[GK]Never Break The Chain 10~13

[plotdog]

chapter ten

Vasily hadn't been staying with his mother and sister since he'd been whisked away by some guy deluded into thinking he'd be the next Euler. The poor old math teacher should have lived to see the day Vasily betrayed the pure, raw theoretical math, or betrayed the government who had paid his tuition.

His holidays were spent solving problems at the old man's house, while choking down his so-called handmade "healthy" ice lollies. He'd caught him staring. It baffled him now that no adult seemed concerned about a grown man obsessively keeping little boys around.

On one rare occasion, he managed to take the train home—only to find Kateryna sitting at the dining table, rubbing something into her elbow, a half-empty bottle of vodka in front of her.

Kateryna turned, startled to find him home. Vasily didn't see his sister often, but he knew her so well. She should be fierce as a tigress. The idea that this terrifying young lady was capable of crying had never crossed his mind. Yet there she was, eyes red and swollen.

"Don't tell Mom." That was her first reaction.

Vasily blinked, uncomprehending, until his gaze dropped to her ankle, where angry red marks bloomed from what looked like a brutal grip. And then he saw the blood.

He recoiled so sharply his back hit the doorframe, his height then nearly brushing its top.

But then he realized—the blood wasn't hers.

It streaked her arm, smeared under jagged, claw-like nails. Her red polish was chipped, some nails broken. It was impossible to tell whether the crimson came from the ruined manicure or the person she must have mutilated.

"What happened?" he asked, already afraid of the answer. After all, she was their mother's daughter…

Kateryna paused mid-motion, the bloodied cotton pad hovering in her hand. "Just… listen." Her voice was low, still raw from all that crying. "Don't ever mistreat a woman. Don't."

She then took him in—the way he stood there, awkward and stiff, too green, too shy, in a way that was almost too delicate for a boy his age. "And don't let anyone mistreat you, either."

Ogata went to make the call. He stepped onto the balcony, cigarette in hand. Evening had settled, and only in his pajamas, he shivered.

Asirpa was shocked by the result. "But, but—could there be more than one combination?" Then she muttered, "Though, this one does make sense. It was in the tombstone's clockwise order."

Ogata exhaled smoke through his nostrils. "I know. That's why it was prioritized in the algorithm. We weren't trying it blindly."

"But is it even technically possible for another combination to work?"

Ogata's humph was brittle. "Maybe. But I'm not betting on it."

When he returned, his face was clouded, as if weighed down by thought. Vasily had been standing there waiting for him—and by now, he knew exactly what to do.

Vasily showed him what's in his hand.

Ogata stiffened almost imperceptibly. "What is this?" He plucked the flash drive, turning it over in his fingers. Just a cheap, plastic, old model. His thumb brushed the connector, as if checking for traces of tampering.

Why don't you tell me about it?

Vasily held his gaze, silent.

He had his suspicions. He'd tried to crack it, the strange date that was Ogata's Wi-Fi password, his birthday, and hell, he was even so self-assured to try his own birthday. Nothing. After five failed attempts, the drive had locked him out.

He might be able to force an override at the hardware level. But that's not the point.

If the actual key were stored here, then there's someone who wanted Ogata to figure out the PIN for them. One of Ogata's secret liaisons, perhaps. So secretive that they had to send a fake delivery man.

He let his stillness suggest he already knew what was going on.

Ogata just looked at him. His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line, before finally relaxing into a smile, as if relieved.

"Go on." He held the drive out to Vasily and nodded toward the laptop. "Show me."

Vasily took it, plugged it in. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting, never quite settling. At last, he lifted his gaze and met Ogata's silent question lingering between them.

Ogata then turned away, leaving Vasily to figure it out on his own, and shortly came back with two beers from the fridge. With a sharp crack, he popped the tab and took a long swig. Between sips, his eyes flicked back to Vasily and then the blinking counter, letting out a humorless hum. "Maybe you should keep trying. Wipe it clean."

Why would he—? Vasily stiffened, bewildered. This was important. So why did Ogata act like he didn't care?

Why did he act like he already know what was inside?

"Come on, three more." Ogata draped his arms over the back of the headboard, leaning back lazily. "Here's a hint—check inside its shell."

Vasily wouldn't anticipate anything like that. He'd been so focused on its locking mechanism that he hadn't bothered to take a closer look at the casing.

Carefully, he plucked the drive free and turned it over. There was actually a faded sticker clung inside the retractable case. The writing was nearly erased by time.

He squinted, barely making out the smudged characters.

Input your name.

His fingers twitched, nearly dropped the drive. It was that simple. He shot a wary glance at Ogata before reinserting the drive and typing Ogata's full name.

HYAKUNOSUKEOGATA.

The screen flashed "incorrect" in red letters, reminding him of his decreasing chances.

Ogata snorted. "Ever occur to you that family names might come first?"

Vasily felt like an idiot.

He tried again—OGATAHYAKUNOSUKE—but the screen flashed red once more. Wrong again.

It made no sense. Was it just the first name, or just the family name? He didn't dare waste the last attempt. But then—was the name even Ogata's? The drive had been meant for him to view… unless it wasn't.

Ogata had already knew about the sticker without even inspecting it.

A cold realization prickled at the back of Vasily's neck.

What if the USB wasn't for Ogata?

What if it was from him?

Vasily cast a glance back, but Ogata had clearly misinterpreted it. With a smug grin, he slicked his hair back.

"Seems our OS expert can't quite crack it, huh?" Ogata cut off Vasily's muttered objections with a dismissive shrug. "Want another try? Nothing to regret about. I was going to wipe it anyway."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a taunting murmur. "Unless you really want to see it."

Vasily gave a sharp nod. He cast a pleading look his way, hoping that would help.

"Well, you asked for it."

Ogata took the laptop from him, fingers flying across the keyboard. Vasily noticed the faintest tremor in his usually steady hands, almost imperceptible, if only Vasily hadn't the sharpest observation.

He typed, a long string of characters appeared on the screen before dissolving into asterisk symbols. Starting with H, then an A—Vasily tried to follow, but soon he lost track of his flicking fingers, overwhelmed by the speed and his unfamiliarity with spelling out Japanese names.

Finally finished typing, Ogata's hands hovered above the Enter key. He looked at Vasily. Vasily didn't understand why he looked like a man parting with something precious. But that was only one brief moment before Ogata pressed the key.

The folder contained one single file. Ogata clicked it on and leaned back into the pillows, his knuckles whitening around the beer can.

Vasily stared at it, confused. This wasn't what he expected—not a private key at all. A video.

"Enjoy," was all he said as it began to play.

Vasily was on the verge of asking—what did he mean by—but the shifting images on the screen seized his full attention.

A hazy figure emerged in a dimly lit space, probably recorded on a phone. The person seemed younger and gentler, lacking the undercut and the faint beard, just loose hair framing a more boyish face. But there was no doubt that it was Ogata.

His pulse quickened. Why was Ogata in what appeared to be a dusty storage room? Something felt off. He knew Ogata's eyes were usually dark, but on the screen, they were even wider, almost unnatural so— pupils dilated, absorbing the dim light in the room. He was on the floor. What's going on here.

Vasily turned sharply to look at the grown-up Ogata beside him, searching for answers, but the man only sneered.

"Just watch it," Ogata said, having drained his beer too fast and went snatching Vasily's untouched can. He cracked it open and drank in urgent gulps. "Or stop now. It's not nice."

Vasily kept watching, or at least, he did until several arms suddenly filled the screen, dragging Ogata up from the filthy ground. The hands grabbed his hair too tightly, and he sobbed inconsolably. Someone outside the frame spoke something beyond Vasily's comprehension.

Ogata supplied the translation calmly, "That means Nazi. And that means whore."

Somehow, he could watch with complete detachment as he shifted to get more comfortable. "Well," he said flatly, "here it comes."

When a hand appeared on screen, stroking a half-hard cock toward Ogata's face, Vasily slammed the pause button. He'd meant to stop it completely, but the frozen frame only suspended the moment, where Ogata had stoke his tongue out, reaching out in anticipation.

Vasily's stomach turned—He couldn't breathe, he couldn't—He tried to speak, but the words were mangled by the stiffness of his wounded face. "Who—did—this—to—?"

"Easy. Don't tear your stitches." Ogata steadied him. Before Vasily could protest, he tapped play again. The footage lurched back to life. He looked at it, and suddenly smiled helplessly. "Don't misunderstand," he said, voice low. "I wasn't forced. Look, I was enjoying it."

Vasily could tell. If he didn't know Ogata better, he might've mistaken it for some seedy porn he had stumbled upon. He could almost imagine the title, Japanese Twink Destroyed in Gangbang, the kind of thing that'd rack up views.

And then suddenly his head got heavy. He was almost transported into the footage, that Ogata was on his knees, cocks in both hands, stroking in frantic motions, with someone's palm grinding his head down to choke on another. He…he looked unholy. He looked surreal.

"See how good I am." Ogata's voice slurred beside him, sloppy and drunken, barely audible over the video's static. "Wasn't bragging… about taking more at once."

Ogata must have seen the horror in his eyes. Vasily knew his expression must be terrible. How could Ogata sit there so calmly? How could he let anyone do this to him? Let them abuse him, let them… film it... Was it uploaded on the Internet, was it the reason Ogata—He felt terrible, thinking about how upsetting he might have made things for him.

And yet, this recording had been saved on Ogata's own drive. And who was meant to see it?

Vasily forced out a single, broken word, "How?"

Ogata contemplated, as if he was searching for the right words. Then he found them. "How much do you know about the Lüshun business?"

Vasily froze. The sudden shift sent a jolt through him.

What could this possibly have to do with the recording? His skin prickled with discomfort. He knew there was a political scandal, Ogata couldn't possibly mean this was the exact—

It didn't look like that sort would cause a chain reaction to the suicide of a high-up.

"So you didn't actually know." Ogata sighed. "Just as I thought. You wouldn't..." His hand floated between them in a vague gesture. "Still," The can crumpled in his grip. "I'd never have known he had it... if you hadn't told me."

In the darkness, the laptop's glow caught only the wet glint of Ogata's eyes and the sharp white of his teeth. He was actually smiling.

"You must be dying to know." His voice dropped to a croon. "How did poor little Ogata end up like this? Fine, let me satisfy you."

He dragged him back to the bed and leaned closer, that Vasily caught the stale beer on his breath. When Ogata's arm slid around his shoulders, he didn't pull away.

"This was a few years back, when we were still in college." Ogata paused, exhaling slowly. "And when I say we... I mean there was this guy. Same age with me. Don't get ideas—we weren't like that. He was straight. Probably."

Same age. Vasily's pulse stuttered. He and Ogata were the same age, yet separated by years and centuries. Someone, probably whose birthday still lived in Ogata's passwords, was now crawling into the picture.

A shadow crossed Ogata's face as memories surfaced. He continued, voice flattening.

"His father was some political heavyweight." Ogata's fingers drummed a slow rhythm against Vasily's shoulder, "So it mattered that he had the right resume—not just some internship at some random bank. You need... specific experience to inherit that kind of legacy."

His hand stilled abruptly. "When the exchange program came up, he brought me to China." A dry chuckle escaped him. "The whole thing was theater. Smiling for cameras at friendship events, shaking hands, you can imagine all that fucking pageantry."

Ogata's fingers started picking at invisible threads. "Yuu—" He caught himself before the name came out. "He had to speak at some memorial park, kind of battlefield from the old days. They've planted cherry blossom trees, to make the dead feel like home, I guess." His lips curled around a smile that never reached his eyes. "The irony was almost poetic. All those blossoms swirling over bones of men who'd slaughtered each other. And him standing there..." The fabric tore slightly under his nails. "So pristine. He was always like that."

There was something disturbingly intimate the way Ogata spoke—along with the past tense he used to describe the other man. Vasily turned to study the way Ogata's eyelashes trembled between prolonged blinks, as if fighting to keep some vision at bay.

"And when it was over," Ogata continued. "We went to see the city. The historical sites—Qing dynasty, Japanese occupation, Russian occupation," His gaze flicked to Vasily, lingering. "Churches. Prisons. Perfectly untouched, as if time had stopped there."

His voice grew distant. "By evening, we went to a bar by the harbor. Just a harmless little place where you drink cheap cocktail and pretend to enjoy off-key folk music." A humorless smirk. "Boring. But Yuusaku—" The name escaped. He realized and cleared his throat. "—he loved it."

"Later that night, we drank and rambled about nothing. He went on about some marine biology elective he wanted to take." Ogata's eyes darkened. "The idiot was obsessed with fish. But his father had already mapped out his life—economics, politics, the family legacy." A sharp exhale. "I told him he was being naive. Dreams like that were for children."

His fingers drummed restlessly. "Then this group flooded into the bar. Looking back, they were probably just university kids—the schools there put freshmen in military uniforms and march them around like soldiers." A dry chuckle escaped him. "But right then? All I could think was, gosh, young men in uniforms, that's just so, so hot. And Yuusaku—" Ogata's voice hitched slightly, "—he actually went to talk to them. Showing off his Mandarin, that one. His mother was some linguist professor. She's very good, but she had to quit her job to homeschool him until I—until he had someone to go to school with. He was a bit autistic."

Ogata tapped his temple, likely suggesting that there was something wrong with his friend. Yet to Vasily, it almost looked as though Ogata had been the one to accompany him all the way. Vasily could see the subtle change on his face. He began to sweat as he continued to tell his story.

"But he couldn't fool anyone. Maybe your westerners can't tell us apart, but those students knew instantly. They looked friendly enough, so I joined them. And I didn't refuse the drinks they bought us."

His lips twisted, "At the time I was even thinking, maybe he really could become a politician one day. Politics is all about charm, isn't it? He could have those foreign strangers at his feet, in a city where our grandfathers might have killed each other."

Ogata sighed. "Anyway, the next thing I found was…" He gestured vaguely at the screen, still playing on the desk. "This."

"Hey." Vasily's hand tightened slightly on Ogata's, still resting on his shoulder. He wished he could say more—It's not your fault. It's over. They can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to talk if it's too much. But the words stuck in his throat.

Ogata met his gaze, then looked away. "Well then, sorry to dump that on you," he said coolly, shifting as if to pull back.

Vasily gripped Ogata's arm tighter, refusing to let go. He had Ogata settle back into the pillows, curling against him. He caught his hand, hesitating for a second if it was alright to touch—then guided it between them, letting Ogata tuck himself neatly under his arm.

Ogata murmured, rubbing his chin against Vasily's chest. "Maybe it was something in the drink. Or maybe it was just... me." A dry laugh escaped him. "But it surely woke something up in me. Being used, being spat on, people taking turns. Sometimes I still have dreams about it."

On the screen, the hands tightened around the ankles—that would leave marks, Vasily thought.

He'd seen it before, on his sister. His vision flickered back to the red stain on her hand, the same color of the blood that had dripped from their mother's fingers, and the same color of blood he'd spilled with his own gun, a lifetime ago.

He wanted to kill again.

Ogata must have noticed the way Vasily's arms locked tighter around him, the tremor running through his body, because then his hand rose, fingers threading gently through Vasily's hair. The touch only made it worse. This was wrong. Vasily was supposed to be the one comforting him, not the other way around.

He was cooing, "I know how it looks, but… it wasn't that bad. Hell, I even got off on it." His voice was detached, his eyes fixed on the shifting images flickering across the screen. "I've never felt that good since."

His face then went still, with a lifeless look in his eyes as they locked on the screen. Slowly, his lips parted. "This is the worst part."

Vasily looked up. He didn't know since when had his vision blurred. His throat tightened as another figure was dragged into frame.

Behind him, a whisper, faint as a breath against his neck.

"—I didn't even realize he was there then."

Ogata's lips trembled, his usual mask fracturing into something real, something painful." Yuusaku was there, in the same room. They did the same things to him." His fingers dug into Vasily's back, desperate, as if clinging to him with his life. "And he didn't enjoy it." Something wet spilled from his eyes. "I know, I know. I'm fine. It's just—he's not like me, alright? I'm just the son of a teenage whore, and he—he—there's a fucking Nobel Prize in his family, do you understand what that means?" His voice shattered into something jagged—laughter, sobs, all tangled together. "How ridiculous is that? And there he was, kneeling there, sharing my fate, screaming my name. And I... I..."

On screen, Ogata looked dazed, almost intoxicated in ecstasy. He reached for the crying boy, then, as if to smother the sound, he seized him by the throat and crushed their lips together.

Ogata's gaze pinned Vasily. "Disgusting, wasn't it?" Then, too quickly, "He was my half-brother." He paused for a moment, and then, "He'd killed himself."

It took Vasily a few seconds to look at Ogata. The overwhelming emotions that enveloped him had made his mind too sluggish to put the pieces together.

He thought about the flash drive, which seemed intended for someone—Hana... Hanazawa, the name was all over the news a few years ago.

"It wasn't an accident, you see," Ogata said, his voice now drained of all energy. "Someone tipped me off that it was planted. And so I followed the trail and retrieved the tapes before they got leaked. Had everything wiped clean... But I kept this one." He nodded at the drive, lips twisting into something like a grimace. "Do you know why?"

His eyes locked onto Vasily's, bright with something feverish.

"That's when I learned the old man plan to leave me nothing. He was always so mad at me, so afraid that his precious reputation might be stained by his little secret—a bastard from some underage schoolgirl. Could've gotten rid of me earlier if not for his wife." A wet laugh escaped him. "She... she promised to include me in her will if I kept Yuusaku company. Said her son needed me. And even now, after everything, she still sends money. Says Yuusaku would've wanted it. Calls me... calls me the closest thing to a son she has left."

His voice cracked then, a single tear breaking free. "I don't deserve this kindness. I'm the real murderer. If I hadn't listened to…if I hadn't kept evidence to blackmail the old man, Yuusaku would still... he was getting help, he was in therapy, he was—"

Vasily had never learned how to handle raw emotions, or what to do when someone bared their deepest, worst self to him. He had always wanted to know Ogata better, but now that the moment had come, he realized he didn't know what to do with it. He was lucky, really, that if he wasn't wounded, he would have struggled to looking for the right words. He was lucky Ogata had trusted him with this at all.

But perhaps it was enough that he could offer a silent, warm and steady presence.

Vasily drew Ogata in, holding him by the shoulder. A kiss to his forehead, then stillness, just letting the rise and fall of his chest steady itself.

After a moment, Ogata seemed to regain his composure. But he pushed Vasily away and got out of the bed.

Vasily paused, then went to close the laptop. Maybe he should stay by Ogata's side, ward off his nightmares, kiss away the tears—or maybe he should keep his distance, spending the night at the couch, if that was what made Ogata feel safe. This was about him, after all. The other things didn't—

The other things lingered in the back of Vasily's mind. There was something strange about Ogata's story. There always seemed to be guiding hand behind his actions. He didn't say how the drive reached Yuusaku. And what had Ogata done to get it back?

He was sure the questions would sound like an interrogation if he spelled them out.

Ogata hadn't left. He was shuffling something from under the bed, and a moment later, he returned carrying what looked like a small notebook—the one Vasily hadn't found while searching the room earlier, locked inside the second suitcase.

Ogata walked over and sat gingerly beside him, the old scrapbook in hand. His fingers brushed over the cartoon dragon on the cover before he turned to the first page—a spread of childlike scribbles, more clipped hiraganas and numbers than anything coherent. One page was filled with jellyfish, drawn over and over with infinite patience. Ogata almost snorted at it before flipping further.

The next page held a small Polaroid, its edges yellowed with time. Someone had tried to preserve it with transparent tape, but the colors had faded regardless.

Two small boys were in the picture, one staring at the camera nervously, the other was clapping his hands, eyes squeezed shut in laughter, with a tiny paper crown perched precariously on his head.

"Brother & Me!" declared proudly the terrible handwriting beneath.

In the corner of the Polaroid, a date stamped in 2009. A moment stolen from childhood, before the world could collapse around them.

Ogata bowed his head, lost in thought for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raw.

"Do you believe in love—the kind that asks for nothing in return?"

Vasily almost answered without hesitation—yes, that was how he felt for him. But then he stopped himself.

Did he, really? He wasn't that selfless. He was greedy. He wanted Ogata, but he knew it was in a demanding, possessive way. Of course, he wanted something in return. He almost died the moment he found Ogata might have something for him. But he could never love him like a brother would. Not like children, in their innocence, where love was handed out carelessly and for free.

"I thought so." Vasily didn't know what his silence had conveyed, but Ogata appeared to have his own judgment. "Me neither."

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "It used to disgust me—the idea that someone would need another person to be happy. Like inventing a new basic need beside air or water. Like drugs. You can live perfectly fine if you're never exposed to them."

Vasily let out a low hum. He wanted to protest, it was all worth it—

"And it disgusts me, watching people lose themselves like addicts. Especially when the other person just… took it. Didn't reject it, didn't return it. I've known too many like that—Usami, this guy I worked with… my mother. And—"

His gaze snapped to Vasily. "You. I never asked you to do this. I don't even know why you're doing this. But it… it feels too good." His voice turned brittle. "I don't know if I'm even capable of…of giving anything back." And then, a cold snicker hit on him. "You made me feel like a bloodsucker. You made me feel like my father."

chapter eleven

They lingered in the morning bath longer than necessary. Vasily worked up a layer of lather on Ogata's skin, quietly relishing the silky feel of it beneath his palms. He loved the way his fingers sinking into the firm flesh, though the soap kept them slipping.

Ogata remarked, "I haven't been to the gym once since you got here."

Vasily snickered, certainly Ogata had gotten all the exercise he needed—

A groan escaped Ogata as he flexed his biceps, water spraying from the motion. "You're a bad influence. Do you know how hard it is to maintain this?" He gestured at his arm. "We're the computer guy. It's not like we carry weight for hours every day."

Yeah, an extra effort for an extra vanity. Vasily hummed, kept stroking Ogata's hair, which dripped like a wet kitten's fur.

Not that Ogata seemed to mind being handled like a cub. After last night's revelations, he'd grown oddly emotionally pliant, allowing Vasily to cuddle and fondle him. He adored this side of him. He could've kept at it forever—if only the world wouldn't interrupt. The thought that Ogata still had to go to work didn't even cross his mind.

Over morning coffee, Ogata asked casually, "Now thinking about it… I never got why you approached me that first day." He took a sip. "I was just some office mule in a plain shirt and a badge. What even caught your eye?"

Vasily searched for words that didn't sound absurd. "Destiny," he offered, hoping Ogata would find it romantic rather than ridiculous.

As soon as the word was out, Ogata's lips curled into that signature smile of his. But then, to Vasily's surprise, he conceded, "Yeah, I guess so."

He took another slow sip of coffee, unhurried, as if weighing his next words. "It sounds insane, but… sometimes I see it too. I've had dreams. We were in a forest—" His gaze flicked up, locking onto Vasily.

A jolt of tension shot through Vasily's body. Did Ogata share the same dream about the duel in the forest?

But to his surprise, Ogata leered. "Yeah, just like what you're thinking—started nasty, just like what we were doing the other night. But it was a forest forest, you know? Vast. It was…" He trailed off, and the next wasn't what Vasily had anticipated at all.

"We were making out when suddenly, it caught fire. Everything burned. We turned to ash almost instantly." He set his mug down with a soft clink. "Then, we got absorbed by the trees. Felt like taking an elevator—rising up into the sky, becoming part of the tree. I kept looking for you, but…" A dry chuckle. "Every leaf looked the same. Every damn tree, identical. Know how I found you?"

Just then, his phone buzzed. The moment was ruined.

Ogata arched an eyebrow, glanced at the screen, and thumbed in a reply. Then he checked the time and groaned. "Fuck, I gotta go. Can you believe these assholes threw a weekend rager at my place and still expect me to show up the next day?"

Ogata left the apartment, but Vasily followed. He also had his own things to deal with. They stopped at a convenience store for breakfast.

While the microwave hummed, heating a rice ball, Vasily spotted Sugimoto emerging from the employee's room, hair mussed, looking every bit like he'd crashed there overnight. He was distractedly tapping at his Tamagotchi, feeding his virtual pet with the air of a man barely awake.

Vasily hailed casually.

Sugimoto muttered something in reply, but his expression flickered.

Ogata appeared just then, swirling a freshly blended veggie smoothie from the machine. He eyed Sugimoto, then threw a question. "What time did you leave last night?"

A crimson flush slashed across Sugimoto's face. "I was there cleaning up when you two started—"

Ogata's mouth twitched into a leer. But Sugimoto wasn't the only one shifting uneasily—Vasily, too. He didn't know Sugimoto hadn't left when they began making out. Nor did he know when Ogata would outgrow his habit of needling Sugimoto endlessly.

Though the microwave let out a cheerful beep, so Vasily had to fumble with the steaming rice ball, its plastic wrap clinging stubbornly—until Ogata came to support and instructed him how to peel the wrap away.

"Hold it—no, like—" But it was too late. The rice ball disintegrated into a grainy slope in Ogata's palms. He stared at the wreckage, sighed, then flashed a grin. "Come on. Eat out of my hand."

Sugimoto let out an insufferable groan and turned to straighten the shelves. Before walking off, he paused, shooting them a suspicious glance.

"Right—you did crack that code last night?" He crossed his arms. "Asirpa-san told me. Didn't believe it was empty until I checked myself."

Ogata stilled mid-motion, fingers sticky with rice. "What?" His voice sharpened. "She sent you the phrase?"

Sugimoto blinked. "Yeah. Why wouldn't she?"

A bitter twist darkened Ogata's expression, but he kept his palms upturned, waiting for Vasily to finish munching down the rice. His gaze flicked to him as if told him to hurry up, and then returned to Sugimoto. "How many others has she shared it with?"

Sugimoto didn't understand why Ogata was making such a fuss. "Does it matter? There's no money in it anyway." He faltered under Ogata's glare. "Alright, fine—just me, Mr. Hijikata."

Then, as an afterthought, he added, "ah, and also I told Sensei. He was there at your apartment yesterday. I invited him, cuz he just knows everything." His voice warmed with unmistakable admiration for the man.

Ogata's jaw tightened. "Which Sensei?" Yesterday he'd locked himself away to work and hadn't met half the people who showed up later.

Vasily watched him, puzzled by the sudden intensity.

"Kikuta Sensei," Sugimoto replied. "He's a visiting professor at our college this year. Really great guy."

At the name, Ogata's face twisted. He wiped his hands clean with swift motions and grabbed his phone. "I gotta go," he said, and started to call for a cab.

Vasily didn't understand Ogata's urgency. He exchanged a glance with Sugimoto, finding a similar confusion reflected back. All he could do was to state the obvious.

"The account shouldn't been logged in by too many people from different devices." He typed, "It might get locked."

Sugimoto shrugged. "Yeah, but it's empty. Who cares?"

Vasily had to explain to him. "We might still need it to trace the account's origin, like who had set it up, whether there were former transactions. That might be crucial for finding Asirpa's father."

Sugimoto then stammered, "But… we already have—"

Vasily waved it off. "It's fine for now. Ogata just said he'll put on another signature as soon as he gets to work, and it'll be safe. Only he can log in then."

Hijikata's firm specialized in digital trades, which probably explained his immediate interest upon Asirpa's request. Vasily's nose wrinkled at the coincidence that Ogata worked for them. But it wasn't a big deal, right? Just destiny weaving them back together—like Ogata moving to Hokkaido and stumbling into Sugimoto and Asirpa almost right away.

The thought settled uneasily in his chest as he trudged toward the bus stop.

The embassy visit had gone surprisingly smoothly. His emergency passport was ready, and the clerk helpfully reminded him it had limited validity and he needed to apply for a standard one—though he'd need to finalize it back in the States. Yeah, sure.

He boarded the bus again, the hum of its engine drowning out the static in his head.

He needed to wrap this up quickly—get his paperwork sorted, then bounce right back. Maybe even apply for a local job. Ogata had joked about old man Hijikata needing more security experts, though doubted Vasily's black mark on Bitcoin investment would do him any good in the interview.

But—at least he could take a look at where Ogata was working, right?

The bus rolled toward the office district, and Vasily caught himself imagining it, clocking in at the same building with Ogata, sharing coffee breaks in the lobby, walking home together when the streets glowed amber under evening lights. They wouldn't need to say good bye to each other ever again.

A beautiful café sat a block away from the office building, but its charm was lost on the lunchtime crowd. They looked exhausted, didn't seem really care how the quick bite tasted like.

Vasily nursed a small cappuccino in the window seat, half-expecting glares for lingering too long. But no one even glanced up, even when he pulled down his mask to sip. They were too busy chugging huge cups of coffee while engaging in their own conversations.

Before setting up his solo studio, Vasily had briefly endured the glass-walled corporate cages in Saint Petersburg. But back home, people were more relaxed, still knew how to enjoy food, enjoy life, unlike here.

"And this is just Sapporo," Ogata had once remarked, "Try surviving Tokyo. Not as a tourist, but living it."

Hadn't Ogata always lived this way? Would Vasily have to learn to live this way, if he was going to stay?

Around him, lunch was less a meal than a makeshift pause. Some were still scrolling through reports between bites. At a nearby table, one of Ogata's colleagues leaned toward a young man—they might look casual, but the young man's stiff nods betrayed this might be a casual interview.

Or was it? The way the colleague tilted his head, fingers tapping nervously at the rim of his iced coffee… Vasily might've mistaken it for a date.

Then the colleague spotted him.

"Ah! Vasily-san! Come, join us!" He waved, grinning. He announced to the interviewee, as if introducing a local attraction. "This is Ogata's boyfriend I told you about."

The young man muttered something under his breath, then turned. Vasily's frozen in place.

This was the delivery boy that day. The same one who'd shown up at his door with the mysterious package.

Recognition flashed across the delivery guy's face too, followed by a flicker of nerves before he steadied himself. "So this is him, Kadokura-san?" He gave Vasily a once-over, lips quirking. "Never thought Ogata could land a boyfriend, being… well, himself. Gotta admit, he's got a type."

Vasily blinked. A type?

The young man barreled on, oblivious to Vasily's comprehension of the language. "Ogata's such a copycat! I shaved my head last year, and next week, he did it too! Then when Tsurumi-san grew his out, and suddenly Ogata's got a similar one! And right after we met Tsurumi-san's Russian wife?" He jabbed a finger toward Vasily, a bit rude for someone with this innocent, sweet face. "He got one too!"

Kadokura almost choked on his coffee.

"I think it's just a coincidence," Kadokura rubbed his temple, then gestured. "This is Usami. He was Ogata's work buddy. He's here running errands. And he…" He shot them both an exasperated look. "Gosh, everyone keeps asking about Ogata lately. Why not just text him?"

Usami offered a sheepish smile. "I... actually care about him. But I'm not letting him know."

Vasily's expression darkened. He could feel his own face twisting into something vicious. His fingers jabbed at the text on his phone screen. "What about the flash drive?"

Usami read the words, his reaction flawless. Either he was telling the truth, or he'd rehearsed this lie until it fit like second skin. "Tsurumi-san helped retrieve it. Nice of him, right?"

"Do you know what's about it?"

Usami's gaze flicked up, sharp. "Do you?"

Vasily stepped back, shaking his head. Usami hummed, tapping his straw against his teeth. "Could be nothing. Could be..." A deliberate pause. "Important. Why else would Tsurumi-san want me to hand-deliver it?"

Vasily wasn't buying it. His thumb kept moving under the table, typing blind.

This Usami guy wouldn't linger for days just to deliver a package. Not unless he wanted something, like surveillance and reconnaissance. And now he was cozying up to Ogata's colleague—Kadokura, who'd been to their apartment for the little decipher seminar, although he had barely contributed anything, only sprawling on their couch playing Ogata's games—

The message flashed on his screen.

"Done co-signed it." Ogata replied, "Where is he?"

Five minutes later, Usami was mid-laugh, hand theatrically pressed to his mouth as if Kadokura's pun had been genuinely funny—when his gaze abruptly snapped toward the door.

Ogata strolled in, hands tucked casually in his pockets. Contrary to Vasily's expectations, he didn't seem rushed at all. He waved at their table like this was all terribly amusing before joining the sandwich queue. When he returned with his tray, he slid into the empty seat with an air of ease.

"Ha-ha. Small world." He took a slow bite, eyes flicking between Usami and Kadokura. "Say, Kadokura-san… which year were you born, by the way?"

Kadokura bristled. "The hell's that matter?"

Ogata's smile sharpened. "Just seeing if you meet Usami's criteria. If you were born after '85, I'm afraid you're out of luck."

Usami's laugh died in his throat.

Ogata's grin abruptly turned rigid, and he let out a pained yelp. Vasily glanced down to find Usami, in a pair of elegant pointed-toe high heels, ruthlessly stomping on Ogata's foot with a look of sheer malice on his otherwise angelic face, hissing like a viper.

Kadokura, however, cleared his throat, cheeks pink, scratching his head, "Ahem, actually, I'm not that young. Such a charming young man wouldn't—"

Despite the agony, Ogata squeezed out a few words between clenched teeth, "Trust me, if you don't give him what he wants, he'll stick around."

Kadokura suddenly stammered, "Ah, w-what does he want?"

Ogata managed to pull his foot back with effort. "Hasn't he asked you for anything yet?" He strategically shifted his position so Usami couldn't lash out without drawing attention in the café. "I'm not just talking about your number, your money. Maybe… some little secrets?"

Kadokura looked bewildered and anxious.

Usami threw his head back with a laugh. "Ogata, look at yourself, always rushing things. I'm a patient, polite man who takes things slowly. How could I pry into private matters, that we've barely finished one cup of coffee?" He tapped his temple, eyes glinting. "I haven't even started asking anything."

Kadokura, blissfully oblivious, nodded. "Yeah, you've barely asked me anything. It's all about Ogata!"

Usami's face clouded over, but he couldn't stop Kadokura's incessant chatter. "You asked how he's been since got here, whether he gets along with boss and Sugimoto, is he seeing someone—" He ticked each point off on his fingers, his voice dipping into something almost plaintive. "Ogata, could you try being less of a mess? Everyone worries about you. Meanwhile, who even asks about me?"

Something in Kadokura's words seemed to strike a nerve with Ogata. His eyes flickered, and he covered his mouth, glancing cautiously at Vasily.

Moments later, Vasily received a text message under the table. He might not know we've already cracked it.

Vasily had many questions, like why Ogata's former employer would have that flash drive, and why he was so concerned about the seed phrases. But for now, he needed to remind him of the danger.

He's the one delivered the flash drive.

Ogata glanced at his phone, his complexion turning more serious. Suddenly, he stood up, gestured for Vasily to remain seated. Turning to Usami, he said, "Let's step outside. We need to talk."

Vasily hesitated a bit, but Usami was already sauntering after Ogata. The two had disappeared into the café's tiny courtyard, leaving Kadokura and Vasily at the table. The atmosphere grew awkward.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Kadokura asked, "How did you hurt your face?"

Vasily typed his response. Over the past few days, he had grown accustomed to typing in his note. However, Kadokura, who seemed to be struggling with his eyesight, squinted to read the small text, so Vasily increased the font size for him. "A car accident?"

Vasily nodded.

"Ohhh~right! That time Ogata's car just… exploded. Freaky shit. Brand-new too—he'd been showing it off when he drove it to the office." He chuckled. "I thought he'd be livid if anything happened to it, but he seems quite composed. Guess that's just how rich-kids are like."

Vasily hadn't really considered how wealthy Ogata might be. Ogata had mentioned inheriting, and with his younger brother deceased, their father would likely leave everything to Ogata, unless—unless the will hadn't been updated before Councilor Hanazawa's suicide. In that case, most of the family's wealth would still be under the control of the lady. How much Ogata could access would depend on her mood. It seemed Ogata wasn't particularly happy spending money that came with such conditions.

Although Kadokura's words made Vasily realize that his loose lips could be made useful. It seemed he could easily be coaxed into revealing information without needing Usami's charm tactics.

The question was, among all the things, which should he ask?

Glancing out the window, he saw Usami and Ogata each holding a cigarette, deep in conversation. Time wasn't on his side, so he needed to ask the most crucial one that could easily be forgotten later.

"How does Usami know about Sugimoto?"

Kadokura mumbled some slang under his breath like "jealous husband", but he soon replied, "Don't know, maybe they knew each other from school?"

He seemed to have no concept of age gape of people way younger than him. And he snapped his fingers, "Yes, I remember he mentioned a professor who is teaching at Sugimoto's school. Usami had also asked if I ever saw this guy in contact with Ogata. That must be it. You've seen the guy."

Yes, but that doesn't explain why Ogata would get all agitated when he found out the professor had learnt the correct combination. Vasily noted thoughtfully.

Taking a moment to formulate his next question, Vasily typed carefully on his phone. "Why is Hijikata also interested in solving the seed?"

However, it seemed Vasily had chosen the wrong question. Now that his boss was involved, Kadokura grew cautious, shooting a glance at Vasily, "W—well, because the little girl asked, of course!"

He then straightened up in his seat. "Before we got there, we were just hanging out at the old man's place, drinking beer, playing ping pong. Do you know Ogata always joins us?" Suddenly, he forgot about complaining, looked at Vasily expectantly. "You can come! Unless, we old-timers are boring to you."

Vasily had never been a people person, and he had assumed Ogata wasn't either. But it turned out Ogata already had plenty of people in his life, those who hung out with him, looked out for him, even more complicated than those of the average person. It was just that Vasily hadn't stayed with Ogata long enough to know everything about them.

A nervous thought crept in. Did he really have to follow Ogata everywhere, meeting all these strangers? And then, with a spike of panic—and that stepmom—

Suddenly, he thought he heard something. People in the café were standing up, craning their necks to look outside. Vasily followed their gaze, and froze in disbelief.

There, in the courtyard, Usami and Ogata had somehow caught in a fight.

Though fight wasn't quite the right word, because Ogata wasn't putting up much of one. Usami had him locked in a tight armlock, squeezing until Ogata's face flushed purple. Ogata's breath came in ragged gasps. He clawed weakly at Usami's arm, but it was no use.

Vasily rushed outside, desperate to intervene. Usami shot him a glance, lips curling into a cold sneer before turning back to Ogata.

"Well?" he taunted, tightening his grip. "Aren't you scared now? Scared I'll tell your dear boyfriend what kind of monster you really are?"

Vasily stopped mid-step. Usami didn't sound like he was just pointing out something about Ogata's impolite nature, his family, or the secrets about that flash drive where Ogata had been the victim. Usami spoke like he knew something worse.

Ogata's eyes locked onto Vasily, disbelief flashing across his face—how could he just stand there? Gasping, he slammed a fist against Usami's arm. "Let—me—go—"

Vasily clenched his fists but didn't move. His gaze fixed on Usami. Waiting.

Usami cast him a glance and smirked triumphantly, as if witnessing the betrayal of Ogata's last trusted person. His curvy lips parted slowly.

"Do you know how his little brother died? By suicide, yes—but why?" He let the question hang, savoring the moment. "Just one day before he killed himself... he received that flash drive. Guess who delivered it?"

His eyes flicked back to Vasily, his smile widening with cruel delight. "Did Ogata tell you he lost that drive? That someone else stole it and gave it to Yuusaku? Nothing could be further from the truth." A pause, as if he's savoring the panic escaped from the man struggling beneath. "Ogata handed it to him personally. More than that—he orchestrated the whole thing. He's the one who drove his own brother to death."

Ogata struggled violently, choking out his denial. "No, it was Tsurumi who—"

Usami's patience snapped. He released Ogata abruptly, letting him crash to the ground. "There you go again," he sneered, grabbing Ogata by his collar and tie, "always blaming Shirou for everything—" He hauled Ogata upward until their faces were inches apart. "Why couldn't you just say, 'I don't give a damn, family comes first'? You grew up together! Yet you're still this cold-blooded."

A cruel laugh escaped him as he tightened his grip. "Then again, what else can you expect from a high-school dropout's bastard? Too stupid to see the obvious. If Yuusaku had gained influence, naive as he was, you could've simply pulled his strings from the shadows. But now?" His voice dripped with mockery. "His mother's going to donate the entire family fortune to autism research! You get nothing. How fucking poetic."

Usami's voice was unsettling, so loud and manic that even passersby began to stop and stare. Security officers nearby seemed to take notice, but Usami either didn't realize or didn't care. His eyes were fixed on Ogata's face, feeding off the pain from it with visible delight.

"Who could ever trust someone like you?" he sneered, tightening his grip. Then, turning his gaze at Vasily, he suddenly started laughing and said, "All this pretense just to play house with some white guy…"

The security officers clamped a hand on Usami's shoulder mid-sentence. Cursing violently but obediently, Usami rose to his feet and was led away. He didn't forget to turn his head back and take a final look. He was smiling before he was pushed into the back seat of a car.

Ogata remained motionless on the ground for a long moment before finally pushing himself up. His face was rigid, unreadable.

When he finally spoke to Vasily, his words seemed deliberately inconsequential. "They'll probably put him in a facility for real this time."

He turned around to find people were staring at him. Kadokura stood frozen, half-drunk coffee in one hand and an unfinished sandwich in the other, his mouth slightly agape.

Ogata's eyes flickered to Vasily. "Don't take it seriously..." he muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. Then louder, with forced composure. "Go back. I'll come find you after my shift."

During those months after Ogata left California, among Vasily's countless fantasies was one simple wish: to share a proper dinner date, just the two of them. He never imagined its fulfillment would be...different.

The establishment was perfectly decent. The live band was actually quite skilled. But the atmosphere between them was utterly somber.

Vasily shoveled spoonful after spoonful of soup into his mouth, mechanically. His face looked so thunderous that nearby servers were getting anxious, wondering whether the food was terrible, while the way he was hungrily devouring didn't look it.

Ogata swiftly instructed the waiter, "Just a little less sugar in the tea, please." The effortless way the Cyrillic syllables rolled off his tongue caught Vasily off guard.

Vasily picked up an eyebrow at him, while stirring his soup absently.

The question had been burning in his mind since he found out Ogata had bought the Russian textbook. Before, he had fantasied Ogata was learning it for him. Now, that naive hope had curdled into something more desperate. He found himself now praying that Ogata learned it for him because that would be the simplest explanation.

"That's right. I used to have some Russian clients. My manager forced me to learn it." His face twitched, "But I've forgotten most of it. That bit is pretty much all I remember."

His gaze drifted to Vasily's plate, watching him eat for a moment before asking, "How do you like the food here?"

Vasily nodded. The restaurant billed itself as Russian, but its signature dishes leaned more toward Ukrainian home cooking—simple, hearty, the kind of food his sister might make. He thought of her tumultuous marriage, now inevitably ending in divorce.

When he looked back up at Ogata, the man was in his tie and shirt from the day, faint traces of dust still clinging to the fabric from Usami's assault. Vasily turned his spoon in his hand, wondering how to even begin it.

"About... about what happened earlier," Ogata cleared his throat, "I think there was a misunderstanding. Usami wasn't actually involved. Tsurumi just fed him some lies, and he pieced together his own version of events based on that."

That might have taken him an afternoon to cook up. Ogata reached for Vasily's hand, but Vasily pulled away, typing out his response on his phone:

"You can just tell me the truth."

Ogata let out a weary sigh. "... though I'd admit, I shouldn't have let Tsurumi manipulate me on so many things." He paused, swirling his tea absentmindedly. "The truth is, he was my benefactor. After my mother died, I was living with my grandparents, but he somehow found out about my situation. He contacted social services and forced my father to pay child support."

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "And here's the ironic part—when Yuusaku's mother learned about this, that woman... Well, she had her own peculiar way of thinking. Took me in and raised me alongside Yuusaku. I'd get the same allowance, go to the same private schools, and all I had to endure was to stay in the same house."

He gave a little shrug. "Sounds like a happy ending, right? Well, except when Tsurumi and the old man didn't see eye-to-eye on China policy, he made me think it was a good chance to get back. He's good at suggesting things. He never has to push anyone to do anything."

He laughed bitterly, "That flash drive? I gave that to the old guy. I was hoping the contents would give him a heart attack on the spot. But guess what?" He sneered, "Instead of dropping dead, he went to Yuusaku. I haven't a clue what was said, but the next day, Yuusaku tied his tie to the bed frame and—"

Breathe in deeply, he said, "Not long after, the old man killed himself too. Tsurumi later said to me, 'Hyaku, you're the most capable young man I've met, not because you always do what you're told, but because you come up with the most unpredictable and ingenious solutions', that He wouldn't have done it as well as he did himself. Turns out I'd been fooled. He'd kept the evidence the whole time."

A waiter passed by, cheerfully refilling water glasses. Ogata went silent for a while, waiting.

Vasily's fingers tightened around his phone before typing sharply. "Why did he return it to you now?"

Something flicked through Ogata's eyes. "Can you still believe me?"

He looked Vasily in the eye, then touched his hand with his little finger carefully. He didn't find any resistance, so he grabbed it firmly, not letting him get away.

His hand was dry and warm, not at all clammy as it would have been if he were nervous, the way Vasily had learnt throughout these few days of company.

Vasily tensed up when he realized this, and he felt a cold dread well up in his chest.

He was scared, really scared, that Ogata might actually blurt out the truth, for better or worse. He had no idea how bad it could get, or how much he could take it. He didn't know how much fight he could put up against that part of himself that refused to quit, no matter what Ogata did, no matter how much worse he let himself become.

Why couldn't it just be easier?

"Look, I don't always fill you in on everything because it just didn't seem like a priority. I don't want to ruin your mood. You were clearly enjoying yourself here." He held Vasily's gaze, then added with a sly edge, "Or maybe I just like surprising you."

The restaurant's hum faded into static. Vasily could just about make out a few words from Ogata's lips. He had to read them—the lips, the face—

"Tsurumi only gave it back because he wanted something in return." Ogata hurried over before Vasily could react. "Yeah, I might've suggested I'd give him the combination once I got it. That's one of his tricks, showing he's good with his word by doing what he says, so I'd probably be so grateful and I'd be all over it."

Then, with a hint of triumph creeping into his voice, he added, "He's got no leverage over me now. And even if he somehow gets his hands on the seed phrase, the extra protection I added today had made sure only me can reopen it."

That still didn't make sense. "Why does he want an empty account?" Vasily pressed on, searching Ogata's face, watching as it as his expression shifted from smug satisfaction to something approaching manic glee.

"Because the transfer hasn't cleared yet," he said, eyes glinting with bright fever. "Once it does? Every last bit of it will be ours."

chapter twelve

He's at the airport, yet he lingered in the cab, slow to move. Only when the driver cleared his throat did Vasily finally push the door open.

Travelers stream past in steady currents, some brisk, others hesitant, their luggage wheels rumbling over the polished pavement. Overhead, muffled announcements drift through the terminal, half-lost in the hum of voices. There's a subtle tension here, in the way boarding passes were clutched a little too tightly and farewells were stretched a few seconds longer than necessary.

Then, at the sound of another door opening, Vasily turned to see Ogata stepping out as well.

"Well," Ogata glanced at him, then checked his phone, "still got some time."

"Not much," Vasily replied slowly. The bandage was removed now, but the stitches remained, raw and waiting to dissolve into scar tissue. He had to be careful with each word. The doctors had informed him about scar revision surgery but he doubted that would be necessary.

Ogata just watched him. He was wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and carrying a laptop bag. The wind blew past, ruffling his neat hair. Vasily had been told many times not to draw too much attention in public, but he still stepped forward, wanting to fix the strand.

But Ogata had clearly misinterpreted it and opened his arms. He grabbed Vasily by his arms and pulled him close in a hug that left him with no choice but to put his arms around Ogata's body too. He felt warm and he smelt nice. Vasily buried his face in his neck and breathed in.

"Don't make me wait too long, alright?" Ogata's whisper was in his ear. Vasily turned and saw Ogata's slightly flushed face and heard him mumbling as he fought his own inner reluctance. Then he stared into Vasily's eyes and added quietly, yet his tone was firm, "Once I get this sorted out, there will be nothing to worry about."

He was talking about the complex financial system. He had sounded so resolute that night, as if everything was under control.

"I've looked into it. The transfer's been timed to arrive when it does. I just need to figure out how to trigger it." he said, sitting on the sofa while addressing Vasily. Seeing Vasily's strange look, he reassured him, "You don't need to worry. Just follow your schedule. I'll handle this."

Then, as if tempting Vasily with a promising future, he lowered his voice and said, "Once I finish this job, let's go traveling. Don't you want to live freely, go wherever you want? As long as you stick with me, you can spend the money however you like, whether it's for fun or anything else. Aren't you going to look for you sister? We can hire the best mercenaries—"

Oh, for a moment, Vasily was really tempted. It wasn't about the money itself. He didn't know what's the point of looking out for so much money. He just wanted a place for themselves. Two people living an ordinary life would be happy enough. He had had money and lost it, but what the experience had taught him was that having money or not didn't make much of a difference, as the things he cherished most couldn't be bought.

He just kind of liked the idea of being included in Ogata's plan.

It was not like he could be talked out of it. Vasily knew what would happen if he made him choose. Even when he pointed out more complications, such as the source of the money, the potential for confronting even more dangerous adversaries beyond Tsurumi—Ogata remained resolute and grew a bit impatient. "Yeah, I understand, but I need this." He turned his head to look out the window. "I've always been a fuck-up, but with this, I can be something different. I can make something of myself. Finally."

So instead of arguing, Vasily held him tighter and murmured a few words of reassurance.

He planned to get back ASAP once the paperwork was sorted. Ogata might need help. He might've got into trouble. He wished he could stay longer here when he needed it. He wished he could be stronger for him. Ogata had decided to go for a tougher path, and he didn't want to be left behind.

The plane wouldn't depart for another two or three hours. They could have lingered in the airport a little longer.

But Vasily didn't want to let go.

It might only be a few days apart. But who really knew? Maybe longer. Maybe much longer. And when, if ever, would he get to hold and touch him like this again?

He stroke Ogata's hair, and Ogata hummed the same quiet sound he always made when petted like this. That, at least, hadn't changed. But so much else had.

Ogata had once been nothing more than an illusion, fleeting like the shape of the clouds until Vasily reached up and dragged him down to earth, desperate to figure him out. What emerged from the mist was a solid man as moody as he was cunning, who had brought with him equal parts fear and fascination.

This torment was of Vasily's own making.

Then, Ogata eased out of the embrace, "I... I should go," he said, fidgeting with the strap of his laptop bag for a moment, as if stalling.

Vasily watched him, feeling the tension in the air, knowing there was something they were both thinking but not saying. "There's still time," he said.

Ogata smiled. "What's the point of dragging it out?"

He walked through the airport doors and turned back to see Ogata still standing in the same spot, hands in pockets, face a blank slate. Even as he looked back, Ogata showed no reaction.

And so, without further ado, he carried on his way.

Standing at the security check, Vasily kept typing, updating Ilya on his return. Ilya's messages came through with a detached tone, questioning if Vasily had finally gotten his fill. He's unsure how to explain that this time he was back only to leave for good.

Vasily had to pack all his possessions. The most valuable among them was the rifle. He decided to hand it over to Ilya, after all it didn't mean as much to him anymore, and it would again be an international logistical nightmare. He's not keen on the idea of his stuff being seized by customs.

At the security checkpoint, the attendant inspected his temporary ID for what felt like an eternity before offering numerous apologies, explaining that his case required special handling and manual verification. Vasily simply shrugged and waited. Eventually, a staff member signaled him over, indicating that an interview was necessary.

The request struck Vasily as unusual, but he couldn't be certain if this was standard protocol. Without protest, he followed the uniformed attendant through a maze of administrative corridors until they reached a nondescript office.

"Please wait here," the staff member said, avoiding direct eye contact. "We need to bring in a specialist for your case."

Vasily offered a silent nod. The sterile office smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee. He checked his watch—3:42 PM. Even with this delay, he should still make his flight comfortably.

Twenty minutes later (he'd been counting), the door handle turned with a decisive click. A woman entered—early forties, blond hair pulled into a severe bun, wearing a suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent. When she spoke, her Moscow accent was unmistakable.

Vasily's fingers twitched against his knee. A translator? Unlikely. The way her sharp eyes assessed him suggested something far more complicated.

"Relax, Mr. Pavlichenko." She settled gracefully into the seat opposite him, nudging the fruit plate across the table—its sad contents of shriveled oranges and energy bars barely qualifying as hospitality. "Let's discuss how to handle your situation, shall we? You may call me Fina."

She slipped on her reading glasses and scanned the information on her screen. "Let's see... Entered the country on April 28th, lost your documents on May 6th, replacement processed by May 12th..." she murmured, almost to herself. Then, with a faint smile, she added, "But of course, we already know all this, don't we?"

Vasily stiffened slightly. He wasn't sure what she meant, or what game she was playing.

The woman before him carried herself with polished propriety, yet there was something about her that felt oddly familiar to him. He seemed to have dealt with people like this before—proper and efficient, appearing ordinary, yet they operated on behalf of those who preferred to remain behind the scenes.

"How awkward," she chuckled behind her hand, a habit perhaps acquired during her time in Japan. "I'm not sure how to put this." Her voice trailed off suggestively. "But you have to forgive me. Your reputation precedes you."

Vasily uncrossed his legs, his feet coming to rest flat on the floor. Every muscle was now primed for flight.

The woman named Fina continued flicking through her tablet, pulling up documents and images that hadn't been there before. She studied them with something like admiration. "Look at these… what magnificent work."

Then her gaze lifted, eyebrows pinching in quiet accusation. "But how could you destroy them?"

Vasily's eyes locked onto the screen. There were blueprints for drones and schematics for flight control systems, which he had once designed and had made him his first real fortune.

His expression darkened. "I didn't know..."

He was about to explain that he had no idea the buyer had links to the government, but soon the words left his mouth, he wondered why he had bothered. If Fina had access to these files, it was clear where her allegiance lay.

His jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding as he studied the deceptively pleasant woman. Just how deep were her connections?

His eyes flicked toward the door. He might still make it. If he sprinted, how fast would security respond? The more terrifying possibility coiled in his gut—was there really any issue with his identification at all? What if this wasn't an 'assistance' as they put it, but a prelude to interrogation?

Fina looked at him and waved her hand dismissively. "Forget it, it's nothing to make a fuss about. Though I'm sure some people won't be happy—just think how much it would cost to rebuild. They're strapped for cash as it is. Desperate, really."

She paused, studying at him. "Actually, you might already know what happened. The military controls a certain fund that, well, didn't start off clean. Confiscated from criminals, if you catch my drift. Ring any bells?"

Vasily flinched. Did this mean he could finally be sure? His frozen funds—had the high powers really taken them?

But why was she telling him this? He waited in silence. Strangely, she seemed even more patient than he was.

"Mm. Thought so." She smiled, her tone almost smooth. "You've spent all these days chasing that money just trying to get your hands back on it, right? Totally understandable. And if the military took it…" She shrugged. "Well, we both know they'd only spend it on something you'd hate."

Vasily studied her tone, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Was this really about his past actions, or, no—his thoughts raced—was it about the fortune itself? His lips pressed into a thin line. But he already knew. It was never just about him. The money. Always the damn money.

A cold realization slithered in. He had no idea how tight-lipped Asirpa's allies were. They might have talked. Or someone made them. He should've known better. And if that were true, then Asirpa, Sugimoto, or anyone with knowledge, was in danger.

Ogata could be in danger. He, he needed to reach out to him and tell him—

How could he message Ogata without alerting them? But even if he did, would Ogata understand? Or would he misread the warning and charge straight into danger instead of laying low? The moment that thought struck, Vasily's hand froze mid-motion.

"Get to the point," he growled.

Fina nodded, as if she'd somehow expected this impatience. "It's simple, really. You give us what we want… and you walk away. With a clean record." She gestured with an open palm, as if signaling him to be released. "Don't you miss home?"

Home... Yes, someday he'd find his way back. But not like this. Not by becoming what he hated.

Besides, once they figured out his key was worthless without the second authentication, he didn't think they'd simply let him go.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to." He said.

She shook her head. "Must I spell it out? We know you cracked it. Look," she leaned in closer, "you might get a portion of your money back—I can try, but can't promise anything. Frozen assets require processing, and there are... variables before any transfer clears."

That's when Vasily understood. He schooled his features into blankness. "I'm still not following," he said carefully. "Are you saying that after I give you the key, the military will unfreeze the assets first, then deposit them into this account?"

She smiled knowingly. "Yes, I know you tech types might find this surprising, like how could it possibly work? Honestly, I don't understand all the details myself. My husband handled that part." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Apparently, some of his boys created transfer records through the exchange's backend system. But since the original funds were frozen, the transactions couldn't complete. Once unfrozen, the transfers go through immediately. Quite clever, don't you think?"

He froze. After several agonizing seconds of silence, he finally spoke. "Your husband... wouldn't happen to be named Tsurumi, would he?"

The pieces were falling into place with terrifying clarity. If this was what he feared it meant... then Ogata had been involved from the very beginning. He hadn't just "stumbled upon" this operation out of curiosity or competitive drive. No—he'd been helping the Russian government launder dirty money all along.

The woman neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion. "You can rest assured—he's a man of his word. We both are. Think about it, I'll wipe your slate clean, he guarantees your payment. Doesn't that sound like the perfect arrangement?"

Wait, something’s off here. His mind raced. If she's really with the military, why does it sound like the money wasn't going to her handlers?

Then it hit him—if the military sent her, why would they need this charade? The wallet was theirs to begin with. They'd already have the keys.

He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me—if I walk out that door right now, will anyone actually stop me?"

Fina watched him rise, folding her hands together on the table. Her lips curled. "Don't think so poorly of us. Anyone could film this for social media... these days. Of course you can leave." A theatrical sigh. "But you understand… we always have alternatives. You're not the only option."

Vasily froze as she waved him off dismissively while dialing a number. The moment the call connected, she said, "Not much luck here. You?"

A man's weary voice responded, "In progress. Patience, dear. Remember—we're doing the right thing here."

She sighed. "Don't push yourself too hard. This should have been simple task, if not for Usami's failed—"

Though the man on the other end disagreed. "The fault is on me. I thought I understood them better." A pause weighted with regret. "I watched those kids grow up, but forgot...they're grown-ups now. Can't control them. Have to work with them."

"You still believe that?" She chuckled. "Look at you, always overthinking things."

"No," the man replied simply. "I have a feeling there's more to this. If Hyakunosuke isn't hiding something, I'd be surprised." He paused. "Although I haven't told him about that matter yet. Once he knows... he'll listen."

When that name reached his ears, something inside Vasily withered. He took a step back, bumping into a chair. The noise made Fina turn, her expression flickering with surprise, as if she hadn't expected him to still be there.

"What about him?" he demanded, voice tight. "What are you planning to do with him?"

"Who?" She seemed genuinely confused.

Then it struck Vasily that she wasn't as informed as he'd assumed. She had no idea the two men they were manipulating even knew each other.

So he pretended his question had never been about Ogata. "Your other option," he clarified coolly.

The person on the other end must have heard him. "Could you put me on speaker, darling? Thank you.

Fina tapped her phone, and the voice came through crisp and clear. "Just yesterday, when I rushed to bail Usami out, he told me about you." The man's tone was deceptively gentle. "And don't worry, I only look for cooperation, not force it."

Right, Vasily thought bitterly, recalling Ogata's words. He never forced anything. Instead, he guided people by whispering ideas into their minds until they mistook them for their own.

The man continued, his voice now carrying an almost inviting warmth. "I understand your concern—you think we'll use this money for something terrible. That's why you refuse to cooperate." A pause, then a sigh. "I've heard about what you did before. Admirable, really. A young man with principles, and such nerve. If you knew what we're truly doing… well, you might reconsider."

Vasily tensed. The relentless praise—was this the same tactic Ogata had warned him about? The honeyed words before the trap snapped shut?

"We're almost at the airport," the man added smoothly. "Darling, bring Mr. Pavlichenko along. He might be interested." After a beat that's been carefully crafted, "Oh, and do tell him Hyakunosuke is here too."

Vasily climbed onto the shuttle after Fina, and he seemed to be moving as if he was still dreaming. He should've been getting ready to catch his flight back to the US by now, not getting on a different vehicle and heading to a private jet. He thought he'd have to wait a long time to see Ogata again.

And there he was, relaxing in a cosy seat, a flute of champagne at hand. Vasily's breath caught.

Ogata glanced up, his gaze flickered away almost guiltily before he took another sip. "I didn't expect this either," he whispered behind the glass.

Vasily crossed the cabin and sank into the seat beside Ogata without speaking. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, almost overwhelming.

A voice cut through the silence from behind them. "If I were you," it drawled with familiar mocking sweetness, "I'd start explaining. Someone seems... displeased."

Vasily didn't need to turn to recognize the signature brand. Twisting in his seat, he found Usami draped over the headrest, his chin propped on folded arms.

"Where exactly are we going?" Vasily kept his voice low, the question meant for Ogata alone.

Vasily's grip tightened on the armrest as Usami chirped, "To Russia! We've been practicing our Russian for months." The cheer in his voice made Vasily's skin crawl.

Ogata set down his champagne flute with a sharp clink. "That's not the full story," he interjected quickly. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tsurumi came through with new intelligence."

Vasily slowly turned to face Ogata. The cabin's dim lighting carved sharp shadows across Ogata's face as his expression darkened, but not with guilt, but something more unsettling.

The plane's engines hummed to a gentle rhythm as Ogata continued. "Just I was about to deliver the key to him, you know, when he didn't know there's an extra layer protection, he said that won't be necessary. Said that's just a decoy. We could only deciper it only because someone wants us throw the military off the scent, and when they unfreeze the funds, the transaction get routed to the real address."

"Asirpa's dad?" Vasily asked unbelievably.

"Indeed!" A new voice rang out, bright, magnetic—from the jet's entrance. "What a brilliant, cunning man he was."

Usami immediately dropped into a deep bow, his forehead nearly touching his knees. "Tsurumi-san!"

Tsurumi waved him off absently. "Apologies for the wait. Just finalizing our route with the pilot." His gaze slid to Ogata, smile widening. "Ah, Hyakunosuke. It's been too long."

Ogata didn't move. "Mm."

Unfazed, Tsurumi strode to the opposite seat and settled in smoothly. Then, as if noticing Vasily for the first time, he tilted his head. "What do you want for a drink?"

Vasily shook his head stiffly. He wasn't about to let his guard down until he understood exactly what game was being played here.

Before he could speak, Ogata cut in sharply, "On the phone you said you'd figured out who blew up my car. Explain."

Tsurumi's smile widened, eerily reminiscent of his wife's. It was impossible to tell which of them had learned that particular expression from the other. The charismatic middle-aged man radiated charm, yet something about his friendliness set off quiet alarms. What exactly did that smile conceal?

"Well now, I should actually be thanking you," Tsurumi said smoothly. "If we hadn't followed this particular thread, we never would have uncovered the bigger picture." He produced a slim dossier from his jacket. "Take a look. The culprit's already under investigation. Turns out he's quite the repeat offender."

The photograph showed a long-haired man with piercing eyes that seemed to burn through the grainy, surveillance-camera quality of the image. Vasily frowned, as there was something unsettlingly familiar about that intense gaze, but the memory danced just out of reach.

Tsurumi tapped the photo knowingly. "When I saw this man was involved, I immediately knew Wilk must be pulling strings behind the scenes." He gave a theatrical sigh, shaking his head with mock regret. "What a shame about these two...to chase some ideal and abandon their wife and children? I wouldn't do that."

Ogata's patience finally snapped. "I fail to see what this has to do with the explosion," he said, his voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Tsurumi's smile didn't waver. "Ah, but I suspect we'll understand everything once we meet him in person—the bombing, the real key, even how he managed to disseminate information while locked away in a political prison." He held up a cautionary finger, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "Though let's remember, we're just there on 'business'. Getting access to him won't be that simple."

Tsurumi beamed at them with disquieting cheer. "I'll be counting on both of you, then."

Vasily's gaze flicked between Ogata and Tsurumi, his expression hardening. This wasn't his fight. "I'll pass," he said flatly.

Tsurumi steepled his fingers, as if weighing his next move. "Ah, but I haven't mentioned compensation yet." His voice took on a sly edge. "Fair game, no?" Then, leaning slightly forward, "Let me put it this way—if that money reaches Russian military, it'll fund invasions. If Wilk intercepts it? Just as bad. His group has militants. He'd buy weapons in a heartbeat."

He let the words hang, watching Vasily closely. "So tell me—do you want to see that happen?"

No, but... Was Tsurumi telling the truth? Or was this just another layer of deception? The man had to have his own agenda. Did he really expect Vasily to believe he'd return the money out of altruism?

"And you'd handle it... better?" Vasily challenged, voice wavering.

Tsurumi stroked his neatly trimmed beard, considering. "Hmm... 'Better' is subjective. Money is power, and power is inherently corruptible—especially when wielded for personal gain." He sighed, almost wistful. "I don't expect a foreigner to grasp my... noble intentions. But Hyakunosuke here might."

Ogata, slouched against the window, let out a derisive snort. "I'm here only for the fifty percent cut," he deadpanned. "But by all means, continue."

Tsurumi exhaled heavily, his breath fogging the whiskey glass the server had handed to him. The amber liquid caught the cabin lights as he swirled it absently. "That moment when victory is within your grasp..." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Only to watch it dissolve into nothingness. I've been there."

Vasily's grip tightened on his armrest, tendons standing out like bridge cables. Ogata didn't even blink. He just stared at the safety card in the seatback pocket."Get to the point," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Twenty years ago," Tsurumi continued, ignoring them both, "I'd stay up until dawn tracing Japan's economic decline on whiteboards." His free hand sketched graphs in the air. "Not the young people's fault, of course. They simply need..."

"A guidance?" Ogata interrupted dryly, finally looking up with dead-fish eyes. The champagne bubbles had all died in his glass.

Tsurumi's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A compass." He turned to Vasily. "Then I met Wilk. Dial-up internet days, just two tech enthusiasts exchanging ideas in chat rooms." A faint, nostalgic smile played across his lips as he swirled the ice in his glass. "He was always an extremist, though. Ranted about purging all Russian influence from his homeland." Tsurumi's gaze sharpened, locking onto Vasily's. "And it got me thinking—isn't that exactly what Japan needs too?"

The cabin fell silent except for the hum of engines. Usami leaned forward eagerly, while Vasily's jaw clenched at the dangerous implication. Ogata merely looked at him, his expression unreadable.

"Naturally, I'm powerless to change anything. Just a humble investor helping... influential people make important decisions." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped Tsurumi as he adjusted his cufflinks. "No matter how flawless my strategies, how meticulously crafted my plans, ultimately it's the great men who decide whether to act."

His gaze slid meaningfully toward Ogata. "Take Councilman Hanazawa, for example." His voice took on a pedagogical tone, "If only he'd shown some backbone in that failed IPO instead of pulling our decade-long China investments..." He made a sudden grasping motion in the air before letting his hand fall limp. "Can you imagine the control we'd wield over the entire country by now?"

With a theatrical sigh, he set down the glass slowly. "Too late for that, of course." A smile appeared as he straightened up and declared. "But this is a new age, where technological innovation reshapes the world overnight, whether in Shibuya or Silicon Valley." He's getting more and more restless and electric. "And more than that—this is an era of chaos. A new world order is forming, and no one is watching out." A breathless laugh escaped him. "Ten years ago, who would have believed tech startups could grow so powerful they shake the foundations of elections, or even nations themselves?"

Vasily's combat-honed instincts flared as Tsurumi's cadence accelerated, his Japanese occasionally fracturing into English tech jargon. He noticed with clinical detachment how Tsurumi's gaze had slid past him entirely and focused on Ogata.

And there was Ogata...he sat motionless, but Vasily recognised that stillness, with the same focus Ogata had exhibited during stakeouts, when a particular interesting item had crossed his scope.

"This is beyond any one man. All this capital, all these possibilities..." Tsurumi's hands sliced through the air like a conductor of mayhem. "I don't need just an assistant—I need a true partner. Someone who comprehends the scale..." His gesture went upwards, beyond the cabin, and to the sky above, "...this new frontier we're mapping."

Then, he extended his hand. "Do we have an understanding?" His gaze locked onto Ogata, expectant.

Vasily watched him too. Ogata's face was still, but Vasily could see the tension in his jaw, for the way his teeth clenched so hard the sutures along his chin threatened to split.

The plane's engines growled low, and mournful. They were running out of time. If they stayed any longer, the choice would be made for them.

No. He couldn't let this play out.

Vasily stood abruptly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "We should go." He tugged at Ogata's arm—but the man didn't budge.

Ogata remained motionless in his seat. His eyes flicked up to Vasily, lips parting briefly as if testing unspoken words, before they finally slid past him, although meant for Tsurumi. "Just let him go."

Tsurumi kept his hand suspended, tilting his head slightly as if waiting for an answer. Ogata pressed his lips together, then grasped it in a firm clasp.

"Now this is the man I knew you could be," Tsurumi said, satisfaction bleeding into his voice. "Your true potential. I can hardly wait to see it."

But Ogata merely bared his teeth in something too sharp to be a smile. He still hadn't looked at Vasily when he spoke the final word. "Go. Or you'll miss your flight."

Vasily sat by the plane window, gazing down at the vast shimmering expanse. It reminded him of those foolish days when he got to the beach, he'd dreamed of swimming all the way across the ocean, convinced that on the other side waited something—someone—who could make life feel lighter.

Back then, perched on the rocks by the shore, he never truly saw the sea or the sunsets. His eyes were always fixed on the horizon, searching for what his longing had painted there, something precious enough to justify the weight of existence. He thought he could share it with someone, or they could escape from it, to the edge of this mundane world or to each other.

For a brief moment, he'd been certain he'd grasped it—like cupping a butterfly in his hands. But when he dared to look, all he found was a lifeless husk, wings dulled to dust.

The saltwater reached his cheek before he noticed the tears. A sharp sting bloomed across half-healed wounds, but Vasily didn't lift a hand to wipe it away. In the shuddering cabin light, he let the pain linger. This fleeting burn could be a reminder, for what could have been and what would never be.

Outside, the Pacific stretched endlessly beneath the wing under the starless night. On this side of the ocean, the sun had set; on the other, it was already rising. An endless cycle that would continue until the star itself burned out, unaware of humanity's fleeting existence for those mere millions of years. How much less would it notice one man's lifetime, or the exact moment a heart broke?

Vasily kept his eyes closed in waiting, for dawn to find him again.

epilogue

The melancholic hum sounded as though it came from a distant valley, drifting on the breeze. With headphones on, he could block out even the slightest clack of keys, letting his thoughts to become completely absorbed. One part of his mind focused on debugging the code, and as for the other half, well, he hoped the soothing tunes were enough to keep it occupied.

But suddenly there was a distracting murmur. He brushed it off initially as part of the sampled nature sounds, experimental music that sort. But the noise drew closer and closer, until he noticed a person standing beside him, almost yelling directly into his ear.

"What?" Vasily tugged off his headphones to address the guy hovering nearby. Leon was having his arms folded and looked a bit annoyed.

"I was just saying," the shorter man yawned, "I'm starving. Lunch time. What do you feel like, Mexican? Curry? Sandwiches? Or should we just hit the cafeteria?"

Vasily's mind was still sluggishly processing things when he stood up. His vision went dark for a moment, nearly causing him to stumble. Glancing at the coffee pot on his desk, he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything yet. He shut his laptop as both split-screen monitors went into screensaver mode.

"Let's go for curry then," he said. "I could use a stroll."

February was the chilliest time of the year, but Vasily wore only a light jacket. Back home, this would be early summer attire. This winter had been particularly mild and dry so that he had almost forgotten what a proper winter felt like. As the automatic doors slid open, and a cool breeze brushed against his skin, it felt almost pleasantly refreshing after being in the air-conditioned office for so long. He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Leon out of the building.

They skirted parks and car parks, wandering down the road. The surrounding structures were so modest in size that their six-story office was called a tower, and the coconut trees could easily make the highest point, towering above the signs of the legendary tech companies that Vasily had only heard about as a young boy.

Leon rambled on and on about the concert tickets that he couldn't get his hands on, to the point where he had to resort to the black market. Vasily gave an absent hum, signaling he was still paying attention to some extent. Sensing his lack of interest, Leon changed topics.

"I see you're finally going to use up your PTO before it expires. Any plans?"

Vasily nodded, "I'm going sketching."

Leon deflated, "Isn't that what you do every weekend anyway?"

Vasily shrugged, "True, but this time I rented a cabin in the national park. I can also hike, maybe do some fishing, and sketching will only be a part of it."

Leon narrowed his eyes, "Why do I get the feeling you're doing this for work-related reasons anyway?"

Vasily could guess why Leon got suspicious, and truth to be told, he couldn't completely deny it. The game they were developing featured several wilderness survival scenarios, and Vasily wanted to verify for himself whether it was actually doable to catch fish with a simple handmade fishing rod, or to build a fire, following all the right steps. He wanted to capture every detail to ensure that no basic errors were made in their game. Besides, he kind of did want to go off the grid for a few days for some peace and quiet.

So he said, "This is just what I like doing."

For some reason, Leon let out a sigh wistfully, "Oh man, you live like an old man. If only you had a hobby that involved interacting with people..."

Vasily could guess where this conversation was going, but fortunately, they arrived at the eatery. The place was packed, so they had to wait for a bit. And then he ordered Naans and butter chicken, as expected of every white person.

Leon, tearing at the pillowy bread, said, "Honestly, I'm not too optimistic about this project. If only I could find a better job, I'd have jumped ship by now." Seeing Vasily raise his eyebrows, he quickly added, "Not that I have any problem with the game itself, but our development cycle is just way too long. Indie studio, and what a project, sure, we could hit it big if it succeeds, but, well, what the odds, and I've got student loans to pay off, you know."

This made Vasily feel a little down. "I thought you liked it," he said. "And the demo got positive feedback..."

Leon scoffed, "Definitely not enough. I overheard Boss on the phone with an investor last week in the elevator. Sounded pretty desperate, if you asked me, like she was begging." He then shook his head, "At this rate, who knows how many copies we'd have to sell just to break even..." Making a face, Leon said, "Honestly, what's the market for a game like this? Just two guys shooting each other."

Vasily was ready to argue that there were indeed people who would play it—he himself, for starters—but then shut himself up. He wasn't exactly in the normal category.

"Hear me out," the other guy went on, "unless we stir up some controversy, something really sensational to break the Internet. I've given it serious thought, and it's actually pretty easy. For a hardcore dudebro game like this—and wait for it—when the player finally takes down the opponent," he suddenly gave a sleazy grin, "a dialogue box pops up. Just hear me out, hear me out! One option is 'kill him,' and the other is 'fu—'"

The giggles of the owner's granddaughters echoed through the restaurant, accompanied by the disapproving look from the owner as he brought their sodas. Vasily kicked Leon under the table.

Leon grumbled, "It would have been a great idea."

Vasily didn't say it wasn't, just thinking about how to bring this up with the Boss as if casually. She had always been open to his ideas, but such changes would involve a lot of work and risks. The last thing they needed right now was a bad decision that could cause their small, struggling studio to fall apart completely.

As he was lost in thought, Vasily felt a sudden sting on his face. He then realized that he had been absentmindedly picking at his scar.

The injury had long since healed, but sometimes it would flare up for no apparent reason. And it would often get itchy, tempting him to touch it. If he scratched it too hard, it would hurt again. The doctor had examined it and confirmed that there was no tissue overgrowth, so the itch was likely just a lingering residue from the healing process. He had been warned that even if the itch became unbearable, he should resist scratching it.

"A simple procedure could have it removed." He had been told. "Not just for appearance. Isn't it a bit inconvenient?"

Vasily never said that this was precisely why he wanted to keep it. He didn't want to be accepted just for being conveniently attractive, while there were no deeper interests beyond it. He bared the scar, so he could keep a distance from people. So he could be reminded every morning when he looked in the mirror. A mark, a souvenir, for something he believed he had overcome.

It was just a minor episode from two years ago, and now he had bounced back, living his own life, doing what he enjoyed with a bunch of cool people. Who would have thought that knowing a bit about art, coding, weapons, and history would combine so perfectly for game development? He was content with his simple, busy life. Keeping himself focused and occupied made him feel as though he had gone back to the days of working alone.

He—he didn't dare dwell on it, he knew that if he took a moment from the intense game development to think, he'd start questioning his choices.

He could keep asking himself questions, especially during those half-awake moments when his mind wasn't as well-guarded. What if he hadn't stepped off the private jet that day? Was the freedom to live as he pleased really worth it, if what he lost was—

Walking back, Vasily sniffed as the chill wind started to bite a little too sharply.

He admitted that sometimes, before making a decision, he often relied on his intuition rather than carefully considering all possibilities. But more often than not, this approach had proven right, whether it was about deciding what to pursue or what to let go.

Having already known what loneliness felt like in a previous life, it's really no big deal. It's worse to hang out with the wrong people. He couldn't wait for the vacation when he could finally escape into the wilderness, undisturbed by another soul in the world.

They took a stroll around the neighborhood for a bit, had a smoke, and then headed back to the office.

As they entered, several workers were moving in and out, carrying items from a truck into the lobby, seemingly busy assembling something. Vasily wasn't particularly interested, but Leon walked over to ask what was happening. Soon he came back, and Vasily was just casually asking, "What's up?" while pondering whether to have more coffee or maybe tea later.

Leon looked thoughtful, "Huh, didn't see that coming."

Vasily hummed and pressed the elevator button, waiting for Leon to elaborate.

Sure enough, his colleague didn't wait for a question and kept talking, "Someone snagged a famous painting at auction and turned it into an NFT. But to boost the NFT's price, they intend to destroy the original piece. Brutal, man. They're going to authenticate it and then destroy it in front of everyone. I've just checked, it's our new investor's idea."

Vasily had heard of this tactic before but hadn't expected to see someone actually employ such an extreme measure. Those who hadn't gone through the creation of art wouldn't realize that paintings can be touched and smelled as well as seen, something that couldn't be replicated and preserved digitally. But this wasn't the first time that modern ideas had led to the destruction of good things, and he was just curious which unfortunate artist's work would suffer such a disgraceful fate.

However, the mention of a new investor brought a bit of surprise.

So it seemed that Boss's relentless campaigning had finally paid off. She had practically kept them holed up in the office over the holidays to finish the demo, and then spent a lot of time promoting it after its release. Perhaps there was still reason to hold onto some hope.

No sooner had they reached their floor than the shrewd woman took the notice. She was in the pantry, waiting for her sandwich to finish heating in the microwave while she was still busy replying to messages. The instant she saw them, she left her things behind, and headed their way.

"...Hey, what's the deal, Boss?" Leon asked cautiously. But she ignored him completely and made her way straight to Vasily.

"I was literally about to call you!" she blurted out, tugging at Vasily's arm. "Quick, go grab your laptop. The new investor's doing a surprise drop by, and I've been scrambling for two hours to pull everything together. I dug up the tech specs—engine optimization, cross-platform stuff—from your old docs, but you'll need to walk them through that part. "

She looked like she was on the verge of being sick from nervousness, while Vasily doubted that any investor would really care about these project details. They were probably just coming to inspect the premises, confirm they weren't being scammed, and maybe take advantage of the venue for the NFT event.

But despite acknowledging this, she still shook her head emphatically, "I don't want anything to go wrong. We've already had to gloss over quite a few issues to land this deal. If we're caught unprepared, it could be a disaster. I'm asking you to be serious."

Alright, if she insists. Vasily conceded, returning with his laptop to make the necessary adjustments to the co-editing slides. While doing so, she didn't stop yapping about how to structure his presentation to make it sound proficient and investment-worthy, while avoiding overwhelming his audience with details.

"I think that's it," he finally said, but Boss still seemed far from pleased. But then her phone rang, and after answering it, she abruptly shot up, looking apologetic. "Looks like you'll have to go on your own, Vasily."

Vasily gaped in surprise, but she ignored him and continued quickly, "I need to head to IRS office—I've completely forgotten about the appointment. They're having a few questions." Her face was stern, then softened a bit. "But you know this content better than anyone else in this building, besides me, of course." She added and then took on a tone that was laced with coaxing. "Try to be a bit more charismatic—it's not that difficult, is it?"

She then quickly hurried off. Left alone there, Vasily silently scrolled through the slides, double-checking for any errors until the receptionist came to fetch him. He sighed, stood up, and followed her.

"What kind of person is it?" he asked.

The receptionist shrugged, "Pretty standard, really."

"Standard" could have a ton of different meanings in this industry. The receptionist left when they reached the meeting room door. Vasily took a deep breath, knocked once, and upon hearing no response, turned the handle to open it.

Someone was seated at the far end of the meeting room, their swivel chair turned towards the window for the scenery outside. They seemed to have heard him enter, but remained unresponsive. Vasily cleared his throat, realizing belatedly that he should have prepared an opening introduction to explain the situation rather than jumping right into the details.

This was not his field at all. He felt like he was hit by a mental freeze. His mind struggled to fabricate the appropriate pleasantries, even though he was completely unpracticed in this sort of thing. The paralysis seemed to have spread everywhere, preventing him from moving away from the door. Even when the chair finally rotated slowly around, his feet felt glued to the floor, despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to bolt in panic.

The man in the chair was all too familiar, sitting comfortably with his back against the chair, sizing Vasily up with a look that was beyond just a hint of satisfaction, especially after he noticed the way Vasily was holding onto the doorframe for support.

Vasily felt like he was going to be sick.

"What's the matter?" Ogata's familiar, low, and gentle voice came through, extinguishing Vasily's final shred of hope that this was all just a hallucination. "I've been waiting."

With a clear intention of crushing whatever sanity Vasily had left, he winked—but his open eye looked oddly off.

As if had just been released from a frozen enchantment, Vasily moved into the room and closed the door behind him. A moment later, the door latched shut with a soft click.