After gorging himself on king crab in Vladivostok until he was sick of it, he took a twelve-hour train ride to Khabarovsk.

　　Since both were in the “Russian Far East,” he had figured they’d be close. But as expected of such a massive country, they were five hundred miles apart, even within the same region.

　　Khabarovsk also bordered the Amur River, so the humidity was considerable. Seeing the word “Хабаровск (Khabarovsk)” painted on the station’s vivid green roof, he couldn’t have been more relieved.

　　Among the strings of text, the only Russian word he recognized was “Владивосток (Vladivostok).” The letters looked vaguely similar to the English alphabet but sounded completely different, leaving the rest entirely unreadable.

　　Anyway, thanks to this detour to Khabarovsk, he at least got to experience a sleeper cabin on the Trans-Siberian Railway. Sharing a single cabin among four people was uncomfortable enough, but he had the bad luck of being grouped with a bunch of talkative Russian college students, so he hardly slept. They had been overly eager to converse with him, going so far as to use Google Translate.

　　“Why did you come here?”

　　“To eat king crab.”

　　“Why are you going to Khabarovsk?”

　　“For an interview.”

　　“Are you going to work here?”

　　“No. The guy who’s going to be my hyungnim is staying there.”

　　“What’s your job? An office worker?”

　　“No comment.”

　　“Oh… How do you like Russia? Is it okay?”

　　“The king crab is cheap, and people look gloomy. Is it because of the dictator?”

　　It was the first question Guk Jiho had asked after indifferently fielding their barrage of questions. The pale, blond Russian kids widened their eyes in surprise before bursting into laughter.

　　“Pfft… Probably. Did you get a piercing under your eyebrow?”

　　“This? No. It’s a mole.”

　　Guk Jiho lightly scratched just below his eyebrow, his fingertips meeting a slightly bumpy texture. It was a mole that had caused people to mistake it for a piercing since he was young, playing a big part in giving him a so-called “delinquent” look.

　　“A mole? A real mole? But it’s red.”

　　“Yeah. A red mole. The old geezers gave me so much shit about it that I tried to get it removed, but it just comes back.”

　　“It’s cool.”

　　“You think? I hope my hyungnim thinks so too.”

　　Standing in front of the full-length mirror, Guk Jiho tied his tie and put in the contact lenses he’d left soaking in solution. His eyesight wasn’t bad, but he habitually wore contacts on important missions. Enhanced vision naturally widened his field of view and ensured he wouldn’t miss any small details.

　　“Haah…”

　　Because the full-length mirror was hung a bit low, he had to tilt his head down slightly to check his hair. Looking up through his brow, his sanpaku eyes stood out, making him look exceptionally fierce even to himself.

　　He had zero history of ever scoring bonus points for his first impression when meeting superiors.

　　“Did you pierce that thing under your eyebrow?”

　　Five out of ten geezers would openly frown and ask him just that.

　　He took a small band-aid from his first-aid kit and tried sticking it under his eyebrow, but it only pressed down on his eye and made him look even more like a thug. He peeled it off. It was a gangster interview anyway; looking a bit like a thug would be fine.

　　He stood up straight and checked his appearance one last time. A white shirt and a black suit. He rarely wore ties, so he only owned a single black one, but it made him look like he was dressed for a funeral. He tried adjusting the knot, but it wouldn’t hold its shape—he must have tied it wrong.

　　—Haegyeon: Tomorrow at 12:00. Let’s have lunch together.

　　It was the message that had flown in as soon as he connected to the Wi-Fi upon arriving at the hotel yesterday. He had replied the moment he checked his phone, but there hadn’t been a single message since.

　　11:40 AM. The sunlight pouring through the window was brilliant. The weather is killer.

　　It was time to head out.

　　The 3-star hotel lobby exuded an atmosphere of warm hospitality. Stepping out of the elevator, a pink checkered carpet caught his eye. Autumn in Russia wasn’t much different from Korea, but come winter, when snow piled up several feet high, it would get heavily soiled by snowy boots.

　　Yellow chandelier light, yellow curtains, and indigo blue sofas set against beige walls. The stark contrast of the interior colors had a peculiar tone rarely found in Korea. Much like cafe seating, several sofas were paired up, each space divided by wooden partitions shaped like window frames. It was a pretty decent place for an interview.

　　Coming down from his room to the lobby, Guk Jiho planned to sit on one of the sofas and wait for Haegyeon.

　　His unhesitating steps faltered when he spotted a certain man.

　　He stood around six-foot-two or three, in his early thirties. His sitting posture was perfectly upright, and his attire was so flawless that even someone who knew jack shit about suits could instantly tell he was dressed to the nines.

　　And he was East Asian—a rare sight in Russia.

　　Is that guy Haegyeon?

　　An extremely neat appearance could often look rather extravagant. If he were a cop, he wouldn’t have kept his shirt collar so crisp or tied such a thick necktie knot. His intellectual, serene impression didn’t quite suit a gangster.

　　Even so, it wasn’t easy to imagine another profession for that face. Whether a businessman, a scholar, or a model, nothing felt quite right.

　　Guk Jiho slowly approached the man. He was the one walking in with zero information. If that man was the Haegyeon the Director had mentioned, he would recognize him.

　　As if sensing his presence, the man looked at Guk Jiho.

　　Shadowed by the side lighting, his face strangely resembled a black-and-white drawing. A smile slowly spread across his features, as though painted in pointillism, expressing form through countless dots. Even though it was only natural for the light to shift with the movement of his face, it was so mesmerizing that Jiho couldn’t take his eyes off him.

　　“Hello. Guk, the man who absolutely refuses to listen.”

　　“…Good afternoon.”

　　Guk Jiho hid his dazed expression and bowed.

　　“Have a seat.”

　　As he slid in and sat opposite the man, he abruptly brought up yesterday’s events.

　　“Yesterday, our boys went to the airport holding a sign to welcome you.”

　　“Yes, I saw them.”

　　“Then why didn’t you approach them?”

　　“I didn’t approach them because I thought they would kidnap and torture me.”

　　“What?”

　　A look of sheer disbelief flickered across the leisurely smiling man’s face.

　　“I thought you might test how much pain I could endure. I was especially afraid because we’re in Russia, not back home.”

　　“Hmm. But I could still torture you right now.”

　　“Yes, sir.”

　　Up close, Baek Haegyeon’s face didn’t have a single scar. Unlike Guk Jiho, who had crushed cartilage—commonly known as cauliflower ears—everything about this man was neat and refined.

　　His eyes, in particular, looked kind. Even though their shape was sharp.

　　“Athletic background, Special Forces, SOU… Aren’t you resistant to pain?”

　　Haegyeon’s voice was soft, and his words carried a distinct rhythm. Regardless of the topic, it was a pleasant voice to listen to.

　　“That’s correct.”

　　“And yet?”

　　“…Yes. Please go ahead and torture me. Except for my knees. I injured them when I was young, so if I take a bad hit there, I’ll be crippled.”

　　It sounded like he was politely asking for permission to torture him, so Jiho gave him the answer he wanted. It was an interview, after all; he wanted to make a good impression.

　　“I see.”

　　Answering nonchalantly, Baek Haegyeon tilted his head slightly to the side. Guk Jiho, who was closely tracking his movements, followed his gaze.

　　“Don’t go telling people where your weak spots are when others are listening.”

　　Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dozen white men pouring out of the elevator and into the lobby.

　　“…Yes, sir.”

　　Just as he was thinking It’s still a long time until check-in…, Guk Jiho noticed their suspicious demeanor. They all looked to be of similar build and age, and they were all wearing suits. Moreover, for some reason, they were slowly creeping toward them.

　　“Did you hire all those people?”

　　Baek Haegyeon was surveying a few spots with his eyes. The position of the walls, places to take cover, the height of the windows, and so on.

　　“I wish I had, but this is really happening.”

　　“In broad daylight?”

　　“It serves as an interview, killing two birds with one stone…”

　　Trailing off, he stood up from his seat. Guk Jiho also rose to grasp the situation. The sound of dress shoes approaching them felt like the hoofbeats of a cavalry unit leading a hundred-thousand-strong army in a war movie.

　　Before he knew it, a burly man had closed the distance and aimed a gun barrel at Guk Jiho’s temple.

　　“Try to survive.”

　　“Ah, shit. Haegyeon Hyung. Going this far…”

　　“Mr. Jiho, this is real.”

　　As if to prove his words, the man standing next to Guk Jiho fired his gun at the glass window. The silenced 22-caliber revolver only made a tiny sound, but the glass shattered into pieces.

　　“Aaah!”

　　Panicked by the sudden gunshot, the hotel staff put their hands over their heads and took cover under the desks.

　　Along with the ringing in his ears, his nerves shot up on high alert. Guk Jiho stared at the 22-caliber revolver that had just been fired.

　　“Hah, a two-two…”

　　The 22-caliber, called a “two-two,” was lightweight, had low stopping power, and low accuracy. However, when fired wildly at close range, its lethality was immense.

　　Once lodged in the flesh, it had the power to slowly spin and tumble inside, eventually tearing through the muscle to exit the other side, making it one of the most painful firearms to be shot with. It was also the quietest gun, a lethal weapon capable of killing people without causing a commotion.

　　The Russian bastard pressed the gun into Guk Jiho’s temple as if stamping a seal. The man looked at Baek Haegyeon and blabbered something in Russian, which Guk Jiho obviously had no way of understanding.

　　“Haegyeon Hyung… There seems to be some misunderstanding, so please try talking to them.”

　　He pleaded, barely moving his lips, but the response he got was deeply unhelpful.

　　“I don’t speak a lick of Russian either.”

　　“So, negotiations are off the table?”

　　“Yeah.”

　　The moment the word left his mouth, Guk Jiho snatched the gun barrel and twisted the muzzle toward the ceiling. With the Russian’s wrist bent at a painful right angle, rendering him powerless, Jiho grabbed the top of the revolver’s grip and disarmed him.

　　It took a mere second or two to snatch the gun.

　　While the bastard was still bewildered, Guk Jiho cocked the hammer and pressed the muzzle to the man’s crotch.

　　“Agh…!”

　　“You should have told me sooner.”

　　Suddenly faced with getting his dick blown off, the bastard trembled.

　　“Hey, put your hands up.”

　　Even though he spoke in Korean, the Russian bastard somehow understood and raised both hands.

　　“Can I kill people?”

　　“Try not to.”

　　Thirteen people in total. Twelve of them had their guns out and aimed at them, so it was going to be a tough fight.