Every inch of wall space was consumed — covered — by writing. Mathematical formulas scrawled from floor to ceiling, dense diagrams looping across the plaster like veins. Complex formulas bled into each other until the room itself became a maze of thought. Circles, notations, sketches of mechanical parts and impossible geometries twisted into madness.
Rin's eyes darted left to right, his breath slowing.
This... this explains it. The lights were never for vanity. They were never left on because someone lived here. They were left on to feed this room. To hide the truth in plain sight.
His chest tightened.
And the curtains... of course. Always drawn. To keep wandering eyes from glimpsing even a fragment of this. To protect the heart of Koschei.
He stepped forward, boots crunching on broken glass. His gaze swept the walls.
There was no blueprint folded neatly on a table, no convenient dossier labeled "Persephone." There was this: chaos stitched into order, genius buried in madness.
Rin's hand trembled slightly as he touched the wall, smearing chalk under his fingertips.
Once you open it, you may or may not find Koschei's heart...
He swallowed hard.
"This is it. The blueprints of Persephone."
And for the first time that night, he felt a flicker of something cold crawl up his spine.
Not victory. Not relief. Something heavier.
If these walls fall into the wrong hands… if even half of this work is reconstructed… the world won't survive what comes next.
The west wing of the Romanov mansion was drowned in warm, golden lamplight, the air thick with smoke and perfume from burning sandalwood. A crystal ashtray, cut like a diamond, sat beside a half-finished glass of aged cognac. The man who owned both leaned back in a leather chair stitched by hand, its hide imported from Spain, its arms scarred by the burn marks of cigars far too expensive to waste.
Kai's fingers drummed against the mahogany desk, his cigar glowing at the tip, the smoke curling upward like a serpent. His suit jacket — tailored midnight velvet — hung from the chair's edge, collar open, shirt cuffs undone. He looked less like a nobleman and more like a king who had grown weary of his crown.
His eyes — cold, wolfish — were fixed not on the documents scattered before him but on the void somewhere far beyond them.
Why am I so damn restless tonight?
The thought grated against his mind. He'd sat here for an hour, smoked halfway through the box, but couldn't shake the gnawing agitation that curled in his gut. He hated the feeling. He wasn't a man used to confusion — he prided himself on clarity, control. And yet, tonight, unease hung on him like a second skin.
Kai ground the cigar gently against the ashtray, then raised it to his lips again, dragging in deep. The smoke filled his lungs, seared his throat, but didn't soothe him.
The telephone on the corner of the desk shrilled, breaking the heavy quiet. Its polished brass gleamed with each ring. But Kai didn't move. His gaze was fixed somewhere past the firelight, out in the middle distance, as though staring into a memory only he could see.
He took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs until it burned, then exhaled with a sharp hiss.
"Annoying," he muttered to himself. He wasn't even sure if he meant the phone or the gnawing restlessness in his chest.
"Am I really so far gone," he muttered to the empty study, "that I imagine his scent in the air?"
He leaned back further, exhaling. The smoke drifted upward, dissolving into the carved ceiling beams. His mind, traitorous as always, conjured Rin's face — sharp features, hard eyes, the defiance that had been there even when Rin was broken and writhing beneath him.
Kai shut his eyes, letting the memory press against him. The taste, the heat, the way Rin's body had fought and yielded all at once. The wild contradiction of it. He told himself it had been nothing more than possession, dominance. But the truth that flickered in his thoughts — the one he never spoke aloud — was that he'd never once been able to stop thinking about him.
Seven months. Seven months, and still that phantom remained.
Did he run? Did he crawl back to Japan like the wounded stray he is? Or… is he still here, hiding, waiting, pretending he can resist me?
Kai clicked his tongue, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He didn't like not knowing. It made him itch.
He swirled his cognac glass absently, the amber liquid catching the light.
Rin wasn't just another plaything, not another disposable conquest. No. He was different. Stubborn. Untamed. Even now, months later, Kai's body remembered the exact tilt of Rin's breath, the exact way his muscles tensed when Kai's hands had been on him.
And that annoyed him more than anything.
Damn him. He infects my silence. He makes me restless in my own home. He's a ghost under my skin.
Kai bit the cigar again, teeth sinking just short of tearing it. He told himself it was irritation, the thrill of a hunt unfinished, a loose end he couldn't stand. But the truth — the one that left him staring into space, jaw set, pulse slow but heavy — was simpler and far more dangerous.
Rin had left a mark no amount of wealth, violence, or indulgence could erase.
The knock shattered Kai's thoughts like glass. His blue eyes narrowed, his head turning slowly toward the door, irritation cutting through the haze of cigar smoke.
A trembling servant entered, clutching a cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax. The man was pale, his Adam's apple bobbing as he approached. He placed the letter on the table with both hands, bowing low.
He wanted to run — his feet screamed at him to turn and flee before the monster in front of him changed his mind. But he couldn't. Not until dismissed.
Kai's lip curled. "Стой." The word cracked like a whip.
The servant froze in place. His knuckles tightened around nothing.
Kai rose from his chair with the casual grace of a predator stretching before the kill. He stepped closer, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke into the man's face. His gaze traveled over him — calculating, cold, but threaded with something darker.
"You're an alpha, aren't you?" Kai said softly, though his voice was edged with menace.
"Y–yes… yes, sir…" the servant stammered, sweat beading at his temple.
Kai tilted his head, studying the man's build. Same shoulders, same height. It was enough to stir something sharp and bitter in his chest.
"Same height as him," he thought, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Strip."
The servant's eyes widened in horror. "S–sir?"
Kai leaned back against the desk, arms crossing over his chest, cigar balanced between his fingers like a scepter. His gaze was piercing, merciless.
"Did I stutter?"
The air thickened. The silence was suffocating. The man hesitated only a fraction too long, and Kai's smirk deepened. That hesitation reeked of fear — intoxicating fear.
Finally, hands shaking, the servant began to peel off his clothes, layer by layer, until his bare skin shivered under the glow of the chandelier.
Kai's eyes swept over him. He searched for something — some spark, some echo of what Rin had burned into his senses. But the longer he looked, the flatter his gaze became. His irritation mounted.
"No matter how I see it, it does nothing to me now," Kai thought, annoyed, disgusted almost at his own game.
"Walk to me," he commanded, his voice a velvet threat.
The servant obeyed on unsteady legs. But Kai wasn't really looking at him anymore. His mind was already elsewhere — in a memory. The flash of Rin's eyes burning with defiance, his body bent under Kai's will yet never broken, the scent that clung to him like something wild, untamed. It was burned into Kai's memory, and this poor imitation only enraged him more.
When the servant came close enough, Kai's hand shot out with sudden violence. He slammed the man onto the desk, his cry muffled against the polished wood. Kai's hand closed around the man's wrist, pinning him easily. His head dipped low, inhaling sharply against the man's neck, drinking in the scent that flooded the air.
It hit him wrong. Stale. Sour. Weak.
The man whimpered, trembling. "P–please… help me…" His voice cracked, soaked with desperation.
Kai's face twisted in disgust. He shoved the man away as though he were trash. "Smells like shit. Not the same scent." His tone was sharp, final. "Get out."
The servant scrambled to gather his clothes, stumbling half-dressed out the door. His sobs echoed down the corridor as he fled, leaving the heavy silence to descend once more.
Kai straightened, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His jaw was tight, eyes dark. He hated himself for even trying — for even entertaining the notion that someone else could fill the space Rin had left behind.
Pathetic.
He crushed the stub of his cigar into the ashtray and finally turned his gaze toward the envelope. The seal was plain. No crest, no flourish. That alone was unusual.
He broke it open with a flick of his thumb. The single sheet inside was crisp, freshly folded. He unfolded it — and his eyes widened.
Just 3 words, scrawled in black ink across the page:
TICK TOCK BOOM!!
Kai stared at it, the words echoing in his head, his pulse kicking up despite himself. Slowly, a crooked smile crept across his face. The kind of smile that promised violence.
"Well," he thought, tilting the paper between his fingers, "looks like the game has finally started."
The study seemed to tighten around him — the smoke, the silence, the letter — all feeding into that simmering storm inside his chest.
The world seemed to pause for the tiniest fraction of a second, then BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the third-floor room of the Romanov manor, where the blueprints of Persephone had been meticulously stored. Glass shattered into glittering shards, cascading like deadly rain. Walls cracked, splintered wood and burning furniture flew through the air, smoke curling in sinister ribbons, and the smell of scorched paper and ozone filled the corridors.
Kai's eyes widened, pupils dilating with an intensity that bordered on ecstasy. For a moment, he simply stood there, motionless, as if the chaos before him were a perfectly choreographed performance — and he the only audience worthy of it.
"Oh my, my, my…" His voice dripped with dark delight, smooth and measured, yet edged with a manic undercurrent. "How… cute." He leaned casually against the marble sill of the window, exhaling a plume of smoke from his expensive cigar. The orange glow from the explosion reflected in his sharp eyes, making him look almost otherworldly, a predator enthralled by its prey's defiance.
The distant wail of sirens — police, ambulances, helicopters hovering above — barely registered in his mind. It was all noise, background music to the main performance. The fire and debris were nothing but stage lights illuminating Rin's cleverness, his audacity, his defiance.
Kai traced the smoke curling from the ruined room with one pale finger, a small, predatory smile twisting his lips. "So… that's the answer he came up with," he murmured, voice soft yet brimming with excitement. "So daring… so bold… so utterly predictable."
He turned away from the window slowly, the smoldering cigar dangling from his fingers. His mind raced, a web of possibilities unfolding: Rin had taken the first move. He had played his little game. But the thrill wasn't just about destruction. No — it was about control. Watching Rin scramble, forcing him into the game, making him reveal just a fraction of his cunning… it was intoxicating.
Kai chuckled quietly, a low, resonant sound that hinted at danger and obsession both. "Oh… my little mouse," he whispered, the words almost caressing. "How exciting you are… How deliciously reckless."
The roar of the motorcycle's engine vibrated through Rin's bones, each gear shift a calculated push against the chaos surrounding him. Adrenaline pumped through every vein, but his mind stayed razor-sharp — no room for panic, no room for mistakes.
Around him, the streets were a battlefield. Cars swerved blindly to avoid debris, the screams of bystanders blending into the wail of sirens. Helicopters hovered overhead, their searchlights cutting through the smoke and dust of overturned vehicles. Police radios crackled incessantly, voices panicked yet determined.
"Surrender! Or we open fire!" a voice thundered from a megaphone in the helicopter above.
Rin's jaw tightened. "Like I give a shit. Dead? Fine. But I won't give up. Not like this." His hands gripped the handlebars tighter, knuckles white, eyes scanning every possible escape route. He needed the embassy. Not for safety — nothing there could make him safe from Kai — but for leverage, for a foothold against the madness unfolding around him.
Bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, metal screamed as rounds pinged past him. The heat from the engine pressed against his legs, but he barely noticed; every instinct, every calculation, was focused on survival. He swerved sharply around a black SUV, the back tires skidding across wet asphalt. Sparks flew when he clipped a street sign, yet he didn't flinch.
"They've lost their goddamn mind…" he muttered, weaving between traffic. Each second counted. One wrong move and it's over. He assessed angles, speeds, distances — everything the Romanovs had thrown at him, he calculated and countered.
A sharp turn near an underpass sent him skidding, tires fighting for grip, but Rin leaned into it, controlling the fall, narrowly avoiding a collision. Helicopter spotlights sliced across the street like search beams from hell itself, illuminating every choice he didn't want to make.
Then the shots got closer. One ricocheted dangerously near, shattering a nearby window. Rin's pulse was steady, though his body screamed from exhaustion and pain. He pushed harder, downshifting, accelerating through the chaos. Every meter brought him closer to the embassy, closer to temporary sanctuary. Closer to just a second to breathe.
Finally, he reached the embassy gates. His mind raced as he dismounted mid-turn, motorcycle skidding out of control before crashing against a barricade. Adrenaline made his body light, precise. He vaulted over the gate, landing on the other side.
"I made it…" he breathed, chest heaving. Sweat burned his eyes. Not safe. Not by a long shot. But still alive. For now.
Rin's serious, methodical mind immediately ran through contingencies: escape routes, guards' positions, who inside could be trusted, and what resources he could leverage. Even in exhaustion, he was already planning the next move, already thinking ten steps ahead of the chaos chasing him.
The sound of helicopters receded slightly in the distance. The city buzzed around him like a living trap. Rin straightened, shoulders squared. One battle survived, but the war — and Kai — were far from over.