Taekjoo could barely breathe under the bulk of Sergey’s body. Scowling, he shoved the man aside. With a loud thud, Sergey rolled off the bed and hit the floor.
Taekjoo lay there for a moment, catching his breath. Then he got up and started searching—under the bed, behind the posts, beneath the tiger pelt. He was looking for the key to the hidden room, but found nothing even close.
There has to be one. Where could it be?
He turned his gaze to Sergey, unconscious on the floor. Anything important would be on him. But he was completely naked now, so Taekjoo turned to his clothes instead.
He picked them up from the floor and shook them out. After a while, he grabbed Sergey’s belt. It had a square-shaped ornament with something that looked like a button. Taekjoo figured it was worth a try. He pressed it. With a soft click, the cover popped open, revealing a hidden remote control.
“Got you.”
A satisfied smile crossed Taekjoo’s face. He got to his feet with the belt in hand, excited to finally see the hidden space.
“Huh?”
But his steps faltered as a sudden wave of dizziness hit. Taekjoo told himself it would pass, but his vision blurred and swam. He staggered and collapsed by the bed. In an instant, everything felt trippy, his thoughts slowing down. He couldn’t remember why he was there—or what he had come for. He shook his head, trying to snap out of it.
Then he remembered the syringe Sergey had. It had been empty when Taekjoo noticed it, but he hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He assumed Sergey had missed the mark and squirted it into the air. But what if Sergey had actually injected him? A dull ache throbbed at the back of Taekjoo’s neck. Something was wrong. Worse still, Taekjoo had no idea what had been in that syringe.
His head felt unbearably heavy. He rubbed at his temples, but it was useless. He had to lean on the bed as his head grew heavier and heavier. The world spun.
After a while, Taekjoo spotted a pair of legs in his skewed vision. How long had they been there? Am I hallucinating? He tried to lift his head to see who it was, but his body wouldn’t respond.
With great effort, he dragged his gaze up—from the legs, over the thighs, to the waist and chest. The mysterious figure was so tall that it took forever for Taekjoo’s eyes to reach his face. At the same time, Jongwoo’s voice rang out from the phone.
– It’s him! Can you hear me, Sunbae?
Who’s him? Before Taekjoo could answer, the man in front of him snatched the phone and ended the call. He advanced slowly toward the bed. Taekjoo’s whole body felt leaden from the drug, but his instincts flared with alarm.
I have to get away.
“My, my.”
Taekjoo heard a familiar voice. It was Zhenya. Zhenya’s long shadow fell over him. He tutted, not with pity or sympathy, but with mild amusement at the current situation.
Zhenya stepped over Sergey’s unconscious body, wearing a smile that made it hard for Taekjoo to breathe. The man standing in front of him was no longer his partner. Nothing about Zhenya had changed, yet he was not the same person he had been moments ago.
Taekjoo tried to back away with all the strength he had—or so he thought. In reality, he only managed to move two fingers. Zhenya now stood directly in front of him. He leaned in, looming over Taekjoo with steady intensity. Taekjoo’s pitch-black eyes struggled to focus as Zhenya’s lips curved into a knowing smile. Then, without effort, Zhenya slipped his arms under Taekjoo’s and lifted him.
Taekjoo landed on the bed with a jolt, his head spinning worse than before.
“I got worried, so I came over to check. Look at the state you’re in.”
Climbing over him, Zhenya stared at the sweat-soaked Taekjoo. Taekjoo couldn’t tell whether Zhenya was worried about him or about Sergey.
Taekjoo didn’t understand what was happening, but the answer felt close—just out of reach. Thoughts and emotions clashed violently, tangling inside him. Yet one thing was absolutely clear to Taekjoo. If he stayed here like this any longer, he would die.
Zhenya picked up the belt from the bed and pressed the button with practiced ease. A mechanical clank echoed from the opposite wall as a hidden panel began to rotate slowly.
The flat surface moved out of the way, revealing not a vault or an armory, but a large framed photo. It showed around twenty men. Taekjoo recognized some of the faces—Vissarion and his sons, the same ones he’d seen at the Bogdanov residence. Even Sergey, now lying motionless on the floor, was in the photo.
But Psikh Bogdanov was missing. Instead, standing just behind Vissarion, was a man who looked almost exactly like Zhenya—no—Taekjoo was sure it was him.
He stared at him, disbelief washing over his face. Zhenya just smirked. Taekjoo had to be sure. With trembling hands, he grabbed Zhenya’s shirt. Zhenya didn’t resist. He stood there, letting Taekjoo clutch the fabric. His icy eyes gleamed with elation.
Taekjoo ripped the shirt open. Buttons flew and hit him in the face, but he didn’t blink. Instead, the truth stared right back at him. A tattoo, clear and distinct, marked the center of Zhenya’s chest. Taekjoo had seen it before—at the Bogdanov residence, on the back of Boris’s hand, on the gates of this very mansion, and on the forehead of the late Agent Morgan.
“Oh, this? Come on now. You didn’t think you were the only one who could wear a disguise, did you?”
Zhenya let out a cold laugh.
It was him. Zhenya was Psikh Bogdanov himself.