Something was off. She could feel it an invisible shift in the air, a quiet disturbance that didn't belong. Every instinct told her there was more here than the calm the room pretended to hold.
A sudden, piercing clang! ripped through the quiet, followed by the sharp, splintering crash of porcelain exploding against the polished floor. Shards skittered in every direction, the sound echoing through the room as every head snapped toward the source.
"I'm sorry! I'll clean it up right away," the young waiter blurted, bowing quickly before crouching to collect the shards.
Seri's eyes locked on him. Just beneath his sleeve, she caught it… a faint tattoo near the wrist. Small. Dark. Familiar.
Her blood chilled.
She glanced at Junho. He was lifting the glass of water toward his lips. An inch more and…
"Stop!" Her voice cut through the room like a blade.
Junho froze, confused. "…What?"
Hanna's brows drew together. "What's going on?"
Seri didn't answer them. Her gaze was fixed on the waiter, who had gone very still.
She moved to Junho's side, her hand gently lowering the glass from his fingers. She raised it to her nose, just slightly, then her eyes sharpened.
In the next heartbeat, the waiter bolted. Plates clattered as he pushed past the doors.
Hanna blinked. "Did he just run?"
"Probably panicked over the broken plate," Seri said lightly, masking her voice. "Afraid of getting fired, maybe. Poor guy."
Her body screamed to chase after him, but she didn't move. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Junho. She couldn't let him see that side of her, the side that chased shadows.
"You could've just asked if you were that thirsty," Junho said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Why the yelling?"
"I was just tired… guess I got dramatic." She picked up the wine glass instead. "Besides, I'm not into plain water much."
Then, without warning, she tilted the untouched water glass and let it spill onto the lounge floor. A small splash echoed in the sudden silence.
"…Did she just baptize the floor?" Hanna asked under her breath.
Junho stared at her. "…That was unnecessary."
"Oops," Seri said mildly, setting the empty glass down. "Guess I'm clumsy when I'm tired. This feels more like a celebration anyway."
She took a slow sip of wine, her eyes forward, offering no further explanation. Junho's gaze lingered on the empty water glass she'd saved him from and stayed there.
A moment later, in Taehyun's room.
The dim storage space deep within the hotel smelled faintly of dust and old linen. The Japanese man Seri had chased now sat bound to a hard plastic chair, the silver duct tape cutting harshly into his wrists and ankles. His jacket hung unevenly from the struggle, and a fresh scrape marked his temple from earlier, a thin line of dried blood trailing toward his cheek.
Taehyun stood before him, arms folded, expression cold.
"You're fast," the man said in Japanese, grinning. "But not fast enough. You'll see."
"What am I going to see?" Taehyun asked flatly.
The man only laughed again.
Taehyun stepped closer, lowering himself to meet the man's eyes. "You had your chance on the stairs. Now you talk… or we get creative."
The door creaked open behind him.
Seri stepped inside. The version of her that entered was not the polished PR fixer ,this was something sharper. Colder. Each step echoed with intent.
"He hasn't said a word," Taehyun said without looking at her.
The man's smirk faltered the instant her gaze locked on him.
She unzipped a small leather pouch and drew out a chrome penlight. But it wasn't just a light, it was a micro-voltage pulse probe, disguised and elegant. A faint blue arc danced at its tip when she clicked it on.
"This one doesn't leave a mark," she said softly in Japanese, "but your nerves will remember it for days."
The man's breathing hitched.
"Told you she's scarier than me," Taehyun muttered.
Seri moved closer, the penlight hovering just an inch from his cheek. "Let's skip the warm-up. Who sent you, and what's your target?"
Sweat began to bead at his temple.
"It's only polite to start with the appetizer," she added, her voice silk over steel.
The man tried to mask his reaction, but when she brushed the pen lightly against his neck, a sharp electric jolt tore through him. His gasp broke into a strangled groan, shoulders jerking against the restraints. The muscles in his jaw locked tight, and for a fleeting second, his eyes squeezed shut in raw, involuntary pain.
"Chūsei," she said with a cold smile in Japanese. The word meant loyalty—a steadfast, unshakable devotion that bound a person to their cause or master, even when it demanded blood, pain, or silence.
That's impressive." She circled him, then stopped, face to face. "There's someone you're protecting, isn't there?"
The man kept silent.
"Find his blood relatives," she said, her tone casual, "and kill them all."
His eyes went wide, panic breaking through his defiance. "Yamero…! Stop! Please, stop!"
The silence stretched until the man's will cracked. His voice came hoarse, broken. "Takeda…"
Seri froze. Taehyun's fists clenched. The name hung in the air like a curse.
Her face drained of color. "Why does he… Why does he have anything to do with this…?"
Something inside her shifted…fear, recognition, and something deeper she didn't name. Taehyun saw it in her eyes. He knew Takeda meant more to her than she would admit.
"Why does he want Junho so badly? He's been chasing after him since Seoul…" She gripped her knees, her voice trembling. "Did Iwao send him? But they didn't even seem to care if Junho's safe."
Taehyun's gaze sharpened, his voice low. "Something could already be in motion beyond what we see."
He leaned forward, his brows furrowing as the weight of the name settled between them. Takeda was more than just an ally to Iwao. He had been like a brother, their bond forged through years of building influence together, side by side. If Takeda was involved now, it wasn't just business, it was personal.
"They tried to poison him," Seri said, her voice rising with bitterness.
Taehyun straightened in alarm. "What?!"
"When I ran to the lounge, there was a waitress. He poured something into Junho's glass just before I arrived." Her eyes locked on his, urgency sharpening her words. "It smelled faintly… just a trace, but I know it. Scopolamine."
Taehyun's eyes widened. "Devil's Breath?"
"Sort of…," she said quietly. "It's used in low doses to cause disorientation, memory loss, confusion… even complete submission. He wouldn't be able to think clearly, let alone resist."
"Not to kill… just to control him," Taehyun murmured, realization setting in.
"To take him. Without a fight. He'd follow them like a doll."
From the far corner, the Japanese man sat bound to the hard chair, panting, eyes suddenly desperate. "I'll tell you… where they're hidden. Here in Kyoto… but please, let my family go."
He was the type who cracked when family was on the line. The mere mention of blood ties shook his defiance. His loyalty wavered not because of pain, but because of fear for someone else.
Seri recognized it instantly.
At Cloudspire, she had been taught that emotion wasn't weakness, it was leverage. A tool sharper than any blade. Reading fear in the eyes, twisting concern into confession… she knew exactly which strings to pull.
Her voice remained calm, almost gentle, but her eyes spoke the truth…she already knew exactly where to hit him hardest.
The street outside the Nishiyama Premier in Kyoto was quiet, the smooth stone path glistening faintly under the dim amber glow of the streetlamps. Slender cherry blossom trees arched overhead, their delicate petals swaying gently in the cool night air, falling like soft blush and gold against the darkness. Hanna and Junho walked side by side, the silence between them carrying the weight of both full stomachs and heavier thoughts. Hanna adjusted the scarf around her neck, her gaze flicking toward Junho every so often. He was effortlessly handsome in a fitted black jacket, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes fixed ahead, his expression unreadable.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice low and vulnerable. "Do you still keep the feelings you once had for me?"
Junho stopped walking. He didn't look at her, only lowered his gaze to the pavement as though an answer might be hidden in the faint cracks between the stones.
Hanna stepped closer, her tone gentler, almost pleading. "Can I still… win your heart back? Make you smile the way I used to?"
A soft wind swept past, rustling the blossoms above them. Petals drifted slowly to the ground like quiet witnesses. Junho shifted slightly, the scrape of his shoes breaking the stillness. His voice was soft, conflicted. "Why are you asking me like that, Hanna? You were always the one who made me smile."
She let out a quiet, sad laugh, the sound laced more with longing than joy. "But you didn't answer. Can I still win your heart again?"
Junho's stillness deepened. The words struck him, but not enough to stir his answer. He glanced toward a flickering streetlamp ahead, watching the blossoms fall like snow. He wanted to speak, but his silence was already its own reply. He couldn't. Not anymore. Not like he used to.
Hanna's hand trembled slightly as she reached out, removing the glasses from his face. Her fingers brushed his for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes searching his…watery, vulnerable, silently begging him to read her, to feel her, just once more. "Can you still see me… the way I used to be?" she whispered.
But Junho didn't meet her gaze. His jaw tightened, his breath caught, not from indifference but because the truth was already carved deep inside him. And it hurt too much to face her while letting it remain unspoken.