Hotel Savoy Moscow—one of the oldest five-star hotels in the city centre, located in the Tverskaya district, just steps away from Red Square. Tonight, the building that usually radiates the grandeur of classical Russian architecture has been transformed with distinct Chinese decorations; red lanterns hang along the entrance, signboards in Mandarin stand side by side with Cyrillic script, and a red carpet stretches from the pavement into the lobby. Bai Group, the Chinese electronics giant, is known for never doing things halfway when hosting an event. The entire second floor of the hotel has been rented for tonight, featuring an eclectic Chinese-Russian banquet.
In front of the building—one of Bai Group's branches—the area is already filled with rows of luxury cars and a red carpet laid out for what feels like miles. Both sides are crowded with journalists covering the event. Camera spotlights shine brightly, illuminating every guest walking along the carpet as though they are on a stage. In the distance, the grand statue of Yuri Dolgoruky seems to watch over the unusual bustle in a city that is typically calmer on a spring night.
Noel had thought Gregory would stop at the front, that they would step out of the car and walk along the red carpet, waving like celebrities under the flashes of cameras. That thought vanished the moment Gregory turned the car, taking a different route—one that avoided the journalists as much as possible.
Their black sedan glided into the back lane, passing rows of limousines and luxury cars queueing at the main entrance. Gregory seemed familiar with the route—he had planned everything three days in advance, studying the hotel's layout, marking alternative entrances, calculating the distance from the basement to the lobby, and determining a rendezvous point in case they were forced to separate.
The car entered a spacious underground parking area in a grand building next to the Bai Group premises. The Savoy's basement parking was usually quiet at night, but tonight was different. Neon lights flickered across the low ceiling, illuminating rows of neatly parked luxury vehicles. Several uniformed drivers sat inside their cars, waiting for their employers. An elderly chauffeur stood in the corner, smoking, glancing at them briefly before looking away. The basement was far busier than usual. At Block 23, near an intersection not far from the exit, Gregory stopped the car, deeming the area sufficiently quiet.
"We're here," Gregory said quietly, his eyes on the rear-view mirror, ensuring no one was watching. Outside, two rows of cars were parked neatly—mostly German and British brands, with the occasional Bentley or Maybach standing out. Their modest car was the least noticeable among them.
After turning off the engine, he glanced at Noel and let out a heavy breath. Truthfully, Gregory had hesitated to bring him along. Three weeks of training was hardly enough to send him into the field. But tonight, they had no choice. Bai Group was the connection between China's legal business world and Russia's underground network—and that was where Nate's trail led.
If Alexei Tsvetkov truly attended, this would be their only chance to approach him without raising suspicion. Gregory tried to reassure himself that everything would go smoothly.
"So, which way are we heading?" Noel looked around, his gaze moving from the concrete pillars supporting the ceiling to the lift at the end of the corridor marked MAIN LOBBY.
Gregory paused, thinking. "I'm certain quite a number of people who've worked with the Bai Group director will be here tonight."
"Will they recognise Nate? Does he know many people?" Noel asked, pointing to his own face—Nate's face.
"Not particularly, but do try not to be recognised."
"Should I wear a mask?" Noel asked innocently, prompting a quiet laugh from Gregory.
"No need. If anyone recognises you, just act indifferent and brush them off. Trust me, it'll help you handle situations while using Nate's identity."
Noel nodded. "Alright."
"Once we enter the lobby, we'll split up. Do try not to be seen by Alexei Tsvetkov if he's here tonight. Understood?"
"I understand." Noel tried to steady himself. In his mind, he repeated the name—Alexei Tsvetkov. The man Nate was targeting. The man who might hold answers to the past.
"Good. We'll meet back here in thirty minutes."
Both stepped out of the car calmly, their shoes touching the damp concrete floor, still wet from melted snow. In the distance, the lift chimed as its doors opened.
The lift carried them to the second floor—the main entrance to the Savoy ballroom. As the doors opened, Noel was greeted by a scene entirely different from the cold basement. Large crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting golden reflections across the room. Mahogany-paneled walls blended with red Chinese lanterns in every corner. Beyond the glass windows, Moscow's nightscape stretched out—The Duma building, the lively Tverskaya street, and, in the distance, the illuminated towers of the Kremlin.
The clinking of glasses and murmured conversations in various languages—Russian, English, Mandarin—filled the space. Warm air scented with expensive perfume and exquisite food enveloped them.
They entered the bustling lobby. A large man in a black suit with an earpiece blocked their path—a security guard working under strict orders tonight. Gregory presented their identification cards—carefully forged. The name read "Nikolai Volkov," a modest businessman from Saint Petersburg. After a brief inspection, the guard nodded and allowed them to sign the guest book, which was nearly full with names from businessmen, politicians, diplomats, and even figures Gregory recognised as members of international syndicates.
Once inside, Gregory gestured silently—it was time to split—and left Noel standing alone.
For three weeks, Noel had been trained—shooting, infiltration, blending into crowds. But theory and practice felt entirely different now that he stood in a ballroom filled with people far more dangerous than anyone he had known before.
Important figures were everywhere, but his priority was finding Alexei Tsvetkov.
He felt out of place—like a newly rich man wandering alone. The black suit he wore, tailored perfectly for Nate's body, felt foreign to someone used to worn T-shirts and bomber jackets. He took a deep breath, recalling Gregory's instructions: don't smile too much, don't stare too long, and above all—don't panic.
Round tables draped in white cloth surrounded a small stage where an orchestra played soft Russian classical music. A buffet displayed a fusion of cultures—borscht beside shark fin soup, blini with caviar beside Chinese dumplings. At the centre stood an ice sculpture of a dragon and a bear embracing—symbolising Bai Group's partnership with Russia.
Noel declined champagne offered by a waitress, remembering his low alcohol tolerance. Instead, he took a glass of water.
He scanned the room carefully, searching for a face he had seen in Gregory's photos—Alexei Tsvetkov.
Then—
"Director Tsvetkov!"
Noel choked slightly, turning sharply toward the entrance.
There, under the chandeliers, stood a man surrounded by a crowd. Tall, black-haired, dressed in an expensive dark suit. Sharp features, piercing eyes—the same face from the photograph.
Alexei Tsvetkov had arrived.
Cameras flashed relentlessly, but unlike other guests, he only gave a faint smile—the smile of a man accustomed to attention, who knew exactly when to appear approachable and when to remain distant.
While others rushed forward, Noel stepped back, hiding behind a marble pillar and decorative plants.
From there, he watched.
After a brief exchange with the press, Alexei moved away. Noel waited for the crowd to thin, then followed at a safe distance.
He trailed Alexei through a corridor lined with marble floors reflecting art deco lighting. Guards stood along the walls. Noel slowed down, pretending to check his phone whenever they glanced his way.
Eventually, Alexei entered a room. Before the door closed, Noel caught a glimpse of several men seated inside.
He moved closer, peering through a narrow gap.
Then—
A chair scraped inside. Someone stood.
Alexei turned toward the door.
Panic surged.
Noel turned quickly to leave—but collided with someone and fell hard onto the marble floor.
He looked up.
A young face. Familiar.
Times Square.
The boy.
The teenager smiled—not warmly, but like a predator finding prey.
"So it's true," he murmured. "You really are here."
"Turns out you are here, Rolan." A baritone voice sounded from behind Noel.
Noel turned.
At the doorway stood Alexei Tsvetkov, hands in his pockets, expression calm—too calm.
"Alexei…"
At the sound of his name, Alexei's lips curled into a smirk. His dark eyes studied Noel—not with anger, not with hatred, but something more complex.
"As it seems, we have a special guest tonight," he said smoothly.
Noel felt his wrist gripped. Rolan.
Not tight—but enough.
He wasn't going anywhere.
At the far end of the corridor, Noel briefly saw Gregory's silhouette appear—then disappear again.
"Long time no see, Nate," Rolan said, smiling brightly.
Noel stood between them, heart pounding.
The plan had changed.
Completely.
And now, he had to find his own way out—alone.
"You've grown up now, Rolan. Do you still miss me?" asked Noel as he released his embrace from the teenager.
They were still in the second-floor corridor of Hotel Savoy, not far from the meeting room where Walther Zwick had held his meeting earlier. The golden wall lamps cast warm light onto their faces, creating shadows that swayed gently on the mahogany-paneled walls. In the distance, from the main ballroom, the faint clinking of glasses and the melody of an orchestra playing a classical waltz could still be heard.
"Every day I miss you. I thought you had forgotten about me," Rolan replied.
Noel shook his head, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the teenager's brown hair. Noel imagined how Nate—the original owner of this body—had once done the same thing. Stroking this child's hair, teaching him things that should not be taught to a child.
This child is a good kid. It would be a shame if someday he follows Alexei's path in life, Noel thought to himself.
"So, what did that man teach you?" Noel asked, his tone full of inquiry as he glanced at Alexei.
Alexei stood a few steps away from them, leaning against the doorframe of the meeting room he had just left. Both hands were shoved into his pockets, a relaxed posture that almost looked bored. But his eyes—those hazel eyes—never left Noel. Watching, studying, like someone reading a book they had long wanted to reopen.
The man being glanced at appeared apathetic. Rolan also glanced at Alexei for a moment before looking back at Noel. "You mean Alyosha? He taught me all sorts of things."
Noel furrowed his brow, surprised by the nickname Rolan used for Alexei. "Wait, wait, you... call him Alyosha?"
"Why? Do you want me to call you Papa too?"
Noel fell silent, blinking. Papa. The word tickled something in his memory—or rather, in Nate's memory, faintly lingering in this body. Rolan called Nate "Papa." And Alexei was called "Alyosha." What a strange family, Noel thought.
"Before, when I called you Papa, you protested. Have you forgotten?"
How would Noel know about this? He wasn't Nate. Besides, that kind of thing wasn't in the notes about Nate that Gregory had given him. Noel could only manage an awkward smile, unable to speak after hearing Rolan's innocent answer. Noel had almost forgotten his act as the real Nate.
"Don't worry, Alyosha won't teach me anything weird, not like what you taught me."
"You still remember the things I taught you?"
"Of course." Rolan answered proudly.
"Like what?"
"Like hunting animals in the forest. Like shooting wild rabbits, pigs, or if we can't get those, snakes are an option. Also, how to flirt with beautiful girls—you didn't want me to become gay." Rolan's answer was so straightforward, with emphasis at the end.
Nate... taught this child things like that? Noel was baffled. He imagined Nate and Rolan walking among the winter trees, breath forming white mist, rifles in hand, snow crunching under their boots. That image was too foreign, too far from Noel's old life—where he had known cold only as an enemy, not as a hunting companion.
Alexei, who had been silent all this while, finally spoke. "I didn't expect this. For the past few years, you've always avoided and hidden from me, but now... you've come here yourself." His lips curved into a crooked smile. "Did you miss me?"
Noel clicked his tongue. "In your dreams." He immediately averted his gaze from the man's intense stare.
But beneath that firmness, Noel's heart was beating erratically. Alexei was too close. Not physically—they were still separated by several meters. But his presence felt like gravity, pulling Noel into the same vortex, the vortex that had nearly destroyed him before.
No matter what, Noel would never forgive Alexei. He was no longer the young man from fifteen years ago. No longer a marionette to be treated as that man pleased—a man who had never once truly owned him.
Now, he was the Killer Rabbit. A hitman whose cruelty had become ingrained. Noel would fight back.
He was Nate the Killer Rabbit.
Or at least, that was what Noel wanted to believe about himself.
[•°]