“What?”
Vladimir Vissarionovich looked up. The owner and president of Gazprom was visiting FSB headquarters at an ungodly hour. He was there to see his ever-elusive flesh and blood—it had become a near-annual event. The man no one could track was now just sitting there, picking at his ear.
“Someone must be talking about me.”
Zhenya didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. Vladimir rubbed his temples, fighting off the headache. The crease between his brows deepened.
“Father’s disappointment in you only grows.”
“A tale as old as time.”
Zhenya chuckled. Vladimir wasn’t sure his younger brother even realized he was being scolded. He wasn’t wrong, though. Vladimir had spent years chasing after Zhenya, cleaning up his messes. It’ll get better once puberty’s over, it’ll get better when he’s an adult, it’ll get better when he finally matures. He’d told himself that for over ten years, trying to stay hopeful. Vladimir didn’t care what Zhenya did outside, as long as he kept it away from the family. But Zhenya didn’t know when to stop.
Vladimir remembered the very first time he saw Zhenya smile. It was a long time ago. The youngest in the family had a pet—a white peacock. The bird, treated like royalty, lived in an artificial habitat in the garden. One day, it disappeared and was later found in the rear garden. All its feathers had been plucked. It looked pitiful. The peacock staggered and collapsed. Next to it stood Zhenya, covered in white feathers.
“Look at that. All its elegance and pride gone, a pathetic thing.”
He couldn’t have been older than ten. Zhenya smiled from ear to ear, beaming like he was having the time of his life. Whatever caught Zhenya’s interest, he worked to destroy it. Once it was completely ruined, he’d move on to the next thing.
When that urge turned to people, their father, Vissarion, finally stepped in. He pulled strings to get Zhenya into the FSB. There, his violent tendencies were less of an issue. Though even there, his title couldn’t always save him from the trouble he caused.
This was one of those cases. Gazprom stood to gain the most from the Russian-Japanese project, which naturally sparked opposition. Sabotage was inevitable. Vladimir had feared the Japanese visitors would be targeted. That was why he had sent his personal secretary to escort the Japanese guest who came early.
He only realized at the hotel that the man he had sent was actually a plant from the opposition. Upon discovering it, Vladimir immediately dispatched Zhenya to the airport—that was his mistake. If it had ended there, it would’ve been fine. But he also let Zhenya attend the luncheon. That morning, unfortunately, Vissarion collapsed due to his health issues, which made things complicated.
So, Vladimir had coaxed Zhenya to show up at the venue as the stand-in. But Zhenya never went to the luncheon. Instead, he played spy games with some Korean intelligence officer. Not only that, he dragged the Korean agent into a high-level meeting and even leaked classified SS-29 intel. That wasn’t all. Zhenya caused a hostage crisis and a shootout at the party.
Vladimir felt his headache worsen just thinking about it. He sighed deeply.
“The mess you made—it put Vadim in a tight spot. What were you thinking, doing that with the president and ministers there? What the hell are you thinking? The man you abducted and killed that night—”
“Oh, right. What did you do with him?”
“It’s taken care of. The official story is that the Korean agent killed him while escaping, using you both as leverage.”
Zhenya burst out laughing.
“Who used who as what?” he scoffed.
Vladimir looked sour. Anyone who knew Zhenya wouldn’t believe such a weak and obvious lie. People just chose to let it slide because in modern Russia, money was power, and power was law. The Bogdanovs proved that.
“Why didn’t you kill the Korean agent right away when you found out he was a spy?”
Vladimir cut straight to the point. He was personally curious too. Kwon Taekjoo was the kind of prey Zhenya could’ve had fun with. He could have toyed with him, killed him, even chopped him to pieces. No one—not even the Korean government—could have protested. That was the nature of espionage, and the way such institutions operated.
Zhenya shrugged like it was nothing.
“I considered it. But he was just so naïve, blindly trusting me. Figured I’d have a bit of fun.”
“You caused all this chaos over something that trivial—”
“It’s fun watching someone fight to survive. Especially someone like him. Killing him right away would’ve been such a waste—also too boring.”
“Fine. Let’s say I buy that. I heard the agent is recovering in a small hospital in Irkutsk. If you’re done toying with him, clean up your mess. Why did you let him live?”
“Technically, I didn’t let him. He’d be dead if they had taken even a little longer to find him.”
“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the fact that you still left him alive. I thought your signature was mangling fingers or limbs. You’ve always done that.”
Zhenya flashed a sly grin at Vladimir’s sharp observation.
“What are you so worried about? Think he’ll come back for revenge? He’s barely hanging on. Don’t worry. He won’t be doing anything that adorable for a while.”
Zhenya made it clear where the line was. Vladimir opened his mouth, then shut it. What was done was done. Talking wouldn’t change anything. The Korean government might have gotten some classified information, but ultimately, the mission had failed. And they had to know that their botched mission would only tighten security in Russia.
“Is that why you’re here?” Zhenya asked, clearly bored.
Actually, Vladimir had a few reasons for coming. One was to scold his brother as the eldest son of the Bogdanovs, as usual. But there was another, more important reason he had come.
“Is Anastasia completed?”
Zhenya grinned at the blunt question, eyes gleaming with mockery. This had always been the nature of their relationship. They would see each other after a long time and talk more about weapons than about how either of them was doing. It was nothing new.
Zhenya dodged the question and spoke in an amused, taunting tone.
“Who keeps asking about it? Father? The president? Some other big shot?” asked Zhenya.
Vladimir didn’t answer. The truth was, everyone was watching, waiting for the second Anastasia, based on the first failed one.
A few months ago, Russia and North Korea agreed to erase every trace of Anastasia’s research. First to go was the blueprint—years of work by weapon engineers. Everyone involved was also eliminated. The weapon, its design, and all development were destroyed. Yet, only the Bogdanovs survived that brutal purge of evidence and witnesses. They bought their lives by promising to handle the purge and stay silent forever.
Still, rumors spread. People said the blueprint still existed, just like the Bogdanovs who had survived the purge. Their silence only fueled speculation and fear.
Vladimir was curious too, but not about the survival of the blueprint itself. He wanted to know if a new Anastasia could be created from what was left. Only one person knew the answer—Zhenya. The blueprint survived, but only in a form he could decipher.
Vladimir asked whenever he had the chance when Zhenya would reveal the finished Anastasia. But Zhenya always brushed him off, saying he’d consider it when he felt like it. Vladimir brought it up again and reminded Zhenya of the conversation.
“Still not in the mood?”
“I thought maybe I’d have fun with it after this job.”
“So, what changed?”
“I took another look. I figured I’d keep holding it off. It’s fun watching everyone go crazy, like they have ants in their pants. A few days ago, some guy tried to attack me, yelling about avenging his father. Didn’t even realize his limbs were being ripped off one by one. Just kept barking. You should have seen it, Volodya.”
Zhenya looked genuinely amused. Vladimir looked away and sighed, rubbing his aching temple.
“Is that why you killed Hong Yeowook?”
Zhenya didn’t answer. He simply gave a curious smile. Vladimir felt a chill as he looked into the eyes behind that genial mask. It felt like Zhenya was stripping him bare, layer by layer, removing every facade and leaving nothing but himself. It felt invasive.
Vladimir adjusted his collar unnecessarily. Zhenya looked relaxed.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
“What?”
“That day. Do you regret sending me in your place?”
It was a heavy question, but Vladimir didn’t hesitate.
“I regret trusting you. I regret believing that you would do what you were told—both Father and I.”
His brother was laying out all their disappointment and resignation, but Zhenya’s smile didn’t waver.
“Feel sorry all you want. But don’t drool over what’s mine. It’s mine now, and I’m not planning on using it for someone else’s benefit. I’m keeping it until I get sick of it. And when that happens, I’ll be the one to tear it down. So call off your dogs and leave me alone. I’ve been patient because you’re my brother. But keep pushing, and I won’t just sit back.”
“...”
Vladimir said nothing. The brothers exchanged indifferent glances, the silence between them growing heavy.
Time crawled by. Then Vladimir’s phone rang, almost immediately followed by another vibration somewhere else. He was about to answer when he froze. It didn’t take long for him to spot Zhenya’s phone vibrating as well. Something felt wrong. Vladimir fixed his gaze on his brother’s phone as he answered, and both phones went quiet at once, as if by magic.
Vladimir was sure. That was all the proof he needed. He marched over to Zhenya’s desk and grabbed the device. No one had touched it, yet the call had been connected. The number on Zhenya’s phone matched the one on his.
“So, you’re bugging your own family now?”
Vladimir couldn’t believe it. Zhenya didn’t defend himself. He simply stood up and held the door open.
“Mind how you go.”
Before storming out of Zhenya’s office, Vladimir threatened to file a lawsuit if Zhenya didn’t stop the hacking. Zhenya clearly didn’t care. As soon as his brother was gone, Zhenya shut the door.
Now that the noise was gone, Zhenya finally found some peace. He walked over to the window and watched the angry Vladimir get into his car. Zhenya wiped the playful smile off his face.
He slowly turned around and observed the empty office. The clock on the wall showed it was still morning.
“How tedious.”
Zhenya mumbled to himself. For some reason, time felt so much slower than usual.