Leo came home glowing.
The day had gone well—convincingly well, the kind of well that made the world feel lighter around the edges. A favorite song played silently in his head as he moved through the house, a bottle of water in one hand, his body unconsciously keeping time with a rhythm only he could hear.
All he wanted was a warm shower and an easy night.
Then his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out with mild annoyance, but the moment he saw the caller, his face changed.
Jipan.
His cousin.
They lived different public lives, worked different ordinary jobs, but beneath all of that ran the same hidden duty—one their family had passed down like blood.
Protect Kro.
Erase records.
Keep her history sealed.
Leo answered at once.
"Hey, bro."
"Hi, man. Are you busy?" Jipan asked, his voice moving too fast.
Leo stopped walking.
"No. What's wrong?"
"Good. Because this is going to take a while. Sit down."
The seriousness in his cousin's tone made Leo move immediately. He crossed to his room and dropped onto the bed, already bracing himself.
"Go on."
Jipan exhaled.
"Okay. We just got some disturbing news. There's a group of people—no clear name yet—working to uncover Kro's identity. And from what we've gathered, the two missing photographs may already be in their hands."
Leo sat up straighter.
"Oh no."
"It gets worse," Jipan said. "We received a lead suggesting one of them might already be inside Krosmetics. Disguised as an employee."
Leo's mind began working at once.
"But we background-checked everyone in that company. All of them came back clean."
"Kro just hired a new batch," Jipan replied. "If there's a bug in there, it's probably among the newcomers."
Leo dragged a hand through his hair.
"Why do people keep doing this? They never find anything useful. They only end up digging their own graves."
He could hear Jipan sigh on the other end, equally drained.
"Should I tell Kro," Jipan asked, "or will you?"
"I will."
Leo's voice sharpened with decision.
"You keep digging. I want to know how many people are involved, what they already know, and who's funding them."
"You got it, bro."
"Good work. Tell everyone to stay calm. We've shut down worse than this before. It's just another mess to clean."
"Sure."
The call ended.
Leo let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling while the good mood of the evening dissolved completely. His plans were gone now, replaced by strategy and urgency.
There was no relaxing anymore.
Only hunting.
...
The maid opened the door, and Ukraine stepped inside without a word.
He had not gone home.
Not really.
Not in spirit.
He had come here because there was no way he could carry the evening's disaster alone. The argument with Kro still burned in him, sharp and fresh, and every step he took through the house felt fueled by the same humiliating mix of anger and regret.
His grandparents were in the living room, settled with evening tea, enjoying what had been a peaceful hour—until he walked in.
"Ukraine, my dear," his grandmother said, startled. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I know."
He dropped into a chair like a man surrendering to defeat.
His grandmother stirred her tea and studied his face.
"How's work?"
Ukraine let out a breath, "Not good, guys. Not good at all."
The effect was immediate.
His grandmother set her cup down.
"Don't tell me she found out already."
The fear in her voice was real.
"No," Ukraine said. "She didn't. But starting tomorrow, I'm reporting to the marketing team."
His grandmother blinked.
"You're no longer her assistant?"
"Yeah."
The old woman stared at him as if he had just announced the fall of a kingdom.
"Then how are we supposed to figure out what she really is? Ukraine, you have to stay close to her. You have to make sure you remain her assistant. Do everything you can."
"I tried," he said bitterly. "I tried to convince her this evening, but we ended up fighting. She said even if I apply properly, she still won't give me the job—and if I keep pushing, I'll lose everything."
His grandfather finally spoke, calm but grave.
"She must have had a reason. What happened?"
Ukraine leaned back and rubbed his forehead.
"There was this woman. A clairvoyant. She came up to us and said she could only see one life cycle in Kro. That she was either alive from long ago or already dead. I didn't react. I thought that was the safest thing to do. And then Kro got angry."
His grandfather clicked his tongue.
"Oh no."
Ukraine looked at him.
"What?"
"You made a big mistake, son. A very big one."
Ukraine frowned.
"Why? I thought staying calm was the smart move."
His grandfather shook his head slowly.
"No. If someone doesn't know the truth about a person, curiosity is natural. If you showed none, then to her it means one of two things—you either weren't listening, or you already know too much."
The weight of that sank in fast.
"She's been protecting herself all this time," the old man continued. "A person like that notices everything. Even the smallest sign of suspicion becomes a warning. That's why she pushed you away."
Ukraine sat there in silent embarrassment, the logic of it pressing painfully into place.
"I get it," he said at last. "So what do I do now? She already sent me off."
His grandmother straightened.
"You're smart. Come up with something. Anything. We don't have time. We need to submit a report to headquarters before they strip us of our badges. Do you think one month is enough for you to finish this?"
Ukraine nodded.
"Yes. A month is enough."
"Good."
Then she frowned.
"And where is Song? He should be part of these conversations."
Ukraine's face tightened.
"You need to talk to him yourselves. He's on his own mission with the same target now. If you don't stop him, everything we've done will collapse."
That got their full attention.
His father would never listen to him.
Maybe he would listen to them.
At the same time, Ukraine's own mind was racing, already trying to build a new path back to Kro.
He needed a plan.
And he needed it fast.
...
Far-Bridge
Kro's house looked untouched.
By the time she got home, every sign of Friday night had been erased. The blood was gone. The damage was repaired. The floors shone. The rooms were back in order as though violence had never crossed the threshold.
But Kro knew better.
She knelt beside her bed and pulled out a small red wooden box.
The moment her fingers touched it, her chest tightened.
Inside the box lay the only object that had followed her faithfully across the centuries.
A silver dagger.
Sharp-edged.
Beautifully cruel.
Three jade stones were set into one side of the handle.
To anyone else, it would have looked like a priceless antique.
To Kro, it was something else entirely.
Her ticket to death.
She lifted it out of the box and turned it in her hand, the blade flashing softly in the room's light. Whenever she felt helpless, defeated, or unbearably tired of living, she found herself drawn back to it.
That day, she was beyond tired.
She was hollowed out by longing.
Swinging the dagger lazily between her fingers, she whispered to the empty room:
"When will you come back?"
The question sounded like a prayer.
"When will you be reborn? When will you stand in front of me and stab me with this and end everything?"
Her voice trembled with the exhaustion of centuries.
"Why don't you appear already? I'm tired. I'm sick of living."
She stared at the blade as though it might answer.
"I'm growing impatient. And I'm afraid I'll do something stupid before you come."
Her grip tightened.
"So please. Come kill me."
A pause.
"Just like you did the first time."
She meant every word.
People said a person only lived once.
Kro wished she had never lived even that once.
In her darkest moments, existence itself felt like a curse—one that devoured everyone she loved, one that left her behind again and again to bury them all.
That was the poison of her life.
And no amount of beauty, power, or wealth had ever cured it.
...
Bazzad
Misaki dragged her cardigan over her shoulders as she headed outside.
It was late.
Too late.
And she was in no mood to entertain visitors.
Still half-irritated from being yanked out of a beautiful dream, she stepped toward the black car waiting outside her house and climbed in.
The inside of the vehicle was warm.
Her father sat at the far end, fingers nervously interlaced, and somehow the sight of him looking unsure only made her more suspicious.
"Dad," she said flatly, "whatever this is, it had better be important."
He nodded quickly.
"I'm sorry for waking you up. But we're both busy, and this was the only time I could talk to you."
"I'm listening."
He leaned forward.
"I need you to answer honestly. Is there anything… strange about your boss?"
Misaki stared.
Then let out a disbelieving breath.
"Gosh. Sending men to her house wasn't enough? What more do you want? Can't you just leave this woman alone?"
Akeshi shook his head.
"Listen. One of the men says he shot her. In the back. And then he saw the wound fixing itself—as if she'd never been hurt. He says she didn't bleed."
Misaki reached for the door at once. "Okay, Dad. Thank you. I'm going back to sleep now."
Before she could leave, his hand closed around her wrist.
She stopped.
And looked down.
He was trembling.
That alone shocked her more than his words.
"I know it sounds crazy," he said. "But those men have never failed me before."
She pulled slightly, but did not yet yank free.
"Then maybe she knows how to fight," Misaki said. "Maybe she trains like hell. Maybe she has a black belt in karate or mastered taekwondo. People are different."
"The man doesn't lie," Akeshi insisted. "I think he really saw what he said he saw."
"Why are you telling me this?" she shot back. "My life is just starting. I'm already the worst employee she ever hired because of you. Do you even understand what it feels like to work under someone while knowing she regrets giving you a chance?"
His face softened, and for once the regret on it looked real.
"Misaki, I know. I've been a terrible father to you. But I promise this will be the last time I ask you for anything like this. I regret what I did. I'll go apologize to her. I swear. But just this one thing…"
She looked away.
"What do you want?"
"He said the bullet hit her in the back. I need you to ask her about it. And if you can… see whether there's any mark where she was shot."
Misaki closed her eyes.
She was exhausted.
Her father had dragged her out of bed to make her spy on the very woman whose trust she was already desperate not to lose.
"If I say yes," she said, "will you let me go back to sleep?"
His answer came immediately.
"Yes."
"Fine. I'll see what I can do."
She yanked her hand free and reached for the door.
"Goodnight."
She didn't wait to hear him say it back.
She got out, walked toward her house, and left him sitting in the car with his fear, his guilt, and his curiosity.
By the time she reached her front door, Misaki was already angry all over again.
Not just tired.
Not just annoyed.
Angry.
Because somehow, every road in her life kept circling back to Kro—and every circle led through her father's madness first.
***