What was so special about him?
Why did both Rose and the Triangle value Ashur so much that they sent their two best agents—Steven and me—into this cursed mission?
Even Rose had never told me why the man mattered.
I remembered it clearly: the last time I sat at the glass table, staring at "the Tailor."
He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard and studied the papers before him.
"Everything's arranged," he said. "We've embedded you in their ranks—new name, new past... complete files on every drill and op you supposedly attended.
They'll believe you grew up inside their organization."
He tapped the passport on the table.
"Your name is Alice. You'll work in their lab..."
I smirked, fingers raking through my short bob with blunt bangs.
"Couldn't they pick a better name?"
He frowned. " Viuna! "
Leaning in, he hissed, "Do you grasp that you're about to run the biggest, most dangerous op of your life?"
I flashed a toothy grin, eyes flicking to the camera in the corner.
"Relax, Tailor—I don't plan on dying."
He looked away, exasperated.
Though he outranked me, his strings were pulled by someone even higher.
My gaze dropped to the passport.
"Years ago, I had an assignment in Russia. I had to shadow some big shot's son—played the part of a high-school girl..."
My fingertip traced the glass tabletop.
"Little by little I sank into the role. The feeling of being an ordinary kid—school, trivial worries... I wanted to be like them."
He watched, silent.
"The boy I befriended was kind to me," I went on. "Said I was pretty."
My nail skated across the glass.
"But I killed him."
I raised my head. Behind his lenses his eyes widened in disbelief.
I met the stare, voice sharp as cut glass:
"I had orders. He was a terrorist spy, too—just playing the part of a normal boy."
He scowled, leaning closer—handsome despite the gray.
"You think you're the only one forced to do things you hate?"
Lowering his tone he added, "I had to become the Tailor... only to cut, stitch, dress you up—prepare you for missions, back you up.
And the children I sent out myself... I buried myself."
He shoved the passport toward me.
"So don't die. Finish another damned mission—like always."
I smirked, staring at the passport.
"I told you that story to remind you I can beat my emotions.
Don't worry—neither their outfit nor ours can kill me."
I rose, gathered the file and passport, and headed for the door. The click-clack of my leather boots echoed down the hall.
His voice stopped me.
"I'm not worried they'll kill you—Rose or the Triangle," he said.
I turned back, waiting. His face was grave.
"I'm worried about Ashur.
He's the only one who can kill you.
He's dangerous, Viuna—pure fire."
I laughed softly, almost flirtatiously, and murmured, ice-cool:
"Then maybe he'll keep me warm."
"—A-ask your q-question, then."
His voice yanked me out of the memory.
I forced myself to blink away the past and lock onto his eyes.
Narrowing my gaze, I began:
"Why are you so special, Ashur? I've reviewed every test they ran on you—there's no extraordinary result."
He said nothing, only pinned me with that dark, unreadable stare.
Cold air pricked my skin; frustration coiled in my fists.
Around us, the three guards—statues in glass helmets—watched, doubtless amazed he was even speaking.
"And from what I've seen, even your IQ scores are average. You're no elite 'fish.'
So why does Rose value you so much—and why did the Triangle steal you?"
Still that mocking silence.
I folded my arms, planting myself before the glass.
At last, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He set one hand under his chin, tilting his head.
"Y-you tell me... Then w-why do they c-call me P-piranha?"
I raised one brow. "Piranha—one of the world's nastiest fish. Small and vicious."
I strolled slowly around the cube, heels echoing, pretending his theatrics didn't rattle me.
"So why give a 'dangerous-fish' nickname to someone who isn't a Rose prodigy?
Why spend so much on an ordinary man who hasn't escaped in five years?"
I tapped the glass. "I'll bet there are plenty of killers like you. So tell me—"
I stopped directly in front of him, voice low and hard.
"What makes you special, Ashur?"
Up close, I catalogued the damage: once-broken nose, split brow, battered ears—yet the scars only chiseled him sharper, like a gemstone cut by violence.
He finally spoke, head swaying like a snake.
"They c-call me P-piranha b-because... a-among d-dangerous f-fish..."
He paused, eyes glittering.
"...I'm v-very, very small."
I squinted.
"And w-when e-everyone t-thinks it's just a t-tiny f-fish,"—his grin widened—
"...it b-bares its t-teeth... and k-kills."
Arms crossed, I smirked. "So you're saying people see 'ordinary,' but underneath you're lethal."
His stare stayed flat.
One guard lifted a hand—the signal my time was up. I inclined my head, muttering,
"We'll see."
I turned to leave, nerves scraped raw.
They'd tried every torture already. If they hadn't—I would've.
I'd dropped the Rose trigger phrase and prayed he understood I was an inside asset.
Halfway to the door, his rough voice drifted after me:
"Y-you're like me... a-aren't you? L-little b-butterfly."
I whirled, stunned.
He bared perfect white teeth and laughed—low and mocking.
Shaken, I strode out.
So—he'd figured it out.
I was Rose's butterfly... fluttering through the heart of the Triangle.