the seraphim paradox

And that realization?

It didn't sit well with him. Not at all.

"so what's you auto motive ...what do u want" Eun-jae asked

Eun-jae let Caesar's words settle between them like a dropped knife, sharp and deliberate.

"The blueprints of Seraphim?"

The weight of those words wasn't lost on him. Seraphim wasn't just some classified project—it was a ghost, a myth wrapped in red tape and national security. People whispered about it, but no one had ever gotten close enough to confirm what it truly was.

And yet here Caesar was, lounging in his chair, talking about it like it was just another trinket he wanted to collect.

Eun-jae narrowed his eyes. "You're serious."

Caesar tilted his head slightly, as if the mere question was amusing. "Would I be here if I wasn't?"

"Smartass."

Eun-jae inhaled sharply through his nose, leaning forward. "Tell me something, Caesar —what exactly do you plan to do with those blueprints?"

Caesar simply smiled, a slow, unbothered expression that sent a flicker of irritation down Eun-jae's spine. He hated how composed this bastard always was.

"What do you think?" Caesar replied smoothly, taking another sip of his whiskey.

"Oh, I don't know—maybe frame them in your living room? Auction them off to the highest bidder?" Eun-jae's voice was laced with sarcasm. "Because if you're expecting me to believe that you're doing this out of the kindness of your cold, dead heart, then you're dumber than you look."

Caesar chuckled. "Now, now, Eun-jae. No need to flatter me."

Eun-jae scoffed. "Flatter you? You're out here talking about stealing classified information like it's pocket change, and I'm supposed to be impressed?"

"You should be," Caesar mused. "Not many people can pull off something like this."

"No, because most people actually have a sense of self-preservation."

Caesar leaned forward slightly, his gaze razor-sharp despite the lazy smirk on his lips. "Ah, but that's where we differ, agent. You see, some people are content with playing by the rules. Others…" He let the sentence hang, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass. "Others know that the real power lies in breaking them."

Eun-jae's jaw tensed. This was exactly what he hated about Caesar.

It wasn't just his arrogance—it was the fact that he truly believed in the shit he said. He wasn't just playing some role, pretending to be above it all. He genuinely thought that the world was his chessboard, that rules existed only for people who weren't smart enough to bend them.

"Son of a bitch."

"So let me get this straight," Eun-jae drawled, crossing his arms. "You want to steal the blueprints of a highly classified project, one that could single-handedly tip the balance of power, and I'm just supposed to sit here and nod along like this is normal?"

Caesar took another sip of whiskey, completely unbothered. "You don't have to nod, but I do appreciate the company."

Eun-jae resisted the urge to throw the damn glass at his head.

"And what exactly are you planning to do with these blueprints, Caesar?" he pressed. "Sell them to the highest bidder? Hand them over to some shadowy organization? Or maybe—just maybe—you're planning to use them for yourself?"

Caesar chuckled. "My, my. You do think highly of me, don't you?"

"Answer the damn question."

Caesar swirled the liquid in his glass before setting it down, finally meeting Eun-jae's gaze with something colder. Sharper.

"I don't sell what I plan to use."

Eun-jae's stomach tightened. He knew it.

"So he's not just some middleman. He wants them for himself."

That was worse.

Eun-jae exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before giving Caesar a look of pure disbelief.

"Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea what you're doing? What kind of destruction that information could cause if it fell into the wrong hands?"

Caesar tilted his head. "Who said my hands are the wrong ones?"

"Oh, my bad," Eun-jae said with a dry laugh, gesturing towards him. "Of course, how silly of me. You, the man who just threw someone out of a window and then ripped his face off for fun—sure, let's trust you with the world's most dangerous blueprints. Sounds perfectly logical."

Caesar smirked. "I like that you think so."

"Oh my god, I hate him," Eun-jae thought.

But he wasn't done yet.

His expression turned more serious, his voice lower. "Are you really willing to sell out your country like that, Caesar?"

For the first time, Caesar stilled.

Eun-jae didn't miss the slight flicker in his eyes—so brief, so well-hidden that most people wouldn't have caught it. But Eun-jae wasn't most people.

"My country?" Caesar repeated, voice eerily soft.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

Eun-jae leaned forward, not breaking eye contact. "That's what this is, isn't it? You're willing to betray everything—everyone—for whatever sick little game you're playing. Do you even have a line, Caesar? Or is everything just a tool for you to use and discard?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then—

Caesar laughed.

It wasn't his usual chuckle, nor was it mocking. It was genuine, low and smooth, like he was actually amused.

"Eun-jae, Eun-jae, Eun-jae," he murmured, shaking his head. "You really do think you have me figured out, don't you?"

Eun-jae frowned.

Caesar leaned in, voice dropping to a near whisper.

"Tell me—do you think my 'country' ever gave a damn about me?"

Eun-jae felt something cold settle in his chest.

Caesar smirked. "I'll let you figure out the answer to that one, agent."

And just like that—Eun-jae realized something terrifying.

Caesar wasn't betraying his country.

He had never been on its side to begin with.

"Unraveling the Web"

Eun-jae flicked the small recording device onto the table between them, the tiny object landing with a soft clink against the wood. His eyes didn't leave Caesar's face, watching for the slightest shift in his expression.

"There," Eun-jae said, voice edged with sharp satisfaction. "I recorded the conversation from Dragunov. And guess what? Sounds like they're working on developing a weapon."

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, watching as Caesar's fingers lazily picked up the device. The blond turned it over, inspecting it with that usual air of detachment, as if Eun-jae had just handed him a piece of lint instead of a potential game-changer.

"I don't have all the details yet," Eun-jae continued, tapping his fingers against his arm. "But one thing's clear—the vice president, the minister of foreign affairs… they're both involved. And if those two snakes are in it, I'm willing to bet my life that this has something to do with Seraphim."

He exhaled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a worn, slightly creased photograph.

"And then there's this."

He slid it across the table, right into Caesar's waiting fingers. The bastard's face remained unreadable, but for a fraction of a second—just a fleeting moment—his eyes widened. Barely noticeable, but Eun-jae saw it.

"See that?" Eun-jae tilted his head, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his lips. "I found this tucked away where no one would think to look. Now tell me, Caesar —why do you think part of the photo is cut off? Why would someone go through the effort of hiding Bes' face unless—oh, I don't know—he's still alive?"

Caesar didn't respond immediately, instead running his thumb over the edge of the photo like he was memorizing every detail. That creepy, unblinking stare of his was back, boring into Eun-jae like he was some kind of fascinating puzzle waiting to be solved.

Eun-jae, of course, refused to back down.

"The body we dumped in that river?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "That wasn't Bes. It was all an act. That slippery bastard played us, and now he's out there somewhere, moving pieces while we're here trying to catch up."

His fingers curled into a fist against the table, teeth gritting in frustration.

"If I get my hands on him—" Eun-jae's voice dropped lower, cold with fury. "—I swear, I'll rip his goddamn throat out with my bare hands."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Caesar, annoyingly unshaken as always, finally leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. His smirk deepened, and Eun-jae hated the way it made him look like he was thoroughly entertained.

"Such passion, agent," Caesar murmured, tone almost teasing. "So eager to get your hands dirty."

Eun-jae rolled his eyes. "Spare me your psychobabble bullshit, Caesar. I don't need you analyzing me like I'm some fascinating case study."

Caesar chuckled, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking a sip. His gaze never left Eun-jae's, like he was trying to see just how deep the agent's anger went.

"So," Caesar said, voice smooth and deliberate, "what's your plan?"

Eun-jae smirked.

"I'm going to program this recording to a voice changer and use it to lure Dragunov out. If I can get a meeting with him, I'll be able to dig out some real information. Specifically, the details on the technician arriving in Moscow. Once we get our hands on that, we'll know exactly who's pulling the strings behind this entire operation."

Caesar's gaze darkened slightly.

"Bold," he mused. "Dangerous. Risky."

Eun-jae shrugged. "All the things you love, right?"

Caesar's smirk deepened.

"And what if you're wrong?" he asked. "What if this has nothing to do with Seraphim at all?"

Eun-jae leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His expression was calm, but there was a glint in his eyes—something dangerous, something unwavering.

"Then I'll just have to make sure I'm right."

Caesar let out a slow, deliberate chuckle, the kind that sent an unsettling ripple through the air. It wasn't loud or exaggerated—just the smooth, calculated laugh of a man who already knew he had the upper hand. The kind of laugh that made Eun-jae's skin itch.

"Members of the mafia have tattoos on their bodies," Caesar said, his voice silky with amusement, as if he were entertaining himself more than anything. He leaned back, perfectly at ease, crossing one long leg over the other. His fingers toyed with the rim of his whiskey glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the room. "Do you know what they signify?"

Eun-jae frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Where the hell did that come from?

"What?" he scoffed, blinking in confusion. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

His ankle throbbed inside the ice bath, a sharp, persistent ache that only fueled his irritation. He was sitting here trying to talk about something important—actual, life-and-death shit—and here was this overgrown bastard bringing up tattoos like they were in some kind of philosophical debate.

"Oh, my bad," Eun-jae said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't realize we were suddenly in the middle of 'Mafia Ink 101.' Should I take notes? Maybe I should dim the lights, set the mood? What, you wanna strip and give me a personal lecture or something?"

Caesar's smirk deepened, eyes gleaming with a dangerous kind of amusement.

"Ah, but you're curious now, aren't you?"

Eun-jae clenched his jaw.

Damn it.

He hated—hated—that Caesar was right. Because now that the bastard had said it, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Mafia tattoos. Symbols of status, rank, legacy. Each mark meant something. Each one told a story.

His gaze flickered to Caesar's arms, his collarbones—anywhere that might give something away. But, of course, the bastard was fully dressed, not a single inch of ink visible on his pale skin.

Did he have any?

The thought wormed its way into Eun-jae's head before he could stop it. It wasn't even about curiosity anymore—it was suspicion. A man like Caesar wasn't just anyone. He wasn't some random criminal playing dress-up. If he had a tattoo, it wasn't just for decoration—it meant something.

"Judging by that look on your face, I'd say you've figured it out," Caesar murmured, watching him with a predator's patience.

Eun-jae exhaled sharply. "Figured out what?"

Caesar tilted his head, eyes glinting. "That some marks are never meant to be seen."

For some reason, that made Eun-jae's stomach twist. What the hell did that mean?

Eun-jae's Suspicion Sharpens

Eun-jae's eyes narrowed dangerously, his entire body tensing with an icy realization. There was something off about Caesar—something that had always been there, lurking beneath that smug demeanor, but now it was practically screaming at him. He had ignored the warning signs before, chalking them up to Caesar's usual infuriating mystery, but this?

This was different.

The way Caesar spoke, the way he never flinched under pressure, the way he seemed to have a very personal knowledge of Dragunov's workings—too personal.

Eun-jae might not know the full story yet, but one thing was clear:

Caesar was hiding something.

"And if I ever find out you've been lying to me this whole time," Eun-jae's voice was low, edged with an undercurrent of pure, lethal intent, "I will kill you."

He wasn't sure if he meant it.

No—he did mean it.

Or at least, he needed Caesar to believe he meant it.

But as expected, Caesar that maddening, arrogant bastard only chuckled, his expression unreadable, lips curling into that infuriating smirk. Like Eun-jae's threat amused him, like it was a joke only he understood.

Eun-jae had the sudden urge to kick him straight in the jaw.

"If you're trying to attack someone from Dragunov," Caesar drawled, voice silky smooth, "that would be equivalent to making everyone who has the tattoo your enemy. You okay with that?"

Eun-jae didn't hesitate.

"I don't care."

He lifted his leg from the bowl of ice, the numbing cold biting into his skin as he winced slightly. He didn't give Caesar the satisfaction of seeing his pain, though. Instead, he calmly placed his foot on the table, reaching for the small jar of ointment. The medicine had a sharp, menthol scent, burning slightly as he began rubbing it into his bruised skin.

Caesar watched him with that same unreadable expression, arms folded as he leaned back in his chair, all casual elegance despite the fact that they were discussing potential war.

"I wonder where you get this confidence from," Caesar mused, tilting his head slightly.

Eun-jae didn't even glance at him.

"Nowhere."

His fingers pressed into the sore muscle, a slight hiss leaving his lips.

"I just..."

He paused.

Caesar raised an eyebrow, that smirk still tugging at his lips. "You just...?"

Eun-jae finally flicked his gaze up, meeting Caesar's eyes with something sharp.

"I just happen to have a devil as my partner."

For a single, fleeting second—Caesar's smirk faltered. His expression didn't change completely, but there was a flicker—a subtle shift, a momentary crack in his composure. His eyes widened, just for a heartbeat, before they returned to their usual calm, knowing gleam.

Eun-jae noticed.

And he filed that reaction away for later.

"I'll go buy some food," Caesar said suddenly, standing up with that same effortless grace.

Eun-jae barely looked up. "Yeah, sure."

He kept his focus on his leg, continuing to apply the ointment, but his mind was spinning.

That reaction.

What was that?

For a man like Caesar—who always had the upper hand, who always seemed five steps ahead—to react like that, even for a split second? That meant something.

And Eun-jae was going to find out exactly what.

Eun-jae had just finished his shower, feeling refreshed, his skin still damp from the lingering steam. His hair was messily tousled, his singlet clinging slightly to his toned torso while his boxers hung comfortably on his hips.

He let out a deep breath as he stepped into the room, towel slung lazily over his shoulder. He had just endured an exhausting night, his ankle was still a little sore, and honestly, all he wanted to do was collapse onto the bed.

But the universe? Oh no. The universe had other plans.

Because right there. Right there.

A cockroach.

Eun-jae froze. His entire body locked up, every muscle going stiff.

"Oh. Hell. No."

He didn't move. Didn't breathe.

The enemy was right in front of him. Its disgusting little antennae twitched, its grotesque little legs scrambled across the floor, and Eun-jae could swear it was looking at him.

His eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon. Something. Anything.

His hand wrapped around the nearest stick-like object—a rolled-up magazine. His grip was tight, his stance low, his breath steady.

"Alright, you nasty little demon. Let's end this."

But the cockroach?

Oh, the cockroach had other ideas.

Because instead of scuttling away like a normal insect should, the damn thing turned.

And faced him.

Eun-jae's blood ran cold.

"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, why is it LOOKING at me—"

And then—

Then.

It took off.

It flew.