Sergey didn't answer at first. His mind raced through every possible department, every covert division, every name in the shadows. And then — like a bullet — the answer slammed into him.
His eyes widened, lips parting just slightly.
"…The SIB," he breathed. "Of course. It had to be the SIB. Who else could coordinate a hit that clean, that fast, that big? No loose ends, no witnesses, no media leaks. Just silence."
Eun-jae nodded once, slow and heavy. "Exactly. It's not the kind of job you hand over to some half-baked mercenary or a trigger-happy soldier. You send in someone you trust. Someone trained. Someone already inside the system."
But then Sergey froze, mid-thought, his body stiffening as an even darker realization clawed its way to the surface. His pupils dilated, his breathing shallow.
"Wait…" he muttered, voice almost a whisper. His thoughts locked onto a single name — a name that tied everything together in the most sickening, ironic way.
Eun-jae watched the blood slowly drain from Sergey's face.
"You've figured it out, haven't you?" he said softly.
Sergey's mind flashed through the faces, the names, the connections. The dots that had always been right in front of him, but had never quite connected until now.
Caesar.
It was him.
The perfect ghost in the machine. The only active field agent embedded in the SIB's most secretive division — the Phantom Unit. A unit built for wet work, for missions so classified that even the government pretended they didn't exist.
And then the deeper cut — his family.
His father's side wasn't just old money, or political nobility. The Karpov-Troiskty family name wasn't whispered in dark corners for no reason. They were one of the biggest funders behind the Seraphim project. Their money had paid for the research, the factories, the offshore labs — even the private security forces guarding it all.
And Caesar wasn't some outsider. He was their blood.
The fourth son of the Karpov-Troiskty lineage. The black sheep. The ghost child nobody ever bothered to mention in public. Hidden in plain sight behind the family's wealth and influence, operating under the world's radar as the perfect agent. Neither fully soldier nor civilian. A man bred for shadows.
Sergey leaned forward, his hands pressing hard against his face as the full scale of the betrayal set in.
"It was him," he whispered, barely able to believe it. "It was Caesar. He's the only agent inside the Phantom Unit. His family... his father's side practically bankrolled the entire Seraphim development. And the Karpov-Troiskty family? They've got enough influence to erase history if they wanted to."
His mind replayed every moment he'd crossed paths with Caesar. Every conversation. Every mission. Every moment where things didn't add up, but he'd been too blind to question it.
"All this time…" Sergey muttered, more to himself than Eun-jae. "The bastard wasn't just a pawn on the board. He was the one moving the pieces."
Sergey sat frozen, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a collapsing ceiling. His mind ran in circles, replaying every fragment of the puzzle, trying to spot the one thread that would make it all unravel cleanly — but there wasn't one. There never had been. Not when Caesar was involved.
"But what I don't understand," Sergey muttered under his breath, still trying to grasp the full scope of it, "is why the government would ever involve a man like him."
His voice was edged with bitter disbelief, like the words themselves were stuck in his throat.
"A man like Caesar… he's too dangerous, too unpredictable. A wildcard. Someone like him isn't an asset, he's a walking bomb." Sergey's gaze dropped to the floor, his thoughts dark and circling like vultures. "They could've wiped him and his entire family off the face of the earth. A simple cleanup. Quiet, efficient. No scandals, no loose ends. But no... they didn't."
The room seemed colder now, the walls pressing in tighter. Eun-jae stayed quiet, letting Sergey wrestle with the thought.
"They let him live because of what he knows." Sergey's tone was low now, almost numb. "If Caesar got his hands on the Seraphim blueprints, saw where the defects were, where the system cracked — the government wouldn't dare touch him. They'd have no choice but to turn a blind eye. A man holding the schematics to the most advanced weapon ever designed? That's not a man you kill. That's a man you fear."
He rubbed his jaw, exhaling slowly, his brain still choking on the sheer insanity of it all.
Sergey turned his head toward Eun-jae, ready to throw another theory on the table, but paused when he noticed the way Eun-jae was no longer speaking — just calmly, almost grimly, holding out a file.
No words. Just the file.
Sergey reached for it, his fingers hesitating for the briefest second before finally gripping the edge and pulling it into his lap. The manila folder was worn at the corners, like it had passed through too many hands before reaching his, and the weight of it felt more like a death sentence than paper.
"What's this?" Sergey muttered, voice low.
Eun-jae's expression barely shifted. His voice came out quiet, but each syllable was sharp.
"That's Hyunji."
Sergey flipped the folder open, eyes scanning the photo paper-clipped to the top — a young man, dark hair slightly unkempt, sharp features, and eyes that hinted at more than just intelligence. Eyes full of something deeper. Resentment. Fury. Grief. The kind of gaze you only develop after staring down a grave too many times.
"He was the one brought here to fix Voron," Eun-jae continued, his voice steady but hollow, like he'd rehearsed the facts in his head too many times before. "I met him at Alexei's villa. Seemed like just another specialist at first. Smart kid. Too smart, honestly."
Sergey flipped through the pages, scanning details: engineering background, weapons systems analysis, cybernetic integration — the usual intel on a fixer, the type of man you bring in when something's too broken for even your top scientists to handle.
"But I doubt fixing Voron was his real reason for coming here," Eun-jae said, his voice now slower, heavier. "Hyunji's father was part of the original Seraphim development team."
Sergey paused mid-page, his eyes lifting slowly toward Eun-jae.
"And guess what?" Eun-jae tilted his head slightly, his lips tightening into a bitter smile. "His father is dead too. Part of the long list of 'accidents' and 'natural causes' that cleaned up the Seraphim mess."
Sergey felt a chill crawl down his spine, the kind of chill that came with the realization that no matter how deep you dug, the bodies just kept piling up.
"So his real motive," Eun-jae went on, his voice cold now, "was to find Caesar."
Sergey didn't speak — he didn't have to. The implications hung in the air like toxic smoke.
"Hyunji wanted answers. Maybe revenge. I don't know," Eun-jae said quietly, his gaze fixed on the wall, lost in the memory of it. "But the moment he got close, I knew. I knew the kid wouldn't last long."
Eun-jae exhaled, slow and bitter.
"I'm sure he's dead. Just like the others. Caesar killed him. Same as he did his father. Same as everyone else who got too close."
The room fell silent, the only sound the soft rustle of paper as Sergey closed the folder, his hands lingering on the cover as if it were the lid of a coffin.
"Goddamn," Sergey whispered, his throat dry. "So this whole time... all of it... it's just been one long execution list."
Eun-jae nodded slowly, his expression grim.
"Yeah," he muttered. "And Caesar's the one holding the pen."
"If you help me bring down this bastard..." Eun-jae muttered, his voice low and razor-sharp, the kind that slices through the noise, "I will make sure your funds are doubled. No games. No IOUs. Just cold, hard transfer — your account, your terms."
Sergey blinked, taken aback for a split second. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised with an unimpressed smirk.
"I thought I told you," he said dryly, "HQ already covered the hospital bills. For both of us. Generous little bastards, huh?"
But Eun-jae's jaw clenched. He crossed his arms tightly, a sharpness in his expression that said he wasn't here to banter.
"We don't need HQ's support," he snapped.
That got a reaction out of Sergey. His brows pulled together, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Are you serious right now? Look at us — we're both injured. I can barely feel my left rib, and your shoulder's wrapped like a Christmas gift."
Eun-jae didn't flinch. In fact, he looked unimpressed.
"From the look of things," he said, raising an eyebrow in that trademark deadpan way of his, "you seem pretty fine. Quit whining like a kid, Sergey. I need your head in the game, not curled up with a juice box."
Sergey rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Not because Eun-jae was right, but because he knew how Eun-jae got when he had that tone — the tone that meant he was already planning, already moving three steps ahead. A man like that didn't wait for permission.
"I know exactly where we can get weapons," Eun-jae added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, like it was sacred knowledge. But then — something flickered across his face.
A crack.
His body stiffened, and for a moment, his skin paled noticeably under the hospital light. His lips pressed into a thin line.
"...You good?" Sergey asked, narrowing his eyes, instantly alert.
"Yeah. I thi—"
Suddenly, a violent retch ripped out of Eun-jae, cutting his sentence in half.
"—BLEERRGGHH!"
The sound was wet, harsh, and far too sudden. A spray of bile hit the floor beside the bed, and his entire body convulsed with the force of it. His hand clutched his stomach, shaking.
"OH MY GOD!" Sergey jerked backward, reflexively, but then moved forward again just as fast, catching Eun-jae before he could crumple over the side of the bed.
"You okay?!" Sergey's voice cracked, panicked now, all sarcasm gone.
Eun-jae tried to speak, but his lips barely moved. His head rolled slightly, his eyes fluttering.
"I... dunno," he slurred, voice weak, barely audible.
And then his body went completely limp in Sergey's arms.
"Shit—shitshitshit—" Sergey muttered as he caught him fully. Eun-jae's weight dragged down on his side, but Sergey held tight, one arm around his back, the other supporting the side of his neck like he was cradling something delicate.
His heart was racing now, no longer from adrenaline, but pure fear.
Without wasting another second, Sergey twisted around and slammed his palm against the red emergency call button on the wall — the nurse bell. The light above it blinked red.
"Nurse!" he shouted toward the door, his voice cutting through the hallway beyond. "Someone get in here!"
He looked down at Eun-jae — his friend, his comrade, the one person who somehow always stayed two steps ahead — and for once, saw nothing but fragility. Pale skin. A feverish sheen on his forehead. Labored breathing.
"Come on, man..." Sergey whispered, brushing back a strand of hair that had stuck to Eun-jae's sweat-soaked face. "Don't you fucking dare pass out on me now... not when you're the one dragging me into this hell."
Moments later, footsteps thundered down the hallway. The door burst open as two nurses in light blue scrubs rushed in, one with a cart of medical supplies, the other already gloved up.
"What happened?" one asked quickly, already assessing.
"He vomited and passed out—he was fine a second ago," Sergey explained, his voice shaking slightly, but his hands never letting go. "Do something!"
The nurses moved quickly, checking his vitals, oxygen levels, pushing Sergey aside gently as they started their work. But Sergey stood nearby, watching like a hawk, his mind spiraling.
Had Caesar done something? Poison? Was this delayed? Or was it something deeper — the stress, the injuries, the truth finally eating away at him?
Either way, Sergey clenched his jaw and stepped back, eyes still on Eun-jae, his voice a low growl.
"You better wake up soon... because I swear, I'm not doing this alone."
When Eun-jae's eyes finally fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights above him blurred into existence, sharp and sterile, like the world itself was trying to remind him of where he was. His head throbbed, a dull pressure pounding behind his temples, his mouth dry as sandpaper. His body felt stiff, heavy, like gravity had doubled in the time he'd been unconscious.
He blinked, sluggishly turning his head toward the muffled voices in the room.
His gaze slowly sharpened as he locked onto Sergey, who stood by the door, arms crossed, voice low but tense, speaking with a white-coated doctor whose expression was grim enough to set off alarm bells all over again.
Eun-jae coughed, the sound weak but sharp enough to snap both of them out of their conversation.
Sergey turned around immediately, his eyes wide with a mixture of relief and lingering dread. The doctor stepped closer to the bed, clipboard in hand, clearing his throat as he met Eun-jae's gaze — but his expression didn't carry the usual calm professionalism. No. His face was tense, his eyes shifting uncomfortably, like he was about to drop a bomb.
Eun-jae slowly pushed himself upright, the starched sheets crinkling under his weight as he sat against the cold, unforgiving bedframe. His head spun for a moment, the nausea barely ebbing away, but he forced his expression flat, all sharp eyes and quiet command.
"What's wrong with me, Doc?" he asked, voice hoarse but steady, bracing for the usual rundown — concussion, blood loss, stress, maybe dehydration. Something normal. Something human.
But the answer that came wasn't any of that.
The doctor adjusted his glasses slightly, as if stalling for time, and then finally said it.
"Well… from the tests we ran on you…" he paused, swallowing thickly, "it shows us that you're pregnant."
Silence.
The kind of silence that felt like the entire room froze, the world itself holding its breath. For a second, Eun-jae thought he'd misheard, the words not quite making sense in his brain. But the doctor didn't laugh. Didn't blink. Didn't move to correct it.
And then, with a sharp exhale, Eun-jae let out a burst of laughter, dry and humorless, the sound cutting through the room like broken glass.
"Pregnant?!" he repeated, a half-scoff, half-laugh still hanging in the air. "You've got to be joking. That's not even remotely funny, Doctor. I'm a beta. Betas don't get pregnant."
But the doctor's expression didn't change.
No smile. No punchline.
Only the heavy weight of truth sitting squarely in the space between them.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said quietly, "but the results are clear. It seems you mated with an Enigma-class alpha. The bond altered your physiology — the markers are still developing, but you're shifting. You're no longer fully beta."
Eun-jae's breath hitched in his throat, and his mind immediately reeled backward, clawing at memories he'd buried deep and locked away. The cold touch of hands that weren't his own. The bruises. The suffocating darkness of the room where Caesar had kept him for an entire week. The way Caesar's scent had soaked into his skin, violent and suffocating.
A sharp, bitter taste pooled at the back of his throat.
His jaw tightened, fists curling against the thin blanket covering his lap, knuckles turning white.
"…Take it out." The words came out low, barely more than a whisper, but laced with a venom that was impossible to miss.
The doctor blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"
Eun-jae raised his head, his expression dark and cold, any trace of humor long gone. His voice was steady now — sharp, commanding, iron-willed.
"Take that thing inside of me out," he repeated. "I don't want it. I don't want any part of it. Rip that parasite out of me. I want it gone."
Sergey, who had been rooted to the same spot by the bedside, stood frozen, mouth half-open but no words coming out. His chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself. The weight of the revelation wrapped around his lungs like barbed wire. His eyes flicked from Eun-jae's face — pale and cold — to the doctor, silently begging him to say something, do something.
But the doctor shifted awkwardly, glancing down at the floor for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
"I understand how you feel, I do," the doctor said quietly, his voice careful, like every word could be a landmine. "But this isn't something you should decide in a moment of anger or shock. There are... medical risks. The shift is new. Your body's still in flux — the bond isn't fully broken, your hormones are unstable, and any attempt to terminate could—"
But Eun-jae cut him off, his tone slicing through the room with the precision of a blade.
"Do I look like I give a fuck about risks, Doctor?" His voice was laced with cold steel. "I don't care how dangerous it is. I don't care what you have to do. Get it out of me. Start the procedure. Now."
Sergey's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, still paralyzed, unsure whether to reach for his friend or just stand back. His heart twisted, not just from the shock, but from the raw, quiet agony written in Eun-jae's eyes — the kind of pain that no stitches or medicine could ever patch.