"Ao Takeda is currently in the second-class cabin, disguised as an Indian man. As long as he doesn't catch on that we're tailing him, the Romanov plan stays intact."
Rin leaned against the cold metal of the cabin wall, his eyes fixed on the flickering monitor on his lap—the grainy CCTV feed from Takeda's room playing silently.
All thanks to Kai.
A smooth-talking disaster of a man who'd flirted his way into the crew's confidence, charmed an attendant, snuck into Takeda's room , and planted a tiny surveillance cam behind the coat rack. Then walked out like it was just another Tuesday.
"Thanks to that bastard's tactics, we don't have to constantly hover near Takeda anymore." Rin thought, exhaling. "One less headache."
"Nghh—ahhh—OH my god—don't stop—!"
He didn't even look up.
He already knew.
Kai was at it again.
"Two days," Rin thought bitterly, his hands tightening around the book. "Two days on this train and he's already seduced two attendants. One from first class. Now one from second. What next—the cook? The conductor? Hell, maybe the old man in coach with the chessboard."
The train cabin, already small and claustrophobic, now felt like it had shrunk to the size of a coffin. A coffin filled with moaning.
And it wasn't like Kai had the decency to take his antics to the other side of the cabin—or to anywhere with a door.
No. He had her—the second-class attendant—on all fours, right on the table beside Rin's bed.
Which meant every time Rin tried to glance at his book, all he could see in the corner of his eye was a blur of pale thighs and the rhythmic bounce of a body that was entirely too close to him.
The table creaked under the weight. Bottles trembled. And her moans—oh god, the moans—sounded like she was being possessed by a demon of lust.
"Nghhh—ahh, right there—deeper—!"
"I hate everything." Rin thought, face unreadable but soul visibly ascending out of his body.
Kai had zero shame. He wasn't even pretending to be subtle. He was holding the woman's hips like handles and thrusting with a pace that could probably qualify as a seismic event. And the whole time?
He was looking directly at Rin.
Looking.Dead in the eyes. With that same insufferable, smug, I'm-your-nightmare-but-you-secretly-like-it grin.
The attendant knocked over a water bottle mid-thrust, the contents spilling down the table, dripping right onto Rin's pillow.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Then calmly picked up the pillow and threw it across the room.
Kai chuckled darkly, dragging his tongue up the woman's spine like it was a damn show.
"Oh my god…is he serious?" Rin thought.
He turned slightly. Big mistake. Now the view was full frontal.
Kai's hips slamming forward. Her back arching. Sweat glistening. Her hands gripping the table edge like her life depended on it.
Rin's face didn't move, but his soul was 300 miles away.
He muttered under his breath in Japanese, 「マジでやばい…この距離でヤってんのかよ.あと5センチで俺の顔に突っ込むとこだったじゃねーか.」
("Are you seriously doing this this close? Five more centimeters and she would've slammed into my face.")
Kai moaned again—on purpose this time—low and husky, as if to taunt him.
"I've been trained to resist torture, withstand interrogations, survive poison exposure... but nothing prepared me for this level of spiritual violence."
Rin closed his book slowly—painfully slowly—as if the act of shutting it might somehow mute the chaotic, unsanctioned adult film happening inches from his damn bed.
Then he just… stared up at the ceiling. Blank expression. Soulless eyes. A man fully disassociating.
"I'm gonna go. Can't stand this shit," Rin muttered under his breath. It wasn't even directed at anyone in particular. Just a final plea tossed into the void.
But Kai clearly heard him. Because just as Rin swung his legs over the edge of the bed, Kai slid the woman's blouse up, revealing her completely.
Her breasts spilled free like it was the season finale of some twisted reality show Rin never agreed to star in.
Her nipples were soft pink, perky, and bounced with every rhythmic movement of Kai's hips. It was vulgar. Shameless. Practically cinematic in its filth.
Rin's eyes widened. His ears turned red. His face immediately flushed a deep, betraying shade of crimson as he looked away with the speed of a man dodging a bullet.
"OH MY GOD—"
His brain screamed. His mouth didn't dare speak.
He pressed a hand over his face like it might physically block the memory from searing itself into his soul.
But it was too late.
The image was burned in 4K Ultra HD.
He stood up abruptly, stiff posture, lips tight.
Without a word, he walked past the bed, past the creaking table, past Kai's smug little smirk.
He shut the bathroom door behind him—hard—and leaned back against it, head knocking against the wood.
And then—
His scent exploded.
A rush of sharp, electric pheromones filled the air like someone had shattered a perfume bottle full of heat and humiliation.
Musky, clean, addictive. Sweet with a bitterness that made it even worse.
Rin's eyes widened.
"Shibal," he hissed under his breath, looking down at the growing problem between his legs.
His dick was fully hard.
No. Painfully hard. Pressed against the waistband of his pants like it was trying to escape him.
"You have got to be kidding me."
His breath hitched. He covered his face with one hand, other pressed to the door behind him.
Fuck.
His hand slid down his abdomen, fingers brushing over the hard line of his cock, already half-hard just from the memory. He gritted his teeth, trying to push the image away—but it was burned into his mind. The way her breasts had bounced, full and round, the way her voice had trembled on every gasp. And worst of all, the way Kai had smirked at him, like he knew exactly what it was doing to him.
Rin's grip tightened.
"Mhmm…" The sound escaped him before he could stop it, rough and needy. His strokes were firm, deliberate, his breathing growing ragged as he imagined things he had no business imagining.
His stomach coiled tight, pleasure building like a live wire under his skin.
"Nghh—!" He bit down on his lip to stifle the sound, but it was no use. The water muffled nothing, and the thought that someone might hear—might know—only made his pulse spike harder.
And then he was coming, his release hitting him in waves, his thighs trembling as he braced himself against the wall. For a few seconds, all he could do was pant, his forehead pressed to the cool tile, the water washing away the evidence of his weakness.
…I must be crazy.
Disgust curled in his gut as he finally stepped back, turning the shower colder to shock himself back into clarity. He couldn't afford this—not now, not with the mission hanging by a thread. Not with Kai watching his every move, waiting for a crack in his armor.
But as he toweled off, his reflection in the fogged mirror stared back at him, eyes dark with something he refused to name.
The door to the tiny train bathroom creaked open with a hiss of steam. Rin stepped out, a towel wrapped low around his waist, hair still damp, faint rivulets of water tracing down his collarbone. The warm, moist air followed him like a ghost, clinging to his skin.
He paused immediately.
There, leaning casually against the wall, stood Kai.
Arms crossed. Head tilted. That same slow-burning smirk carved into his lips like a scar he wore proudly.
Why the hell is he just standing there?
Did he hear me?
Whatever. Who cares? I'm a grown man. I'm allowed to… need release.
Besides, it's not like he's never done the same. I've heard him.
Rin exhaled calmly, walking forward, prepared to pass like nothing happened.
But then—slam.
Kai's arm snapped up and blocked the hallway wall with an almost lazy strength, body leaning close enough that Rin could see the faint rise of steam from his own shower-damp collar.
Rin stopped short, eyes narrowing.
"…What."
Kai's eyes glittered. "Did you have fun?" he asked, voice velvet-smooth, mock-innocent.
Rin let out a small exhale through his nose, arms crossing over his bare chest. "Oh, yes. A blast," he said flatly. "Now get out of my way. I need to get dressed."
He shoved past him—not hard, but enough to send the message—and moved to his side of the bunk. He didn't look back. Just picked up the neatly folded pile of clothes he'd set aside earlier, dropped his towel, and started dressing like Kai wasn't even there.
Compression pants on. Shirt slipped overhead. He moved with fluid, practiced efficiency, like someone who'd long since learned to ignore watching eyes.
But Kai didn't move.
Didn't say a word.
Just stared.
Rin sighed, pulling the hem of his shirt down. "I can feel your eyes stabbing holes through my ass, Kai. What is it now?"
Kai was leaning against the bunk frame now, one leg casually crossed over the other, arms still folded like a judgmental statue.
"Why don't you do it with men?" he asked plainly. "Doesn't matter if they're omega, beta, even alpha—you shut all of them down."
Rin paused.
This again.
Why does he always pick at the seams of people like it's a game?
"I'm not interested in men," Rin said without looking at him. "I only like female alphas, betas, and omegas. End of story."
Kai tilted his head, the smirk tightening.
"That a problem?" Rin asked, tone a little sharper.
Kai's eyes flicked up, amused. "No. Just… curious. Usually when someone clings that hard to a preference, they're running from something. Or someone."
Rin's head turned slowly. His face was carefully blank, but something in his jaw was tight. Coiled.
"I'm not running," Rin said coldly. "I know what I want. That's all."
Kai stepped forward a few inches. The air in the room shifted. Tension twisted tighter like an unseen thread.
"Are you sure?" he murmured. "Because… you're trembling."
Rin froze.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
His fingers clenched the hem of his shirt instinctively.
Kai's voice was softer now, but insidious. "Did something happen, Rin? Something that made you hate men touching you…?" His smirk didn't fade, but his eyes gleamed with something unreadable—curiosity, maybe. Or maybe cruelty.
Rin's breath hitched. And for a moment, something flickered across his expression—an emotion too quick to name. Pain. Anger. Shame.
Then came the tremble. Subtle, but real.
"…Oh my God," Rin whispered, barely audible.
Then, louder—
"Just leave me alone!"
His voice cracked on the edges of fury. Of something raw. His whole frame was tense now, defensive—not in fear, but in fight-or-flight.
Kai, for once, blinked.
Not surprised. But maybe… realizing he went too far.
He raised his hands lazily in mock surrender. "Alright, alright," he said coolly, already backing up. "Didn't mean to hit a nerve."
And then he slipped out of the room, the smirk not quite gone, but dulled.
The door clicked shut.
Rin was left standing there, his breath shallow, heart ticking like a metronome too fast.
He slowly sat back down, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his still-damp hair.
Why does he always know what buttons to press?
Like he's testing the wires in my mind, trying to see what makes me snap.
That bastard…
I won't let him unravel me.
I won't.
But the tremble didn't stop.
Not yet.
The dim lighting in the train compartment flickered as the wheels rumbled steadily beneath them, a rhythm so consistent it almost faded into background noise.
Rin sat hunched at the tiny desk, eyes trained on his laptop. The grainy black-and-white CCTV feed showed a narrow hallway — and within it, Takeda, seated alone in another cabin farther up the train.
He wasn't moving. Hadn't moved for almost thirty minutes.
"...武田はまだ何の動きもしていないようです.ロマノフと会うのはいつですか?" Rin muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes.
Takeda hasn't made any moves yet. What's he waiting for?
When is he planning to meet with Romanov?
He better not blow the timing on this. We've got one shot at intercepting that data package...
The tension in Rin's shoulders was growing tighter — like a wire being slowly wound inside his spine. His fingers hovered near the keyboard, ready to screenshot and tag timestamps.
But then the compartment door slid open.
In came Kai, humming a song Rin didn't immediately recognize. The melody floated lazily from his lips.
🎵"I can play most anything… I'm a Brooklyn baby… I'm a Brooklyn baby…"🎵
Kai's voice was low and almost hypnotic — half teasing, half mockery — as if he knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded in the setting of a Russian train cabin, in the middle of a covert mission, with armed security roaming the halls.
He had two bottles of Medovukha — the pale, honey-colored mead catching the warm flicker of the wall lamp — and a pair of mismatched glass tumblers clinking in his other hand.
"Now," Kai said smoothly, "would you close that little spy cam session and come drink with me?"
Before Rin could answer, Kai leaned over, decisively closed the laptop with a soft click, and patted the seat beside him like it was an invitation from the devil himself.
Rin stared for a beat. Then let out a slow exhale.
Why does he always treat serious situations like a damn lounge?
We're surrounded by threats, every second we lose sight, we lose control. And yet here he is... humming Lana Del Rey and playing bartender.
...But if I resist, he'll just push harder. It's how he works.
Besides... maybe one glass.
He moved over and sat down beside Kai — not too close, not too far — his posture still upright, guarded even in this apparent moment of leisure.
Kai uncorked the bottle with a practiced flick, then poured the thick golden liquid into the tumbler. Before handing it over, he slipped the end of a cigar into the drink, swirling it gently, then lighting the other half with a match that hissed to life in his palm.
"It tastes better when you mix it like this," Kai said, that glint in his eye as he passed the glass to Rin. "Trust me. Just enough kick, just enough sweet."
He took a slow drag from the cigar himself — then passed it over.
Rin raised an eyebrow, then took it without a word, brought it to his lips, and inhaled. The flavor hit first — warm honey overlaid with smoke and sharp fermented herbs. It burned faintly in his chest.
"…Not bad," Rin murmured, his voice smooth but low — almost surprised — as he took a longer drag, letting the smoke curl out through his nose.
Kai watched him the whole time. Like a wolf watching a deer learn to enjoy blood.
"You know," Kai said, pouring himself a glass, "you're fascinating when you relax. It's like seeing an iceberg melt in real time."
Rin exhaled, eyes fixed forward. "Don't romanticize it. I'm not relaxing. I'm monitoring the situation with a temporary beverage."
Kai laughed softly, leaning back against the bench with his drink. "Right. And I'm just a simple man sharing his honey wine with a fellow operative. Nothing ulterior going on here."
Everything with him is ulterior.
He never does anything without threading manipulation through it.
The question is — why now? Why push this "drinking buddy" act when we're barely halfway through this assignment?
Is he trying to see if I'll slip?
…Or is he just bored? That might be worse.
Rin took another sip, eyes scanning the reflective window glass across from them. In the half-mirror, he could see the faint echo of Kai's face, just behind his own.
The smile was still there.
But the eyes were sharp. Still studying him.
Always watching.
"Brooklyn baby?" Rin asked flatly, breaking the silence.
Kai grinned. "Ah, so you do listen. Lana's a classic. Icon of chaotic femme brilliance. Very anti-you, I'd say."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Rin muttered, tipping his glass again.
"You should. You wear control like armor. It's admirable. But…"
Kai leaned closer now, just enough that Rin could feel the heat of his body beside him.
"…even armor cracks, Rin."
Rin turned, deadpan. "Not when you know how to forge it."
Kai's grin only grew.