almost disarming smile as he removed his gloves slowly and placed them in the inner pocket of his coat. His pale fingers contrasted against the dark coat, rings glinting like razors.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, his voice low and velvet-smooth, echoing just enough to command attention.
They'd saved him the best seat. Of course they had.
He walked straight to the front row where a single chair sat slightly raised above the rest, like a throne. He didn't hesitate to sit, leg draped over one knee, elbow resting lazily on the armrest.
Everyone waited.
The MC—a tall, sharp-featured man with a military stance—cleared his throat and approached the mic.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for your presence today. As you all know, this is the first official demonstration of the newly enhanced Project Voron. After months of refinement, we are ready to show you the potential of this next-generation tactical bioweapon…"
Caesar didn't look at him.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, already bored. His fingers traced the rim of his watch as he whispered under his breath, "Let's hope this little bird doesn't disappoint."
"Ladies and gentlemen... esteemed guests..." He cleared his throat. "Today, you're about to witness the official live testing of Voron-04, the newest evolution in tactical hyper-targeting artillery."
Behind him, large reinforced gates began to groan open with a mechanical screech, revealing the monstrous weapon: The Voron.
A sleek, matte-black, tank-like machine rolled forward on magnetic treads. It didn't move like a regular vehicle—it glided. The design was sleek, alien, like something that had no business existing in this era. Its body was embedded with AI-guided railgun arms and an optical target-scan system that glowed with a low hum of violet light. The symbol of Caesar's private intelligence division gleamed like a scar on its side.
"Voron is equipped with AI-integrated targeting, radar invisibility, and hybridized munitions capabilities," the MC continued, voice gaining confidence as the audience of generals, engineers, and deep-pocketed clients leaned forward. "The weapon you see is capable of autonomous detection and elimination of moving targets at a speed of 2.3 Mach. Its internal system can hack into surrounding communication towers, disabling all enemy transmission within a thirty-kilometer radius."
As if on cue, the Voron raised its first arm. A soft, electric whine filled the air.
"Targets locked. Firing simulation initiated."
Suddenly, across the field, holographic enemy dummies and moving bots began to rise from the ground like mannequins possessed. They darted left, right, dashing erratically to simulate human behavior.
BOOM.
The Voron's railgun fired with a deafening pulse, but it wasn't loud like a cannon. It sounded like a shockwave ripping through air. A high-pitched shriek—then silence—then a metal dummy exploded into shards.
Gasps. Murmurs.
"0.89 second lock-on time," the MC stated proudly. "We are currently seeing a 97.8% accuracy rate in hostile evasion mode."
The second arm rotated, pivoted, and fired. A dozen dummies went flying, their metal limbs torn off mid-motion. Caesar leaned forward slightly, watching with an intrigued gleam in his icy eyes. He plucked a grape from a plate brought to him and popped it into his mouth.
"Pretty," he said softly, "but I want to see how it performs under pressure."
The MC caught that and signaled his techs. "Simulate enemy interference. Let's challenge Voron."
Another wave of bots emerged—these faster, more erratic. Some dropped smoke grenades, others released interference signals to confuse AI locks. Voron paused—just for a fraction of a second—then recalibrated.
And then—Bang. Bang. Bang. Three shots, three perfect hits. One headshot, one straight through the chest, the third blowing the dummy's arm off mid-throw.
Applause broke out. Controlled. Military. Respectful.
But Caesar just smirked. He leaned over to Vseslav and whispered:
"Tell them to bring out the shielded units. If Voron can't break through anti-tech barriers, it's just a pretty toy."
Vseslav chuckled under his breath. "You're impossible."
"I'm realistic," Caesar replied coldly. "And when I sell weapons to monsters, I make sure they're built for hell."
Meanwhile, back at the house cloaked in eerie silence, Eun-jae lay sprawled on the floor of the study, a makeshift pillow made from a folded blanket beneath his head. Dust floated in the golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight cutting through the tall windows. The room had the sterile charm of a hotel suite—expensive but soulless.
"This isn't even Caesar's real home," Eun-jae muttered to himself, his voice hollow and bored. "I doubt I'll find anything useful. No old journals. No photo albums. Not even a drawer full of those creepy cufflinks he likes."
He tilted his head slightly, staring at the ceiling fan that wasn't even turned on. "What's even today's date?" he whispered, blinking slowly. "I've been stuck here so long I feel like time's just… collapsed." A bitter laugh escaped him. "He kidnapped me, and the days just melted into one endless nightmare with room service."
Then his expression softened, almost tragically, as a different thought crept in.
"I wonder how mom is doing…" he whispered. "Is she eating? Taking her meds?" His voice cracked slightly, and he shut his eyes as if trying to block out the pain. "Does she think I'm dead?"
Eun-jae didn't even remember falling asleep, but the low, rhythmic chop of helicopter blades tore through the air, growing louder and louder until it vibrated in his chest. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, then dragged himself to his feet and peered through the tall glass window that faced the rear garden.
And there he was.
Caesar.
Descending from his sleek, matte-black helicopter like some dramatic monarch returning from a war he never lost. His tailored overcoat flared in the wind, his black gloves immaculate, his boots clicking ominously against the stone path as he made his way toward the house. In his hands: a lavish bouquet of deep red roses and a luxurious box of artisanal chocolates wrapped in black satin ribbon.
The audacity.
"I'm back," Caesar called out as he pushed open the heavy front doors, his voice coated in that silken arrogance Eun-jae had grown to loathe—and maybe, just maybe, fear. He held out the roses like a prize, like some twisted reward he believed Eun-jae would accept.
Eun-jae stood at the top of the grand staircase, one hand resting on the ornate banister, hair tousled, still in the oversized hoodie he'd claimed as armor. He blinked slowly, unimpressed.
"What am I supposed to say… welcome back?" he said flatly, dragging each word with that delicious venom only he could deliver.
"That would be nice," Caesar replied, smirking as he stepped closer. "Or you could throw yourself into my arms and kiss me like I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."
Eun-jae laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed through the hall.
"Wow. Kidnap me, emotionally terrorize me, gaslight me until I start doubting my own memories, then show up with gas station Valentine's Day gifts and expect what? Gratitude?"
"These are imported Belgian chocolates handcrafted by monks in the mountains," Caesar said smoothly, still advancing. "And the roses were flown in from Ecuador. But sure, let's pretend they came from a gas station if that helps you cope."
"Cope?" Eun-jae snorted. "Caesar, baby, I thrive under pressure. This is me thriving. You just haven't seen me go full feral yet."
"Oh, but I've seen a glimpse," Caesar purred, stepping onto the first stair, gaze locked on him like a predator watching prey squirm. "It was beautiful. Like watching fire crawl over ice."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes. "You keep talking in poetry like that and I swear I'm gonna throw up on your expensive shoes."
"Please do. I'll consider it performance art," Caesar whispered, one foot after the other on the staircase. "You always put on a show, Eun-jae. Even your hatred is exquisite."
"Keep talking and I'll turn that hatred into a knife and see how exquisitely it fits in your side."
"Violent threats?" Caesar raised a brow. "God, you're gorgeous when you're dangerous."
"Do you flirt with all your captives or am I just special?"
"Oh, you're not special," Caesar lied, too quickly. "You're singular. There's no category for you."
For a second, Eun-jae faltered. Just a flicker. But he masked it with a scoff and slowly descended the stairs, one step at a time, like a cat slinking down from a perch.
"Save the lines for your mirror," he said, stopping two steps above him. They were close enough that Eun-jae could smell the faint cologne on Caesar's skin—spice and cold metal.
"I don't need mirrors," Caesar murmured. "Not when I have you to reflect back all my worst parts. And still… I find myself addicted."
"Maybe you should try rehab," Eun-jae shot back.
Caesar chuckled low, the sound deep and smooth. "Would you be my nurse?"
Eun-jae stepped past him, brushing his shoulder deliberately hard as he muttered, "I'd rather be your undertaker."
"Romantic," Caesar whispered under his breath, smirking to himself as he turned to follow. "You always did know how to sweep a man off his feet."
Snow had started falling—light, soft, delicate like powdered sugar drifting from the heavens. It blanketed the world in an eerie calm, muffling the air with its quiet beauty. Eun-jae stood by the tall window, arms crossed, chin tilted just slightly up as he stared into the white-tinted garden below. The frost curled around the corners of the glass, outlining everything like a dream.
"Christmas is approaching," he murmured absently, the words drifting from his lips like a sigh.
For a brief second, the thought almost felt… normal. Like he was back home. Like he could grab a blanket, throw on a drama, and binge tangerines with his mom while cheesy holiday jingles played in the background. But that fragile moment of nostalgia shattered in an instant.
Because he didn't hear Caesar's footsteps.
He never did.
All at once, strong arms wrapped around him from behind, caging him in. Caesar's body pressed up against his back, solid and cold despite the warmth of the room. Eun-jae's entire body stiffened, a jolt of disgust crawling up his spine. His breath hitched, and he instinctively tried to jerk away, but the arms only tightened—possessive, smug, practiced.
"Mmhhmm…" Caesar hummed, resting his chin lightly on Eun-jae's shoulder, his breath brushing the shell of his ear. "Want us to go out and do something festive? Maybe see a tree lighting? Get you one of those ridiculous red scarves?"
Eun-jae's head turned so fast he could've sprained his neck, eyes wide with a dangerous glimmer. "Really? You'd take me off this overpriced prison island and let me breathe actual city air?"
He tried to mask the excitement in his voice, but it slipped through—the slightest spark of hope that maybe, maybe he could use that as a way to run. To escape. To vanish into the chaos of the real world.
But Caesar just stared at him with those pale, unreadable eyes.
And then he laughed.
Not a soft chuckle. Not a polite smile.
No—he let out a full-blown, unfiltered laugh that echoed through the marble halls like the sound of a man who enjoyed playing with his food before devouring it.
"Oh, sweetheart," he purred, voice dipped in honey and something darker, "no. You'll be celebrating it right here. With me."
Eun-jae's smile vanished. Like it had been slapped off his face.
He immediately shoved Caesar's hands off him, twisting out of the hold like his skin had been burned.
"Don't touch me like that," Eun-jae snapped, stepping away, his voice sharp as shattered glass. "You think just because you buy me designer clothes and feed me gourmet prison food, I'm gonna suddenly fall into your arms under a Christmas tree?"
"I don't expect you to fall," Caesar replied calmly, straightening his sleeves with annoying elegance. "But if you do… I'll catch you."
Eun-jae blinked slowly, then scoffed. "God, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"
"Only when you're not talking back," Caesar said, now walking around him slowly like a wolf circling its prey. "You've got a fire in you, Eun-jae. I could watch it burn all day."
Eun-jae turned to face him, jaw tight. "You say that like I should be flattered."
"You should be. I don't give everyone the privilege of my attention. Let alone my time. But you—" Caesar stopped just inches away, eyes glinting— "you're different."
Eun-jae looked him up and down like he was inspecting a rotten piece of meat.
"Oh, please. You're not deep. You're not mysterious. You're just emotionally constipated with a god complex and an obsession with theatrics. You think a Christmas tree and some Belgian truffles are gonna fix the fact that you kidnapped me?"
Caesar didn't flinch. If anything, his smile widened.
"I think," he said softly, "that no one else in your life ever really saw you. But I do. I see everything. Even the parts you try to bury."
Eun-jae swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry, but didn't let it show.
"Congratulations. Want a medal or something?"
"I'd rather have your company this Christmas."
"You're not getting either," Eun-jae snapped. "Why don't you go sing carols with your team of trained assassins or whatever the hell you do for fun when you're not emotionally ruining people?"
Caesar chuckled, unbothered.
"I could, but none of them insult me quite as artistically as you do."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes.