The air was cold and crisp, glittering with frost. The towering wrought-iron gates of the Romanov Mansion loomed ahead like the gates to a different world — a world of power, decadence, and danger.
Luxury vehicles lined the snaking driveway like a live-action fashion show for the ultra-wealthy: matte black Lamborghinis, ghost-white Bentleys, even a gold-plated Rolls-Royce that shimmered under the rows of warm overhead lanterns. Cameras panned, guards stiffened, drones hovered — and all of it oozed power. Old power. Dangerous power.
Among them, an elegant BMW 7 Series crept up the cobbled drive like it belonged, its engine purring like a beast with its teeth hidden.
But inside…
Rin sat behind the wheel, jaw clenched so hard it could crack glass.
His grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled.
The wig itched like hell, and the synthetic bangs kept slipping into his eyes. His reflection in the mirror made his stomach flip — cherry-red lipstick, dark eyeliner, subtle blush… and a slim black chauffeur's hat perched mockingly on top.
"I can't believe I'm doing this. This has to be the lowest point of my life. I've infiltrated terrorist cells. Escaped bombings. Even disarmed a warhead underwater. But THIS?"
"I am dressed like a fucking woman. With boobs. Fake nails. And the glove compartment 'just in case.'"
The car rolled to a stop in front of the checkpoint. A security guard stepped forward, his gaze cold and assessing.
Knock. Knock.
Rin forced his face into a tight, composed smile as he rolled down the tinted window. The guard glanced in—and visibly paused. His eyes flicked from Rin's glossy lips to the massive black fur coat in the backseat.
Kai sat there like royalty, a sin incarnate.
His slicked-back hair glistened, his pale skin glowing under the ambient light. He lounged with one leg crossed over the other, fingers adorned with silver rings tapping idly on a sleek black cane — though everyone knew he didn't need it.
Kai didn't say a word. He didn't have to. His very presence screamed entitlement.
The guard nodded, checked the holographic scan on the invite, and stepped back.
"You may pass through."
Rin rolled up the window and pulled the car forward through the estate's open gates. Behind him, the guards went back to scanning other guests — each one more absurdly rich and ridiculous than the last.
"Ugh… how important is this party, anyway?" Rin muttered under his breath, shifting gears with irritation.
"It's like something out of a damn Bond movie."
He glanced into the rearview mirror, meeting Kai's eyes with a scowl.
"And I still can't believe I've been reduced to your chauffeur. But not just any chauffeur... A female chauffeur."
Kai chuckled — a soft, mocking sound like silk being sliced by a razor.
"Aww, don't be so dramatic. On the bright side, no one's gonna suspect a thing. You make a very convincing woman. Honestly, you didn't even need the wig — those hips of yours are already lying to everyone. And besides — I was the one invited. We had no choice."
Rin snapped his eyes forward, teeth grinding.
"He's enjoying this. He's actually enjoying this."
"There's some weird shit going on in this world, I swear." Rin grumbled.
"I could've just knocked out a guard, taken his uniform, and waltzed in through the service entrance. Simple. Efficient. You know — not humiliating."
Kai leaned forward slightly, draping an arm across the passenger seat, his fur coat spilling over like a black storm cloud.
"Ah, yes. The classic Scarlet charm: 'when in doubt, punch someone.' I admire the commitment to violence, really. But tell me — would that plan have been as entertaining?"
He grinned, shark-like.
"Besides," he added smoothly, "there are only two ways to sneak into a party like this: as staff… or as someone's date."
"Imagine the scandal if we'd gone with the latter. You in a red silk gown. Me in a three-piece tux. Think of the headlines."
Rin's soul left his body for half a second.
"Blech—" He physically gagged. "I'd rather walk through a minefield blindfolded than play the role of your date, you sick bastard."
Kai laughed again — that same low, delighted, infuriating chuckle that made Rin want to throw him out of the moving car.
"Why the hell is he like this?" Rin thought bitterly. "Everything is a damn game to him. Everything's a joke. He's like a snake in a silk coat — smooth, poisonous, and always ten steps ahead. And I'm stuck working with him."
Kai tilted his head with exaggerated innocence.
"Don't be like that. You're lucky I didn't make you wear heels. And admit it — you've got some impressive curves. You look good."
Rin shot him a death glare.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Kai shrugged, smirking with those wickedly amused eyes.
"Take it however you want, princess."
The mansion came into view now — lit like Olympus, with laughter and classical music spilling into the cold night air. Servants carried trays of crystal and caviar. A long crimson carpet stretched down the steps. Security buzzed like a hive around the perimeter.
Rin pulled the BMW into the circular drive and parked near the designated staff area, eyes scanning every exit, guard, and blind spot.
"All right," he thought, taking a steadying breath.
"I'm here. In position. All I have to do is stay unnoticed. Get intel. Stay alive. And not kill Kai before the mission is over. That last part might be the hardest."
The matte-black car rolled to a slow, elegant stop before the colossal wrought-iron gates of the Romanov estate. Beyond them lay a vision of excess — all gleaming marble, intricately carved gargoyles, and gold that shimmered even under the pale, moody dusk.
Rin parked the car with a silent grunt.
"Alright. Get down," he muttered, eyes trained on the steering wheel, his voice flat with exhaustion and barely concealed contempt.
No response.
He glanced up at the rearview mirror — Kai was lounging in the back seat like a fucking prince, legs crossed, a lazy smirk stretched across his mouth.
"Uhh... what are you waiting for?" Rin snapped. "You do have legs, right?"
Kai gave a low chuckle and leaned forward, his voice smooth as silk and sharp as broken glass.
"Kokhana... are you forgetting your job?"
That word again. Like a splinter under Rin's skin.
Rin's eye twitched.
"FUCK YOU."
He shoved open the door and slammed it behind him so hard the car groaned. Then he stalked to the passenger side and yanked it open with a strained smile — there were eyes on them now. Doormen. Servants. And worse — elites.
"Can't even yell without looking like a psychopath. Ugh."
He bit down on his rage and held the door open with all the grace of a hostage.
Kai stepped out slowly, fluidly, adjusting his coat like he hadn't just pushed every one of Rin's buttons. His smug expression didn't waver.
"One day," Rin thought, "I'm going to punch that smirk clean off his face. Right after this godforsaken mission ends."
A sharply dressed servant appeared, bowing slightly.
"This way, please."
Rin followed, his boots crunching against the manicured gravel path as he trailed behind Kai — who, of course, walked like he owned the damn place.
And maybe he did, in some twisted, unofficial way.
They passed under a marble archway dripping with ivy and stepped into the manor.
Rin's breath caught.
It was like being swallowed whole by decadence. Gold trim gleamed from every surface, massive chandeliers sparkled overhead like clusters of falling stars, and velvet tapestries draped the walls like heavy, royal blood. Even the air smelled expensive — like amber, sandalwood, and some subtle cologne made from crushed bank notes.
"If I were some broke nobody, this would be heaven."
Rin swallowed the thought bitterly.
"But this? This is hell in a tailored suit. It's loud. Opulent. Designed to remind you how small you are. The whole place reeks of power... and pheromones. Gross."
He wrinkled his nose.
"Everyone in this damn manor probably sleeps with knives under their pillows and dreams of betrayal in gold leaf."
"Makes me wanna puke," he muttered under his breath.
Kai turned slightly, as if he'd heard, and flashed Rin a smirk without even slowing his stride. Like a spider toying with its food.
"Of course he heard. He always hears. Bastard's got ears like a hawk and a brain full of knives."
Then—a hand suddenly grabbed Rin's arm.
A large man in a fitted suit stood beside him, clearly some kind of servant.
"Chauffeurs' quarters are this way."
"Wait—huh? I thought I was going with him—"
Rin looked over his shoulder just in time to see Kai, already ten steps ahead, deep in conversation with two older men in ceremonial uniforms. Laughing. Nodding. Toasting with tiny crystal glasses like he belonged there.
Like he'd always belonged.
"You son of a bitch..." Rin thought, heart twisting with bitter familiarity. "He's doing it again. Leaving me in the dark. Playing the puppet master. Letting me get dragged into god-knows-what while he plays prince charming with the snakes."
Rin didn't resist as the servant ushered him away — not because he was obedient, but because he knew it wouldn't matter. Not here. Not in their house.
His fists clenched at his sides as he was led down a back hallway — the golden light dimming, replaced by dull gray stone and flickering sconce light. The walls here were cracked. Dust lingered. The air was colder.
"Of course," he thought bitterly. "The dogs get the basement."
His jaw tightened.
"He fits into this world. The money. The fake smiles. The polished lies. Look at him — he's fucking thriving in it. Mingling like he owns the place."
His heart twisted.
"Who the hell are you, Kai?"
The muffled thump of music pulsed through the ornate wallpaper like a heartbeat, the bass vibrating beneath Rin's borrowed heels. Outside the room, the gala was alive — filled with clinking champagne flutes, silken gowns, expensive perfume, and dangerous men cloaked in charm. But Rin? He was holed up in a dim room with other chauffeurs and low-level staff, pretending to be someone he wasn't, in a role that boxed him in with no access to the information he came for.
He adjusted the collar of the ill-fitting driver's jacket he'd "borrowed," watching as a few attendants lounged nearby — laughing, smoking, playing cards — too distracted to notice him pacing quietly in the corner.
"The party's at its peak now. Which means all eyes are on the dance floor, not the shadows. Perfect time to move," Rin thought, his eyes flicking toward the door like a cat eyeing its prey. "But if I leave now, with no excuse, I'll stand out. A chauffeur randomly strolling through high-security zones? Instant red flag."
He crossed his arms, brows furrowing.
"Kai told me to wait. Said he'd handle it. But trusting him is like handing a loaded gun to a toddler. A manipulative, smug toddler with a god complex. If I sit here and wait, I'll miss my window. I'll miss everything."
Rin bit the inside of his cheek and made a decision.
"I'm not staying."
He walked silently to the door, eased it open with a soft click, and slipped into the hallway. The corridor was dim, long, and flanked by heavy velvet curtains and antique wall sconces. He let out a breath of relief, shoulders softening.
Then — a voice. Cold. Inconvenient. Tall.
"Where do you think you're going, miss?"
Rin froze.
He turned — slowly — to face a man in a dark vest and slacks. An attendant. Taller than him by a good inch or two, and looking every bit the overly diligent, nosy staff type that never minds their business.
"Shit. Of all people…"
Rin forced a smile — sweet, coy, and as manufactured as the wig on his head. He tilted his head, fluttered his lashes, and spoke in a soft, breathy voice:
"Bathroom. I need to use the bathroom. I need to powder my nose~"
He tucked a loose strand of fake hair behind his ear with feigned elegance.
"Come on, come on, just buy it and go away…"
The man studied Rin for a second too long, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest doubt. Then he nodded stiffly.
"I'll escort you."
Rin's polite smile didn't waver, but his mind was screaming.
"Fucked. I've fucked this. Bathroom's not even close to the main hall — it's in the damn opposite wing. And now I'm being escorted by Mr. Watchdog. Perfect."
They walked in silence down a red-carpeted hallway that reeked of lemon polish and repression.
No security cameras.
Just walls.
"If I'm gonna make a move, this is it. No eyes. No Kai. No backup."
The man stopped at a gold-plated door labeled "LADIES."
"Here's the female bathroom," he said, turning slightly to leave.
Rin smiled — but not like before. This time, it was his real smile. The kind that said: I'm not who you think I am.
He leaned close, lips ghosting the man's ear.
Then in his natural voice — deep, calm, and cold as ice:
"Anata wa isshōkenmei hatarakimashita."
("You worked hard.")
The man turned, confused—
"Wha—?"
WHAM.
Rin's fist met the man's jaw in a sharp, clean uppercut. He didn't even give him the dignity of a warning.
The guy crumpled to the floor, out cold before he hit the tile.
"You really did work hard. Pity."
Rin wasted no time. He dragged the man's body into the bathroom, careful not to scuff the black tile or leave marks on the pristine cream walls. Once inside, he stripped the unconscious man down quickly, folding the clothes and laying them on the marble counter. He tore off the wig, tossed it into the trash bin with a hiss of frustration, and began pulling the uniform onto himself — adjusting the vest, tightening the bowtie, checking the mirror for believability.
His own face stared back at him — tired, focused, haunted.
He ran a hand through his real hair, then tightened the belt on the man's trousers.
"Blend in. Move quietly. Get the intel and get out."
He looked down at the unconscious attendant one last time.
"Sorry, bud. Wrong place, wrong time."
With one final glance in the mirror, Scarlet straightened his posture, adjusted his shirt, and opened the bathroom door.
The hallway was empty.
Game time.
"BRING OUT THE WHISKY! WHO'S IN CHARGE OF THE CANAPÉ?! GET A MOVE ON, YOU SLOWPOKES! WHAT ARE YOU JUST STANDING AROUND FOR?! ENOUGH LAZYING AROUND AND TAKE THESE OUT—"
The chef bellowed like a war general on the frontlines, his voice echoing off the marble walls of the prep kitchen like a gunshot in a cathedral. A tray of sparkling crystal wine glasses was shoved into Rin's hands with all the grace of a freight train, the momentum forcing him to take a step back just to keep balance.
The tray was cold, the glasses clinking with every tremble in his hand, and the weight of it anchored him to the moment—reminding him that he was still inside enemy territory. A palace masquerading as a party. And he? Just a ghost in a borrowed uniform.
'Maybe it's because they're all too busy,' Rin thought, his eyes scanning the swarming sea of black-suited waiters and elegant guests. 'Not a single person has even looked at me twice. This might be the perfect opportunity to slip into the main hall unnoticed…'
His gaze flickered to the reflection of himself in a silver platter. Blonde. The wig was gone. His real hair, dark and slightly damp with sweat, clung to his forehead. He grimaced.
'Or is it because I removed the wig?' he wondered. The disguise had been flimsy to begin with. But it didn't seem to matter now.
Just then, a cold pang struck his chest.
'Shit—it's that supervisor.'
Rin ducked his head instinctively, raising the tray like a shield as he walked past the man. The crystal clinked again. Too loud. But the supervisor didn't glance his way. Another near miss.
The main hall opened up like a cathedral of money—vaulted ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and enough designer perfume in the air to knock out a low-flying bird. But it wasn't the grandeur that unnerved Rin. It was the noise.
'There's too much chattering. Nothing clear. Just... shallow gossip. No useful intel.'
His pupils narrowed. The Z.E.N system in his eyes flickered to life with a soft hum, casting faint micro-patterns across his iris as it scanned and tagged faces in the crowd. Politicians. CEOs. Mercenaries pretending to be influencers. And—
"Mikhail Antonovich Varkov…" Rin muttered under his breath. "The president of Russia."
He didn't say it with awe. He said it with calculation. That man, right there in the navy blue suit with medals glinting like a peacock, was the symbolic head of a nation—but to Rin, it was confirmation.
'If the president's here, then this party isn't some casual gathering. This is a power hub. There are bigger players involved—government officials, business elites, international liaisons. Probably even black-market brokers.'
But then—
Clink.
A glass was lifted from his tray.
"Ah, you took off the wig."
That voice. Smooth. Mocking. Almost lazy, but every word carried the weight of a snake coiled and ready to strike.
"Isn't this a strange place? So many people around... yet not one of them is actually real."
Rin stiffened. He didn't need to look to know. Kai.
"That guy behind Varkov?" Kai took a slow sip from the wineglass, deliberately turning toward the president. "That's Vseslav Romanov. Second son of the Romanov family. Like I told you before, he and the president are tight. Super tight. Golf buddies, actually. I heard they were teeing off somewhere in Sochi just last week. Probably discussed missile codes over mojitos."
Rin didn't respond, but his grip on the tray tightened. He didn't trust Kai, not for a second. The guy oozed charm like a toxic spill—effortless, dangerous, and impossible to clean up after. He was the kind of person who knew exactly what to say to unnerve someone, and always said it with a smirk.
Kai kept talking, unfazed.
"All public projects pushed by the Russian government have to go through Vseslav first. Before anything even brushes Varkov's desk. That's how much pull the Romanovs have."
Rin's eyes narrowed.
Kai pointed, subtly, with his wine glass.
"And see that man? The one with the ivory walking stick and the eye patch?" He swirled his wine slowly, almost admiring it. "Dmitri Romanov. He's the kingmaker. The real reason the Romanovs rose to power in the first place. Big shot of GazEnergo. After the Sovereign Red Pact collapsed, it was his chokehold on the energy sector that kept the country breathing. Russia's economy is basically being propped up by his empire."
'So the Romanovs are the real power brokers...' Rin thought. 'The president's just the ceremonial mask. It's the tycoons like Dmitri who pull the strings behind the curtain. And this party? It's not a party. It's a damn boardroom meeting for global puppet masters.'
Kai chuckled softly. His eyes were sharp, bright, and just a bit too amused.
"The Romanovs are fascinating, aren't they? I heard they're actual descendants of royalty. The blood of czars and conquerors. It's no wonder they act like they own the place. Because they basically do."
Rin didn't respond. He couldn't. His mind was spinning—connecting dots, cross-referencing intel, filing names, building a mental map of this corrupt little kingdom.
But one thought kept clawing its way back to the front:
'If these are the kinds of people at this party… who else is here?'
And worse:
'What the hell are they planning?'
"Ah… there he is. Finally making an appearance."
Kai's grin was lazy, but his eyes tracked the man descending the grand staircase like a predator watching a prize buck step into the clearing. The golden light of the chandelier above bathed the man's crisp suit in an almost holy glow, and the room's noise dimmed to a reverent hush. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. Even the waiters slowed their pacing.
Rin followed Kai's gaze.
The man moved with slow, calculated steps—each one deliberate, as though he knew the floor itself owed him thanks for gracing it. He had sharp cheekbones, a square jaw, and the same frosted silver hair as Dmitri Romanov—but without the burden of age or the eye-patch. Cold blue eyes scanned the room with the detached superiority of someone used to owning everything his gaze landed on.
Vseslav Romanov.
Kai leaned in slightly, the stem of his wineglass brushing against his lower lip. "That's the eldest son. The heir. When Dmitri finally croaks, Vseslav will become the wealthiest energy magnate in Russia."
There was a long pause. Then Kai added, almost theatrically:
"Ситий голодного не розуміє."
He smirked over the rim of the glass.
Rin glanced sideways at him. A Ukrainian proverb. That wasn't an accident.
'The well-fed don't understand the hungry,' Rin translated silently, mind running a mile a minute. A jab? A warning? Kai always spoke in riddles, but his meaning was usually buried beneath seven layers of silk and poison. And the fact that he chose that phrase, in this party?
Yeah. There was something behind it.
"He's already receiving more attention than his father in the energy industry," Kai continued with an offhand shrug. "Some analysts say the family empire might even grow under his management. Can you imagine that? More power. More money. A younger Romanov to pull the strings behind the throne."
He reached for another glass of wine, took a sip like this whole conversation bored him to tears, and then exhaled in a low whistle. "Of course, there's always the problem of the... black sheep."
That got Rin's attention.
He lowered his voice. "Then what about Tsar Nochi? Is he Dmitri's bastard or something? I mean, come on. That psycho doesn't exactly... fit the vibe of this royal soap opera."
Kai actually laughed at that, a smooth, amused sound that made the hairs on Rin's neck stand up. It wasn't a friendly laugh. It was the kind that said I know more than you, and I like that you don't know it yet.
"It's shocking, I know... but he's a civil servant." He said the words like they tasted sweet and disgusting at the same time. "Official title, badge, paycheck and everything. The Russian government signs off on his actions like it's just another Tuesday."
Rin blinked.
'A man who kidnapped me—
'Threw me into a car trunk like I was luggage—
'Then casually fired a damn BAZOOKA into the middle of a city street—
'Is on a government payroll?!'
He nearly choked on his breath.
'What kind of Kafka nightmare is this? What kind of country hires lunatics and gives them legal immunity? How does a certified maniac qualify as a public servant?!'
Kai was watching him, reading every twitch of his expression like an open book. His smile stretched just a fraction wider.
"Strange, isn't it? But that's how it works here. The Romanovs have claws in everything. Military. Infrastructure. Intelligence. You think someone like Nochi operates without a leash? No. He's the leash. The teeth. The hand grenade they throw when diplomacy fails."
Rin stared straight ahead, jaw locked. The party shimmered around them in golden lights and clinking glasses, laughter echoing like a death sentence. A ballroom filled with kings, killers, and puppets.
And Rin? Standing dead center in it, disguised as a servant, holding a tray of glass and chaos.
'So that's the truth. They don't hide monsters in the shadows here. They give them names, titles... salaries. And then they send them out to do the dirty work that even the politicians can't stomach.'
He exhaled slowly.
'This place isn't corrupt. It's beyond corrupt. It's a machine built to run on madness.'
And Kai?
Kai leaned closer, brushing shoulders with him, voice a whisper laced with mockery.
"Smile, Rin. You're at the heart of power now."