#and it's not in order to achieve perfection of my art

[vrystalius]

Yo! Hello its me again! Could i please request like a reverse isekai where the kny characters end up in reader's house? And maybe she is like Mad rich but like.. Not a spoiled brat she likes to do charity and make money for herself and maybe she is living with her cousins, she is smark but can be stupid (if you know what i mean) i don't know, you can do whatever you want, (there is not enough reverse isekai fanfictions😭), anyhow, hope you have a good day and you didn't get sick of my (a lot) requests😁🫶🏻👋🏻

Hashira getting reverse isekai’d

Your favourite hashira suddenly appeared inside your home! How will they react to your home and the modern world?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Giyu x gn!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not adjust to this change quietly— he is ready to destroy and slice every single piece of tech that decides to randomly beep or talk to him. You once found Sanemi trying to get his katana out of your ceiling after throwing it with full force against your smoke detector, after it beeped to remind you to change battery. It scared the shit out of him, so he put an end to that thing. Often times when using your phone, Sanemi accidentally activates Siri. He first thought that a demon was speaking through the phone with some kind of blood demon art, then, after explaining to him what exactly Siri is and what she does, he just begins cursing her and cussing her out every time she activates on him. You once had to remind him not to grip it so tightly, or else your screen might crack.

A thing he really, really likes about your modern home though is your bathroom. The shower, the large mirror, sink, toilet… just everything about it. The first time he stepped into your shower and closed the glass door behind himself, Sanemi was first confused about the shower settings. He turned every knob that is able to be turned, both cooking himself alive and dodging the water in fear of freezing, achieving both of these things in one shower. Once he finally found the perfect temperature, it was time to test all of the products you have, and not sparingly. Shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, shower gel, body scrub and whatever else he could get his fingers on— once he got out of the shower and returned to you, his smell was almost overwhelming, but at least you know now that his har is somehow able to look even better than before.

After a long adjustment period, you sometimes catch Sanemi watching the TV. He made himself comfortable in a corner of your couch, cuddled up in heated blankets (he learned how to use the settings all by himself!) and watching one movie after another. He’s quite the binge-watcher apparently, watching one action movie after another for hours on end. At the end of such day, he’ll complain about his eyes burning up without having any idea how that happened.

“Hey, wanna join me? Blanket s’ warm and I found a movie about some weird metal things moving really, really fast and guys kicking each other’s asses— Huh? Cars? Are those these fast carriages sliding around on there?”

Kyojuro Rengoku

He is incredibly curious about every single thing and would try to understand how everything works. Kyojuro would inspect your microwave and press every button their is, watching the pizza pocket he threw into there react to the different settings and then grieving about how the once weird snacks he wanted to try turned into a piece of burnt remains. Despite being the most comfortable with the traditional meals he used to eat, Kyojuro would love to try any dish you even mentioned by name once! Since you can get your food delivered to your front door, Kyojuro can try as many different cultural dishes as he can get his hands on! Or as many as you can get delivered to tour home. Ordering food is something he always gets very excited about, like what do you mean you can order all kinds of cultural food in a matter of minutes? How do the restaurants have all the ingredients available and are always ready to serve customers? And why do you refuse to order a so-called Happy Meal for him? Isn’t it supposed to make one happy?

Another thing Kyojuro is very excited about is the gym. He accidentally stumbled upon a fitness center after returning from buying groceries, staring at the people training inside with those weird machines. The hashira spotted a couple of people build broader and stronger than him, making him realise that this may be some kind of modern training ground. He begged on his hands and knees for a membership so he can explore all these new machines and weight excursuses. Once Kyojuro got inside, he was like a child in a candyshop. He spend the whole day testing out every machine, noting his own limits and setting goals on how to get even stronger. Despite no demons terrorising your world, he still wants to keep his muscles and gain strength to offer nice pillows you can lay your head on and also have the ability to open sealed jars for you without struggling.

“Can we order sweet potato tonight? I miss eating it, and it’s my comfort dish…. Also, I believe I may have started to develop homesickness. I miss my brother the most, though… Not that I don’t like it here, I love it! I just miss my father and brother, that’s all.”

Giyu Tomioka

Staying true to his nature, Giyu would be silent and awkward in this new space. He’s scared of offending you in any way but simply taking his haori off or sitting down onto your couch since he has no idea about the manners and behaviours expected from him in this world, but at the same time doesn’t bother to ask you in order to not burden you in any way. So, he quietly followed you around the house in and inspect your furniture and decorations, sometimes curiously picking something up and inspecting its function. His favourite object so far is a rubix cube he found on your desk. You caught him turn the sides, trying to understand what the point of this thing is. Does it have something on the inside? Why are the colours all scrambled up? While watching his irritation grow because of not being able to sort the colours, you suggested that Giyu can keep it and try to solve it after giving him a small briefing on what the point of the cube is. Thanking you, he kept the rubix cube on his body to play around with it whenever he has time. He is seriously invested in it and really wants to solve it in order to prove to himself that he can solve a complex puzzle and to maybe even impress you a little.

Also, you discovered that Giyu likes noise-canceling headphones, music and e-books. You often find him cuddled up together on your sofa, his face illuminated by your Ipad in his hands. You could hear the faint sounds of soft and slow music from the headphones he was wearing. He looks incredibly invested in whatever he is reading, so you snuck up on him and glanced over his shoulder, reading a couple of lines. It wasn’t a fantasy story or a random novel like you thought, but Giyu was actually reading an article about the behaviour of cats. Adorable, you thought, so you left him be and went on with your day. The water hashira eyed your form as you left, sneakily switching tabs and returning to what he was actually reading: a fluffy romance novel. He looks over his shoulder twice, thrice, checking if you are still near before feeling comfortable enough to continue his reading in peace.

“Can I borrow your.. headphones? They’re called headphones, right? Yes, I’d like to borrow them again. I want to use them to have more silence, you are being very loud and I wanted to read something.”

💠

You never bother me with your requests! They are always so fun to write for!! Also, I hope it’s okay I kind of “simplified” your request— I hope you enjoyed this anyway. Also, I didn’t include Gyomei because I was unsure of what exactly to write for him, but I may update this tomorrow and a small scenario for him <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[laokim]

aphroditeapprenticee

the void obsession is anti-neville, anti-law, anti-mental health, anti-well being, anti-manifesting, anti-everything. i hate it. it's all coming from the lack of understanding of the very fundamental foundation of the law. creation is finished. nothing and no one to change but SELF.

but, do you really understand that creation is finished? because if people did, i highly doubt they'd try to get into the void. creation is finished means you don't "create" anything. everything you can ever conceptualize is already created. if creation is finished, that means there is nothing to achieve, nothing to change, nothing to try, and nothing to fix. all you need to do is align yourself with that reality(state). you shift to that reality(state) in imagination/consicousness. that's literally it. here is a great post i highly recommend reading regarding the concept of creation is finished. If you're in your room right now, do you have to build a kitchen in order to be in a kitchen? no. you leave your room and go to the kitchen. because your house is already built. it's the same thing. you don't "change" your 3d. you leave your current state and move to your desired state.

the reason you're trying to get into the void is because you don't like your current life and because there are so many aspects you want to change, you're carrying the burden of changing the 3d on your shoulders, you're viewing the void state as something that will magically change and solve everything. so you're trying to get into the void so you can finally change the 3d. but again, nothing and no one to change but SELF. you're not changing the 3d. I need you to understand this, you're NOT changing the 3d. you're changing your SELF. when you change self, the 3d changes on its own because everything and everyone is SELF pushed out. i have no experience with the void, so i can't give you any advice on how to get into the void except for relaxing and just focusing on being.

but if i were you, I'd let go of the void. what is your obsession with the void helping you in any way? how long have you been obsessed with it? please let go of what does not serve you.

you're lacking. you're feeling lack. you're desiring. I suggest you scroll down my blog and read my other posts and replies to other asks. the very first step is to stop desiring NOT by suppressing your desire, but by fulfilling it all in imagination only. there is only fulfillment or lack, you have to make a choice. will you fulfill your desire in Imagination or will you continue to live in lack in imagination. in imagination, which is your kingdom, where all things exist and fulfillment is totally unconditional?

leave the 3d alone. i mean it when i say manifesting has nothing, i mean NOTHING, to do with the 3d. it's all about you. your inner self. you're not changing your face, you're changing your SELF. you're not changing your body, you're changing your SELF. you're not changing your bank account, you're changing your SELF. you're not changing your family, you're changing your SELF. YOU'RE NOT CHANGING THE 3D YOU'RE CHANGING YOUR INNER SELF (state of consciousness aka self-concept).

if you were my sister, i'd do anything to make you completely give up on the void state and study and apply the law instead. but, i can't do that to you because the choice is up to you. will you continue to do yourself a disservice by obsessing over something that doesn't get you anywhere or will you let it go and study&apply the law which guarantees the fulfillment of your desires?

your 3d doesn't need to be changed. no matter how horrible it looks, there is nothing wrong with your 3d. your 3d is perfect as it is. it's your consciousness. you have to change your consciousness, your SELF.

if you have time to obsess over the void, read neville. read edward art's series. You think manifesting is about changing the 3d. that's why you see manifesting as something that requires hard work, that's why you're obsessing over the void because you think the void will remove the "hard work" you think you should do to manifest. when you realize that all you need to do is literally just fulfill your desire in imagination only, you will no longer be interested in the void. the void obsession started last year. never have i ever once tried to get into the void. because to me, manifesting isn't about changing the 3d. it's all about my imagination/ consciousness.

if you want to take my advice, which i hope you do, unfollow every single void blog you follow. delete void information you wrote down anywhere. unsubscribe to every channel relating to the void. cut off every online friend you made talking about the void. let go of it. and i can guarantee you this much, if you focus on changing yourself in imagination, your results will show up in the 3d SO fast you'll be scared(in a good way).

it's up to you whether you're going to obsess over the void for the next 3 months and get nothing out of it but worse mental health OR spend the next 1 month on studying&applying the law and reap a good harvest, if you do, your results will be satisfactory.

Start tonight. start with at your command and the power of awareness. the law and the promise contains over 50 success story letters neville eceived from people. Read this series, his interpretation of neville's teaching is amazing and he also touches on subjects neville barely did that people may be struggling with. neville and edward art are the only teachers you need imo. debunk everything you know about the void and read what i linked above and apply. You will reap a good harvest.

[stubz]

"CAPTAIN!" Calis bursted through the doors panting.

"Yes, Calis?"

"Ki- The humans...the human!" they panted.

"The humans?"

"Yes! I have...urgent news about them. Everyone, out."

The control goes quiet. All eyes on the captain and his second in command.

"Give the room to me and Commander Calis." When everyone leaves he sighs and takes a seat in his chair.

"Captain...the human has betrayed us. My scouts who follow General Morbius spotted Kim along with several other humans conversing with him. Numerous times have they seen them together...surely they have betrayed us."

The Captain looks at Calis and pulls out a drink. He sips it. "What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room." He motions for them to sit.

Calis sits and accepts the drink offered by their Captain. Strong yenx.

"When we discovered that Morbius was feeding classified information to enemy forces we had you follow him with your best scouts. And for a time that was sufficient...until recently." Calis nods.

They stopped the general from leaking information but they still have yet to gather enough evidence to charge him with treason. Not only that but he has gotten more cautious and rarely leaves his home when not at work.

"Well we went through the data base of the Coalition looking for clues or evidence to use when I stumbled upon Kim Greene's file. Here," he hands them the electronic document. "you'll see why Kim, along with some other humans, are conversing with the general so much."

Calis read over the document. At first glance it was nothing special. References, personal information, education, etc. normal things. Until they saw the green triangle next to one of the interview questions.

"...Why is she marked down for secret intelligence? In brackets, honorary...what is a honorary secret intelligence?"

"It's because she along with all the other humans you spotted have experience in befriending the enemy in order to report them to their superiors.

During her interview we asked about what was the toughest thing she had to do at her previous job.

The previous child centre she worked at had several people who were spreading false accusations against their fellow co-workers. One even falsely accused her mentor of illegal activity."

"At a child centre??"

"Yes, I can't believe it either. Carrying on, she was rather quiet at the time and always did her duty with a smile so the enemy ignored her. She used that to become a spy of sorts for her superiors who she respected very much.

Eventually she managed to gather enough information for them that they managed to fire and report the enemies to the proper authorities."

"Are the other humans like this?"

"In a way yes. Steven Smith one of our cafeteria chefs, worked at a restaurant as a waiter and has the patience of a god. He can be belittled, insulted, and be stuck in a never ending conversation that would rot your braincells without cracking."

"Something that would be perfect for the general."

"Indeed. Rebecca Cheng, worked at a cleaning service company and has mastered the art of being unseen whenever she wishes. She has caught several of her employers doing illegal acts or being unfaithful to their spouse simply because they forgot all about her.

And that's just the first few, we have at least a dozen of humans like them who are capable of hiding their presence while at the same time capable of 'befriending' the most unpleasant, foul, and infuriating beings."

"I shudder at the thought of going through the training they went through to achieve this."

The Captain regretfully shakes his head. "This wasn't training Commander...this was them adapting so that they may survive."

[lividstar]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤSLY FOX, DUMB BUNNY

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤChapter One

៚ wc: 37k

៚ fluff, heavy angst, wooyoung x secret agent!reader, slowburn, ???s to lovers, mutual pining, designated codenames for plot purposes

៚ warnings: heavy violence, usage of weapons, mentions of murder, dark themes in general

៚ playlist !

៚ Leading a life filled with secrets was never bound to be easy. From the moment you stepped into the world of espionage, you knew by then that there would be no chance to rewind the minutes once you decided to stand firm with your decision—you knew it came at a huge cost of needing to detach yourself from those you held connections with in order to ensure they wouldn’t accidentally be dragged into the dangers your entire existence in itself consisted of, but you had been taught better than to back down. And it wasn’t exactly like it was a hard task to complete, anyway, as you never had any problems with still being all by yourself even in an age where billions of people occupied the world in the first place. Unfortunately, life comes in a package deal with a surge of twists, and in your case, Jung Wooyoung, the presence that accompanies you almost everyday during your job as a librarian within the “normal” half of your life, was the twist in question. Who would’ve failed to guess you weren’t the only person in the universe who had major secrets to keep? Both you and Wooyoung himself, apparently.

a/n: i’m still on a break but i figured i’d publish this since it’s been sitting on my drafts for weeks lol (your codename is a shortened version of “sylvilagus genus,” a.k.a the scientific term for a cottontail rabbit) this will have a part 2!

Mastering the art of multitasking can be achieved in a vast sea of ways that all differ from one another. One could say watching a movie while finishing homework could count as a valid form of juggling two tasks with one hand. Multitasking could also come in the form of getting ready for a late night out while arguing with your partner through the phone. Some would even argue that opening different computer tabs at once should also be up in the list. Simply put, there’s no fixed context to it—it’s subjective, and you have all the freedom to interpret it in a way that helps you sleep.

In your case, however, mastering the art of multitasking was a journey certainly not as easy as the combinations of activities mentioned above.

Your journey into the world of espionage began in the most unlikely of places: a dusty, old bookshop in a forgotten corner of the city. It was there, amidst the stacks of ancient tomes and forgotten manuscripts, that you first met the man who would change your life forever. He was a retired agent, masquerading as the shop’s owner, and he saw something in you that no one else had—a keen mind, a sharp eye for detail, and an insatiable curiosity. He became your mentor, teaching you the secrets of his trade. Under his guidance, you learned the art of surveillance, the intricacies of disguise, and the delicate skill of deciphering codes. It was a rigorous training regimen, filled with sleepless nights and countless challenges, but you thrived on it. Your determination and resilience set you apart, and before long, you were recruited into the organization.

Balancing your dual life was no easy feat. By day, you immersed yourself in the quiet, orderly world of the library, where your meticulous nature and problem-solving skills earned you the respect of your colleagues and patrons. You thrived in the tranquility of the stacks, finding solace in the knowledge contained within the pages of the books you so carefully curated.

By night, however, you navigated a world of shadows and deception. The training you had undergone was relentless. Physical conditioning, combat training, advanced technology—every aspect of your life was geared towards making you the perfect operative. You were taught to be adaptable, to think on your feet, and to always be three steps ahead of your adversaries.

Your rise through the ranks was swift. Your keen intellect and unerring instincts made you an invaluable asset to the organization. You had a natural talent for uncovering hidden truths and solving puzzles that left others baffled. Your missions took you to the far corners of the globe, from the loud streets of Tokyo to the ancient ruins of Rome, each assignment more challenging than the last.

But with every success came a deeper entanglement in the web of espionage. The impact on your personal life was profound. Relationships became strained as you struggled to maintain your cover. The constant danger and secrecy took a toll on you, leaving you isolated and wary of those around you. Yet, despite the sacrifices, you remained committed to your cause, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to protect the world’s treasures from falling into the wrong hands.

The library became both your sanctuary and your camouflage. You mastered the art of compartmentalizing your life, slipping seamlessly between your two identities. Your colleagues marveled at your efficiency and dedication, unaware of the adrenaline-fueled nights you spent in pursuit of justice.

Each day, you donned the mask of a librarian, but beneath that calm exterior lay a formidable operative, always ready for the next mission. The juxtaposition of your two lives was stark, yet you found a strange harmony in the duality. The quiet moments in the library allowed you to recharge and refocus, while the thrill of espionage kept your skills sharp and your mind agile.

As you sat at your desk, a cup of tea steaming beside you and a stack of books waiting to be shelved, you couldn’t help but reflect on the path that had brought you here. From the dusty bookshop to the heart of a covert spy organization, your journey has been anything but ordinary. Just then, while you’re busy typing away on your computer, the door to the library swings open, the gentle chime signaling the arrival of a customer. Looking up from your screen, a warm smile immediately finds its way to your face when you recognize the visitor.

Jung Wooyoung.

From the start, Wooyoung had always loved frequenting the library. The elderly librarian whose place you took before she retired had often spoken of him. She was a sweet old woman, and according to her, Wooyoung had been visiting the library ever since he was a little boy. Over the years, she had grown fond of him, so much so that even as she packed her things to leave, she told you to take care of him and always ensure he left the library with a smile on his face. It was endearing, in a way. She had also mentioned that Wooyoung was a very sweet boy, filled with optimism and never seen without a smile. You’d been skeptical of this before you started working as the librarian, but upon meeting him, you quickly realized she was right.

Wooyoung was genuinely sweet. The first time he entered the library under your watch, he was visibly shocked to see you at the registrar instead of the familiar old librarian who had watched him grow up. When he approached the counter to return the books he had borrowed the previous week, you could see the unspoken question in his eyes, the hesitation to ask about her, afraid of offending you somehow. Sensing his unease, you took the initiative to explain. “She had to go out of town to stay with her daughter because this library doesn’t provide enough money for her to pay rent,” you had said in a neutral yet soft tone, remembering how his eyes had clouded with sadness.

Feeling a strange need to cheer him up, you had added, “Before she left, she told me many stories about you. She said you were a really sweet boy, and that once I start working here, I should always make sure you leave the library with a smile on your face. She seemed to have been very fond of you.” You could still picture the way his eyes sparkled with surprise and delight as he gasped, “Really?” You had simply nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. Over time, you grew fond of his presence as well. Your days seemed a little incomplete when he didn’t visit the library. There was something comforting about his regular appearances, a sense of normalcy in your otherwise dual life.

“Hey, Wooyoung. It’s been a while,” you greeted him with a smile, taking a sip of your coffee.

Wooyoung walked towards the registrar, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy these days.”

Curiosity piqued, you wondered what had kept him so occupied, but you chose not to pry, figuring it was probably a matter that demands privacy. “It’s nice to have you back.”

“Really? I was beginning to think you were growing tired of seeing my face every day,” he joked lightly, eliciting a muffled, short laugh from you.

“I beg to differ. If anything, a shift at work doesn’t quite make it to the shelf of good days unless you pay the library a visit,” you said, diverting your attention from the computer to the books he had placed on the counter. “The History of Art?”

“Thought I’d check out something new,” he shrugged, causing the loose collar of his knitted sweater to slip off his shoulder a little.

“Always exploring, aren’t you?” you remarked, scanning the books into the system. “Did anything in particular catch your interest in art history?”

He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You could say I’m looking for inspiration.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Inspiration for what?” Wooyoung leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s a secret.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, keep your secrets. Just make sure to return the books on time.”

“I always do,” he replied, flashing you a playful wink.

As Wooyoung made his way to his usual spot by the window, you couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer. There was something about him that drew you in, a charisma that was hard to resist. And yet, there was also an air of mystery around him, something that made you curious and kept you guessing.

Another endearing trait of Wooyoung was that despite his sweet demeanor, he had a teasing side that surfaced on rare occasions—like right now. It was one of those fascinating nuances that kept you intrigued by him. There were many layers to Wooyoung’s personality, and each one seemed more captivating than the last. Sometimes, you found yourself wondering if there were even more depths to him that you had yet to discover. You weren’t exactly close friends with him, after all. Sure, the two of you enjoyed spending a few minutes engaging in conversations, but they were mostly centered around the books he borrowed and returned. Your interactions were limited to the confines of the library. Beyond its walls, you knew little about him. You didn’t have his number, didn’t know his favorite coffee shop, or even what he did on weekends. Were you acquaintances? One could say that. Were you friends? That was a more complicated question.

The ambiguity of your relationship often left you pondering. On one hand, it felt like there was a budding friendship forming, built on shared moments of literary discussion and mutual respect. On the other hand, there was a clear boundary that neither of you had crossed, a line that kept your lives distinctly separate. Perhaps it was better this way. Your life was already a chaotic blend of librarian by day and spy by night. Adding Wooyoung into the mix didn’t seem wise. Because of that, you often had to remind yourself that you weren’t just a mere librarian. Your nights were filled with missions and dangers that he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Bringing Wooyoung into your world would only complicate things further, potentially putting his life on the line. It was a risk you weren’t willing to take.

Sometimes, as you watched him immerse himself in a new book or share a light-hearted joke, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to know him outside of the library. To share a coffee, a laugh, maybe even a secret or two. But then reality would set in, reminding you of the double life you led and the responsibilities that came with it. Perhaps you two were meant to stay like this, connected within the safe, quiet haven of the library but living entirely separate lives outside its walls. It was a delicate balance, one that allowed you to enjoy his company without the complications that deeper involvement would surely bring.

In the quiet moments, as you reshelved books or sipped your coffee while watching him from a distance, you found a strange comfort in the simplicity of your interactions. They were uncomplicated, free from the burdens of your other life. And maybe that was enough. For now, you were content with the way things were—connected in the library, yet worlds apart outside of it.

While you’re busy working, your invisible in-ear device—designed solely for your organization to contact you and deliver news without blowing your cover—beeps. A voice mail from one of the higher-ups begins to play. “Agent Sylvil, this is Director Han. There’s a meeting scheduled for tonight at 2100 hours. We need you to head to the headquarters as soon as possible. There have been some developments that require your immediate attention. Do not be late.”

The stern and authoritative voice of Director Han successfully drags you out of your thoughts. The voicemail serves as a very direct and firm reminder of why exactly you can’t let Wooyoung into your world. You let out a sigh, the weight of your duties pressing down on you, and look up from your computer. There, just a few tables and aisles away, sits Wooyoung. To your surprise, you find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. Before you can muster a smile, he quickly averts his gaze, focusing intently on the book laid out in front of him on the desk.

You check the time. Three hours before your shift ends and three hours before you have to go to the headquarters. The clock seems to tick louder, each second a reminder of your impending duties. You reach for your mug, only to be surprised by its unexpected lightness. You hadn’t even noticed you had already drunk all of your coffee, too consumed by your swirling thoughts. Sighing, you place the empty mug down and rub your temples. The simplicity of your interactions with Wooyoung had a comforting allure, a stark contrast to the complexity of your covert life. But moments like this voicemail snap you back to reality, emphasizing the clear line that must be maintained between your librarian persona and your identity as a spy.

You glance at Wooyoung one last time. He’s engrossed in his book, completely unaware of the clandestine world you navigate outside the library. Part of you envies his ignorance, the peaceful simplicity of a life not bound by secrets and danger. As the minutes tick by, you try to refocus on your work. Yet, the knowledge of the meeting and what it could entail lingers at the back of your mind, an insistent reminder of the life you lead when the library doors close. You can’t afford distractions, and certainly not ones that come with a charming smile and a newfound penchant for art history.

Time passes before you even realize it. Wooyoung had left just a couple of minutes ago, and now it was time to close the library. Thankfully, there were no longer any patrons in the place, making it easier for you to wrap things up. You methodically gather your belongings, lock the doors, and roll down the metal shutter to secure the entrance.

Once everything is in order, you make your way to the headquarters, located deep in a deserted alleyway that no one would suspect. As you approach the unassuming brick wall, you press a hidden button concealed within a loose brick. The wall slides open silently, revealing a sleek, high-tech entrance. You step inside, greeted by a sterile corridor illuminated by dim, bluish lights. As you walk, sensors scan your biometric data, confirming your identity. The walls shimmer momentarily before displaying a welcome message on a holographic screen. You continue down the hallway until you reach a large metal door. It opens automatically as you approach, revealing an elevator.

Entering the elevator, you press your hand against a glass panel. A soft voice confirms, “Identity verified. Welcome, Agent Sylvil.” The elevator descends rapidly, and you feel a slight shift in gravity before it comes to a smooth stop. The door then slides open. Inside, the headquarters hums with activity. Agents bustle about, attending to their tasks with a precision borne of rigorous training. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and the faint hum of advanced machinery. You navigate through the labyrinthine hallways to the meeting room, arriving just as the clock ticks to 2100 hours. You sigh in relief; at least you are right on time.

The meeting room is stark and minimalist, dominated by a large, interactive screen on one wall. The table is already set with a holographic projector and various data pads. You take a seat, maintaining a neutral expression as the Director, the highest-ranking officer in your organization, greets you.

“Agent Sylvil,” she begins, “thank you for coming on such short notice.” You take a seat, maintaining a neutral expression as she starts to brief you on a new rising threat hidden in the shadows. “Our security patrol has reported the appearance of a new thief on the scene.”

You shift slightly in your seat, intrigued but careful to remain composed. “So far, we’ve managed to gather only a few pieces of information,” Director Han says, her tone grim. “This thief is a young man, around your age, and has been given the codename ‘Crimson Fox’ as a patrol member had described him to us as a stealthy, cunning being. Despite our best efforts, we’ve been unable to track him or gather any substantial intel, which is highly unusual for our operations.”

Your curiosity is piqued now. “And what makes him so different from the others we’ve dealt with?” you ask, leaning forward.

Director Han taps the air, and a screen projects in front of you, displaying the image of a priceless painting by an obscure Renaissance artist named “The Midnight Watch.”

“What about this?” you inquired, needing further context as to why she was showing you this painting in particular.

“Based on the analysis made by Director Kang, the Crimson Fox is most likely eyeing this artifact as his target,” she continues, “and because of this, we’re assigning you the mission to capture the Crimson Fox and prevent him from getting his hands on this artifact at all costs.”

You study the projected screen, reading a particular statement that says this painting is highly guarded. You then click on the arrow button on the right to read the other pages containing further information. “It says here that this painting does not hold any significant form of value,” you point out, turning to Director Han. “Shouldn’t this mission be passed down to an agent of a lower rank?”

“Do not question your duties,” she interjects, coming off a little too defensive than necessary, making your eyebrows slightly furrow in confusion. Noticing the expression on your face, she clears her throat, composing herself.

“Well, we cannot pass this down to a less experienced agent because the Crimson Fox is not like any of the thieves you’ve encountered before. His methods are untraceable,” she admits. “He leaves no clues behind. Our tech team has been working around the clock to find any digital footprints, but so far, they’ve come up empty-handed. His skills are... unprecedented.”

You nod slowly, processing the information. “Hence why you believe I’m the best person for this mission?” you ask, needing to hear it from her directly.

Director Han’s gaze is intense as she looks at you. “Precisely. If you complete this mission successfully, you will be promoted to a higher-up position. If you fail, the consequences won’t fall solely on you—but rather on the entire organization. A professional criminal on the loose is unacceptable.”

She pauses for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. “We believe you are the only one capable of catching him. Your track record speaks for itself, and your unique skill set makes you the ideal candidate.”

You take a deep breath. “I understand,” you say firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him in.”

Director Han nods approvingly. “Good. We’ve gathered all the intel we could on the Crimson Fox, although it’s not much. You’ll find the files in your personal database. Study them thoroughly. We need you to be ready for anything.” She taps a few buttons on the console, and the screen shifts to display a detailed map of the Crimson Fox’s recent sightings. “These are the sites of his recent activities. Notice the pattern?”

You squint at the map, recognizing the strategic positioning of each move of his. “He’s traveling in a circle, gradually tightening the radius around... here,” you point to a central location.

“Precisely,” the Director confirms. “That’s why we need to act fast before he gets his hands on The Midnight Watch.”

You rise from your seat, nodding at Director Han with a firm gaze. “Consider it done.”

When you leave the meeting room, you tap the high-tech wristwatch you wear, which then automatically transforms your attire from the pencil skirt and white dress shirt you wore for work at the library into your high-tech suit. The suit itself is a marvel of modern engineering, designed specifically for covert operations. Made from a lightweight, flexible material known as nanotex, it adapts to your body’s movements, providing both comfort and protection. The outer layer is reinforced with a graphene mesh that can deflect small-caliber bullets and absorb impacts, while the inner layer is equipped with temperature-regulating technology to keep you comfortable in any environment.

Embedded within the suit are a series of micro-circuits that allow for advanced functionalities. A holographic interface on your left forearm can project a variety of tools, from a digital map to hacking devices. The gloves are equipped with micro-suction technology, enabling you to scale vertical surfaces with ease. Your boots contain silent thrusters for controlled leaps and soft landings, ensuring your movements remain undetected. The suit’s most impressive feature, however, is its adaptive camouflage, which can mimic the colors and textures of your surroundings, rendering you nearly invisible in low-light conditions.

You head back to the elevator, this time to leave the headquarters, and when you emerge back on the surface, you’re met by the cold, chilly evening air. You glance up at the moon, taking a moment to center yourself before slipping on the mask that conceals your identity. The mask is crafted from a similar nanotex material as the suit and is fitted with an advanced HUD (heads-up display) that provides real-time data on your surroundings. It also features voice modulation to disguise your voice, and a built-in rebreather allows for up to an hour of air supply in case of emergency. The mask’s exterior is matte black, designed to absorb light and avoid detection, with a sleek, streamlined shape that conforms to your facial structure.

You shoot a grappling device, known as a grapnel gun, into the air. It’s equipped with a high-tensile cable and a powerful winch, allowing you to ascend quickly and quietly to the top of a tall building. The device anchors itself into the wall, and with a quick flick of your wrist, you are pulled up, your body rising effortlessly into the night sky. Stealthily, you jump and move in swift, agile motions across the rooftops, blending into the cityscape as you head towards the museum that houses The Midnight Watch.

Upon reaching the museum, you find an entrance through an open window on the roof. You move with careful precision, avoiding the beams of light from the security cameras and the paths of patrolling guards. Your suit’s camouflage feature helps you blend into the shadows, making you nearly invisible. Just as the data earlier described, the museum is heavily guarded. The question of why it’s so heavily protected lingers in your mind, adding to the mystery.

Finding a vantage point on the roof, you settle into the shadows, your form melding seamlessly with the darkness. You scan the area, eyes sharp for any sign of movement. Just then, you catch a glimpse of another figure moving swiftly on the ground, approaching the museum from the opposite side. The fluidity of their movements, the confident strides—it can only be one person. Just as you predicted.

The Crimson Fox.

You watch him effortlessly maneuver through the red laser security beams, his movements so fluid and precise that it almost seems like a choreographed dance. It’s not every day you encounter a thief as skilled as he is—it’s almost as if he moves just like you, with the same blend of agility and precision. Carefully, you shift to a different position, your eyes never leaving him as he edges closer to the painting. Timing it perfectly as he flips in the air, you press a button on your suit, launching a high-tech tracking dart. The dart, sleek and nearly invisible, is designed to embed itself in the target and transmit their location back to your suit’s HUD in real time.

Much to your surprise, he catches it mid-air with his fingers, an impressive feat that makes your eyes widen momentarily. When he lands, just before he can turn his head to pinpoint where the dart came from, you swiftly and silently drop down from your perch, avoiding the lasers with practiced ease. You move in circles, attempting to distract him. He mirrors your movements, staying just a millisecond behind you. The dance of shadows and swift movements continues, each of you testing the other’s limits. You leap into the air, aiming to tackle him, but he’s quick, instantly jumping to another spot, leaving you to land where he had just been.

“You’re pretty good, huh?” he says, his voice deep and sultry. “Too bad you’re not good enough.”

He throws a decoy object into the air, your eyes widening in surprise. You run to the wall, using it as a springboard to propel yourself into the air, catching the object just before it hits a laser. When you turn, you see the Crimson Fox already on the other side of the room, making his way to the museum’s exit hall with the painting in hand. He flashes you a playful wink through his mask before making a run for it. You let out a soft groan of frustration, quickly maneuvering through the lasers to match his pace. Your movements are precise, calculated, but so are his. The chase is on.

Your suit’s augmented reality system projects a map of the museum, highlighting potential exits and security points. You see him head for the nearest exit and you take a shortcut through a series of narrow corridors, hoping to cut him off. As you race through the labyrinthine hallways, your mind races, analyzing his possible routes and strategies.

Bursting out into the main hall, you spot him just a few meters ahead, his figure sleek and confident. You pick up speed, your boots’ silent thrusters giving you an extra burst. Just as he reaches for the door, you leap forward, tackling him to the ground. The painting slips from his grasp, sliding across the marble floor. He rolls with the impact, attempting to pin you, but you’re faster. You twist out of his hold, springing to your feet and blocking his path to the painting. For a moment, the two of you stand there, eyes locked in a silent challenge. “You’re not getting away from me,” you state, your voice firm.

His lips curve into a smirk beneath his mask. “We’ll see about that.”

In a flurry of motion, the fight resumes. He’s fast, but so are you. Each strike and counter-strike is a blur, a testament to both your skills. He lunges forward, aiming a punch at your midsection, but you sidestep just in time, bringing your elbow down toward his back. He twists away, grinning beneath his mask.

“Is that all you’ve got, Agent?” he taunts, his voice laced with mockery.

You remain silent, your expression calm and composed. You know better than to rise to his bait. Instead, you focus on your breathing, your movements, waiting for the perfect moment. He circles you, his eyes gleaming with amusement and challenge.

“Aww, come on, don’t be so cold,” he continues, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I thought we were having fun.”

He throws a high kick toward your head, but you duck under it, countering with a swift jab to his ribs. He grunts, stepping back but quickly recovering. He swipes at your legs with a low kick, attempting to unbalance you. You jump, spinning mid-air to deliver a kick to his chest. He blocks it, but the force pushes him back a step.

“Not bad,” he admits, still smirking. “You’ll have to do better than that, though.”

You narrow your eyes, deciding to up the ante. You feint a punch to his face, and when he moves to block, you pivot, delivering a knee to his stomach. He doubles over slightly, but his reflexes are sharp. He grabs your leg, twisting you off balance. You roll with the motion, using the momentum to bring your other leg around in a sweeping kick that catches him off guard. He stumbles, and you seize the opportunity, launching a rapid series of punches. He blocks most of them, but you manage to land a solid hit to his jaw. He staggers, but then a glint of something mischievous flashes in his eyes.

“You’re pretty impressive,” he breathes, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “But let’s see how you’ll turn this in your favor.”

With that, he pulls out a small, round device from his belt and throws it to the ground. A thick cloud of smoke erupts, enveloping you both. Your vision blurs, the acrid scent stinging your eyes and nose. You cough, trying to clear your senses as you hear his footsteps moving through the haze.

“You think a little smoke will stop me?” you call out, your voice steady despite the irritation in your throat.

“Oh, I don’t expect it to stop you,” his voice echoes back, sly and teasing. “Just slow you down.”

You focus, listening intently. Through the smoke, you catch a faint outline of his figure. You dart forward, aiming for where you think he’ll be. Your fist meets air, but then you feel a presence behind you. You spin around, just in time to block a strike aimed at your back. The two of you exchange blows in the smoke, each trying to gain the upper hand. “Getting tired?” he mocks, his breath hot against your ear as he tries to grapple you. “Hardly,” you reply, your tone icy and controlled.

You twist out of his grasp, elbowing him in the ribs and then landing a punch to his side. He grunts, but you can tell he’s still smirking under that mask. You can almost feel his amusement, his enjoyment of the challenge you present.

As the smoke begins to dissipate, you both emerge from the cloud, circling each other once more. You see a flicker of calculation in his eyes, and you know he’s planning his next move. You brace yourself, ready for whatever trick he has up his sleeve. He lunges again, but this time you’re prepared. You catch his arm, twisting it behind his back and kicking his legs out from under him. He falls to the ground, but he rolls quickly, springing back to his feet with an agility that impresses you despite yourself.

“Seems your little organization knew what they were doing when they decided to send you to catch me,” he says, genuinely this time, his voice breathless but still edged with that mocking tone. “A pity that you won’t be able to succeed, though.”

He reaches for another device, but you’re quicker. You knock it out of his hand, sending it skittering across the floor. He curses under his breath, and for a moment, his playful demeanor drops, replaced by something more serious, more dangerous. The two of you lock eyes, and you can see the challenge in his gaze, the unspoken promise that this isn’t over. He makes a feint to the left, and you move to block, but he spins to the right, his hand darting out to grab the painting. Just as he snatches it, you react, sending a high-tech bullet from your suit, aiming to disable him. But he catches it mid-air, his reflexes astonishing.

“See ya.”

He gives you a quick, mocking salute before disappearing into the shadows, leaving you standing there, hands balled into fists as you seethe with anger.

Just then, you hear footsteps from a fair distance. Quick on your feet, you scale the walls and slip through a shortcut exit just before the security guards catch up. You leap off from the mansion, using your grapnel to swing between buildings. The cityscape blurs around you as you deftly maneuver, finally settling on a rooftop to update the organization.

You tap your in-ear monitor, and it beeps twice, signaling it's ready to record the voice mail. “Agent Sylvil reporting. The Crimson Fox has secured the Midnight Watch and managed to evade capture. His skills are exceptional. I recommend arranging a meeting with the director board to discuss further strategies. Director Han’s assessment was accurate; this mission requires precise and advanced handling.”

Finishing the recording, you send the message. Then, you sit on the rooftop, reflecting on the night’s events. It’s your first encounter with the Crimson Fox, but given his swift escape, you know it definitely won’t be the last. His movements were fluid, his tactics ingenious, and his demeanor… he was infuriatingly confident. As much as his arrogance grated on your nerves, you can’t deny the spark of excitement it ignited. It’s rare to find an adversary who truly challenges you, and the Crimson Fox did just that. His mocking words and playful manner suggested he barely saw you as a threat, which both angered and intrigued you.

You replay the fight in your mind, analyzing each move, each counter. His agility, his quick thinking, his ability to catch your high-tech bullet mid-air—he was indeed a formidable opponent. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline of the fight, it all reminded you why you chose this life. For all its dangers and secrets, it was moments like these that made it worth it. The cold evening air settles around you, the city below buzzing with life unaware of the silent battles fought above. You take a deep breath, centering yourself. The next encounter with the Crimson Fox will be different. Now that you’ve experienced his capabilities firsthand, you’re more determined than ever to capture him.

The moon casts a silver glow on the rooftop as you stand, your silhouette blending with the night. You glance at the cityscape, your mind already planning the next steps. The mission has just begun, and you’re ready for the challenge. With a final look at the city, you engage your grapnel and swing into the night on your way back to the headquarters, your thoughts focused on the elusive thief and the thrill of the hunt.

Soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the director board. The room is dimly lit, with a long mahogany table at the center. Holographic screens line the walls, displaying various data points and live feeds from different missions around the globe. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for the detailed debriefing. “Good evening,” you begin, your voice calm and composed. “Thank you for convening on such short notice and understanding the urgency of the matter at hand.”

Director Han nods, her eyes fixed on you. “Agent Sylvil, please proceed with your report.”

You activate the holographic projector in the center of the table, which springs to life with a 3D representation of the museum. “As per the mission parameters, I infiltrated the museum housing The Midnight Watch. The Crimson Fox, as predicted, made an appearance.”

The directors listen with utmost attention, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. “What were his methods?” Director Kang asks, his brow furrowed.

“Impressive,” you admit. “He bypassed the security lasers with an ease that suggests extensive training. His movements were calculated, almost as if he anticipated every countermeasure in place.” You replay a section of the surveillance footage, highlighting the Crimson Fox’s agility and precision as he evades the laser beams.

Director Liu interjects, “What can you tell us about his physical capabilities?”

“Exceptional reflexes and strength,” you reply. “During our confrontation, he caught a high-tech bullet I fired at him mid-air, and he moved with a speed that matched my own. We engaged in close combat, where his skills were evident.”

You take a deep breath, ready to recount the encounter with precision. “The fight was intense, a true test of both our abilities. It began with me tackling him down on the ground, but he was quick on his feet to slip out of my grasp.”

The directors lean in, listening intently. “He anticipated my next move, sidestepping just in time to avoid a follow-up strike. His agility is remarkable. As I pivoted to face him, he used a spinning kick aimed at my head, but I ducked and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground, but he recovered almost instantly, rolling away and springing back to his feet.”

You pause, replaying the vivid memories in your mind. “We exchanged a series of blows—punches, kicks, blocks, you name it. Each move was met with a counter. His fighting style is unconventional, incorporating elements of various martial arts, which made it difficult to predict. He doesn’t adhere to a single discipline, which kept me on my toes.”

Director Han nods, gesturing for you to continue. “What about his defensive maneuvers?” she pushes further while spinning a pen in her hand, trying to ground the feeling of being on edge consuming her.

“He’s incredibly adaptive,” you explain. “When I attempted a grappling technique, aiming to subdue him, he twisted his body with an almost serpentine flexibility, breaking free from my hold. He then countered with a palm strike to my sternum, knocking me back a few steps. His strikes were precise, targeting vulnerable points with pinpoint accuracy.”

Director Kang interjects, “And how did you manage to gain the upper hand?”

“I capitalized on his momentary lapse in focus,” you reply. “After a particularly aggressive exchange, he hesitated for a fraction of a second��perhaps assessing his next move. I seized that moment to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to his side, sending him staggering. He stumbled, clearly winded, and that’s when I thought I had him.”

You pause, the memory still fresh. “But he’s resourceful. Before I could press my advantage, he reached into his belt and pulled out a small device—a smoke bomb. He threw it to the ground, and within seconds, a thick cloud of smoke enveloped us. I tried to locate him, but the visibility was almost zero.”

The directors furrow their brows as you continue. “The fight continued within the smoke. I could barely see him, but I could hear his movements. He used the smoke to his advantage, striking from unexpected angles. I had to rely on my other senses, listening for the slightest sound, feeling the air shift with his movements.”

You lean forward, emphasizing the intensity of the moment. “He came at me from the side, delivering a quick succession of punches. I managed to block most of them, but one caught my shoulder, pushing me back. I retaliated with a low sweep, hoping to trip him, but he jumped over my leg and countered with a kick aimed at my head.”

Director Liu looks concerned. “And you were fighting blind?���

“Essentially, yes,” you confirm. “But so was he, to some extent. It became a test of reflexes and instincts. I landed a solid hit to his midsection, forcing him to stumble back, but he quickly recovered. He moved with an eerie precision, almost as if he could see through the smoke.”

“At one point, I managed to land another solid strike, knocking him off balance. He was momentarily disoriented, and I moved in to finish it. But he was one step ahead of me, and so he escaped by disappearing into the shadows before I could initiate my next move,” you conclude.

Director Kang speaks up, “His use of the smoke bomb indicates he was prepared for a prolonged fight. This suggests he knew he might encounter resistance and planned accordingly.”

“Indeed,” you agree. “His preparation and adaptability make him a formidable opponent. He’s not just skilled in combat but also in tactical evasion. This was not a random act of theft—he’s calculated and strategic in his approach.”

Director Han taps her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “What about his demeanor? Any psychological insights?”

You pause, recalling the encounter. “Mocking and confident. He seems to enjoy the thrill of the chase, using sarcasm and taunts to unnerve his opponents. He referred to our skills as ‘not good enough’ and even threw a decoy object to distract me while he made his escape.”

Director Kang leans back in his chair, contemplating. “So, he’s not just skilled but also psychologically manipulative. This makes him a more dangerous adversary.”

“Agreed,” you nod. “He managed to secure The Midnight Watch and evade capture. His confidence suggests he has faced numerous challenges and emerged victorious.”

Director Liu turns to you, her expression serious. “Agent Sylvil, how do you propose we proceed?”

You take a deep breath. “Given his capabilities, we need a multi-faceted approach. Increased surveillance on potential targets, advanced countermeasures tailored to his techniques, and psychological profiling to predict his next move. Additionally, I recommend setting traps designed specifically to counter his known strategies.”

The directors nod, absorbing your suggestions. Director Han speaks up, “We’ll allocate additional resources to this mission. It’s clear that the Crimson Fox is not an ordinary thief.”

Director Kang adds, “We should also consider the possibility of a mole within our ranks. His knowledge of the museum’s security was too precise to be a coincidence.”

The meeting continues, with each director contributing their insights and strategies. They discuss deploying additional agents, enhancing technological defenses, and setting up surveillance in key locations. The holographic screens flicker with data as plans are formulated.

After an extensive discussion, Director Han turns to you. “Agent Sylvil, this mission is now your top priority. We trust your expertise and judgment to bring the Crimson Fox to justice.”

You straighten your posture, a sense of determination filling you. “Understood. I will not let him slip through our fingers again.”

With that, the meeting adjourns. The directors disperse, leaving you to finalize the details of the new strategies. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of the mission settling on your shoulders. As you leave the meeting room, you take a moment to gather your thoughts before deciding to head to the tech experts’ department, mind already racing with plans and the need for advanced equipment to catch the elusive Crimson Fox. Once you arrive at a secure door, you swipe your ID card, and the door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the hub of innovation where the brightest minds in the organization work tirelessly.

Inside, the atmosphere is one of focused intensity. Technicians and engineers huddle over holographic interfaces, 3D printers whirr as they produce prototype components, and large screens display streams of data from ongoing missions. You spot Dr. Yoo, the head of the tech department, a sharp-eyed woman with a mind as quick as her hands. “Agent Sylvil,” Dr. Yoo greets you with a nod, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of the urgency you must feel. “What brings you here?”

“Dr. Yoo,” you begin, “I need your team’s help. The Crimson Fox is unlike any adversary we’ve faced. His skills are exceptional, and our current surveillance capabilities aren’t enough. I need enhancements in surveillance tech, innovative traps, and some upgrades to my suit and weaponry.”

Dr. Yoo’s eyes gleam with interest. “Ah, yes. Director Han had informed me of your mission beforehand. Surveillance enhancements, you say? We can certainly help with that.” She leads you to a workstation where several screens display live feeds from various parts of the city. “We’ve been developing a new type of drone—silent, virtually invisible to the naked eye, and equipped with AI-driven tracking algorithms. These drones can patrol a set perimeter, identify unusual patterns, and follow targets without being detected.”

She types a few commands, and a small, sleek drone materializes on a platform beside her. “We call it the ‘Ghost Falcon.’ It can relay real-time data back to your wrist device, providing you with constant updates on the target’s location and movements.”

“Next, for trapping mechanisms,” Dr. Yoo continues, walking over to another section of the lab, “we've been working on deployable traps that can be used in urban environments. These include smart tripwires that can be set up quickly and remotely activated, and adhesive gel bombs that can immobilize a target upon contact.”

She gestures to a table where various gadgets are laid out. “These are our latest models. The tripwires are nearly invisible and can send an alert to your wrist device when triggered. The adhesive gel bombs can be thrown or launched from a distance, endangering anyone within its range.”

“Now, let’s talk about your suit.” Dr. Yoo pulls up a holographic model of your current suit, spinning it in the air with a swipe. “I propose we upgrade your suit with enhanced plating—lightweight but incredibly strong, along with new functions.”

She points to the wrist section of the hologram. “We’ll also integrate advanced tech into your gloves. These can now emit an electromagnetic pulse to disable electronic devices temporarily, which could come in handy if the Crimson Fox uses tech against you.”

“And for weaponry,” Dr. Yoo says, moving to a locked cabinet, “we have some new additions. Here’s a high-frequency stun baton, designed to incapacitate without permanent damage. It has an extendable reach, allowing you to engage from a safe distance.”

She unlocks the cabinet, revealing a sleek, compact crossbow. “This is a micro-crossbow, firing tranquilizer darts with pinpoint accuracy. It’s silent and effective, perfect for stealth operations.”

You straighten yourself, feeling a renewed sense of readiness. “Thank you, Dr. Yoo. These upgrades will make a significant difference.”

Dr. Yoo nods, her expression serious. “We’re all counting on you, Agent Sylvil. Catching the Crimson Fox is crucial.”

After finalizing your discussions with the tech experts, you make your way to the elevator. The high-tech suit clings to your form, feeling like a second skin. As you descend, you press a sequence of buttons on your wristwatch. The suit begins to morph, retracting seamlessly into the wristwatch. The material shifts and transforms, layer by layer, until it becomes the familiar fabric of your pencil skirt and white dress shirt. By the time the elevator doors open to the surface, you appear as the diligent librarian once more, ready to blend into the mundane world outside. The cold evening air greets you, a stark contrast to the high-tech environment you just left. You draw a deep breath, allowing the exhaustion to surface as you make your way home.

The walk home feels interminable. Each step is heavy, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. Your muscles protest, a dull ache from the intense physical exertion of your encounter with the Crimson Fox. Your mind races with thoughts of strategies and the upgrades to your equipment. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the city’s hum is a distant background noise as you finally reach your apartment building. The familiar sight brings a small sense of relief, a sanctuary from the day’s demands.

As soon as you step inside your apartment, the weight of the day seems to lift slightly. You drop your bag from your shoulder, the thud it makes as it hits the floor symbolizing the shedding of your burdens. You pick it back up and hang it on the rack by the door, a habit that brings a sense of order to the chaos of your life. Slipping off your heels, you place them neatly on the shoe rack, taking a moment to appreciate the simple comfort of being barefoot.

You move through your apartment, each step bringing you closer to the sanctuary of your room. The familiar surroundings offer a sense of comfort. Your room is a haven, a place where you can let down your guard. You take off your glasses, placing them carefully on your bedside table. The act of changing into comfortable clothes feels like removing a layer of tension. In the bathroom, you splash cool water on your face, the sensation refreshing and grounding. Finally, you collapse onto your bed, sinking into the mattress with a deep sigh, the weight of the day slipping away.

Lying on your bed, you stare at the ceiling, your mind replaying the events of the day in vivid detail. The meeting with the directors, each face etched with concern and determination, lingers at the forefront of your thoughts. The weight of their expectations had been palpable, each word and directive underscoring the gravity of the mission. Director Han’s gaze and the gravity in her tone emphasized the importance of capturing the Crimson Fox. As you recalled your encounter, the room had been silent, each director hanging on your every word. The fight had been more than a mere physical confrontation; it was a battle of wits, a dance of strategy and skill.

The discussions with the tech department replay in your mind as well. Their enthusiasm and expertise were evident as they explained the new modifications and enhancements they would integrate into your suit. Each upgrade was meticulously designed, aimed at giving you the edge needed to outmaneuver the Crimson Fox. The advanced surveillance systems, the innovative traps, and the weapon enhancements—all crafted to ensure your success. You could still hear the excitement in their voices, their confidence in their technology bolstering your resolve. They believed in you, and that belief was a powerful motivator.

But most of all, the encounter with the Crimson Fox dominates your thoughts. Every detail is etched into your memory: the way he moved, the confidence in his stride, the playful yet calculating glint in his eyes. His skills were astonishing, each move calculated and precise, as if he had been doing this for years. Yet he was a new thief on the scene, his methods untraceable, his origins unknown. His confidence, his playful demeanor—it was unnerving and intriguing. He had treated the confrontation like a game, his taunts laced with mockery and challenge. It was almost as if he knew he was untouchable, as if he thrived on the thrill of the chase.

You find yourself replaying the fight in your mind, analyzing each move, each tactic. His agility, his quick reflexes, the way he anticipated your actions—it all points to extensive training and experience. But where did he come from? How did he develop such skills? The mystery of his identity gnaws at you, a puzzle that refuses to be solved. You can still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the intensity of the fight, the close calls, and the moment when he slipped through your grasp.

Who was he? The question echoes in your mind, refusing to be silenced. Capturing him is no longer just about completing your mission or earning a promotion. It’s about understanding him, uncovering the mystery behind the mask. Each taunt, each move he made seemed to be a clue, a piece of a larger puzzle. You realize that this chase is only the beginning of a much larger game, a game that you are determined to win. His motives remain unclear. Why target “The Midnight Watch”? The painting, while appearing to be valuable, seemed an unusual choice for such a high-profile thief.

His confidence, his playful demeanor—there was something almost familiar about it, a nagging sensation at the back of your mind. It was as if you had encountered this kind of adversary before, someone who enjoyed the thrill of the game as much as the spoils. Yet, despite his confidence and skill, he had shown respect in his own way, acknowledging your abilities, even if through taunts and challenges. It was a strange dynamic, one that you couldn’t quite place. Was he testing you? Pushing you to see how far you could go?

You turn over, closing your eyes after setting an alarm for work tomorrow. Plans and strategies swirl in your mind, interwoven with the enigmatic figure of the Crimson Fox. His skills, his words, his smirk—they all replay in your mind as you drift off to sleep.

—

The blaring sound of your alarm rouses you from sleep, and you groan softly as sunlight filters through the curtains, striking your face. You sit up slowly, yawning and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Glancing at your phone, you see that you still have an hour before the library opens. Determined to start your day right, you stretch and stand, moving to fix your bed, smoothing out the sheets and fluffing the pillows until everything is neatly in place.

Heading to the bathroom, you begin your morning routine. First, you splash cold water on your face, waking yourself up fully. Then, you wash your face with a gentle cleanser, massaging it into your skin before rinsing it off with warm water. After patting your face dry with a soft towel, you apply a refreshing toner, followed by a light moisturizer to keep your skin hydrated. You then hop into the shower, letting the warm water relax your muscles as you lather shampoo into your hair, rinse, and follow with a conditioner. After washing your body with a fragrant body wash, you rinse off and step out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel.

Once you finish drying off, you brush your teeth thoroughly, ensuring they are clean and fresh. You run a comb through your hair, detangling any knots, and then blow-dry it until it falls into a smooth, manageable style. Returning to your bedroom, you open your closet and run your hand along the rack, considering your options for the day.

You settle on a chic yet professional outfit that perfectly balances style and sophistication. You choose a tailored, knee-length pencil skirt in a deep navy blue, which hugs your figure while maintaining a professional appearance. Paired with it, you opt for a crisp white blouse with subtle ruffle detailing along the neckline and cuffs, adding a touch of femininity and elegance. Over the blouse, you wear a fitted blazer in a matching navy blue, cinched at the waist with a slim belt. The outfit is completed with a pair of sleek black heels, adding a bit of height and polish to your look. Underneath the sleeve of your blazer, you securely fasten your high-tech wristwatch, ensuring it's discreetly hidden but easily accessible.

You sit down at your vanity, turning on the lighted mirror to begin fixing yourself up. Once you’re satisfied with your facial look, you move on to your hair, deciding on a sophisticated yet simple style. After a final check in the mirror, you stand and give yourself one last glance in the full-length mirror, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your bag, you head to the entrance, slipping into your black heels and making sure they are comfortable. You hang your bag over your shoulder and step out, locking the door behind you. The cool morning air greets you as you begin your usual walk to the library. The streets are still quiet, the hustle and bustle of the day yet to begin.

You arrive at the library, pulling up the metal shutter and inserting your keys into the door, the familiar click bringing a small measure of comfort as you step inside. The familiar scent of books and the quiet ambiance welcome you, and you take a deep breath, feeling a sense of calmness as you prepare for the day ahead. You turn on the lights, arrange the new arrivals on the display, and make sure everything is in order before opening the doors to the public. Once you’re finished, you head to the door to flip the sign from “Closed” to “Open,” walking back to the registrar afterwards. You then sit down, ready to immerse yourself in the tasks at hand.

A steady stream of patrons then eventually begin to fill the space, each one on a mission to either borrow new books or return their previous selections. The sound of footsteps, hushed conversations, and the rustling of pages creates a symphony of activity that fills the otherwise quiet room. You find yourself at the center of it all, seated behind the front desk, diligently managing the influx of customers.

Your fingers fly over the keyboard as you enter return dates and update records in the computer system. The scanner beeps rhythmically as you process each book, ensuring every title is properly logged back into the library’s inventory. Every now and then, a patron asks for recommendations or assistance finding a particular book, and you offer them a warm smile and helpful advice. The hours seem to blend together in a blur of transactions and interactions.

The morning passes quickly, the library bustling with activity. You barely have time to notice the growing stack of returned books piling up beside your desk. Just as you reach for another book to scan, a familiar voice breaks through the din, pulling you from your focused trance.

“Hey there.”

You tear your eyes away from the computer screen and manage a small smile upon recognizing the speaker. “Oh, hey, Wooyoung.” His presence is a welcome distraction, and you notice the book he places on the counter—“The History of Art,” the same one he borrowed before.

“Finished reading it already? You’re pretty fast,” you muse, engaging in small talk as you take the book and begin the process of returning it to the system. You scan the barcode, ensuring the book is properly checked back in and available for other patrons.

“Yep. Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Wooyoung replies, leaning casually against the counter, pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie slightly—why does he always choose to wear such items of clothing despite the blazing weather?

You chuckle softly. “This book must have been really useful for you, huh?” You glance at the computer screen as the system confirms the book’s return, then move to type in some additional notes.

For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence between you, filled only by the clicking of your keyboard. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze on you, and although it’s not directly in your line of sight, his attention is palpable. Keeping your eyes on the computer, you address the unspoken question. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat, seeming slightly flustered. “I just... you look pretty tired?”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise at his comment, and you tilt your head curiously. “Do I?” You open the desk drawer and pull out a small hand mirror, angling it to inspect your reflection. Indeed, there are faint dark circles under your eyes, subtle but noticeable upon closer inspection. “Huh.”

Wooyoung shifts slightly, his concern genuine despite his earlier teasing tone. “Yeah, just a bit. Rough night?”

You nod slightly, placing the mirror back in the drawer. “You could say that. Just some work stuff keeping me up.”

He offers a sympathetic smile. “Well, don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest too, you know.”

You smile back, appreciating his concern. “Thanks, Wooyoung. I’ll try to take it easy.”

As the conversation lulls, you finish updating the system with the returned book and place it on the cart to be reshelved later. Wooyoung lingers for a moment longer, seemingly hesitant to leave.

“So, are you borrowing anything new today?” you ask, shifting the topic back to the library’s purpose.

He seems to snap out of his thoughts and grins. “Actually, yes. I was thinking of diving into something different this time. Any recommendations?”

You stand, gesturing for him to follow you. “Sure, let’s see what we can find.” As you walk through the aisles, you turn to Wooyoung, genuinely curious about his reading preferences. He’s busy looking around, so when he fails to notice you stopping in your tracks, his chest bumps into your shoulder blades, and he hisses lightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Your eyebrows shoot up in concern, and just as you’re about to hold your hand forward to touch his chest, you quickly retract it, realizing you might make him uncomfortable. It seems as if you’re both on the same page, as he immediately took a step back.

“Don’t mind it,” he waves you off. “Were you gonna ask me something?” he inquires, hoping to steer away from what just happened. Thankfully, you had the same intention as well, so you go along with his flow.

“I was gonna ask if there’s any topic or genre you’re particularly interested in lately?” You tilt your head as you wait for his answer, eager to find the perfect recommendations for him.

Wooyoung scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve been fascinated by the history of rare and valuable artifacts recently. Especially those from ancient civilizations.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. It’s a rather specific and intriguing interest. “Oh, great choice. I’ve got a few recommendations for that.” You smile, leading him toward the section dedicated to ancient artifacts and their histories.

You proceed to guide Wooyoung through the aisle dedicated to ancient artifacts, pulling out a book titled “Lost Treasures of the Ancient World” and handing it to him. “This one covers a variety of artifacts from different civilizations, including their historical significance and the stories behind their discoveries,” you explain, flipping through the pages to show him illustrations of ancient relics.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with interest as he examines the pages. “Wow, look at this!” he whisper-shouts, pointing to a detailed map of archaeological sites. “I didn’t realize there were so many different ancient civilizations with their own treasures.”

You nod, smiling. “This book also discusses how these treasures were unearthed and the challenges faced by archaeologists.”

“That must be an adventure in itself,” Wooyoung remarks with a grin. “Imagine digging up an ancient tomb and finding treasures untouched for thousands of years.”

You proceed to pull out another book from the shelves, titled “The Secrets of Ancient Egypt: From Pharaohs to Treasure Hunters.” You lend him the book, explaining its coverage soon after. “This delves into the world of Egyptian artifacts, their mystical significance, and the pharaohs who were entombed with them.”

Wooyoung’s gaze is fixed on a page depicting hieroglyphics. “Egyptian mythology sure is fascinating,” he muses, tracing the symbols with his finger. “It’s like a window into a world where gods and mortals coexisted.”

You smile, enjoying his enthusiasm. “I can’t say I don’t agree. The mysteries of the pyramids and the rituals surrounding mummification are endlessly captivating.”

As you reach for “The Tools of the Ancients: Craftsmanship and Innovation,” you explain, “This book explores the tools and techniques used by ancient civilizations to create these masterpieces.” You show him illustrations of ancient tools and artifacts, discussing their ingenious designs.

Wooyoung’s curiosity is piqued. “You know, things like this always makes me wonder how they achieved such precision without modern technology,” he muses, examining the diagrams closely. “Their craftsmanship was truly ahead of its time.”

As you discuss each book, you can’t help but notice how animated Wooyoung becomes. His genuine curiosity and passion for ancient history are evident in his questions and comments, and you find yourself enjoying the conversation as much as he does.

“Have you always been interested in ancient artifacts?” You turn to him, genuinely curious about his newfound passion.

He smiles, setting down the last book. “Not always,” he admits with a chuckle. “But recently, I’ve found myself drawn to the stories behind these artifacts. They’re like puzzle pieces that unlock secrets from the past.”

You nod in agreement. “It’s incredible how each artifact has its own story to tell, connecting us to our ancestors and their way of life. It’s like uncovering hidden secrets from a forgotten world.”

The moment lingers, a shared understanding passing between you as you find yourself staring into his eyes perhaps a little longer than you’re supposed to. But then you blink, breaking the spell, and turn back to the books. “Well, I think you’re all set with these,” you say warmly, gesturing to the stack he’s accumulated. “I hope you find them as fascinating as I do.”

“I’m sure I will,” he replies sincerely. “Thanks again for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you say, smiling warmly. “Let me know if you need anything else,” you tell him, and he gives you a nod before heading towards the checkout desk with his books, soon then leaving the library.

Returning to the registrar desk, you settle back into your routine. You begin by sorting through the stack of returned books, scanning each one into the computer system to update their status. You take a moment to check the condition of each book, making sure none of them need repairs or special attention before placing them on the cart for reshelving. Next, you turn your attention to the online catalog, processing requests from patrons who have reserved books. You locate the requested items on the shelves behind the desk, scan them out, and prepare them for pickup. Each step requires careful attention to detail, ensuring that every book is accounted for and properly logged in the system.

While you’re engrossed in your work, your invisible in-ear monitor suddenly beeps softly, indicating a new voicemail. Dr. Yoo’s voice then comes through clearly, though only you can hear it. “Agent Sylvil, the tech team has successfully infiltrated the security cameras around the city. We’re now gathering all available footage of the Crimson Fox. I’ll update you with any significant findings as soon as we have them. Stay alert and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

When the message finishes, you find yourself lost in thought, momentarily blanking out while keeping your eyes on your computer’s screen. The usual hum of the library fades into the background as you process Dr. Yoo’s update. You look outside the door, met with the sight of the city, and begin wondering if the security camera footage will be of any help. The Crimson Fox’s elusive nature and your recent encounter with him make you skeptical. Given how vigilant he was, it's safe to assume he’s smart enough to avoid being caught on security cameras. But still, you hope for the best-case scenario while also calculating the worst.

You let out a quiet sigh. The city is a vast web of streets and buildings, each with its own secrets. If the tech team can pinpoint his movements, it could provide the breakthrough you need. But the Crimson Fox is no ordinary thief; his agility and skills make him a formidable opponent. He’s proven to be a master of evasion, and underestimating him would be a mistake.

You then redirect your attention to your duties. You start by organizing the returned books, scanning each one into the system. The rhythmic beep of the scanner helps ground you in the present. Each book, once scanned, is carefully examined for any damage before being placed on a cart for reshelving.

Your mind continues to race with thoughts of the Crimson Fox as you process the books. You can’t help but wonder about his next move. What artifact will he target next? What’s his endgame? These questions swirl in your mind, adding a layer of intrigue to your day. As you print out a list of overdue books, your thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a young student at the desk. He looks nervous, clutching a piece of paper. “Excuse me, can you help me find this book for my project?” he asks, nervously fiddling with the paper in his hands.

“Of course,” you reply with a warm smile, taking the paper from him. “Let’s see what you need.” The request momentarily distracts you from your thoughts about the Crimson Fox, and you guide the student to the appropriate section, helping him locate the reference book he needs.

Returning to the desk, you draft reminder emails for patrons with overdue books. Each email is crafted with care, politely reminding them to return their borrowed items and offering assistance if they need to renew their loans. You take a moment to analyze the circulation statistics, noting which genres are most popular this month and which sections might need restocking.

You take a brief moment to stretch and sip some water. As you glance around the library, you feel a sense of pride in maintaining this peaceful, orderly environment. However, the tech team's success in accessing the city’s security cameras keeps your thoughts anchored to your mission. The possibility of tracking the Crimson Fox through the footage gives you hope, despite the challenges.

Refreshed from your quick break, you dive back into your duties. You stand up from your chair, leaving the counter and taking the cart with you as you begin reshelving the books. You start with the fiction section, carefully placing each book back in its designated spot, making sure the spines are perfectly aligned. You run your fingers along the shelves, ensuring no books are out of order. Moving on to non-fiction, you double-check the Dewey Decimal System numbers, adjusting any misplaced titles. Each book finds its home, from biographies to history volumes.

You take your time with the children’s section, making sure the colorful picture books are easily accessible for little hands. You arrange them neatly, occasionally straightening the whimsical displays. The library feels like an extension of yourself, every detail meticulously managed. Once you finished, you head back to the registrar, resuming your work. The steady rhythm of scanning and processing books returns. Patrons come and go, each interaction brief but pleasant. You answer questions, provide recommendations, and handle transactions with practiced ease.

The day passes by like a blur, and now it’s time for you to close the library. You shut down your computer, standing up and leaving the counter. Thankfully, there are no longer any people around, so you are free to clean and close up the library without worrying about offending anyone by announcing closing hours. You start tidying up the tables, collecting stray books and magazines left behind. You wipe down surfaces, ensuring everything is spotless. Chairs are pushed back under tables, and scattered newspapers are neatly stacked. You walk through the aisles one last time, straightening books and making sure everything is in order.

When you’re done, you head back to the reception desk, taking your bag and pulling out the keys. You step outside, locking the door and pulling down the metal shutter, securing the library for the night. With the library closed, you head to the headquarters, needing to talk to Dr. Yoo for updates regarding the city’s surveillance cameras and any footage of the Crimson Fox. The walk to the headquarters is brisk, your mind focused on the mission ahead.

Once you arrive, you go straight to the tech lab. Dr. Yoo notices your presence immediately and makes her way to you. “Agent Sylvil,” she greets you with a nod.

“Dr. Yoo,” you respond. “Any updates on the surveillance cameras?”

“Follow me,” she says, leading you to the surveillance monitoring room. The walls are lined with multiple screens, each displaying footage from various cameras across the city.

She points to one of the screens. “Unfortunately, he was only caught on this camera, and it was just for a millisecond.” You lean in closer, studying the footage. The image is fleeting, barely a blur of movement. “Impressive,” you murmur, noting how he managed to evade capture on almost every camera.

Dr. Yoo nods. “We did, however, identify a pattern. The footage indicates he’s frequenting an area known for housing valuable artifacts. We’re cross-referencing his movements with known high-value targets in the vicinity.”

You consider this information, thinking back to his skill and precision during your last encounter. “Good work,” you say. “Let’s focus on that area. Enhance surveillance and see if we can predict his next move.”

Dr. Yoo agrees, already making notes. “We’ll get on it right away. I’ll keep you updated with any new developments.”

As you head home, your mind keeps circling back to the surveillance footage. Dr. Yoo had advised patience, emphasizing the importance of gathering more intel before making a move. But the idea of waiting gnaws at you. The thrill of a direct confrontation, the challenge of outsmarting the Crimson Fox, calls to you with an irresistible pull.

Walking down the path to where you live, you make a snap decision. Doing a full 180, you tap your wristwatch, feeling the familiar hum as your attire shifts into your high-tech suit. Your pencil skirt and blouse are replaced by sleek, reinforced material designed for agility and protection. Without hesitation, you break into a run, heading towards the location where the Crimson Fox was last seen. Your gut tells you that he’s there, and you trust your instincts.

Arriving at the vicinity, you find the area shrouded in darkness. The moon provides the only light, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets. The blackout could be a coincidence, but you know better. The Crimson Fox is meticulous. This power outage is likely part of his plan to operate undetected.

You proceed cautiously, every sense on high alert. Suddenly, you detect a slight motion behind you. Your training kicks in, and you react swiftly. Spinning around, you catch sight of him just as he reaches out to strike. You grab his hand, using his momentum to flip him over and slam him onto the ground. Your knees pin his arms, your hands securing his neck.

A strained laugh escapes him. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. Missed me?” His voice is mocking, yet there’s a hint of admiration beneath the bravado.

“Does it ever dawn to you how infuriating you are?” you reply, tightening your grip on his neck. “And to answer your question, not particularly—but I do intend to make sure I’m the last thing you’ll remember before you get knocked out.”

His eyes gleam with amusement even as he struggles to breathe. “Confident, aren’t you? Let’s see if you can back it up.”

He reaches for a rock nearby, aiming to strike your head. You react instantly, intercepting his hand and preventing the blow. Using the distraction, he shifts his weight, pushing you off balance. You roll to the side, springing to your feet with practiced ease. He’s up as well, a sly smile on his lips as he brushes himself off.

“You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” he says, circling you warily.

“And you’re annoyingly persistent,” you retort, matching his movements.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a gift.”

The tension between you is palpable, each of you waiting for the other to make a move. He lunges first, aiming a high kick at your head. You duck and counter with a swift punch to his ribs. He twists away, his foot lashing out to sweep your legs. You jump, landing a kick to his shoulder that sends him staggering back.

“Is that all you can give me, Agent?” he taunts, recovering quickly.

“It wouldn’t be, had you been given a dead or alive bounty hanging over your head,” you reply, your tone ice-cold. You launch into a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed with precision. He blocks most, but you manage to land a few solid hits.

“I think you just don’t want to hurt me,” he whispers in your ear from behind, attempting to strangle you, but you’re quicker than the speed of light to duck down and sweep him off his feet.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d gladly leave nothing of you but your blood on the floor if you weren’t so important.” You take a step back, an eye twitching over that stupid confident look in his eyes you could see through his mask. The two of you continue to move in a deadly dance, each anticipating the other’s moves with uncanny accuracy.

“You know, you’re making this more fun than I expected,” he admits, dodging a particularly vicious punch.

“Do you ever stop talking? I’m not here for your entertainment,” you snap, delivering a powerful kick that he barely deflects.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, grinning. The fight intensifies, each of you pushing your limits. The Crimson Fox’s strikes are swift and calculated, but you match his every move with precision and strength. In the midst of the clash, he chuckles, his breath coming in short bursts.

“I wasn’t expecting you to strike so soon, honestly,” he admits, dodging a high kick aimed at his head. “Aren’t agents like you supposed to prioritize patience and analysis over rash actions?”

You block his punch and counter with a swift jab to his ribs, your expression stoic. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He laughs, sidestepping your next attack. “A bit touchy, aren’t we? Don’t you think that attitude is a bit unethical for a top secret agent—”

You cut him off with a solid punch to his jaw, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side, and you hear the sound of blood dripping down the ground. You don’t give him a moment to recover, immediately gripping the collar of his suit to bring him close to you. “Project your stereotypes onto me one more time and I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be flossing with your intestines.”

He shakes his head, a wry smile forming on his lips as he straightens up and pushes you off of him. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your next move. He feints to the left, and you’re ready, delivering a kick that he barely dodges. He’s finding you more than just a worthy adversary; he’s genuinely intrigued.

“Most people would be intimidated by now,” he remarks, catching your leg and twisting, trying to throw you off balance.

You roll with the motion, using it to your advantage as you flip back to your feet. “Most people aren’t me.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Yeah?”

The two of you continue your fierce exchange, the night air filled with the sounds of your combat. He’s fast, but you’re faster, your movements fluid and precise. Despite his mocking demeanor, you can see the respect growing in his eyes. The fight between you and the Crimson Fox continues with an intensity that fills the darkened area. You push yourself to dominate, leveraging every skill you’ve honed over the years. He matches you move for move, but you sense a shift—he’s beginning to tire, and you’re gaining the upper hand.

You catch him off guard by grabbing his wrist and twisting it before forcing him to the ground, his amusement only fueling your resolve. With practiced precision, you pin him down, his hands restrained beneath your knee. As you draw a dagger from your suit's concealed pocket, you pull his head back by his hair, and he tilts his head behind with all his strength to look into your eyes.

“You think you’ve got me pinned, don’t you?” he grunts, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and frustration. “But this game isn’t over until I say it is.”

“You’re not calling the shots here. I am,” you reply, your voice a steely whisper. The sight of blood seeping from beneath his mask and dripping onto the ground doesn’t faze you.

“You’re just as relentless as they say, aren’t you? Always chasing, never stopping to think,” he continues, trying to get under your skin.

“Save your breath,” you say, pressing down harder. “You’ll need it for when you’re behind bars.”

Just then, the power returns, flooding the area with light. The sudden brightness reveals the surroundings, and you both feel the shift. The Crimson Fox tenses beneath you, his surprise evident. It’s clear he didn’t see this coming, either. Realizing the cameras could be operational and your cover could be blown, you act quickly. You release him and leap to your feet, and he does the same.

“This isn’t over,” you state, your voice low and stoic, eyes filled with a fiery gaze.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sure hope it isn’t.” With that, he melds into the shadows, disappearing down a different route.

You waste no time in escaping the now well-lit area, aware of the surveillance cameras and the implications of being seen. These cameras are not just ordinary security measures; they are infiltrated by your organization, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing in different circumstances, but the catch is that you’re not supposed to be going off to do your duties without informing the director board beforehand. If they catch wind of this unsanctioned operation, there would be serious repercussions.

As you make your way back, your thoughts churn. The Crimson Fox might be right—this was a rash decision. You acted on instinct, driven by the desire to catch him before he could commit another theft. But it’s definitely not a regrettable one. You learned a lot from this encounter: his fighting style, his resilience, and most importantly, that even he can be taken by surprise.

—

You wake up at dawn, the room still shrouded in darkness. A persistent beeping pulls you from sleep. Groggily, you reach for your phone, thinking you set your work alarm too early. It takes a moment before you realize the sound is not coming from your phone but from your wristwatch. You tap it, and a holographic screen flickers to life, displaying Director Han. Her expression is anything but pleasant. She looks mad, even.

“Agent,” she says curtly, “report to headquarters immediately. There are important matters we need to discuss.” Your stomach drops.

They know about last night.

You get up from your bed, a mix of dread and defiance coursing through you. You acted without orders, but you gained valuable information and prevented a theft. Surely, that counts for something.

With a sigh, you begin your morning routine far earlier than intended. You wash your face, take a shower, brush your teeth, and change into your professional attire. For today, you chose to wear a crimson red dress shirt along with a knee-length black pencil skirt, pairing it with black stockings and heels of the same color. Once you’re fully prepared, you make your way to headquarters, the early morning chill biting at your skin.

Upon arrival, a fellow agent greets you, informing you that the director board is waiting in the meeting room. The director board? You expected only Director Han. This is bigger than you thought.

You enter the room, and the atmosphere is tense. The directors look unhappy, their eyes fixed on you. Clearing your throat, you decide to cut straight to the point. “What’s the matter?”

Director Kang taps a button at the center of the table, projecting a holographic screen that shows a millisecond of footage—of you, running away, caught by the surveillance camera where you fought the Crimson Fox.

“What’s this?” Director Kang asks, though his tone implies he already knows the answer.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Director Liu joins in, her voice cold. “Do you not understand the gravity of your actions? What you did was a blatant violation of protocol. I believe you aren’t aware of the gravity of your actions.”

You suppress a groan. Seriously?

“Then enlighten me, Director,” you deadpan, maintaining a stoic facade despite your sarcasm.

Director Kang leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Our handbook clearly states in Section 4, Paragraph 12, that ‘agents must obtain explicit authorization from a superior before engaging in field operations.’ You acted independently, without orders.”

Director Liu chimes in, “This isn’t just a minor infraction. It’s a severe breach of our protocol. You compromised the integrity of our operations.”

Director Han adds, “Following the chain of command ensures that all actions are coordinated and that risks are minimized. By going rogue, you jeopardized not just the mission, but also your safety and the safety of others.”

You know respect is vital in your line of work, but you also know you need to stand up for yourself when faced with unjust criticism. Keeping your tone professional yet harsh, you defend your actions. “Forgive me if I appear hostile,” you state, trying to keep your voice even, “but I don’t see the problem at all. If I hadn’t acted, the Crimson Fox would have another artifact within his grasp right now.”

Director Han’s eyes narrow. “It’s not about the result, Agent. It’s about the process. You broke the rules, and that cannot be tolerated.”

“I followed my instincts because time was of the essence. The Crimson Fox is a highly skilled thief. Every second counts when dealing with him. Waiting for orders could have cost us the artifact.”

Director Liu shakes her head. “This isn’t about instincts. It’s about discipline and order. We have protocols for a reason.”

“And you have agents for a reason. What did those protocols achieve last night, exactly?” you retort. “A near loss of a valuable artifact. My actions, though unorthodox, were effective. I stopped him. I gained information. Is that not what we’re here to do?”

Director Kang leans forward, his expression stern. “This is not a debate, Agent. You acted outside your authority, and that’s unacceptable.”

You meet his gaze without flinching. “What’s unacceptable is prioritizing rules over results. We’re here to protect and to prevent crime. I did exactly that. If that means bending the rules to catch a thief, then so be it.” The room falls silent, tension hanging thick in the air. You can see their frustration, but you also see a hint of grudging respect. They may not admit it, but they know you have a point.

Director Han finally speaks, her tone measured. “We understand your perspective, but there will be consequences for your actions. We cannot have agents acting on their own accord.”

You nod, accepting the inevitable. “Understood, Director. But I stand by what I did. And given the chance, I’d do it again.”

Leaving the meeting room, you feel a mix of relief and lingering defiance. Maybe the Crimson Fox was right—this was a rash decision. But it’s definitely not a regrettable one. You acted on instinct, you took a risk, and it paid off. You prevented a theft and gained insight into your elusive adversary. Still, you can’t help but be clouded with frustration over their words. Why were they so defensive about wanting you to act only when they tell you to, and not on your own accord? The whole situation felt stifling, and it gnawed at you. Starting off your day on a bad note was definitely not the way to go; you didn’t want to carry more stress with you.

Deciding to clear your head, you leave the headquarters and head to the library. There are still a few hours left before you have to open it, but you figured you’d find a way to ease yourself there. The familiar scent of books and the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the place always had a calming effect on you. Once you reach the library and head inside, you place your bag on the desk of your registrar and head through the aisles to see if there were any books you could read to pass the time. The rows of neatly shelved books stand as a comforting reminder of the worlds and stories they hold within.

You settle on a fantasy book titled “Pirate King,” its cover adorned with a design that promises you an escape from reality. Heading back to the registrar, you sit down and begin reading. The words transport you to a different world, a place where your current frustrations seem distant and insignificant.

Eight pages in, your earlier wake-up call catches up to you, and you feel sleepiness creeping back. After all, you weren’t supposed to start your day so early. The “meeting” felt like a colossal waste of time, and the exhaustion tugs at your eyelids. Deciding to close the book, you then place it gently on the desk. You retrieve your phone from your bag and set an alarm for 8 am.

Once it’s done, you lay your head down on the table, resting on your arms. The hard surface of the desk is surprisingly comforting as you let the warmth of your own body lull you into a sense of security.

As sleep begins to consume you, the last thoughts in your mind are of the day’s tasks ahead. But for now, in this small moment of peace, you allow yourself to drift off, letting go of the morning’s stress and the frustration that came with it before the day truly begins.

The alarm beeps two hours later, and you wake up instantly, reaching for the hand mirror in the drawer to check your appearance. Satisfied that you still look presentable, you get up and walk to the door, flipping the “Closed” sign to “Open” before returning to the registrar. You begin your work, and although you feel a bit lighter, the frustration from the morning lingers.

You don’t realize how consumed you are by your thoughts until the door chime signals your first customer. Quickly, you wipe the frustration from your face, replacing it with a warm smile. “Good morning, how can I help you today?”

The patron asks for help finding a specific book, and you guide them to the correct aisle, making small talk along the way. Once they’re settled, you return to your desk and dive back into your tasks, trying to use work as a distraction. Cataloging returns, reshelving books, assisting more patrons—it all helps keep your mind off the morning’s events, but the underlying frustration still simmers.

Hours pass, and it’s now near evening. The library’s peaceful atmosphere helps somewhat, but the lingering tension remains. As you sort through a stack of books to be shelved, your thoughts drift to Wooyoung. His energy and playful demeanor always have a way of lifting your spirits, so you wonder why he hasn’t shown up today, of all days when you could really use one of his random questions or amusing anecdotes.

You pause, staring at the book in your hand without really seeing it. Wooyoung’s absence feels more pronounced today, amplifying the frustration you've been trying to suppress. His visits, though often unexpected, have become a part of your routine that you look forward to. His knack for starting light-hearted conversations could have been the perfect remedy for your current mood. With a sigh, you shelve the book and move on to the next one, trying to shake off the melancholy thoughts.

Before closing the library during the after-hours of your job and heading out, you decide to bring the fantasy book you started earlier, Pirate King, with you. Though you only managed to read eight pages before sleep consumed you entirely, the story had already hooked you, and you were eager to continue. A good book was precisely what you needed to escape the stress that had been weighing you down.

Instead of heading straight home, you decide to visit a nearby river—a place you’ve been meaning to explore for a while. Work and missions always seemed to get in the way, but today, with no missions assigned (likely part of the directors’ “punishment” for your unauthorized actions last night), you finally have the opportunity.

Upon reaching the river, you find a serene spot with a bench overlooking the water. The gentle sounds of the flowing river and the rustling leaves create a calming atmosphere. You sit down, placing your bag beside you, and pull out Pirate King. As you open the book and start reading, the world around you fades, and you let yourself get lost in the story of Captain Arahn and his crew’s daring quest for the “Endless Aurora.” The stress from earlier begins to melt away with each turn of the page. The vivid descriptions of pirate adventures and the protagonist’s daring exploits transport you to another world, providing a much-needed escape from the frustrations of reality. The tranquility of the river combined with the captivating narrative of Pirate King helps you unwind. You savor the moments of peace, knowing that they are rare in your line of work.

While you’re getting engrossed in a specific part of the story where the Captain Ahran’s crew, the Black Phoenix, encounters the mysterious Sea Witch who holds a key to the “Endless Aurora,” a familiar voice speaks up from behind the bench.

“Pirate King, huh?”

Before you even turn your head, a small smile forms on your face—you know exactly who it is.

“Hey, Wooyoung,” you greet him, moving your bag to the other side of the bench and patting the now free spot beside you. He’s more than happy to oblige, his face lighting up with that characteristic, endearing enthusiasm. You close the book and place it on your lap, turning your attention to him. However, you immediately notice a bandage stapled over the side of his mouth. He catches your expression and waves you off nonchalantly before you could bring it up.

“Oh, this? Just a little accident while helping my uncle with some construction work. Nothing to worry about, really,” he says with a grin that suggests he’s more proud of the minor injury than concerned.

You don’t pry further. “So, you know Pirate King?” you ask instead, and he enthusiastically nods his head.

“Yeah! That one’s actually one of the very first books I read when I first started visiting the library, back when you weren’t working there yet,” he explains, a fond expression on his face.

You pick up the book from your lap, examining it—it does look pretty worn. “It’s one of the old books, huh? Makes sense.” You hum, placing it back on your lap. “Do you have a thing for fantasy books?” you tilt your head, waiting for his answer. He smiles and nods, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He then reveals that he actually read that book here when he was just a kid and that since then, he’s always imagined what his life would be like if he were a fantasy character.

“What did you want to be back then?” you push further, genuinely curious.

He leans back, a dreamy look in his eyes. “Just like the characters, I’ve always wanted to be a pirate, going on adventures, sailing the seas, hunting for treasures,” he shares with enthusiasm.

You chuckle, imagining a young Wooyoung running around, pretending to be a pirate. “What was your ‘fantasy name’?” you ask.

His eyes gleam with excitement as he responds. “Captain Stormbreaker! I imagined myself as this legendary pirate, feared and respected across all the seas. My ship was called the Tempest’s Fury, and my crew was the best there ever was. We’d find hidden treasures, outsmart rival pirates, and face mythical sea monsters.”

You laugh, enjoying the vivid picture he paints. “Captain Stormbreaker, huh? That sounds pretty impressive. Did you have a backstory for him?”

Wooyoung nods eagerly. “Of course! Captain Stormbreaker was an orphan raised by a secret society of sailors who taught him everything about the sea and combat. He swore to protect the oceans from those who sought to exploit them and to uncover the secrets of the world’s greatest treasures. Every adventure was a step closer to finding his true destiny.”

You smile, feeling your stress melt away as you listen to his animated storytelling. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a wide grin. “It was my favorite daydream growing up. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll find a way to make it a reality, even if it’s just in spirit.”

You nod, touched by his infectious enthusiasm. “Well, Captain Stormbreaker, I’m honored to be in your presence. Maybe one day, you’ll have to take me on one of your adventures.”

He laughs, a twinkle in his eye. “Deal. And who knows, maybe you have a hidden pirate persona too?”

You chuckle, the idea intriguing you. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He pursues the idea, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Now that we’re at it, have you ever thought of having a pirate persona or a fantasy persona in general?”

You smile, touched by his boundless imagination. He seems like such a free spirit, and there’s a sense of freedom within him that you can’t help but admire. “I’ve never really thought of it,” you say with a shrug, playing along. “But now that you mention it, I’m quite curious—what persona would you construct for me, if given the chance?”

Wooyoung’s face lights up with excitement. “Oh, that’s easy! You’d be the enigmatic ‘Captain Shadowstrike’—a master strategist and fearless leader, known for your sharp wit and unparalleled combat skills. Your ship would be called the Nightfall, a sleek, fast vessel designed for stealth and precision.”

You laugh softly, the name and description fitting surprisingly well. “Captain Shadowstrike, huh? I like the sound of that. Tell me more.” You tuck a couple strands of your hair behind your ear when the evening breeze hits your face, waiting for his answer.

He puts his index finger on his chin, fully immersed in his tale. “Captain Shadowstrike was once part of a royal navy but turned rogue after discovering corruption within the ranks. You’d use your insider knowledge to stay one step ahead of both the law and rival pirates. Your crew would be a mix of skilled outcasts, each with their own unique talents, fiercely loyal to you.”

“And what would be my mission?” You lean forward, placing your palm flat down on the cold surface of the wooden bench, genuinely curious now.

“To uncover the lost city of Seloria,” Wooyoung says without hesitation. “Legend has it that Seloria holds treasures beyond imagination and secrets that could change the world. But it’s also guarded by ancient traps and mythical creatures, making it the ultimate challenge for any pirate.”

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by the depth of his story. “Sounds like quite an adventure. And what about you? Would Captain Stormbreaker and Captain Shadowstrike be allies or rivals?”

He grins, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Definitely allies. We’d join forces to take on the biggest challenges and split the treasures. Imagine the legends that would be told about our exploits!”

You nod, feeling a sense of a new depth within your connection with Wooyoung brimming. “Well, Captain Stormbreaker, it looks like we make a formidable team.”

Wooyoung’s smile is infectious. “Two pirates teaming up to cause havoc catered to their own liking, call that Bonnie and Clyde in a different universe.”

He then shifts the conversation once both your laughters die down, a question that’s been on his mind for the past few minutes now surfacing. “What brings you here, anyway?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

You let out a soft sigh, looking towards the river, where the moon’s dim light shone in its reflection. “Today didn’t exactly go well.” You shrug, pursing your lips.

A look of concern flashes in his eyes, but he tries to lighten the mood. “Probably a good idea I didn’t stop by the library today then. I might’ve made your day worse with my endless nagging.”

Although you know he’s joking, you shake your head and look him in the eyes. “I was waiting for you to show up, actually.”

He blinks, momentarily taken aback. “Really? You were?”

You nod, feeling a bit vulnerable but honest. “Yeah. Your energy is contagious. It would have been nice to have a distraction from everything that happened.”

Wooyoung’s expression softens, and he leans back on the bench, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I’m glad I ran into you here, then. If I can help distract you from a bad day, that’s the least I can do.”

You smile at his sincerity. “You always seem to lift my spirits, Wooyoung—and oftentimes, you’re blissfully unaware of it. It’s one of your many talents.”

He grins, his usual playful demeanor returning. “Well, if cheering you up means talking about pirate adventures and imagining ourselves as legendary captains, then I’m more than happy to oblige.” You both laugh, and the conversation flows naturally, easing the tension of the day.

You look at the book in your lap again and ask, “Do you have any favorite character from Pirate King in particular?”

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking to the book and then back to you. “I do, but I might drop a few spoiler bombs here and there. Are you sure you want to hear about it?” He asks, looking a bit sheepish.

You wave him off with a smile. “I don’t mind at all. I’d be more than happy to listen to you. Go ahead.”

Relieved, Wooyoung’s eyes light up, and he shifts excitedly on the bench. “Well, my favorite is definitely Captain Arahn! He’s the best character in the entire series for me,” he says, enthusiasm bubbling over. “I mean, first off, he’s the youngest captain to ever sail the seas, and he’s got this whole rebellious yet noble vibe going on. He’s incredibly smart and always a step ahead of his enemies, which is just so cool. There was this part where he outsmarted the entire Navy fleet with just a handful of his crew, and it was so epic!”

He continues, gesturing animatedly. “And his backstory! It’s so tragic yet inspiring. Losing his family at a young age and then rising from nothing to become the most feared and respected pirate captain—it’s just so compelling. Plus, his relationship with his crew is amazing. He’s not just their leader; he’s their friend and confidant. The way he treats everyone with respect and values their opinions, it’s no wonder they’re so loyal to him.”

You can’t help but smile as Wooyoung geeks out, his passion infectious. “And don’t get me started on his combat skills! He’s not just a brilliant strategist but also a formidable fighter. He had a duel with an Admiral named Valen, and it was one of the most intense scenes ever. His dual-wielding technique is so unique, and the way he incorporates acrobatics into his fighting style is just... wow.”

Wooyoung pauses for breath, his eyes sparkling. “And then there’s his softer side, the way he cares for the less fortunate and always fights for justice, even though he’s labeled an outlaw. That one scene where he saves the village from the corrupt governor really shows his true character. He’s the perfect mix of tough and tender, which makes him so relatable and admirable.”

You find yourself in a trance, a fond expression on your face as you listen to him with full attention. Wooyoung’s words flow endlessly, painting a vivid picture of Captain Arahn and why he resonates so deeply with him. His excitement is palpable, and you can see how much this character means to him.

“And the symbolism!” Wooyoung continues, his voice lowering a bit as he leans closer. “Captain Arahn’s ship, The Phoenix, represents rebirth and resilience. Every time it seems like they’re done for, they rise from the ashes stronger than before. It’s such a powerful metaphor for his life and his journey. And those moments of introspection he has while staring out at the sea, questioning his decisions and pondering his future—those are some of my favorite parts. They add so much depth to his character.”

He finally stops, a little out of breath, and looks at you with a wide smile. “Sorry, I get carried away when I talk about Pirate King. It’s just such an incredible story.”

You shake your head, your smile warm and genuine. “No, no. There’s nothing to apologize for. I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is infectious, and it’s clear how much Captain Arahn means to you. It’s nice.”

Wooyoung beams, looking pleased and slightly bashful. “Thanks. I’m glad I could share it with you.”

As the night progresses, you find yourself lost in conversation with Wooyoung, his infectious energy gradually lifting the weight off your shoulders. It isn’t until he pauses, a wide smile on his face as you laugh, that you realize how much better you feel.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, reaching for the small mirror in your bag. Before you can open it, Wooyoung gently grabs your wrist, shaking his head.

“No, it’s just... happiness looks good on you.”

His words catch you off guard, sending a warm, unexpected surge through your veins somewhere deep in the confines of your soul. Speechless, you don’t trust your words enough to speak for you, so respond with a genuine smile, which he mirrors with delight. Maybe Pirate King will become your go-to read from now on—not just for the tough days, but for the good ones, too.

—

You find yourself seated in the austere meeting room once again, facing the stern visages of the director board. They’ve called an urgent meeting to discuss the latest developments regarding the Crimson Fox. Apparently, they’ve managed to gather some critical intel: his next target is known. The artifact in question is an ancient, seemingly mundane item—an old, weathered compass without any apparent monetary value. Yet, the directors treat it as if it's the most crucial object in existence.

As Director Kang finishes outlining the basic details, confusion stirs within you. Two questions loom large: Why would the Crimson Fox target such an unremarkable artifact? And why does the director board seem far more driven to stop him this time compared to other, more valuable heists?

Unable to contain your curiosity, you speak up. “Do we have any information on why the Crimson Fox has chosen this particular artifact as his next target?”

Director Han meets your gaze but offers no satisfying answer. “We don’t have any specific details on his motives,” she says curtly, avoiding your eyes.

You frown, sensing there’s more to this than they’re letting on. “And why is this artifact so important to us? It seems to be treated with an unusual amount of importance compared to previous discussions about highly valuable items.”

The room falls silent, tension palpable in the air. Director Kang clears his throat and begins his explanation. “This compass,” he starts, holding up an image of the artifact on the holographic display, “is no ordinary navigational tool. It dates back to the early 15th century and is believed to have belonged to Admiral Zheng He, the famous Chinese explorer. While its monetary value might seem insignificant compared to other artifacts we’ve dealt with, its historical and strategic importance cannot be overstated.”

He taps the display, and a series of documents and old maps appear. “The compass was reputedly used during Zheng He’s voyages across the Indian Ocean and as far as the east coast of Africa. More importantly, it's said to be imbued with magnetic properties unlike any modern compass. These unique properties have puzzled historians and scientists alike, as they hint at a potentially advanced understanding of geomagnetism long before it was formally studied.”

He continues, “The compass itself doesn’t just represent historical significance; it’s believed to contain a map—hidden within its construction—that leads to one of Zheng He’s lost treasure fleets. If this map is real and falls into the wrong hands, it could lead to untold wealth and power. The geopolitical ramifications alone are enormous, and we're running out of time.”

Director Liu interjects, her tone serious. “We have reason to believe that the Crimson Fox has discovered this secret. His previous heists—seemingly random—were actually part of a pattern leading him to this very compass. He’s pieced together enough of the puzzle to make this his next target.”

Their explanations raise more questions than it answers, but you decide to press on. “But why the urgency? You’re saying time is running out—what exactly do you mean by that?”

Director Kang’s gaze sharpens, his tone growing more insistent. “The Crimson Fox is planning to strike tonight. We’ve intercepted enough chatter to know his timeline. This is why we need to act quickly. The organization will provide you with backup for this mission.”

You blink, taken aback. “Backup? Why now, of all times? Why do you think I need assistance?”

Director Han interjects with a vague, non-committal answer. “It’s to ensure your safety. The stakes are higher with this artifact, and we can’t afford to let him succeed.”

Their responses only deepen your skepticism, but you sense that pushing for more information would be futile. Leaning back in your seat, you decide to give them the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Director Kang leans forward, his fingers steepled. “We have a detailed strategy in place. You will be the lead operative, with Agents Kim and Park as your immediate support. The warehouse where the compass is held has been fortified, and we’ve coordinated with local law enforcement to set up a perimeter. Your task is to intercept and apprehend the Crimson Fox before he can escape with the artifact.”

Director Liu adds, “We’ve also placed discreet surveillance around the area. Our tech team will be monitoring the feeds and providing real-time updates. We need you to stay sharp and rely on your instincts. This is a critical mission, and failure is not an option.”

You nod, absorbing the information. The pressure is palpable, but you steel yourself for the task ahead. “Understood. I’ll be ready.”

The directors give their final instructions, and you leave the meeting room, your mind still clouded with frustration and doubt. Why is this compass so important? What aren’t they telling you? As you head out of the headquarters, you decide to put these questions aside for now. There’s a mission to prepare for, and you need to be at your best.

Looking at how important this compass seems to be for the director board, you spend the next few hours in the headquarters’ high-tech training room, ensuring you’ll be at your best later. The room is equipped with state-of-the-art equipment designed to push agents to their limits.

You start with a series of warm-up exercises, focusing on flexibility and agility. Dynamic stretches ease the tension in your muscles, followed by a few rounds of shadowboxing to get your blood pumping. Moving on to the obstacle course, you navigate through various challenges designed to test your speed, coordination, and problem-solving skills. Each segment mimics potential real-world scenarios: crawling under laser grids, scaling walls, and maneuvering through a maze filled with holographic enemies that simulate combat situations. Next, you head to the combat simulator. The room transforms, projecting a virtual environment around you. You engage in hand-to-hand combat with AI opponents, each programmed with different fighting styles. Sweat drips down your forehead as you dodge, block, and strike, honing your reflexes and precision.

After the intense session, you shift to the firing range. You pick up a variety of weapons, from standard issue pistols to more specialized firearms, practicing your aim and control. Each target is a representation of a potential threat, some stationary and others moving unpredictably. You focus on accuracy and speed, each shot echoing through the room. Finally, you conclude with a cooldown routine. Gentle stretches and controlled breathing help your body recover, ensuring you’re in peak condition for the mission ahead. Satisfied with your preparations, you decide to call it a day and head to the headquarters’ lounge to take a breather.

In the lounge, you throw your head back, hanging it off the couch while closing your eyes. Just then, you feel the spot beside you sink down, and your eyes shoot open, only to see a fellow agent of yours sitting down while drinking a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Yeosang,” you straighten up in your seat, greeting him. The said man looks up from his newspaper, putting the coffee down on the lounge table as he turns to you, greeting you with a small smile on his face.

Kang Yeosang was the only fellow agent of yours you were close with—your bond forming one night two years ago when you had to be his personal assistant when he was new to ins and outs of being a secret agent. Long ago, you kept a promise to yourself not to let yourself warm up to any agents in this organization because you never know when you’ll lose them, and you don’t have it in you to suffer with grief countless times. But as soon as you felt an energy of warmth and naivety radiating from Yeosang as if he was someone who would not find a problem with letting people walk all over him as long as it benefited them—somehow, you made it a personal mission to keep him under your watch and teach him to be as strong as possible. You know how cruel this workspace and this world in general is, and you don’t want him to be harmed by that.

“Heard they were sending backup with you for your mission later,” he muses, and you immediately groan softly in response.

“Don’t remind me. It would’ve been better if you were one of the agents they assigned to accompany me—or if they hadn’t decided to send backup my way at all,” you slump your shoulders. It’s not that you don’t want to work with others, but you have a tendency of being hard-headed and reckless when you’re on the scene, and you know you’ll hardly be able to protect anyone that comes along with you for the danger you attract. It’s not that you hate your fellow agents—you just don’t want to drag them into the different level of danger you’re standing in compared to them.

“I still don’t get why they refuse to assign us to missions together.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch. “You tell me,” you deadpan, shrugging.

“How’s the cat-and-mouse game with the Crimson Fox going, anyway?” he turns to you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You then tell him all about it. Ever since you were able to train him to his finest shape, the director board transferred him to a different department, so you haven’t been able to hang out as much. Agents were also strictly forbidden to spend time together outside of their jobs—which you think is a very weird rule—so you always make sure to make the most out of moments like this with Yeosang.

“It’s been... complicated,” you admit. “The Crimson Fox is slippery, always a step ahead. But it appears we finally have a solid lead on his next target,” you cut your words off momentarily to lean closer, whispering in his ear, “the board’s acting a little shady about it, though.”

Yeosang listens intently as you describe the old compass and the board’s intense focus on it. “That does sound strange,” he agrees. “Why would they be so concerned about a seemingly worthless artifact?”

You shake your head. “That’s the mystery. There’s something about this compass they’re not telling me. It feels like there’s a bigger picture I’m missing.”

Yeosang frowns, deep in thought. “Be careful out there. If they’re sending backup, it means they’re expecting something significant.”

You nod, appreciating his concern. “I will. Thanks, Yeosang. I’ll try to keep you updated, even if it’s just through official channels.”

Just then, the speakers installed throughout the headquarters ring, and Director Han’s voice booms through them. “Agent Sylvil. Your presence is needed in the meeting room immediately.”

Sighing, you turn to Yeosang, lips pursed. “Well, I guess it’s time.”

He pats your shoulder, giving you an encouraging smile. “Take care out there. You’ve got this.” You ruffle his hair in response, standing up and heading straight to the meeting room. As you enter, you find many of your fellow agents already gathered, armed and ready. A dozen of them, each one looking determined and focused.

Director Han steps forward and begins to speak, her voice firm and authoritative. “Agents, tonight’s mission is critical. The Crimson Fox’s target is the ancient compass, and we cannot allow him to acquire it. Here’s the plan: We will deploy in two teams. Team Utopia, led by Agent Kim, will secure the perimeter and establish surveillance points. Team Aurora, led by Agent Park, will be the primary assault force and will engage the Crimson Fox directly if necessary.”

She pauses, looking around the room to ensure everyone is following. “Our mode of transport for this mission will be motorcycles. This will allow for quick maneuverability and a fast response time. Each team will have a designated route to the target location. Stay in constant communication and be prepared for anything.”

Director Han then turns to you. “Agent, your role is crucial. You’ll be providing overwatch and will have the autonomy to move as you see fit. We trust your judgment to intervene at the right moment. Remember, the goal is to secure the artifact and, if possible, capture the Crimson Fox. Any questions?”

No one speaks up, the air thick with anticipation. “Alright then. Gear up and move out.”

You and the other agents head to the garage, where sleek black motorcycles await. You mount your bike, choosing to stay behind the others to keep an eye on them. The engines roar to life, and soon, you’re speeding through the city streets, the wind whipping past you. The ride is swift, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you approach the target location. Upon arrival, you quietly separate yourself from the other agents without them noticing, slipping into the shadows to position yourself strategically.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows over the old, abandoned warehouse where the ancient compass is hidden. The 12 agents form a perimeter, their eyes scanning the area for any sign of the Crimson Fox. The night is still, the only sound being the distant hum of the city.

Suddenly, a figure drops from the rafters with feline grace, landing silently in the middle of the room. The Crimson Fox straightens up, his lips curling into a mocking smile. His eyes glint with amusement as he takes in the sight of the armed agents surrounding him.

“Oh, wow,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “An entire squad just for little old me? I’m flattered.” He pauses, his gaze flicking around the room. “But where’s my favorite nemesis? Why didn’t they send her alone instead? Surely that would be more worth my time.”

The agents glance around, noticing your absence. Their in-ear monitors beep, and your voice comes through. “I’ll be in the shadows to strike when he least expects it. Keep your guard up at all times—this is no ordinary thief you’re facing.”

The Crimson Fox notices the change in their demeanor, even without seeing the monitors. A wicked smile spreads across his face. “So she’s here, huh? Good. This should be interesting.”

The agents tighten their grips on their weapons, readying themselves for the confrontation. You remain hidden, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The tension in the air is palpable, the night shrouded in a veil of impending conflict. Agent Kim, leading Team Utopia, steps forward. “Give up. There’s no way out of this.”

The Crimson Fox laughs, a low, menacing sound. “Oh, I think I’ll manage.” With a sudden burst of speed, he darts forward, his movements a blur. He disarms Agent Park with a swift kick, sending his weapon skittering across the floor.

“Aurora, tighten formation.” you command, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Utopia, flank him from the sides.” The agents move quickly, trying to encircle the Crimson Fox, but he is relentless. He spins, his fists and feet striking out with deadly precision. One agent goes down, then another, each one taken out with frightening efficiency.

“Is this the best you can do?” he taunts, delivering a spinning back kick to Agent Park’s midsection, sending him sprawling. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

“Aurora, regroup near the crates,” you order, directing them to a safer position. "Utopia, he’s heading your way.”

“Got it!” Agent Kim responds, signaling his team to reposition. They move swiftly, trying to outmaneuver the Crimson Fox. The fight is chaotic, the agents struggling to keep up with the Crimson Fox’s lightning-fast attacks. He seems to be everywhere at once, his movements a blur of dark red and black. He taunts them mercilessly, his voice a constant stream of mocking comments.

“Come on, you can do better than this!” he jeers, dodging a punch and retaliating with a swift elbow to the jaw. “Where’s your spirit, your drive? Did you leave it at home?”

You watch the scene unfold, your mind racing. “Agent Kim, he’s heading for the northwest corner. Cut him off.”

“On it!” Agent Kim replies, his team sprinting to intercept the Crimson Fox. The agents close in, their determination unwavering despite the odds. The Crimson Fox, however, remains one step ahead. He leaps onto a stack of crates, using the high ground to his advantage. From his elevated position, he delivers a powerful kick, sending another agent flying.

“Are you watching this?” he calls out to you, his voice dripping with derision. “Is this really the best your precious organization can offer?”

Your hands tighten into fists. “Utopia, distract him from the front. Aurora, prepare to flank.” The agents execute your orders, Aurora engaging the Crimson Fox head-on while Utopia moves to surround him. The fight intensifies, punches and kicks flying in every direction. The Crimson Fox parries each attack with ease, his movements fluid and precise.

“Nice try,” he sneers, catching Agent Park's arm and twisting it painfully. “But you’ll need more than that to catch me.”

Agent Park lunges forward, attempting to tackle the Crimson Fox, but he sidesteps smoothly, delivering a knee to his stomach. “Too slow!” he laughs, throwing him aside.

“Utopia, hit him from the left,” you instruct, your eyes never leaving the Crimson Fox. The agents comply, but the Crimson Fox anticipates their move. He ducks low, sweeping his leg out and knocking two agents off their feet. “Predictable,” he mutters, his gaze flicking upwards. “Come on, Agent. I know you’re out there.”

You grit your teeth, knowing you have to stay hidden for now. “Aurora, push him towards the back wall. Utopia, be ready to cut him off.” The agents press forward, forcing the Crimson Fox to retreat towards the back of the warehouse. He glances around, a calculating look in his eyes. “Interesting strategy,” he muses, blocking a punch from Agent Kim and countering with a sharp elbow to the ribs. “But it won’t work.”

Agent Kim regains his footing, charging at the Crimson Fox. “We’ve got you now!”

The Crimson Fox smirks, catching his arm and flipping him over his shoulder with effortless strength. “Do you, though?” He looks directly into the shadows where you're hidden. "I know you're waiting for the right moment, Agent. But how many more of your friends will fall before you act?"

Your heart races, knowing he’s trying to provoke you. “Hold your positions,” you instruct the agents. “He’s trying to bait us.”

Agent Kim narrows his eyes, his breathing heavy but determined. “We won’t let you win, Crimson Fox.”

The Crimson Fox chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I already have.” He moves with blinding speed, taking down another agent with a swift combination of strikes. “And you know it.”

The fight continues, the agents growing weary but refusing to back down. The Crimson Fox remains relentless, his taunts never ceasing. “You should have stayed home,” he sneers, delivering a powerful kick to Agent Park’s chest. “This was a losing battle from the start.”

You watch, frustration boiling within you. “Aurora, fall back to the east side. Utopia, cover them.” The agents regroup, their resolve unwavering despite their injuries. They reposition, trying to find an opening, but the Crimson Fox’s defenses are impenetrable.

“Why do you fight for them?” he questions, his voice a mocking whisper as he catches Agent Kim's fist and twists it painfully. “Do you really believe in their cause?”

Agent Kim grits his teeth, refusing to yield. “We fight for justice.”

The Crimson Fox laughs, a cold, hollow sound. “Justice? How quaint.” He releases Kim with a shove, turning his attention to the others. “You are all pawns in a game you have yet to know of.”

You take a deep breath, your eyes locked onto the Crimson Fox, who is circling the agents like a predator. His confidence is palpable, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the scene. “What’s the plan, Agent? Are you going to save them at the last minute?”

You remain silent, watching from your vantage point on the ceiling, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The Crimson Fox’s eyes narrow, sensing the tension in the air. “Well? I'm waiting.”

The agents spring into action at your signal, converging on the Crimson Fox from all sides. He meets them head-on, his movements a blur of calculated strikes and swift dodges. Agent Park’s lunges first, aiming for a disabling blow, but the Crimson Fox sidesteps effortlessly, delivering a crushing elbow to his ribs. He crumples to the ground, gasping for breath.

“These are the agents that are supposed to take me down?” the Crimson Fox taunts, his voice dripping with disdain.

Agent Kim tries to catch him off guard with a low sweep, but the Crimson Fox leaps over her leg, landing a brutal kick to his shoulder that sends him sprawling. He doesn’t give him a chance to recover, following up with a series of rapid punches that leave him dazed and bleeding.

“Stay together,” you command through the comms, your voice tense. “Don’t let him isolate you.”

The agents regroup, their faces set with determination despite their injuries. They attempt a coordinated attack, moving in unison to trap the Crimson Fox, but he’s always one step ahead. He disarms Agent Park with a quick twist of his wrist, then slams him into a nearby wall with a force that leaves cracks in the concrete.

“Pathetic,” the Crimson Fox sneers, glancing around at the fallen agents. “You should have brought more.”

Agent Park, struggling to his feet, charges again. The Crimson Fox catches his fist mid-swing, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him to the ground. He doesn’t get up this time.

“When’s your leader planning on coming out?" the Crimson Fox calls out, his voice echoing through the warehouse. “Or does she want to just stay in the shadows and let you all crumble?”

You watch helplessly as Agent after Agent falls. The Crimson Fox’s taunts grow more vicious, each victory fueling his arrogance. “This is almost too easy. Do you really think you can stop me?”

Agent Kim manages to land a glancing blow to his jaw, but the Crimson Fox’s retaliatory strike is swift and punishing. He grabs him by the collar and throws him into a stack of crates, the impact knocking him unconscious.

“Aurora, pull back—” you instruct, but it's too late. The Crimson Fox is relentless, cutting down the agents with brutal efficiency. His movements are a deadly dance, each strike perfectly timed and devastatingly effective.

“Come on, Agent,” he mocks, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Are you just going to let them die?”

Agent Park makes one last desperate attempt, but the Crimson Fox sidesteps, delivering a bone-crushing kick to his knee. He collapses with a cry of pain, clutching his leg.

The warehouse falls silent except for the labored breathing of the wounded. The Crimson Fox stands amid the fallen agents, his chest heaving from exertion but his confidence unshaken. “Is that it?”

You feel a surge of anger and frustration. The agents lie scattered around the warehouse, unconscious and severely wounded. The Crimson Fox’s eyes scan the room, searching for you.

“I know you’re here,” he says, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

You wait for the perfect moment, then launch yourself from your hiding spot on the ceiling, tackling him from behind. Your kick sends him nearly falling to the ground, but he manages to steady himself just in time.

“Finally decided to join the party, did you?” he taunts, turning to face you, a gleam of surprise and annoyance in his eyes.

You don’t respond, keeping your focus solely on him. The weight of the fallen agents presses on you, fueling your determination. “This ends now,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The Crimson Fox laughs, a cold, mocking sound. “I don’t think so.”

The fight begins in earnest. You lunge at the Crimson Fox, your movements precise and calculated. You strike first, landing a solid hit on his jaw. He stumbles back, surprised by your speed and strength.

“Can’t you do any better?” you taunt, pressing your advantage.

The Crimson Fox regains his footing, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You think you’re special because you knocked me back a bit?” he sneers. “Your friends didn’t fare so well.”

Ignoring his taunts, you unleash a flurry of punches and kicks, each one driving him further back. For a moment, you feel a surge of confidence—you have the upper hand. But as the fight drags on, his words start to seep into your mind.

“Look at them,” he says, gesturing to the fallen agents. “All of them thought they could beat me. They thought you would save them.”

You grit your teeth, trying to block out his words, but the pained expressions on the faces of your fellow agents remain in your line of sight. Each glance at their unconscious bodies weakens your resolve.

“You’re so dedicated to your job,” the Crimson Fox continues, dodging your next strike with ease. “So dedicated you sacrificed their lives to get it done. You’re making it more obvious that you want to catch me not because you have to, but because that’s the only thing that’ll reassure you that you’re still good enough.”

“Shut up,” you growl, trying to regain your focus. But the words sting, hitting closer to home than you'd like to admit.

“You let them fight me without your aid, thinking they could handle it. Look at where they are now—broken and bleeding because of your arrogance.”

His relentless taunting chips away at your concentration. The memory of your fallen comrades’ faith in you and your failure to protect them plays over and over in your mind. Your attacks become sloppy, your defense weakens. He starts to gain the upper hand, his strikes landing with increasing accuracy and power.

“You think you can handle this on your own? Pathetic. They were counting on you, and you failed them.”

“Open that mouth of yours one more and I’ll make sure you’ll have no voice to speak for you by the end of the night,” you say through ragged breaths, but the doubt in your voice is unmistakable. He doesn’t listen to you, choosing to continue driving you on edge. “You were their last hope, and you let them down.” He laughs, his voice a poisonous whisper.

“You let them die.”

The last shred of your focus crumbles. You swing at him, desperate to silence his mocking voice, but he dodges easily, moving behind you in a flash. You feel a sharp, sudden pain at the back of your neck as he hits a nerve. Your vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges. “No,” you whisper, but it’s too late. The world goes black, and you collapse to the ground, unconscious.

When you wake up a short while later, the first thing you notice is the cold, hard chair pressing against your back. The tight ropes wrapped around your torso dig into your skin, restricting your movement. You struggle, the chair creaking beneath you, but the bindings hold firm. Your mouth is gagged with a bandana, muffling any sound you try to make. Frustration and anger bubble up inside you as you recall the events leading to your capture. Your mind races, replaying the moment the Crimson Fox struck you down. You should have been better. You should have saved your team.

Out of the shadows, the Crimson Fox emerges, his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. He walks toward you with a casual, almost leisurely pace, his eyes never leaving yours. Despite the mask still covering the rest of your face, he can see the fury and humiliation in your eyes.

“Look who’s awake,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “Comfortable?”

You try to stay calm and composed, but the sight of him makes your blood boil. You strain against the ropes, the chair creaking louder, but it’s no use. The gag stifles your attempts to speak, turning your words into frustrated, muffled sounds, making the Crimson Fox laugh. He crouches in front of you, close enough that you can see the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look.” He rolls his eyes. “You brought this upon yourself.”

You glare at him, your eyes burning with defiance. He scoffs, clearly entertained by your futile struggle. “You thought you could catch me, didn’t you?” he says, shaking his head. “Such arrogance. Did you really think you were good enough for that?” He stands up, pacing around you. “You know, I was expecting more from you. I’ve heard so much about your skills and your dedication. But now that I’m seeing you like this... I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

You try to shout something, but the gag turns your words into unintelligible noise. The Crimson Fox laughs, clearly enjoying your helplessness. “Hmm? What’s that? Trying to say something?” He leans in closer, his voice a whisper. “You look so vulnerable right now. So weak. It's almost... endearing.”

He steps back, tilting his head as he looks at you. “Tell me something,” he says, his tone more thoughtful now. “Have you ever doubted your cause? Ever wondered if the side you’re fighting for is truly the right one?”

You frown, trying to understand his angle. He chuckles softly. “Ah, I see it in your eyes. That flicker of doubt. You’ve always been so dedicated to your job, so sure of your purpose. But have you ever stopped to question it?”

He starts speaking in riddles, his words twisting and turning. “Not everything is as it seems. Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur. Heroes and villains, they’re often two sides of the same coin. Haven’t you ever considered that?”

Your eyes narrow, and he smirks. “You think you’re fighting for justice, for the greater good. But what if the very people you work for are hiding the truth from you? What if you’re just a piece of a bigger puzzle?”

He crouches down again, closer this time. “You see, they’re not as noble as you think. They have secrets, dark ones. And you’re blindly following their orders, thinking you’re making a difference. But are you?”

His words worm their way into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt. “You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that. But dedication without question, without understanding, is just another form of blindness.”

“Think about it. Reflect on your cause,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of mockery and genuine challenge. He leans forward, hooking a finger under the bandana wrapped around your mouth, and pulls it down. “Because sometimes, the world is not always as it seems.”

As the gag falls away, he’s back to taunting you. “So, Agent, feeling a bit more talkative now?” You meet his gaze with a fiery glare, blood from a split lip pooling in your mouth. Without breaking eye contact, you spit the blood onto his face. He’s taken aback for a moment, wiping it off with a disgusted sneer. But then he scoffs, a dark laugh bubbling up from his chest.

“Feisty, aren’t we?” he says, clearly amused. “I admire your spirit. It’s a shame it’s so misdirected.”

“You think tying me up proves anything?” you retort, eyes burning with anger. “It just shows how terrified you are of facing me head-on.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying the banter. “Terrified? No, no. I’m just smart. Smarter than your entire organization, it seems.”

“You hide behind tricks and deception,” you snap. “Real strength doesn’t need such cowardice.”

He wipes the remaining blood from his face, looking at you with a mix of admiration and disdain. “Real strength? Like the strength your agents showed? Oh, wait, they’re all unconscious.”

You grit your teeth, the sight of your fallen comrades still fresh in your mind. “You won’t get away with this. You think this is over?” you challenge, keeping your voice firm despite your resolve crumbling. “This is just the beginning. I will hunt you down, no matter where you hide.”

He smirks, clearly entertained by your defiance. “Big words for someone in your position. Now that you can use that mouth of yours, tell me, why are you so dedicated to catching me? What is it you’re really fighting for? You’ve always claimed you’re fighting for… justice,” he mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And yet, your ‘justice’ left your comrades bleeding and broken.”

“They knew the risks,” you reply, refusing to let him see any doubt. “We all did. And we’re willing to pay the price to stop you.”

"Such dedication," he muses, almost to himself. “Haven’t you ever wondered if you’re fighting for the right side?”

You narrow your eyes, refusing to let his words shake you. “Save your philosophical musings for someone who cares. I know what’s right, and it’s not you.”

“We’ll see,” he says, standing up straight and looking down at you. “We’ll see how long that conviction lasts.”

He leans in closer, his voice a low whisper. “Remember, Agent, the truth is often hidden in plain sight. Keep your eyes open.”

He leaps out of the window by the roof of the warehouse, a mocking farewell echoing back to you. As soon as he’s out of sight, you struggle against the ropes binding you. Although he left you untouched while you were unconscious, he had been smart enough to ensure you were restricted from using your suit’s full capabilities. Every movement sends sharp aches through your body, the ropes digging into your skin.

Just then, you notice a small red button blinking in the corner of the room. Squinting, you recognize it as a surveillance camera. Had it been shut down the entire time? The fact that it’s only working now, after the Crimson Fox left, could only mean one thing—he saw this coming. He knew what was going to happen and had prepared meticulously. As you continue to struggle, your in-ear monitor beeps, signaling an incoming call. Director Han’s voice comes through, urgent and tense.

“Agent, the Crimson Fox knew of our plan beforehand. He managed to shut down all cameras so we couldn’t supervise you and your team.”

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling up. “Director Han, I need immediate assistance at the warehouse. My fellow agents are severely wounded.”

“Yes, I can see you from the camera in the separate room you’re in,” Director Han responds. “We’re mobilizing a team now. Hang tight.”

“Prioritize the agents first,” you urge, your voice firm despite the pain. “They need medical attention immediately. I can manage, but they can't.”

The call ends, leaving you in silence once more. Your mind races, guilt gnawing at you. The sight of your comrades lying unconscious, wounded by the Crimson Fox, flashes through your mind. You should have done more. You should have been faster, smarter.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each second marked by the pulse of the red light on the camera. Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching, hurried and heavy. The door bursts open, and medical personnel rush in, followed by a team of agents. Before they even get to ask about your condition, you cut them off, urgency in your voice. “What’s the status of the other agents?”

“They’re injured but stable. The medics are with them now,” one of the agents informs you.

“Good. Hurry up and cut these ropes. They need help more than I do,” you command, your tone brooking no argument. As soon as you’re free from the ropes’ grasp, you try to stand up quickly but a sharp pain shoots through your body, making you hiss. The agents rush to assist, attempting to place your arm over their shoulders for support, but you wave them off. “Go back to the others and prioritize their care,” you insist.

The agents exchange uncertain glances, clearly concerned. You usually avoid using your position as the highest-level secret agent to assert authority, but this is different. “That’s an order,” you state firmly. “Now go.”

Reluctantly, they comply, hurrying back to where the other agents are. Left alone in the room, you take a moment to steady yourself, looking up at the window where the Crimson Fox made his escape. A sigh escapes your lips, and you begin to move, each step sending waves of pain through your body. Your hand clutches your torso, pressing against the spot where the Crimson Fox had landed a particularly hard punch. You cough, a pool of blood splattering the floor, and groan in pain. But you know your fellow agents have gone through worse. They’re more hurt than you are. Summoning every ounce of strength, you follow after the medics who had just left. When you reach the area of the warehouse where the Crimson Fox had easily knocked out your team, the sight that greets you fills you with guilt. Agents are being aided or carried away on stretchers, their injuries severe. Medics work swiftly, tending to wounds and stabilizing the unconscious. You stand there, watching the scene unfold, guilt gnawing at you.

Were you really good enough? Were you really good enough if you let this happen? The question lingers in your mind, the faces of your fallen comrades haunting you. Each pained expression, each wound, is a testament to the stakes of your mission and the high price of failure. You feel a weight settling over you, heavier than any physical injury. The responsibility, the burden of leadership, and the doubt of your own abilities press down on you, almost suffocating. You’re supposed to be their shield, their leader. And you had failed.

Back at headquarters, you’re the only agent still conscious after the fight, the sole presence in the meeting room with the directors. The silence feels deafening as you stare into the void, numbness enveloping you. You attempt to distract yourself from the harrowing events, but it’s futile. Director Liu’s sharp call of your name snaps you out of your thoughts, and you clear your throat, mumbling an apology. She then begins the debriefing. “When you and the other agents were being escorted back to headquarters, the investigative team went to the warehouse to locate the artifact. The location was provided to them by the director board. Surprisingly, it was still there.”

You’re supposed to feel relieved, to have the weight lifted off your shoulders, but instead, a sense of doubt and suspicion creeps in. Why didn’t the Crimson Fox steal it? Was stealing it even his intention in the first place? And how did the director board know the exact location of the artifact inside the warehouse? Their voices of celebration are hollow in your ears. You speak up, your tone devoid of enthusiasm, lacking its usual professionalism.

“Was it worth it?”

The directors turn to you, confusion etched on their faces. “What do you mean?” Director Kang asks.

“Was it worth sacrificing the lives of our agents for an artifact?” Your words hang in the air, heavy with accusation. You’re not only targeting them but also yourself—your recklessness, your selfishness.

Director Kang chuckles awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood. “This is exactly what agents are for. They take risks for justice, for the greater good.”

“They didn’t want to nearly die, though, did they?” you retort, your eyes fixed on the table. Not because you’re afraid of meeting their gaze, but because you don’t want to see your reflection in their eyes—the reflection of a fool, of failure. “You know the risks imposed by the Crimson Fox, I know them—but those agents you sent? They didn’t. They didn’t risk their lives for justice; you put their lives on the line without letting them know what they were getting into beforehand. You said it yourself—I’m the only person capable of handling this mission. And yet you sent them anyway.”

Director Han brushes you off, her tone dismissive. “I don’t quite understand why you’re being so emotional. This is unlikely coming from you, Agent. If you’re so concerned about them, then why didn’t you do your best to protect them? They wouldn’t have been wounded if you just taught yourself to be less selfish and reckless, no? Quit the emotional turmoil. The compass is now in our hands, and that’s the only thing that matters. You’re dismissed.”

The finality in her words stings. You rise from your seat, feeling the weight of their gazes on your back as you turn to leave the room. The doubts and guilt gnaw at you, refusing to let go. You know that while the compass may be secured, the cost was too high. Director Liu calls out your name before adding, “Given the circumstances, it’s highly unlikely that the Crimson Fox will strike again anytime soon. For now, the mission will be put on hold.”

You nod, absorbing their words. But the relief they seem to feel only deepens your inner turmoil. Dismissed, you walk out of the meeting room, your steps heavy with guilt. As you walk through the halls of the headquarters, you pass by the infirmary. Through the transparent doors, you see all of your fellow agents who were with you on the mission, lying on hospital beds, their injuries a stark reminder of the night’s failure. A tear slips down your cheek as you tear your gaze away and continue walking.

This was exactly your biggest fear. You didn’t mind being sent on dangerous missions, didn’t mind losing a limb for what it was worth, didn’t mind dying by the hands of a criminal—but inflicting harm on your colleagues because of your rash decisions was something that would always haunt you. They were hurt, not just because of the Crimson Fox, but because of you.

You weren’t a fool to trust them, but you were a fool to not foresee the consequences of your orders. Agents send concerned looks your way as you pass through the hall, but you use every fiber in your body to try to ignore them. Passing by the lounge, you catch sight of Yeosang. Just as he’s about to approach you, you quicken your steps to the elevator leading out of the headquarters.

Each step on your way home feels dreadful. Once you finally arrive home, you can’t even muster the strength to go to your bedroom. The moment you close your house’s door, you press your back against it, sliding down as sobs wrack your body. You cry endlessly, not even allowing yourself a moment to breathe. The guilt, the doubt, the haunting images of your fallen comrades—all of it overwhelms you, leaving you feeling more vulnerable than ever before.

Were you truly good enough for this? Was tonight really as much of a success as the directors were making it out to be? Was not having to be on the scene for about a week really something to celebrate? Sure, they shouldn’t have sent those agents to begin with, but you should’ve thought more rationally, too. The words the Crimson Fox spat rang endlessly in your mind.

“You think you’re fighting for justice, for the greater good. But what if the people you work for are hiding the truth from you? What if you’re just a pawn in their game? You see, they’re not as noble as you think. They have secrets, dark ones. And you’re blindly following their orders, thinking you’re making a difference. But are you?”

As you sit there, the implications of his words gnaw at you. What if the directors were hiding something? Their dismissive attitude towards your injured colleagues, their relentless pursuit of the seemingly insignificant artifact, and their lack of transparency—all of it began to form a troubling picture. The directors didn’t seem to care about your fellow agents that were wounded. They only cared about the artifact and the mission. The thought unsettled you, planting a seed of doubt in your mind about the true nature of the organization you were so dedicated to.

And then you remember what he said that hit you the most.

“You know, I was expecting more from you. I’ve heard so much about your skills, your dedication. But now that I see you like this... I’m disappointed.”

Disappointed.

Were you really worth holding your title if you couldn’t even catch a thief your level? Were you really as good as you were made out to be, or had you just never found your match all along—until now?

You begin to question everything. The confidence you once had in your abilities feels shattered. The Crimson Fox had not only outsmarted you but had also tainted you with a sense of doubt about the very organization you served. You wonder if you’ve been blind to the darker aspects of the agency, too focused on your missions to see the bigger picture. You sit there, questioning your place in all of this. Were you really making a difference, or were you, like he had said, just another pawn in a game you didn't fully understand?

—

The next few days were nothing short of dread for you. The library, once your sanctuary and source of normalcy in your chaotic life, now felt like a chore. Each book you shelved, each patron you assisted, only reminded you of the emptiness gnawing at your core. You tried to convince yourself that you were unaware of the reason, but deep down, you knew it all too well.

Wooyoung hadn’t visited the library since the night of the mission to stop the Crimson Fox from getting his hands on the compass—the night that started this numbness. His absence left a void, a missing puzzle piece in your life. You had always found solace in his presence, a beacon guiding you back to the right path when your mind was a storm. But now, in your time of need, he was nowhere to be found. Even now, as you assisted a patron in finding a book that suited their interests, your thoughts drifted to Wooyoung. Where was he? What was he doing? Why hadn’t he come to see you? Was he thinking about you, too? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the patron gently tugging the sleeve of your blouse.

“Excuse me, miss. Could you tell me more about this book?” the patron asked, holding up a novel.

You blinked, bringing yourself back to the present. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, clearing your throat. You began explaining the book’s plot and themes, managing a weak smile as the patron thanked you and walked away. Left alone in the aisle, you found yourself staring blankly at the shelves, drowning in your thoughts. Time seemed to blur. You didn’t know how long you had been standing there until a familiar voice broke through your haze.

“Oh, there you are! I was wondering where you—” Wooyoung’s cheerful tone trailed off as he saw the expression on your face.

You turned to him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He quickly closed the distance between you and entered the aisle you were standing in, his concern evident. “Hey, are you okay?”

His words were the final push, breaking down the fragile walls you had built around your emotions. Without a second thought, you let yourself fall into his arms, burying your face in his shoulder. The dam broke, and you sobbed uncontrollably, your body shaking with the force of your emotions.

Wooyoung held you tightly, his hand gently stroking your back. “It’s okay, it’s okay, alright?” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your shattered spirit. “I’m here. Just let it out.”

The comfort of his embrace was overwhelming. You clung to him as if he were your lifeline, the tears flowing freely now. The pain, guilt, and doubt you had been holding back poured out in waves. He didn’t rush you or press for answers, simply standing there, offering silent support.

Wooyoung led you to a secluded area of the library, away from prying eyes. He found a quiet corner with a small table and sat you down, choosing to sit beside you instead of across. The soft, ambient light filtered through the high windows, casting gentle shadows around you both. His presence was comforting, a steady anchor in your turbulent sea of emotions.

Without a word, he began rubbing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. He seemed to instinctively know that you weren’t ready to talk, that you needed a moment to collect yourself. The library was silent except for the soft rustle of pages and distant whispers, providing a tranquil backdrop to your chaotic thoughts. You kept your eyes down on the table, focusing on the grain of the wood as you tried to steady your breathing.

After a while, when the storm of your emotions had calmed to a manageable level, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung blinked, clearly puzzled by your apology. “Hey, no, don’t say that. You have nothing to apologize for,” he said gently, but you waved him off before he could continue.

“I didn’t mean to just suddenly have an outburst like that,” you explained, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks.

“It’s normal,” he reassured you, his tone soothing. “It’s okay to let it out. It happens to everyone.” He paused, gauging your reaction. When he saw that you weren’t ready to dwell on your breakdown any further, he quickly shifted the conversation, his next statement catching you off guard.

“I think roadman vampires would be pretty sick.”

The sudden statement startled you out of your melancholic state. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, as if he had just blurted out the most absurd combination of words to ever exist. “Sorry, what?” you asked, incredulous.

“I mean, think about it,” Wooyoung continued, undeterred. “Picture me this: you’re walking down the street, right? It’s dark, a bit sketchy. Suddenly, this roadman vampire rolls up on you, tracksuit and all, but instead of asking for drugs or some cash, he’s like, ‘Bruv, spare us a pint of your blood?’”

You stared at him, still trying to process the bizarre turn the conversation had taken. “Are you serious right now? What, like, ‘Oi mate, got any O negative?’”

"Yeah! And instead of carrying knives, they carry little blood bags strapped to their belts—and their hoodies have those fake vampire teeth printed on them. ‘Bloodsucker’ written in bold letters across their backs.”

You couldn’t help but be caught off guard. The mental image he painted was so ridiculous that you found yourself struggling to hold back a laugh. “No, seriously! Imagine the street lingo mixed with vampire lore. ‘I’ll suck ya blood, fam’ becomes their catchphrase.”

That did it. You broke into a short fit of laughter, struggling to keep your voice down in order not to disturb the other patrons. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but this time from amusement rather than sorrow.

“What do you think?” he urges, insistent on pushing further with his agenda.

“I think you’ve officially lost your mind,” you said between giggles, shaking your head. Silence engulfs both of you—a comfortable one at that, while Wooyoung seems to still be imagining the scenario of randomly stumbling upon a roadman vampire. Just then, three words came out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“I missed you.”

The library around you seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of your admission. Wooyoung's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your confession. You hurriedly straightened up in your seat, trying to backtrack, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“I mean, it’s just, you know, you have this infectious enthusiasm and—”

“You did?” Wooyoung interrupted softly, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and hope. “You missed me?”

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, searching for any sign of judgment or discomfort. There was none. Just a flicker of something warm and genuine in his eyes that made you feel oddly vulnerable. “I... I did,” you admitted quietly, unable to look away from him.

A smile slowly spread across Wooyoung's face, softening his features. “Well, tell you what, I missed you too,” he confessed, his voice gentle. “It felt strange not having you around.”

A rush of relief flooded through you, mingling with a hint of disbelief. You had expected awkwardness or perhaps a polite deflection, not this genuine reciprocation.

“You did? Like, really, really did?” you echoed his words, trying to lighten the mood with a hint of playful skepticism.

Wooyoung chuckled, his smile widening. “Yeah, I really, really did.”

His genuine response eased the tension between you, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence. The heaviness of the past few days seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. “You know,” Wooyoung continued, his tone light but sincere, “you’re an amazing person. Strong, dedicated, caring. You might not always see yourself that way, but trust me when I say that’s how you look in my eyes.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected praise. “You think so?” You tilt your head.

“Know so.”

He then continued, “And, you know, if you ever need someone to distract you by reading the entire Hotel Transylvania script in roadman slang, I’m your guy.”

“You’re my guy?” you teased, unable to resist poking fun at Wooyoung's unintentional slip.

“I mean, um, you know, for when you’re going through a tough time or just want to hang out. Not in that way, or, like, I mean, if you—” Wooyoung stumbled over his words, cheeks flushing slightly.

You cut him off with a laugh. “I know what you mean, Woo. I was just messing around.” The nickname slipped out effortlessly, and you didn’t even notice it, but Wooyoung felt his heart skip a beat.

After your playful banter, you stood up, straightening the light crinkles on your blouse. Wooyoung looked at you curiously. “Where are you going?”

You smiled amusedly at him. “You know I’m the librarian here, right?”

Wooyoung chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, yeah, right.”

Before you could head back to your station at the registrar, you turned back to him. “Thanks for making me feel better, Wooyoung.”

As you started to walk away, Wooyoung stood up abruptly, catching up to you. “Wait.” He gently grabbed your wrist, and you turned to him with a surprised look. “Yeah?”

He stumbled over his words for a moment before blurting out, “I was thinking... maybe I could take you out to dinner tonight. Just to lift off the rest of your burdens and have a good time together. My treat.”

Silence fell between you for a couple of seconds, and Wooyoung appeared nervous, waiting for your response. You smiled at him, unable to resist teasing a little. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

The joke was meant to lighten the mood, but as Wooyoung shyly chuckled, your eyes widened in slight surprise. He was.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“I’d love to, Woo,” you interrupted, your smile growing wider at the genuine delight on his face.

“Really? I mean, cool, cool. Yeah, cool,” Wooyoung tried to play it off casually, but his eyes betrayed his excitement.

You returned to the counter to continue your work, aware of Wooyoung stealing glances at you from his seat nearby. Each time your eyes met, he would quickly look away, making you chuckle softly to yourself.

When your shift finally ended, Wooyoung’s enthusiasm was almost palpable, though he tried to mask it with nonchalance. It was endearing to see how he eagerly offered to handle the closing duties. He started tidying up the library, insisting you just sit back and relax. He even took your bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a playful smile.

Once you were outside, as you locked the doors with your keys, Wooyoung reached up to pull down the metal shutter. You stopped him by gently holding his wrist. “I can handle it,” you said with a smile.

He looked at you, his eyes warm. “I know you can, but I want to help.”

Caught off guard by his sincerity, you let go of his wrist and watched as he effortlessly brought down the shutter. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel cared for in a way you hadn’t expected. As the two of you walked down the quiet street, you couldn't help but ask, “So, where are you taking me?”

Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “That’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

You chuckled, deciding to play along. The comfortable silence that settled between you was filled with a sense of ease and familiarity. You took the opportunity to glance at him, noticing the effort he had put into his appearance tonight. He looked especially dashing, dressed in a black turtleneck and well-fitted pants, exuding a charm that was hard to ignore.

“So, this is why you’re all dressed up, huh?” you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

He looked slightly bashful but met your gaze with a grin. “Well, I had to make a good impression.”

You laughed, feeling a lightness in your chest that had been absent for days. The weight of your earlier troubles seemed to lift, if only for a moment, as you walked beside Wooyoung. The evening air was cool and refreshing, and as you walked, you found yourself feeling increasingly at ease. Wooyoung kept the conversation light, sharing amusing stories and anecdotes from his recent trip. His animated storytelling and genuine enthusiasm made you smile and laugh, easing the lingering tension in your mind.

When you finally arrived at the restaurant, you were pleasantly surprised. It was a cozy, intimate place with a warm ambiance. Wooyoung held the door open for you, and you feel a sense of anticipation. As you and Wooyoung entered the cozy restaurant, a waiter greeted you both with a warm smile. “Ah, what a lovely couple! Please, follow me to your table,” he said, turning to lead you through the intimate setting before you had a chance to correct him.

The waiter led you to a table in a quiet corner, and you noted the reserved sign with a small, appreciative smile. Once seated across from each other, you looked at Wooyoung with playful skepticism. “So, you reserved a table for the lovely couple, huh?”

Wooyoung quickly waved his hands defensively. “I swear, I didn’t tell him we were a couple or anything like that!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Relax, Woo. I’m just playing around.”

You both placed your orders, and as you waited for your food, the conversation naturally turned to his recent trip due to you asking him about it. While he was recalling fragments of moments from it, a particular memory appeared in his mind.

“Oh, you know, one day, we were painting this huge section and suddenly a storm rolled in. We had to scramble to cover everything and ended up drenched. We were laughing so hard by the end of it. It was a mess, but a fun one,” he said, his eyes twinkling with the memory. “It was pretty hilarious. We spent the next day fixing everything that got messed up, but it was worth it. The mural turned out amazing, and Yunho was really happy with it.”

“Sounds like you had a great time,” you said, feeling more relaxed as you listened to his stories.

“I really did! Enough about me, though,” Wooyoung said suddenly, leaning forward. “I want to know more about you.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback. “Huh?”

“You know so much about me, but I know almost nothing about you,” he pointed out, his expression earnest.

It struck you that he was right. “You... want to know more about... me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, smiling warmly.

You hesitated for a moment, considering how to navigate this without revealing too much. “Well, there’s not much to tell. I’ve always been more of a listener than a talker,” you began cautiously.

He tilted his head, encouraging you to continue. “Come on, there has to be something. Hobbies? Favorite books? Something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You began pondering, trying to gather your thoughts. “Well, let’s see... I guess I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm. I love getting lost in stories, exploring different worlds, and seeing life from different perspectives. That’s partly why I enjoy working at the library so much. It’s like being surrounded by endless possibilities.”

Wooyoung nodded, his eyes fixed on you with genuine interest. “I can totally see that. You always seem so at home there, like it’s your sanctuary.”

“It really is,” you agreed with a small smile. “I find comfort in its silence, the smell of books, and the sense of order. It’s a nice contrast to how chaotic life can get sometimes.”

“Do you have a favorite book?” Wooyoung asked, leaning in slightly.

You thought for a moment, a smile forming on your lips. “It’s hard to pick just one, but if I had to choose, it would probably be ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. I love the wit and intelligence of the characters, and the way the story critiques social norms.”

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up with interest. “That’s a great choice. I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never actually read it. What do you like most about it?”

“It’s so many things,” you began, your excitement growing. “The main character, Elizabeth Bennet, is such a strong, independent woman, especially for her time. She’s smart, witty, and not afraid to speak her mind. And Mr. Darcy, well, he’s complex. At first, he seems arrogant and aloof, but as the story progresses, you see that he’s actually very kind and caring. Their dynamic is fascinating to me, and what I love most is their banter. The dialogue between them is so sharp and clever. They challenge each other, and through that, they grow as individuals. It’s not just a love story; it’s about personal growth and overcoming prejudices. Oh, not to mention, Elizabeth’s my favorite character from the book, too.”

Wooyoung pressed on further, his interest piqued. “What specifically draws you to her?”

“She’s such a remarkable character,” you said, your voice taking on a more reflective tone. “Elizabeth is not just intelligent and witty; she’s also incredibly perceptive and resilient. She navigates the rigid social structures of her time with a kind of grace and strength that’s really inspiring. She doesn’t let society dictate her choices, especially when it comes to marriage, which was a huge deal back then.”

Wooyoung nodded, clearly engrossed. “She sounds like someone worth admiring.”

“She really is,” you agreed. “What I find most compelling is her growth throughout the novel. She starts off with a lot of preconceived notions about people, particularly Darcy. But as the story progresses, she learns to look beyond her first impressions and recognizes her own faults and prejudices. It’s a humbling journey that makes her all the more relatable and admirable.”

“You see a lot of yourself in her, don’t you?” Wooyoung said, a gentle understanding in his eyes.

You paused, feeling a wave of vulnerability. “Yeah, I do. Elizabeth’s courage to speak her mind, her refusal to settle for anything less than what she deserves, and her ability to learn and grow from her mistakes... it all resonates with me deeply. I admire her character so much, and sometimes, I try to channel a bit of her strength in my own life.”

Wooyoung’s smile was warm and encouraging. “I think you’ve got a lot of that strength already. It’s clear just from talking to you.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a rush of gratitude. “It’s nice to talk about these things with someone who genuinely listens.”

“I’m really glad you shared that with me,” he said softly. “I can see why Elizabeth Bennet is your favorite. You’re really passionate about this book,” Wooyoung observed, his smile widening.

“I guess I am,” you admitted with a laugh. “I’ve read it so many times, and each time, I find something new to appreciate. Like how she subtly critiques the societal expectations placed on women, or how she portrays the complexity of human relationships. It’s brilliant.”

“Maybe I should give it a read sometime.” He stared above the ceiling and back into your eyes, a genuine haze wrapping itself around his eyes.

“You should,” you encouraged. “It’s more than just a romance novel. It’s a commentary on society, class, and the human condition. And it’s so well-written. Her use of irony and satire is masterful.”

“You’ve convinced me,” Wooyoung replied with a grin. “I’ll start reading that someday in the near future.”

“I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you said, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction. “And if you ever want to discuss it, I’m always here.”

“Deal,” he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself opening up more and more. Wooyoung’s genuine interest and warm presence made it easy to share parts of yourself you usually kept hidden. You talked about your love for music, your fondness for rainy days, and even your tendency to get lost in thought while daydreaming.

“You know, it’s really nice getting to know you like this,” Wooyoung said after a while. “You’re even more interesting than I already knew you were.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. “It’s nice getting to know you too.”

As the date continued, you found yourself increasingly caught up in Wooyoung’s stories and laughter. He regaled you with tales from his college days, his animated expressions and infectious enthusiasm pulling you into his world. The way his eyes lit up with each memory, turning into joyful crescents as he laughed, made it hard not to get lost in the moment.

It was beautiful—he was beautiful.

But amidst the warmth and ease, a nagging doubt then began to creep into your mind. Was it really wise to let your feelings for Wooyoung develop, knowing the secret life you led? You were a spy, a covert operative whose existence was built on deception and danger. The thought of letting someone in, of allowing yourself to grow close to another person while harboring such a monumental secret, seemed almost reckless. Would it be safe to live under the roof of a house built in lies, knowing it is bound to fall?

Your thoughts wandered to the precarious balance you maintained every day. Your life was a constant dance on the edge of peril, where one wrong move could lead to complete catastrophe. Could you really afford to bring someone into that world, to risk their safety and well-being? The rational part of your mind screamed that it was impossible, that a relationship built on lies and half-truths could never truly flourish.

Yet, as Wooyoung shared a particularly hilarious memory involving a college prank gone wrong, you found yourself laughing along with him, the sound echoing warmly between you. His genuine joy, the way he seemed to find light in every situation, was like a stark contrast to your troubled thoughts. For a moment, the weight of your life lifted, replaced by the simple pleasure of being with him.

You watched him closely, taking in the way his eyes sparkled, his mouth curving into a grin that seemed to light up the entire room with ease. In that instant, all your worries and doubts seemed to fade into the background. It was as if his laughter had the power to push away the shadows that constantly loomed over you. You’d spent so much of your life calculating risks, planning every move with meticulous care. But here, with Wooyoung, it felt different. It felt right to let your guard down, if only for a little while, and enjoy the moments of happiness he brought into your life.

For once, it felt right to be wrong.

As his laughter subsided and he took a sip of his drink, you found yourself smiling more genuinely than you had in a long time. There was something about him that made you want to take that leap, to embrace the uncertainty and see where it led. You could hear the voice of reason in the back of your mind, cautioning you against it, but your heart was pushing you to choose to ignore it. Maybe this path was fraught with risks and uncertainties, but you were willing to take the chance. For now, you would let yourself be swept up in the joy and warmth that Wooyoung brought into your life. And maybe if you search hard enough, you could find a way to balance the shadows and the light, the secrets and the truths, in a way that allows you to truly live.

—

For the next few days, your life began to take on a new rhythm. Mornings once filled with solitude were now punctuated by Wooyoung’s cheerful presence. Each day, he would visit the library, transforming what used to be a quiet, routine part of your life into something vibrant and new. You had always seen the library as your sanctuary, a place where you could retreat from the chaos you’re bound to. But now, it was becoming a place where you felt truly alive, thanks to Wooyoung. You spent hours together, sharing stories, laughter, and a growing sense of connection. You learned that his sense of humor was more playful than what he’d let you on, often surprising you with his quirky questions and offbeat observations. He seemed to take genuine joy in making you laugh, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits more and more. It was during one of these conversations that you had mentioned, almost offhandedly, that you often skipped breakfast. It was just a passing comment, a small detail about your hectic mornings, but Wooyoung had latched onto it with surprising earnestness.

The next day, he showed up with a warm breakfast sandwich and a coffee, setting them on your desk with a grin. “You can’t start your day on an empty stomach,” he had said, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and concern. It became a ritual after that, his daily offerings of breakfast a tangible reminder of his thoughtfulness. Over time, the simple gesture began to chip away at the walls you had built around yourself. You found yourself growing softer, more open, and warmer towards him, as if the barriers you had erected to protect yourself were finally starting to crumble.

As the days passed, you discovered more facets of Wooyoung’s personality. He had a quiet depth to him, a sensitivity that contrasted with his often boisterous demeanor. He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his past with a sincerity that was both endearing and disarming. You found yourself sharing more about your own life, albeit carefully avoiding any details about your work as a secret agent. Still, in the moments you spent together, you felt a connection that was both profound and unsettling. You knew that you were treading dangerous ground, allowing yourself to care for someone when your life was so precariously balanced.

But then, reality intruded. The brief respite you had enjoyed came to an abrupt end as you found yourself back in the headquarters, in the sterile, impersonal confines of the meeting room. The transition from the warmth of Wooyoung's company to the cold efficiency of your workplace was jarring. Director Han greeted you with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, her tone deceptively casual as she welcomed you back.

“Did you spend your break time to its fullest?” she asked, her voice smooth and untroubled. It was ironic, almost infuriating, that she could speak to you so casually after the way she had dismissed the well-being of your fellow agents weeks ago. Her apparent indifference to their suffering had been a bitter pill to swallow, but you had learned not to expect anything different from the director board. You forced a positive response, careful not to reveal the real reason your break had been enjoyable.

“I did,” you replied, keeping your voice steady and professional.

“Good,” she continued. “Because from now on, no distractions shall be allowed to enter your line of sight.”

You narrowed your eyes, sensing the gravity of what was to come. “Why is that?” Your eyebrows furrowed lightly.

Director Liu stepped forward, her expression grim. “The Crimson Fox has his eyes on a new artifact,” she said, her voice laden with significance. “And this mystical property is of utmost importance. Its value surpasses anything he has targeted before.”

You crossed your arms, skepticism evident in your posture. “Mystical properties? Are we basing our mission on legends now?” you began, your voice rising with incredulity. “Forgive me, Director, but you have to admit, this sounds like a wild goose chase. First, it’s an old painting, then a compass, and now this? Why are we placing such high value on what seem to be random artifacts?”

Director Liu’s expression remained stoic, but you pressed on. “You’re coming off as suspiciously secretive. There’s a lack of transparency here, and I’m not comfortable with it. If there’s something about this artifact that’s critical, I need to know. Otherwise, I can’t accept this mission.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. The directors exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Director Kang spoke up, his tone conciliatory.

“The artifact in question is not just a relic. It’s a key component in a much larger puzzle, one that we’ve been trying to piece together for years. Its significance lies not only in its historical value but in its potential to unlock other, more powerful artifacts.”

You considered his words, your mind racing. “And you expect the Crimson Fox to know this? To understand its true value?”

Director Han nodded. “He’s always been one step ahead, understanding the deeper connections between these items. We believe he has access to information that we do not.”

You sighed, the pieces slowly falling into place. “Alright, but if you want me to risk my life for this, I need full disclosure. No more secrets.”

Director Liu’s eyes softened slightly. “You have our word. We’ll provide you with all the information we have.”

With that assurance, you shifted gears. “What are the risks involved in this mission?”

Director Kang’s expression grew serious. “The risks are considerable. The artifact is being kept in a high-security facility with state-of-the-art defenses. But the Crimson Fox has proven time and again that he can circumvent such measures. There’s also the risk of collateral damage. We can’t afford another incident like the last mission.”

You nodded, the memory of the previous mission's failure still fresh. “And you’re not planning on accompanying me with other agents again, are you? You know what happened last time.”

Director Han shook her head. “No. This time, you’ll be going alone. We can’t risk another failure.”

You hummed in thought. Well, at least they’re aware of the damage they caused. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him.”

Director Han’s smile was approving. “That’s the spirit we need. Now, let’s discuss the specifics.” Then, they began to outline the details of the operation, and you listened intently, asking pointed questions and clarifying key points.

“The artifact is housed in the Armitage Museum,” Director Kang started. “It’s a high-security facility with several layers of defense. Surveillance cameras, motion detectors, laser grids, and a rotating guard schedule.”

You leaned forward, absorbing the information. “What about the artifact’s location within the museum? Is it in a display case or a secured vault?”

“It’s in a secured vault in the basement,” Director Liu replied. “The vault itself has a biometric lock system, requiring both fingerprint and retinal scans.”

“Whose biometrics?” you asked, your mind already working on possible infiltration methods. “The museum director and head of security,” Director Han answered. “We have gathered some intel on their schedules, but gaining access to them will be tricky.”

“How exactly do you expect me to bypass all these security measures?” you questioned, your tone sharp. “And what about backup plans in case things go south?”

“We have a tech team working on a device to temporarily disable the security systems,” Director Kang said. “It will give you a window of approximately ten minutes to get in and out. As for backup plans, a secondary team will be on standby outside the museum, ready to intervene if necessary.”

You frowned. “Ten minutes isn’t much time. What if the Crimson Fox has already infiltrated the museum by then?”

“That’s a risk we have to take,” Director Liu admitted. “But our intel suggests he hasn’t made his move yet. He seems to be waiting for the right moment.”

“And you believe that moment is imminent?” you pressed, wanting to be sure.

Director Han nodded. “All signs point to it. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

You took a deep breath, considering the gravity of the situation. “What about the museum’s guard schedule? Any gaps or vulnerabilities?”

Director Kang pulled up a digital layout of the museum, highlighting key areas. “The guards rotate every four hours. The weakest point is during the shift change, which happens at 2 AM. There’s a brief period of about ten minutes where the new shift is settling in and the old shift is wrapping up.”

You nodded, making mental notes. “So, we time our infiltration during the shift change. What about the museum director and head of security? Are they on-site during that time?”

“The head of security is on-site, but the museum director leaves around midnight,” Director Liu said. “We’ll need to find a way to access the director’s biometric data before he leaves.”

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. “Alright. What about the Crimson Fox? Any recent intel on his whereabouts or movements?”

“We believe he’s been laying low, preparing for this heist," Director Liu replied. "But we have no concrete information on his exact location.”

“Great,” you muttered to yourself sarcastically. “So, we’re going in blind, hoping he doesn’t show up at the worst possible moment.”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Director Kang said, his tone firm. “But we have confidence in your abilities.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’ll do it. But if things go sideways, I’m not taking the fall for this.”

“Understood,” Director Han said. “We’ll provide you with all the support you need." The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the upcoming mission settling over you. Despite the tension, you felt a familiar sense of determination. You had faced dangerous missions before, and you would face this one with the same resolve. As the meeting concluded, you gathered your materials and prepared to leave. The mission would take place tomorrow night, giving you just enough time to make the necessary preparations. You knew the risks were high, but you also knew that you were the best person for the job.

The day of the mission came quicker than you had expected, and today, you decided to spend your entire day in the headquarters training room. It had been a while since your last appearance on the scene, and you didn’t want to get too comfortable—especially not now, with Wooyoung unknowingly making you softer. As you warmed up, your muscles responded with a familiar ease, the rhythm of your movements a comforting reminder of the life you had chosen. This was your world, where precision and control reigned supreme. You moved to the climbing rig, scaling its heights with practiced agility. But then, unexpectedly, your hand slipped on a rung, and you plummeted to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. The impact jolted through you, making you hiss in pain. It was unfamiliar—usually, you never messed up like this.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself back up. You couldn't afford to falter now, not with such a critical mission looming. But as you continued your training, your mind kept drifting to Wooyoung. His smile, his laugh, the way he looked at you with those bright, sincere eyes. You wondered, if you hadn't been dragged into the world of espionage, would you have been able to live a normal life with him? Would you have met him under different circumstances, where you were just a normal librarian without any lies to cover up? Would you be sitting across from him at a café, holding his hand instead of a training handlebar? In another reality, would your days be filled with mundane joys and quiet moments, rather than the constant threat of danger and deceit?

You tried to shake it off, but the questions persisted, echoing through your mind. Each time you lost focus, your balance wavered, and frustration mounted. You kicked the wall in anger, the sound reverberating through the empty training room. Sinking to the ground, you ran your hands through your hair, feeling the weight of your double life pressing down on you.

You got too carried away.

The line between your professional life and your personal desires blurred, leaving you vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The stakes were too high for distractions, but the more you tried to push thoughts of Wooyoung aside, the more insistent they became. What would it be like to wake up each day without the looming specter of danger? To simply enjoy a quiet breakfast with him, without the burden of secrets hanging over your head? You imagined lazy Sunday mornings, his arm draped over your shoulders as you both laughed at something trivial on TV. The normalcy of it all seemed almost unattainable, a distant dream compared to the harsh reality you faced.

Your training session deteriorated into a series of missteps and missed cues. Each failure added to your frustration, culminating in a moment of sheer exasperation. You kicked the wall again, harder this time, before collapsing against it, breathing heavily. The training room, once a place of focus and discipline, now felt suffocating. You let your thoughts wander freely, for just a moment longer. Perhaps in a different life, Wooyoung would be waiting for you at home, a comforting presence after a long day. Maybe you would have shared stories about your days, him talking about his friends and his life, while you shared anecdotes from the library. The mundane yet beautiful simplicity of it all was both a solace and a torment.

But this was your reality. You were a secret agent, and tonight, you had a mission to complete. The risks were too great, and the stakes too high, to indulge in fantasies of what could have been. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the ground, determination hardening your resolve. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions get the best of you. Not now. Not when the Crimson Fox was still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike. You had a job to do, and no matter how much you wished for a different life, this was the path you had chosen.

Standing up, you squared your shoulders and resumed your training with renewed focus. The thoughts of Wooyoung lingered, but you forced them to the back of your mind. There would be time to sort through your feelings later. For now, you needed to be at your best. The hours ticked by, each one bringing you closer to the mission.

After concluding your training session, you decide to make a quick stop at the bathroom to wash your face and clean yourself up. The training session had left you sweaty and disheveled, and you needed a moment to compose yourself. As you walk down the corridor, you pass by the storage room where they kept broken training equipment. The door is slightly ajar, and you catch the sound of hushed whispers. Curiosity piqued, you slow your pace, straining to hear the conversation. One voice is male, the other female, both speaking in low tones that suggest secrecy.

“Are you sure this is the right time for it?” the male voice asks, sounding nervous.

“We don’t have a choice,” the female voice replies, more assertive. “Everything’s in place. We need to act before it’s too late.”

“But what if someone finds out? The consequences—”

“Keep your voice down,” she hisses. “No one can know. Especially not her.” Your heart skips a beat. Who were they talking about? And what was this plan they were so secretive about? Your mind races with possibilities, but you know better than to jump to conclusions without more information.

Just then, you hear footsteps approaching from a distance. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, you quickly move away from the storage room and head to the bathroom. Once inside, you lean against the sink, letting the cold water wash over your face as you process what you just heard. Why were they talking about that? What could they be planning? And who were they referring to when they said “her”? You know the headquarters well enough to recognize that not everyone can be trusted, but this conversation feels particularly sinister.

As you dry your face, your thoughts swirl with suspicion. You couldn't afford to ignore this. But confronting them directly without evidence could jeopardize everything. You needed to tread carefully and keep an eye out for any further signs of shady activity. Finishing up, you take a deep breath and straighten your posture. With your mind now sharpened by both the day’s training and this unexpected encounter, you make your way to the briefing room, ready to face the mission ahead. But in the back of your mind, the conversation lingers, a shadow that you can't shake off—yet you force them into the back of your mind, as there’s a mission to be done, and distractions could be fatal. The director board goes over their initial plan, and you sense they are putting more effort into this than the last few attempts to capture the Crimson Fox.

You arrive at the museum entrance, immediately checking the security cameras by the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you saw that all of them were broken, yet the sight inside the museum was what surprised you even more. The security guards were all lying unconscious on the floor, every security system is disabled, and the lights were off. The only illumination comes from the dim glow of the moon passing through the windows. You move cautiously, noting that every guard and system is down, which is unprecedented.

When you reach the large room housing the vault where the artifact is kept, you’re surprised to find the vault open, yet the artifact is still inside. You take your first step towards it when you sense a presence above. You quickly turn and grab the foot aiming for your face before it can make contact.

“Agent,” he starts, his voice smooth and mocking. “How nice to see you again.”

“You seem to have gone through a lot of trouble to get here tonight,” you note, glancing at the unconscious guards. “What’s your endgame?”

The Crimson Fox chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “My endgame? I think you already know. But the real question is, what’s yours?”

“Saving the artifact from your hands,” you retort, tightening your grip on his foot before releasing it, forcing him to backflip away from you.

He lands gracefully, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “And why do you care so much about this artifact? Do you even know what it truly is?”

“I know it’s important to the organization,” you reply, keeping your voice firm. “Important to the organization,” he echoes, a hint of derision in his tone. “But why? Have you ever asked yourself that? Why would they value something that, to everyone else, seems insignificant?”

You hesitate, and he catches it. “You’re starting to wonder, aren’t you?” he continues, stepping closer. “Starting to see the cracks in the façade. Tell me, why would they go to such lengths to protect this? What are they hiding?”

His words leave you pondering, but you refuse to show it. “You talk a lot for someone who’s about to lose.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, his tone almost playful. “But deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen enough to question them. To doubt.”

“Why do you care what I think?” you taunt, genuinely curious now. “Why are you trying so hard to make me doubt them?”

“Because,” he says, his voice softening just a fraction yet still deceiving, “I see potential in you. It’s just… misdirected.”

His words make you pause. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not,” he admits. “But I know enough. And I know you’re not blind. You can see the truth if you look hard enough.”

“And what truth is that?” you challenge, your heart pounding. He smiles, but it’s devoid of positivity. He then responds, “That’s for you to find out. But first, you have to want to know.”

“Do you?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You’re at a crossroads, and you know it. The choice you make now could change everything. You stare at him, your mind racing. He’s given you a choice, a chance to see things differently. And for the first time, you’re not sure which path to take.

The fight then begins, and unlike the other battles you had with him that were more reckless, more about testing which of you was more skilled, this one felt different. There was an intensity, but also a strange harmony to your movements. Each strike, each block, each dodge—everything flowed seamlessly as if you were engaged in a violent dance, perfectly in sync.

It was a depiction of brutal beauty, a choreography of combat. Every step was calculated, every move met with a precise counter. The sound of your bodies colliding, the whisper of fabric, the heavy breaths—it all combined into a symphony of motion and energy. It was as if time slowed down, the world narrowing to just the two of you, locked in a battle that was as much about understanding as it was about defeating.

He lunged at you with a swift kick, and you dodged with a grace that matched his own, retaliating with a high kick that he barely managed to block. You spun, he ducked, you struck again, he parried. The fight was a dance where your movements entwined in a deadly ballet. There were no words exchanged, just the raw, primal communication of bodies in motion, testing each other’s limits.

Finally, you saw an opening. With a swift move, you caught him off guard, pinning him to the ground on his back. Knees on either side of his torso, you held both of his arms above his head with one hand, the other drawing a dagger from your pocket. You used it to lift up his mask and remove it.

The sight that met you filled you with utmost shock and a mixture of everything all at once.

“Wooyoung...?”

🪞— lividstar.

[drowning-rat73]

To everyone who voted that i should post the quotes, here you go :)

Perfection is reached, not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away.

Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.

A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.

Thinner is the winner.

You can never be too rich or too thin.

Hunger hurts but starving works.

The flat stomach is nice, but a concave one is perfect..

You will be tempted quite frequently. You will have to choose whether to enjoy yourself wholly for those 20 minutes or so that you will be consuming excess calories, or whether you will despise yourself cordially for the next three days.

Eat to live, but don’t live to eat..

Quod me nutrit, me destruit (What nourishes me, also destroys me.)

It’s simple: You decide once and for all that you aren’t going to eat, and there are no further decisions to make.

It’s not deprivation, it’s liberation.

Being normal is over rated.

Food is like art, to be looked at not eaten.

Every time you say no thank you to food, you say yes please to thin.

You have a choice to make, do you want to be “Normal” and overweight like the rest of the world, Or do you want to be unique and be that girl every overweight person wants to be? It’s all up to you.

I do eat normally: only what is needed for survival. I can’t help it that we live in a piggish society where gluttony is the norm, and everyone else is constantly stuffing themselves.

Think higher of yourself, your too good to put that in your body.

Anorexia is not a self-inflicted disease, it’s a self-controlled lifestyle.

When I wake, I’m empty, light-headed. I like to stay this way, free and pure, light on my feet, traveling light. For me, food’s only interest lies in how little I need, how strong I am, how well I can resist, each time achieving another small victory of the will.

The difference between want and need is self control.

I’ve come too far to take orders from a cookie.

They always say they’re concerned with me, about my health, when all they want to do is control me.

They want to pin me down and force-feed me with lies, with what they call love.

The greasy fry, it cannot lie, its truth is written on your thigh.

They say I could die if I get too thin and I tell them I could die getting too fat also. The difference is dieing thin is a challenge and I am not one to give up one a challenge.

I want my collarbones and hips to be as sharp as my mind.

You can learn to love anything I think, if you need to badly enough. I trained myself to enjoy feeling hungry. If my stomach contracts, or I wake up feeling nauseated, or I’m light-headed, or have a hunger headache or better yet, all of the above, it means I’m getting thinner, if feels good. I feel strong, on top of myself, in control.

Denying yourself food is not true deprivation – never being thin is.

There is no try, there is only DO.

I have a rule when I weigh myself. If I’ve gained then I starve the rest of the day. But if I’ve lost, then I starve too.

Re-measure, reweigh, try harder.

Your body is the baggage you must carry through life. The more excess baggage the shorter the trip.

You have such a pretty face, why don’t you try dieting?

Pain is temporary; Pride is forever.

An imperfect body reflects an imperfect person.

Don’t give up what you want most for what you want at the moment.

I’m a teenage drama queen, I’ll throw my guts up for self esteem.

Empty is pure, starving is the cure.

Be like a postage stamp. Stick to one thing until you get there.

Feed the soul; let the body fast.

If you close your mouth to food, you can know a sweeter taste.

The less I swallowed, the more I declined, the more I hope to pare things down to the essentials.

The more they give me, the less I’ll eat.

Eat less, weigh less.

Thin has a taste all its own.

Happy or sad, rich or poor, it’s better being thin.

I don’t care if it hurts, I want to have control, I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul.

If it tastes good, It’s trying to kill you

The word is control. That’s my ultimate – to have control.

I want to be the smallest I can possibly be…when I see bone, that’s the day I will finally feel free…

Giving in to food shows weakness, be strong and you will be better than everyone else.

I’m not starving myself. I’m perfecting my emptiness.

I, the hunger artist, rarely disappoint my audience.

How many pounds till I am happy? How many pounds till I get thin? Three more pounds till I am skinny, three more pounds and I win!

Anorexia is not a disease. Anorexia is not a game. Anorexia is a skill, perfected only by a few. The chosen, the pure, the flawless.

Anorexia is like a game; you play, you win, and then it’s over. Or you keep playing.

Nothing. Nothing is wrong. And asking is against the rules. Crying is against the rules. Your strong, don’t let them break you. They’re trying to destroy you.

When it comes to losing weight, those who can, do; those that can’t make excuses.

Don’t eat. If you want to see food, look in the mirror at your thighs.

What’s in your fingers today is on your hips tomorrow.

The only freedom left is the freedom to starve.

Blessed are the starving, for they shall teach us not to want.

Don’t eat anything today that you’ll regret tomorrow.

Craving is only a feeling.

Bones define who we really are, let them show

Note- none of these are mine, i found them all on a 2010 pr04n4 blogging site.

[elenthyaolyenths]

I couldn't decide on where to begin, so thank you all by advance for your help! Please reblog so everyone can see it! The winner of this poll will become one of my top priorities during November.

↓LONG POST under the cut! I describe each WIP with pictures and I explain what I would like to do.↓

Tell me in comments/reblogs what you would like to see for these WIPs!

Num. 1: "Please", inspired by David Tennant Richard II Kiss

"Please" is the first part of a diptych. Published as a simple WIP in December 2023, it became for no apparent reason (lol) one of my most famous posts on Tumblr. I have always wanted to full-colour it, but I was feeling so much pressure about this one that I didn't dare to try. And then Time has passed...

I have changed a lot of things in my art practice. Different brushes, different lines, and so when I'll work again on "Please", I already know that I'll have to redo all the lineart - that's ok, it's one of my favorite tasks. I will improve Aziraphale's expression and draw more details on his Archangel suit. Crowley with his dark waistcoat (ngk) and his gorgeous black wings will probably stay the same, even if I'll redo all his lineart so they'll complete each other perfectly. And, of course, full-colour... Teehee.

Num. 2: "...Again." (inspired by David Tennant Richard II Kiss)

"...Again" is the second part of my "Richard II Kiss" diptych. So much potential in Aziraphale's wings, as he literaly lauches himself into Crowley's arms! And how I love the way Crowley embraces him like nothing else matters. I'll have to do all the lineart for this one, and I'm so glad about it, because I guess I have changed and improved my lineart skills these last months, and "Again" is the perfect challenge for proving it to myself.

Num. 3 "Bliss", one of my favourite Red Art Sketches! But...

Achieved on the 29 of January, 2024, "Bliss" is a Daily Challenge sketch, so time completion = less than 2 hours. I love the emotion and the movement in this one, but I have always wanted to come back to it and take my time, in order to draw a cleaner and more detailed version, probably in full-colour. The potential of Crowley's wings is phenomenal (I'm so much more skilled now about drawing wings), and his expression is wonderful. Maybe I'll change a little bit the lineart so we could see Aziraphale's embrace on Crowley - tenderness and passion all the way, always.

Num. 4 "Falling Starmaker" - "If Only I could have been there for you"

"Aziraphale saw the Starmaker's Fall, but didn't (couldn't) intervene. 6 thousand years later, he still regrets. He should have been there for him."

I dearly love this headcanon about Aziraphale, and I like to imagine that he would still dream about saving the Starmaker from his Fall. Not because he prefers Crowley as an angel (Damn, NO), but because he learnt to know Crowley throught the ages. And since he saw how much Crowley has suffered, after 6000 years, Aziraphale would do anything for relieving Crowley of thepast and the pain.

The lineart here is quite ok but needs to be redone so it would be more appropriate for a full-colour rendering. I really want to work on highlights and rendering effects for this one, so the movement of the Fall would be preserved. And I'll work on details like burnt feathers, Crowley's hair and Aziraphale's saddened eye.

Num. 5: "Eden" or "Take me back to Eden"

Since my first reading of "Anatomy 1.0.1", a Rating E fanfiction written by Fyre, I have a thing for them already together in the Garden of Eden. So of course, a kiss on the wall (again), but with their wings apparent this time!!!

I gave up this one in April after trying to full-colour it (that was... hideous.) Now that I have a better idea of how to handle full-colour, I need to come back to it. This one will be a peaceful, innocent fluffy scene. With Crowley's proud wings casting a soft shadow on them, probably, and his gorgeous hair flowing like fire and gold over Aziraphale. A lazy and tender moment in the Garden of Eden, when everything seemed simpler...

Ooooouf you did it! You know everything! So, which one you prefer? What would you want to see in it when it's achieved? Reblog/comment and tell me everything, I'm curious!!!

Thanks to you all, love you!!!

Linktree - Tumblr Masterpost

♥ Tag-List below (tell me if you want to be in or out)♥

@goodomensafterdark ;

@floscrap-blog ; @demonsandpieohmy ; @amagnificentobsession ; @captainblou

@ineffable-hyperfixation ; @itsscottiesstark ; @moralsofanalleycatsposts

@fearandhatred ; @eybefioro ; @crowleys-bentley-and-plants ; @ashfae ; @crowleys-hips;

@paperclipninja ; @silverdphantom ; @neverlet ; @naturallyteal

@mad-aims ; @daisydimple20092 ; @seraphhiim ; @rebeccakatmauri

[xo-cod]

thinking about bridgerton style au with the 141 🌸👑🩷

each boy seeking his partner, a search for a lover in order to become a duke. all four men well known around the town due to their mysterious backgrounds and their playboy ways though their hearts are cold, walls impenetrable, love isn't something they think they could achieve.

that is until they meet their match

john price: head of the team, price strives to fulfil the duties and managing the affairs. the leader, the one keeping them steadfast. he's intent on marrying purely out of duty, the viscount not interested in a love match. he doesn't think love will come to him so he doesn't hold out hope for it anymore, doesn't entertain thoughts of such an idea. nevertheless, he expects nothing short of perfection from his future bride.

simon "ghost" riley: handsome, charming and rich, quite the catch but unattainable. if he had any hope of fulfilling his duty of marrying and producing an heir, his temper prevents his pursuit. his heart is full of anger and pain, often engages on one nighters not wanting to be tied to down to someone. he had opted for more of a black surgical mask, occasionally donning the skull balaclava for when he finds trouble during the late night. the fear of love brings him vulnerability, the very thing that cursed his past. and he'll be damned if he makes the same mistake again.

kyle "gaz" garrick: gaz shows little interest in the societal goings-on, instead finding his refuge in the world of art. he yearns for something other than the endless round of parties he finds himself attending every evening. every night leaving behind a trail of broken hearts behind him, not a single one catches his eye. they don't seem to understand him to relate on a deeper level, they don't seem to care for affections and love. something he yearns for privately so he keeps to himself mostly. pours his love into art and dreams of turning his artistic hobby into a full-fledged career, soon finding himself looking far outside the world of the town in order to achieve it.

john "soap" mctavish: finally the youngest, takes no pleasure in attending balls and other social events instead preferring to focus on other activities. soap is not one for turning into just another young simpering and mincing viscount, he's got a sharp mind accompanied with a sharp tongue. believes he's destined for something much more, though he's quite rapidly approaching marriageable age. much to his displeasure. his heart is troubled, wanting to find love desperately but he knows its a fools pipe dream so he chooses not to engage with feelings anymore. with him it's just flings much like ghost, just fulfilling his sexual needs before he disappears

who shall be the one to capture their heart? who will be the one to rule the crown?

•••

don't come for me for any inaccuracies LOL. but i'm so in love with the slow burn and the yearning and the chance at love :") <33 and eventual smut

might add könig just for fun if i ever wrote it 👀 but it was in my drafts for ages lmao

[hinamie]

i normally don’t contribute much of my opinions on chapter content n themes bc a. i think my role in fandom spaces is that of a fanartist and I want to keep my art at the forefront, and b. I am Insecure about how little of the manga I have actually consumed and don’t think I have a solid foundation on which i can offer any coherent arguments or insight. generally I like to leave the long meta 2 people who have been genuinely invested in delving into the manga with the intent of analyzing it . y'all do gods work u are the reason i am not flying through this series completely blind

that being said, i am not here to give criticism on pacing or story cohesion bc quite simply, that is not my wheelhouse. i do, however, want to offer my 2 cents on the concept of choosing to live for others as someone who (like a lot of people is the vibe i’m getting) also struggles w depression and self-worth issues and sees aspects of themselves in megumi as a result. i want to reiterate tht this is not an analysis, these r just my gojo voice personal feelings n u r allowed 2 feel differently based on your own experience :)

let me just say first of all that I can 100% empathize with people wanting to see megumi choose to live fr himself after a lifetime spent in a system notorious fr stripping people of their agency and turning them into tools. i think in a perfect world he Does come to the realization that he’s worth living for. but i also think that him /not/ having crossed that bridge yet is also a very valid n realistic outcome. he's a kid, he's just had the worst experience of his life, he's traumatized and then some -- i only have a bachelor's in psychology and god knows i'm no doctor but personally i wouldn't call that a mental space where self-love is likely to stick

it’s hard to claw yourself out from rock bottom. to expect someone to immediately be able to make the transition from being in the worst mental state of their life to realizing that they are worthy as a person is a tall order that i honestly don't think many people wld b able to fulfil. /I/ certainly haven’t been, and living for others has honestly been what’s kept me going for a long fucking time. even when I’m not necessarily at a low point, I still rly struggle w liking myself n thinking i’m a good person, but what’s been a genuine lifeline fr me when i can't love myself is to direct that love Outwards. If nothing else I know that I have things I can create, and things I can offer others. I've spent countless hours forcing myself to acknowledge that, no matter how much i don’t believe them, if the people around me insist that they see something of value in me or in my work; something tht makes them love me Despite, then that alone is worth staying alive for.

i personally (although i can see how others wld disagree) don’t view the 'living for others' frame of mind as waiting for someone to save you, but rather as holding out hope that there is More out there than your own self-loathing will let you believe. For megumi, it wld seem that his something more was the people he cares about. Yuuji gave him the agency to choose whether or not to keep living, and megumi made that decision of his own accord, which fr someone at their absolute lowest is still a huge achievement! there was agency in that decision, there was selfishness--regardless of the underlying motivation it proved that he /wants/ to live. little side note but i think that megumi Making a selfish decision to live for others' sake should also give a bit of hope that he does have it in him to eventually be able to b equally selfish in the value he places on himself.

anyway that's what i got source: i'm depressed . n look i get that with so little of jjk left, it Is frustrating that we probably Won't see megumi come to the conclusion that he's worthy and that he should live for and love himself. but at the same time i don't think that his decision to keep living for others should b condemned either, bc as someone who has also yet to cross that bridge, sometimes that rly is the first step

[cursedonyx]

Hii! I saw your ideas for one shots you posted recently and I would absolutely LOVE to read all of them, but especially the one with Ominis, where Garreth slips Ominis his new potion and MC is helping Ominis with its 'hard' effects 🤭

So if you have time and if you'd want to write it, I would love to read it! ❤️

I have FINALLY gotten around to doing this ask, and as I’d had this in my drafts for ages I thought why not make it an eleventh-hour post for Kinktober too? I would have done more for Kinktober but, like our favourite old faithful that hasn’t been charged in a while, my smut battery was firmly depleted for quite some time.

This doesn’t follow any specific Kinktober prompt, but what the hell, hopefully you all enjoy this little tale of poor Ominis being utterly humiliated and thoroughly fucked.

Masterlist

Don’t Drug Your Friends

(Unless They’re Ominis and in Need of a Good Fucking)

Synopsis – After a multitude of experimental potions and a variety of undesirable effects, no one at Hogwarts wants to be a guineapig for Garreth’s new brews. In desperation, Garreth resorts to underhanded methods in order to test his newest concoction, and slips it into Ominis’ tea. Unfortunately for the poor Heir of Slytherin, the effects are both humiliating and unconquerable until the woman he’s secretly been in love with for the last two years offers to help put the proverbial basilisk back to sleep.

Word Count – 4.9k

Warnings – Female MC, House unspecified, NSFW, MDNI, dubcon, drugging, masturbation, handjob M!Receiving, oral M!Receiving, PIV, and a very embarrassed and needy Sub!Ominis.

All characters aged 18+.

Happy Kinktober.

Springtime at Hogwarts was a time for most students to pretend they were studying, as they instead dreamt about who they were going to ask on a date to Hogsmeade for Valentines, gossiped about the latest scandals, or got hyped for Quidditch. For the seventh years, it was a time to begin to panic about their upcoming exams and pretend they weren’t.

For Garreth Weasley, it was more a struggle than for most. Since the end of sixth year, when he’d convinced Lucan Brattleby to try his latest potion, and the poor lad had ended up in the Hospital Wing with scales, feathers, and the ability to burp luminous, sausage-like bubbles that took days to pop, the entirety of Gryffindor House had put a blanket ban on accepting so much as a biscuit from him. The other houses learned very quickly after this that no matter how much gold he offered, no matter how many favours, no matter how much he begged, it just wasn’t worth spending a week in hospital for.

But Garreth knew the only way to discover ✨The Perfect Potion™✨ was to practice, practice, practice, and in order to make sure his experiments actually achieved what he thought they should, he needed to test them. He always made sure he had a few poison antidotes on hand just in case, so he wasn’t entirely sure what all the fuss was about.

So it was that Sebastian and Ominis found themselves accosted by the boisterous redhead one early February morning in their seventh year, in the Defence Against the Dark Arts Tower.

“Seriously, Sallow, I’ll pay you fifty galleons. Fifty! Think what you could do with that money!”

“Fuck off,” came the terse reply. “I said no eight times already, I’m not going to change my mind.”

“But if I can get this to work ahead of Valentines-”

“Unclog your ears, Weasley, he said no,” Ominis said, using his wand to pour a cup of tea with the cool indifference only a Slytherin pureblood seemed able to master.

Garreth narrowed his eyes. “I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance, Gaunt. Heard your family’s fallen on hard times.”

“It’s no secret,” Ominis said, supremely unbothered. Then, a tiny smirk touched his lips. “That said, I’m surprised you’ve got fifty galleons to offer in your entire family’s account.”

Unlike Ominis, Garreth was just a little bit touchy about his family’s fortunes. He needed to make this potion work ahead of Valentine’s so he could sell it for a huge profit! It would be so popular and he’d be rich and famous and would be able to make sure all his family were comfortable, what was so wrong about that?

Perhaps this was why Garreth decided to do what he did. Maybe he was just in a bad mood and wanted to cause a bit of trouble. Or maybe, just maybe, he was having withdrawals from seeing his potions at work and was determined to do anything to get his creation tested. He pretended to see Peeves causing havoc on the other side of the Tower, and when Sebastian turned to look, he upended the tiny, pink potion into Ominis’ tea.

He shared a grin with Leander, and groped for a notepad as Ominis picked up his cup.

“Alright, fine, suit yourselves. But it would have made an absolute killing, and I’d have given you commission for your help,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.

“Whatever.” Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’ve enough to be worrying about without dealing with beetles falling out of my ears, thanks.”

Ominis shook his head and sipped his tea, closing his eyes at the warmth that slid past his lips and down his throat. He let his mind wander a little, and as it always did when he let it have some form of free reign, it landed squarely on the most incredible woman he’d ever known, the Hero of Hogwarts, for whom he had harboured a secret, burning love since their ill-fated trip to the Scriptorium.

A slim line appeared between his brows as the warmth from the tea seemed to settle under his collar, before spreading over his chest, creeping down his torso to pool between his thighs, and something began to stir.

Ominis, like any other man of his age, was no stranger to random bouts of wilful disobedience from his personal basilisk, and so he elected to ignore it, crossing an elegant leg over the other, hoping no one else had noticed. He took a slow breath and another drink, wondering vaguely why this particular standing to attention was coupled with something that felt concerningly like arousal. Yes, thinking of her certainly fired him up him like nothing else did, but he hadn’t been thinking of anything particularly ungentlemanly. He was in public, after all.

His hands tightened on his cup as the unspecified heat began to intensify, his half-mast blooming full, and as he heard Garreth leaning forward in his chair, and the scratch of quill on parchment, he began to put two and two together.

Uh-oh.

“Soooo…” Garreth said, in a voice so overly casual that it sent a thrill of fear through anyone in the vicinity that had recently had a drink. “How are we all feeling today? Normal? Bit hot under the collar? Thinking of anyone in particular?”

Ominis faced him, quite certain that steam might be curling up from under his shirt as his heart began to pound.

“What have you done?” he managed.

Garreth laughed. “Only what I had to. Don’t worry, the effects won’t last more than a few hours. I think.”

There was a clatter as Sebastian lunged across the low table, followed by a smash as the teapot shattered. Garreth yelped as Sebastian gripped handfuls of his robes and wrenched him out of his seat.

“What did you do?” he demanded, snarling.

“I needed to test my potion,” Garreth said, shoving him back. “Just slipped him a bit, that’s all!”

“What the fuck do you mean, you slipped him a bit!?” Sebastian barked. “What the hell is it meant to do?”

“I’m not sure yet, that’s why I needed to test it,” Garreth said, proudly. “It’s only a variant of a love potion that’s meant to make anyone you like want you in bed, nothing to worry about. Gaunt, tell me exactly what you’re feeling, spare no detail.”

“Are you insane?” Ominis hissed, hunching forward as his arousal twitched, nudging insistently against his belt and threatening to pop right out over the top of his waistband. “You better have an antidote for this, you cretin!”

Garreth gulped and edged behind Leander as Sebastian drew his wand, aiming it at his nethers. “Antidote? It’s only in the testing stages, I’ve not had time to-” he yelped as Sebastian fired a curse at him, and Leander had to put out a small fire on his robes.

Ominis felt his cheeks sear as another thrum of unspecified interest surged through him, his mouth drying. There was an insistent, needy ache growing in his lower abdomen, and he got the feeling that if he didn’t take care of it soon, he was going to be in serious trouble. It didn’t help that he could sense his friends staring at him, Garreth’s lack of subtlety and his shortening breath all but confirming the state he was in.

“Undercroft,” he managed to growl to Sebastian out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t follow me.”

“You okay?” Sebastian asked, as Ominis tugged his robes tight about himself and rose.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, trying to stand as casually as he could without revealing his significantly growing problem. “Do try not to kill that little bastard while I’m gone, I’d like to do it myself.”

The cool of the Undercroft’s stone walls did little to alleviate the heat in his body as Ominis shouldered his way through the hidden entrance, his pace increasing as he half ran towards a stack of crates at the back, positioned deliberately to hide a pile of cushions and blankets for the rare instances when he just couldn’t ignore his body’s needs. Ominis hissed between his teeth and turned his wand about the Undercroft, hoping that she wasn’t down here. Merlin, he’d never live it down if she saw him like this.

Hell, it was embarrassing enough to be in this predicament, but for his friends to know as well! The thought scalded him, making him cringe. It was worse that they knew why he’d gone off by himself. Yes, everybody did it, but that didn’t mean everyone should bloody know about it when he did! It was hard enough to find alone time as it was, but for anyone else to know… Ominis groaned. With the way gossip spread, the whole bloody castle would know that the infamously stoic Ominis Gaunt had needed to dash off and have a wank by the time he reemerged, if his past luck was anything to go by.

No matter. The state he was in, it wouldn’t take long, and then he could try and forget about the whole, sordid mess. After he’d murdered Garreth, of course.

He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, bracing a hand against the wall as his mind flooded with thoughts of her, as it always did when he needed to attend to himself. He focused on the faint brush of her hand against the back of his when they studied together, her fingertips cool as she handed him a book or stack of parchment, each light touch sending sparks through his skin that never failed to stiffen his cock. He whimpered softly as he recalled those few times he let her embrace him, his attention always zeroing in on how her ample breasts pressed against his chest, his hands resting just above the curve of her hip. What he wouldn’t give to feel these things without the cursed barrier of her clothes…

And Merlin, the sound of her voice, low and rich, some sultry note always winding about underneath it, as if she was but a moment away from singing or whispering nothing but sinful filth into his ear, her dark chuckles, the freedom of her laughter never failing to set his heart to racing.

Then the scent of her hair… citrus and exotic blossoms from some far off, sun-drenched land infused his mind as he wished and wished he knew what it was like to have those silken strands fall over his face as she rode him.

Ominis fought with his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, unable to stop thinking about her, imagining all those things she could do to him that would only ever be in his mind. She was too good for him, too perfect, too glorious, but it never hurt to imagine. Imagination never hurt anyone. His lower lip found its way between his teeth as he took himself in his hand, instinctively setting up a rapid pace that, when he’d been this worked up before, had brought him blissful relief in little under a minute.

But something was wrong. He could feel his hand sliding along his length, feel the pressure as he tightened his grip, but it brought him about as much relief as sticking it in a jar of numbing potion would have.

“Oh, come on,” Ominis hissed, gripping himself tighter in a vain effort to evoke some of the promised euphoria such an act usually provided him, even going so far as to spit in his palm, but it didn’t work. To his horror, it served only to heighten his need, and brought him no relief.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Almost an hour later, Ominis emerged, limping and red-faced, his breathing ragged and his hair dishevelled, his cloak pulled tight about his body.

“Well?” Garreth asked, eagerly, quill and notepad at the ready.

“Piss off,” Ominis snarled. “If you can’t get me an antidote in the next five minutes then what good are you?”

Sebastian shouldered Garreth out of the way and leaned in close.

“No better?”

“Fuck off. I don’t want anyone near me.”

“What about New Girl?” Leander piped up, clearly enjoying himself far more than was appropriate for the Slytherin’s suffering. “Bet you wouldn’t mind her being around you right now.”

Ominis spat a string of violent curses in Parseltongue at the thought of the Hero of Hogwarts assisting him with his predicament once again, before he tried to push away the idea as it sent another painful thrum of arousal through him. Unfortunately, the idea of her didn’t want to be banished and remained stubbornly inside his head, doing things no self-respecting woman would ever do, let alone to him.

“She hasn’t been new for two years,” Sebastian said, placing his foot firmly on Leander’s hip and shoving him away as Ominis clung to the wall, biting his tongue to stop himself groaning. “If you’re not going to help, then sod off.” He gripped Ominis’ shoulder, leaning close, and Ominis wriggled away, hissing as his skin tingled. “Mate, maybe he’s got a point. She’s good at potions, maybe she could do something about this? Plus, you like her, and she likes-”

“Never,” Ominis growled. “She can never hear of this.”

“Okay, then maybe we should get Professor Sharp, he’d be able to-”

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone I will kill you myself!” Ominis snarled.

It was getting decidedly hard to think, and Ominis huddled against the wall, bent almost in two as wave upon wave of rising need threw itself about his insides. If he didn’t do something soon, he was either going to explode or go completely insane. It was all he could do not to grab at himself, despite the fact that he was in public and he knew that it wouldn’t help one bit.

Sebastian shared a worried look with Garreth, whose eagerness to see the effects of his potion in action had worn off upon seeing how decidedly uncomfortable Ominis was. Yeah, it had been kind of funny to see him so embarrassed, but this was a problem. How could he sell his potion if the effects were this drastic, and didn’t wear off quickly?

“Maybe just… I don’t know, try and sleep it off?” Sebastian suggested, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry mate, I don’t know how else to help you.”

“I know a way you can,” Leander laughed, and quickly shut up as both Sebastian and Ominis glared at him, drawing their wands.

“Go up to the Room of Requirement,” Sebastian said, giving Ominis a little shove between the shoulder blades that made him yelp. “Garreth, you go too, there’s potion stations up there, and you better get to work on an antidote, or I’ll hang you off the Astronomy Tower by your balls.”

With a barely restrained whine, Ominis disillusioned himself and all but ran for the stairs, the outline of his figure vanishing as he rounded the bend. Garreth took one look at Sebastian’s murderous expression and followed, jotting notes on his parchment as he went. No sooner had he vanished than Sebastian took off, pelting through the castle, seeking the one person he hoped might be able to put an end to his brother’s suffering.

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

“How long’s he been like this?” she asked, matching Sebastian’s pace as they hurtled towards the Room of Requirement.

“A bit more than an hour or so, I think,” Sebastian panted, struggling to keep up. “It’s really bad.”

She cursed under her breath, her long, dark hair swishing to and fro. “What did Garreth say it was meant to do?”

“Turn people on so they’re easier to get into bed,” Sebastian replied, glowering. “Or words to that effect. He wants to sell it ahead of Valentine’s Day.”

She made a face, her small nose wrinkling. “Creep. As if it wasn’t bad enough having to worry about love potions. Poor Ominis.” They slowed as they reached the seventh-floor corridor, and she glanced at him. “I presume he’s… um… tried the usual methods?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I guess so. Didn’t ask, he’s embarrassed enough. He’s going to kill me when he finds out I’ve told you.”

“Me in particular?” she raised a brow, and Sebastian hesitated. It wasn’t a secret to those who knew him well that Ominis was madly in love with the woman before him, but he hadn’t thought she’d figured it out. His silence seemed to be all the answer she needed, and a little smile touched her lips. “Leave it to me. He’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“What are you going to-” Sebastian began, but she’d vanished into the Room of Requirement before he could finish. With a low sigh, he crossed his fingers, counted to ten, then followed, finding the large space mostly empty, save for a sweaty Garreth standing before a table of five cauldrons, each of them hissing different coloured steam. His nose was bleeding.

“What happened there?” Sebastian asked, and Garreth glowered.

“That cow just punched me,” he said, thickly. “Didn’t say a damn word and ran off to the bedroom.”

Sebastian grinned. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it.”

Garreth wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Shut up and help me with these, would you? Whatever she’s planning, I hope it works, because none of these antidotes look promising right now.”

✧˖°  ˖ * ˖  °˖✧

Ominis twisted and writhed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His clothes lay discarded on the floor of the small room, the light satin sheets of the bed dragging across his fevered skin as he desperately sought some form of relief from the blazing need surging through his body. But no matter how much he rutted against the mattress, no matter how fervently he beat himself, he couldn’t break through the barrier between desperate desire and the enduring numbness that denied him, over and over.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed. He couldn’t say how long he’d been tangled in these sheets, moaning softly as he chased a high that tormented him as it danced away, again and again. His mind was fragmented, consumed by a primal, visceral need for relief, for this aching agony to end, for the heavens to open and just please let him come.

So scattered was he that he barely registered the door opening, the footsteps hushing over the carpet as he gripped handfuls of his hair, curled in a ball on his side. But he heard the sharp intake of breath, smelled that torturously familiar scent that was so deliciously her, and his tormented mind took on a crystal clarity as pure, unadulterated panic flashed through him.

“No, no!” he gasped. “No, not you!”

She pulled up short, her brows drawing together a little as Ominis struggled to pull the fraying threads of his brain back together.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” he whimpered softly as another agonising pang of need surged through him, intensified by the fact that it was her standing there, and he curled up tighter, his hands tensing in his hair, trying to hide his shamed face as he tried to burrow under the sheets. “I… I don’t want you to see me like this.”

She was concerningly quiet for a moment, then her footsteps sounded once more as she approached, and Ominis bit down on a high-pitched whine as she settled on the bed, her weight pulling the sheets tight against his skin. He fought not to writhe, every nerve ending on fire as he curled up tighter.

“Please… please leave,” he begged. “I-I c-can’t…”

“This needs to be fixed,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “Ominis, you can’t go on like this. I want to help you.”

“Then get me a fucking antidote,” he spat, his limbs trembling as he fought to remain still. He didn’t care that he swore in front of her, something he vowed never to do in front of a lady, he was too concerned with retaining some miniscule shred of dignity. Shame and humiliation burned a torturous path through his body as he bit down on another low whine, his cock throbbing at the thought of her being so close to him, her beautiful scent, her delicious voice sending waves of primal desire through him.

She couldn’t be here. She had to leave, or he was going to do something they would both regret.

It seemed she either couldn’t sense the danger, however, or she didn’t care. She slid closer to him, a cool hand finding his shoulder, such a simple touch making his hair stand on end as he fought with himself not to grab at her. He had to maintain control, no matter how difficult. He was a gentleman, he was proper, he wasn’t one of those base louts that thought with their dicks and followed wherever they pointed, he was… he was…

Fucking hell. He was desperate for her.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder, pushing lightly, and little by little he uncurled enough to reveal his face, his skin flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead.

“You poor thing,” she murmured. “Will you let me help you?”

Her hand slid over his shoulder to his chest, and Ominis bit down on a whine. How often had he tormented himself with fantasies of this exact thing happening? It almost made him want to weep with the frustration of it all, because he knew all too well that nothing would come of this but further humiliation.

“P-please… don’t,” he whimpered as she peeled the sheets back, moving closer to him as she trailed her fingers over his stomach, the muscles contracting at her touch. “It won’t… it won’t d-do anything… I c-can’t feel-”

His next words were cut off by a yelp as the heel of her hand grazed the aching head of his length through the sheets, sending a surge of pleasure so powerful through him that it snapped his head back.

He could feel her touch.

His hands flew out, one latching onto her wrist, the other winding into her hair. She came to him willingly, her lips brushing his hesitantly for a heartbeat before he crushed his mouth to hers, moaning helplessly as she found his aching steel through the sheets, her palm curving around the shape of him.

Ominis launched up, hooking an arm around her neck, his free hand shoving at the covers. There was no longer room for hesitancy or fear or embarrassment – any last shred of lingering dignity had been eviscerated by her kiss.

All Ominis knew is that he needed to be held, to be kissed, to be touched, and to be fucked. Right. Now.

He shoved at the sheets covering him as her lips moved from his to lavish attention on the side of his neck, her hand travelling down his chest sparking through his nerves. A high, desperate whine escaped him when she showed no hesitation and wrapped her hand around his fevered length, the soothing cool of her skin a balm to his burning flesh.

Even through his maddening haze of desperation and need, Ominis was dimly aware of the inexplicable skill she displayed, each swift, twisting stroke of her hand designed by some omniscient power, it seemed, so perfectly did it make his body sing. Her pace was steady, her grip firm but not tight, and his mind went to pieces. In all his furtive, shameful imaginings of being with her at last, he had never once suspected that she would know just how perfectly to treat him.

She murmured gentle encouragement to him, her words a song of sin and fire as her touch sent him ever higher on a glittering ladder that seemed heaven bound. Ominis bucked helplessly against her, his hands alternately clutching and tugging at her clothes, knowing in some deep, primal way that the simple touch of her hand, no matter how glorious, would never be enough.

It seemed she understood this as well, for her lips left his neck, trailing down his body, each press of her lips tensing the muscles they touched. Something in the back of his mind set up a wild protest, the part of him that was still human underneath his frantic desire screaming that he would never live this down, but even this stubborn part of him was silenced when a searing heat enveloped him from head to base, hard at the edges and so deliciously soft in the centre, something long and dexterous winding about his entire length.

The sensation of her mouth on him in such a way pushed a yell that was almost a scream from deep within his lungs, flying up his throat so harshly that it roughed the edges of his voice, his hands flew to her head, winding his fingers into her hair and driving himself as deep as he could. He didn’t care that he might choke her, that he might make her wretch, he just needed more of that sensation, more of this heavenly feeling of pure euphoria.

She didn’t choke, and she didn’t retch. She tightened her lips, hollowing her cheeks and sucking hard, her throat closing over the tip of him as he threw his head back, yelping in wordless ecstasy. Her arms wound around his waist as his legs fell apart, anchoring them together as her head bobbed at a steady, rapid pace, and if Ominis had the gift of sight, he would have seen the entire cosmos.

"Fuck... yes..." Ominis gasped. "Right there... don't stop, please don't stop..."

And yet it still wasn’t enough. Though each swipe of her tongue drew a whining moan from his lips like silver thread, the pulsing of her throat in time with his racing heart, his body stubbornly refused to fall over the edge upon which he teetered. Almost rabid, Ominis gripped he hair, pulling her back up to crush his lips to hers, tugging at her clothes so forcefully that her blouse tore.

In response, she pinned his wrists over his head. He had no time to protest this as she straddled him in the next moment, leaning down to capture his lips with hers once more, holding him tight with one hand as the other slid down, grasping him firmly and angling him up.

Ominis could never have imagined the euphoria that he experienced next. One moment, he was aching, spit-slick and cool in the empty air, and the next he was enveloped in searing satin and silken fire. If her mouth had been the cosmos, this was heaven itself. He could barely draw breath to moan as she seated him fully inside her, and even through his primal haze, he couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand it, that he, Ominis Gaunt, was being loved by her.

He thrust up with abandon, garbled pleas and frenzied, worshipful praise flowing from his mouth between urgent kisses, his hands held firmly above his head as she rode him like a graphorn. Her hair swung down, the silken tresses brushing over his face and chest like he’d always dreamed of. He began to feel a delicious, prickling heat pooling at the base of his spine, in the pit of his stomach, his skin tingling as he ran full pelt towards the edge. Something within him knew he needed to savour this, to commit each and every detail to memory as she herself released a soft, breathy moan, but that single sound, the knowledge that came with it being that he was making her feel good was too much for him.

"Fuck... fuck... FUCK! YES! YES!"

The spell was broken, the potion overcome as Ominis’ entire body went taught, his balls drawing up tight as he finally, finally came like a fucking hose. His head snapped back, his moans rising to echoing yelps as his back arched, his hands pinioned above his head as he writhed, the sensation so much more intense than anything he had ever experienced before, going on and on and on until he was certain he might go mad. But end it did, and he fell back, utterly boneless and exhausted, his breath trembling as his body quivered, the warm weight of her comforting as she settled to lie atop him, her lips soothing once more at his neck.

“Are you alright?” she asked, after some small time had passed. Ominis could only mumble non-words, his mind still scattered, his not quite feeling his body as he should now that there was this sudden absence of primal need. Little by little, the last few hours came back to him, and he felt his chest grow tight. Wincing as fresh shame burned a path through him, Ominis turned his face away.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he managed, his voice cracking. “Y-you shouldn’t have… my behaviour… I never should…”

“Hush,” she brushed his hair back, pressing a delicate kiss to his temple. “I was happy to, Ominis.” She pulled him closer, a hand at the back of his head, and he curled into her automatically, burying his face in the crook of her neck. The lingering ache in his body melded with his utter humiliation, contrasting bizarrely with a feeling of purest bliss. He held onto it, onto her, knowing that once she left this bed, this room, she’d never want to speak to him again. She had helped him, yes, but that was what she did. It wasn’t because she liked him. How could anyone like someone as depraved as him?

As if she could read his thoughts, she gave him a little squeeze, her lips brushing his ear.

“You know, I’d be happy to do this again,” she murmured, and he felt her lips stretch into a smile against his skin as his heart leapt. “With you, and only you. Only… let’s leave the experimental potions out of it next time, hm?”

Ominis was only too happy to agree.

[riririnnnn]

The sole inspiration of this theory is this post by @someprettyname.

You know, one of the topics Kaneshiro-san hasn't talked about in the Manga yet is academic pressure on a student, and this topic perfectly suits Shidou out of all the characters in Blue Lock. He is like the perfect candidate to showcase a burnout student who had to put up with all the pressure their parents placed on them, and I have three reasons to believe in this theory:

-> Monologue

All his monologues during the U-20 match has one common theme, "Leaving a proof of yourself for the world to remember you." And one common belief in a household with great academic pressure is that you are made to believe from a very young age that if you can't achieve something in your life, then you are completely worthless. These kind of parents think that being happy with one's life isn't enough, you need to and got to be something or do something big in your life.

One more thing that slipped through ALL of our eyes is that Shidou is actually a pretty smart person:

Shidou was so quickly able to correctly judge Kunigami and Reo, and I think that's a pretty good testament for one's intelligence.

Of course, I do not believe that a grade can fully show a student's capabilities, but I do also believe that you need to have, at least, some kind of intelligence to score good grades. And considering all of this, I can place a safe bet that Shidou was some kind of scholar student and being a smart kid in an Asian household means having to carry lots of academic expectations!

-> Behaviour

You don't even need to fully know about Shidou to understand that he is far away from a student who is considered ideal and that's the point I'm trying to make! He isn't an ideal student because he is tired of being one for so long!

Okay, to understand my point better, imagine this:

You are being forced to be at the top of your class, to be a good, well-mannered, well-behaved student. It's like a constant invisible rope of expectation tied around your neck that never goes away and it's eating you up inside, so what would you do?

Most likely: rebel.

And that's what Shidou is doing! He is aggressive, violent and foul-mouthed—everything that can NOT be found in a trait list of an ideal student. Also, dyeing your hair in bright colours has been a pretty common thing any student does in order to 'rebel'.

You getting me? Please say yes.

-> Favourite song

His choice of music was the first thing that made me believe that Shidou is just being a rebel student. Hide, as stated by Wikipedia, was (or maybe is) considered as the icon for Japanese youth to rebel against the 'conformist' society of Japan. And Pink Spider song goes deeper than it appears—this and this beautifully explains about the above mentioned song.

Here are some few excerpts of the articles:

This song's meaning in Shidou's case can be interpreted in various ways, and I would love if you guys come up with your own interpretations.

For me, it's like Shidou felt trapped in whatever way he was living. He was made to feel that if he followed every rules, got good grades, behaved like an ideal student, then everything will be fine and will work in his way and that his elders really know the best for him and that he is just naïve. This type of living ended up suffocating him even more—he wanted to truly live—he bottled everything up and one day, he just snapped and that was when the Shidou Ryusei we know was born.

One more small and very personal reason for me to believe that he was a scholar student with too much academic pressure is that one of his favourite subjects is Art.

Speaking from personal experience, I've noticed that people who were forced to study and do well academically usually end up falling in love with making art.

I don't know how to explain it well, sorry.

That's it, I guess.

What do you guys think?

[katuschka]

Scene One – Lampshade

Jake Kiszka x f!Reader (1st person narrative)

2.541 words

On my bedside table, I have a beautiful art deco lamp. When my lover leaves, he ties a scarf he wore for days on top. And when he’s gone I let my window open just a bit, the gentle breeze sets the scarf on motion, just like the waves in the tempestuous ocean.  Once or twice, I swear, I could smell him in my dreams.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: longing, alcohol consumption, penetrative sex, phone sex and masturbation, sex toys, phantasmagorical dream visions

Taglist

It’s been almost three weeks since I last saw him. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s not that bad, but the truth is that I always start missing him the moment he leaves. It’s a bittersweet feeling. I’m a grown, independent woman, engaging in my daily routines...or breaking them, just to stay sane. 

But, it feels as if a part of my soul got attached to him. It travels with him wherever he goes and I feel it tugging at my insides every now and then. At first I thought it was just a side effect of the early stages of falling in love. I believed that it would get easier with time, but it never did. If anything, it only got worse. 

It’s bearable during the day. My mind’s too preoccupied with my job, thank god. It’s not really much different from when he’s here. I still have my work to do and he’s busy too, until we finally meet at home to share a glass of wine or two. And then we fuck.

That’s why early evenings are the worst when he’s away. The house is just too big, too quiet, and my mind too restless. No sound of the strings being plucked greets me when I get home, no smell of savory dishes waiting for me in the oven or on the stove. I’m too lazy to do it myself, so I just order in, only to be reproached by him later that I’m not taking proper care of myself. My lover does all these things. My body’s spoiled with constant hugs and my cheeks peppered with warm kisses. So, on days like these, this is what his lady misses. 

He knows that, so he tries to call anytime he can. It’s easier in between shows. He makes sure to call me around eight, even when it’s already 3 am where he’s at. Him being a night owl, this has never been a problem. Sometimes it’s just a quick hello to make sure I’m ok. Other times we talk for hours. 

I didn’t expect anything like that today. He might call late or not at all. Probably not at all because today’s show was too important. He wanted me there, but I couldn’t go this time. I had an important project to finish and came home pleasantly exhausted. In a perfect world, we would celebrate our respective achievements together, but this world is not perfect, so I have to content myself with the fact that he is. 

Well, not really, but I wouldn’t change a thing about him. 

So, I just poured myself a glass of wine, climbed in bed early and tried to read, only to find myself checking the Instagram updates constantly. I don’t do it very often, because I’m not really keen on seeing hundreds of women swooning over him, but someone might be streaming the show, and I just couldn’t miss it. 

Before he left, he fastened his scarf on my lampshade. That little piece of fabric is basically marinated in his scent – his strong, yet religiously comforting cologne mixed with the warm smell of him. I made sure to leave both the bedroom door and the window open, to create a slight draft. After three weeks, the scent had already faded a bit, but I still could get whiffs of him while falling asleep. Just like today. The livestream I found ended mid-show, but I wasn’t really paying attention anymore. I could feel my eyelids getting heavy long before the concert ended and without even bothering to turn off the light, I fell asleep with my phone still in my hand. 

Except I couldn’t sleep. The thunderstorm in the distance and the billowing wind kept me awake. The sky was clear when I went to bed, so I couldn’t understand where the clouds came from. It didn’t matter anyway. 

He was here. In my bed, sleeping. The intoxicating scent of clove and incense mixed with his musk wrapped around me like a second comfort blanket. The bedside lamp illuminated his disheveled hair and the clothes he had carelessly thrown over the armchair next to the bed. He was naked and all of the sudden, so was I.

It was our bedroom…and it wasn’t. The southern wall was gone, exposing us to the elements outside. Our garden turned to a stony shore, with the waves of a rough sea crashing upon it. Somewhere in the distance, I could see the storm raging.

I was feeling snug under the blanket, the warmth he elicited sheltering me from everything else around. I reached out to touch him. His skin was warm and dry and I snuggled closer to him from behind, inhaling the comforting aroma of his relaxed, sleeping body. 

He never slept much. Sometimes I wondered how he could function after yet another sleepless night, and the dark circles under his eyes often worried me. But when he did fall asleep, he looked like a baby boy, his full lips slightly parted and his brows turned upwards. A man of paradoxes. He would fuck my brains out just moments after he spoon-fed me pistachio ice-cream. My doe-eyed barbarian. A romantic adventure, but a reptile too. Always offering something new. Just like the sky outside, with the full moon now illuminating the stormy sky. Where did it come from? It was hanging there in mid-air in front of the clouds, so big, so close it seemed that I could reach it with my fingers if I just stepped outside of the room. 

But I didn’t want to. Instead, I slowly swirled around him like a serpent. I could feel him stir, his body responding to mine. It was a silent dialogue. He turned to me and pushed my chin upwards to nuzzle the soft skin behind my left earlobe. I could hear him murmur a prayer, the words of which I didn’t recognize, but I understood it anyway. I could feel his hand travel slowly down my belly, pulling my thighs apart, his palm sliding gently to my pussy and his middle finger slipping in between my folds. It’s been too long… My body reacted immediately. I arched my back and gasped for air as his moistened fingertip glided over my clit in slow circles. He kissed my shoulder and I could feel his parted lips stretch in a smile before he nibbled lightly on my skin covered with goosebumps.

He spread my thighs even more, like the petals of a blooming flower. I felt the weight of his body on mine as he shifted, obscuring my view, silencing the wind, his porcelain face dimming all the celestial lights behind him. He was coming home. 

I cried out when he entered me, grabbing pillows on both sides of my head. He, too, yelped like a puppy, laying his head on my bosom just for a while, to gain his composure. I felt every exhale of his quickened breath on my skin, and enveloped his body with my limbs in a false promise to never let go. 

He started moving inside me and I felt absolutely lightheaded, as if we were floating in an empty void. It got darker with each deep, long thrust until time and space around us disappeared and the only thing that tethered me to reality was the rhythm of his beating heart and the alluring sounds of his raspy moans. We moved together languidly, drunk in love, and the waves of pleasure running through my body intensified with each passing second. My fingernails dug into his skin…so deep until he suddenly stiffened and screamed in pain right next to left ear…

…nooo…at first I couldn’t tell where I was or who I was until the sound of my phone ringing on the pillow next to my head slowly brought me back to reality. I couldn’t believe it. What? Why? I looked at the screen and saw the name of the only person whom I could forgive for calling me right fucking now!

“Jake? Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I breathed out. 

A moment of silence before the man on the other side responded. I must have sounded pre-t-t-y irritated. “Babe? Did I wake you up?” 

Of course you did. What day is it? Oh yeah, it was slowly coming back to me. Madison Square Garden… “What time is it?” I breathed out.

“Almost one am here, your midnight. We just arrived at the hotel a moment ago, I haven’t even had a shower yet, I just had to hear…”

“Urgh,” I interrupted him with a groan, not in a reaction to what he said. My still not fully awakened body was just fighting with my mind as I tried to sit. I was still slightly disoriented and my coochie weeped. “I, uhm, I’m sorry baby. I just had a very intense erotic dream…the first one in years. And you just happened to interrupt it at the worst possible moment.”

“Oh, daamn!” he chuckled. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Not funny Jake. No one else but you could ever make me this wet. The sheets below me are literally soaked through.” I heard him inhale sharply on the other side. It took him a few more seconds to respond. “You’re wet?” It sounded a bit like a stifled groan, followed by him clearing his throat. Poor Jake, he was so taken aback by my response that Oliver had to take over. “Thaths probably because I was absolu-te-ly on fire tonight, my love! Telepathy must be one of my many superior powers. Now I need to clean the mess…”

“What do you mean?”

“Phone sex, obviously.” 

I laughed. Nah, I’m not a fan. I love his voice, don’t get me wrong, but it couldn’t possibly make up for all the stuff that my subconsciousness flooded my brain with just a moment ago. Also, I’ve always found the idea of phone sex strangely disconcerting. We could do the most obscene stuff face to face without even batting an eye, but to be describing to him how I’m touching myself? No, thank you. I’d be embarrassed. Don’t know why. That’s just how it is, And that’s what I told him.  

“Oh come on, let’s try it.” Jake was back. “Besides, it’s a mutual obligation now. I’m already hard.” 

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “Ok Jake,” I crooned monotonously, “what are you wearing?” 

“Oh GOD!” he moaned theatrically. “You sound so sexy when you’re bored. Mmmmm.”

I laughed again, in earnest. “Sorry,” I chuckled. “Ok, let’s try it. But I’m not going to describe what I’m doing. You tell me what to do.”

“Deal.”

I heard his sheets rustle as he shifted on his bed, which meant he already had me on speaker, so I did the same. I adjusted the pillows, stripped off my babydoll and tried to find a comfortable position. “Ok Jake, I’m ready.”

“Good girl. Now, close your eyes and cup your breasts. Let your thumbs draw slow circles around your nipples. No pressure.” His voice suddenly sounded huskier than before. 

“Are you jerking off?” And then I heard it. The unmistakable sound of his fist sliding rhythmically up and down his cock. Of course he was. 

“You can’t blame me sweetheart,” he breathed out. “I got here, still full of adrenaline from the show, only to hear you tell me that I was fucking you in your dreams. I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

The sound of his heavy breath made my pelvic muscles contract and my heartbeat quicken. I licked my fingertips and let my hand slide between my legs, trying to ease the ache. “Talk to me Jake. Forget the nipples. Guide my fingers.”

“Who’s impatient now?” He let out an involuntary moan, swallowed harshly and continued: “Squeeze your clit between two fingers, scissor-like. Now rub from side to side and gently pull.”

I knew what he meant. His technique was completely different from mine and effective in its own way. I never tried to recreate it before. I did now, and it all suddenly came back to me. The dream, his touch, his dick, stretching me, fucking me, our loins dancing together to the rhythm of our heartbeats…

“Not enough,” I whined. “I need more, Jake.”

“Ok, time for Mini Me.”

That was yet another thing my lover did for me. We found a company that makes custom dildos using castings of real customers. Now, a cold piece of silicone can never compete with the real jake, but it was the next best thing whenever I needed to release the tension after a long day. I loved the shape of it. It was mine. I opened the drawer and reached for the toy. “Now what?”

“Ride me,” he groaned. 

“How am I supp…”

“Let’s pretend we fell off the bed.”

“What?”

“Off the bed! Now!” he commanded. I climbed off the bed and attached the dildo to the wooden floor. “Mini Me’s ready. What now?”

“Now sit.”

I did as I was told. I got on my knees, placed the tip between my folds and slowly slid all the way down. Our roles reversed for a brief moment as I was now guiding him through. I heard him spit into his palm and groan with relief. It was his time to take the reins again. “Move,” he rasped. “Grab your hips and pretend it’s me. Set the pace, but tell me.”

I started moving my hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, while whispering up and down and up and down to him. I was now close to my bedside table, the fragrant scarf only a few feet from me. I closed my eyes. The illusion was almost perfect. 

“That’s my girl,” he moaned. “Do you want to go faster?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Ok, continue baby. Let me hear you.”

We continued like that for several minutes, eyes closed, listening to each other. I could hear that he was close as his low moans turned to high-pitched whimpers. My thighs started shaking and I had to catch hold of the bedside table to ease the tension in my legs. I opened my eyes and that’s when I saw it. The multi coloured lampshade. As I was moving, so were the colorful lights before my eyes. It was like being there, under the stage lights, as I was listening to my man. The most beautiful song. It overwhelmed my senses and I came, screaming. From the haze of my own high, I heard him finish shortly afterwards. 

I wanted to hear every detail of his show, and he wanted to know about my project, but we were both already too exhausted, so he promised to call me again in the morning. I knew he would, because that’s what my lover does. 

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @klarxtr @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @GVFstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise

[littlestsnicket]

more disparate iwtv thoughts

- the key to understanding loustat is that lestat falls for louis for the following reasons in this order: 1 louis’ capacity for violence, 2 louis being fucking gorgeous, and 3. louis having enough inner conflict and desire for self knowledge to occupy him for at least a dozen human lifetimes. lestat falls for louis because he thinks louis would make an excellent vampire, and nothing that happens over the intervening decades changes his mind. he believes he knows louis better than louis knows himself, and, narratively, on a number of points he is right. while this would be horrifying in real life, it’s extremely compelling in fiction

- i hate hate hate the idea that love isn’t real if it’s destructive. and i actually see that at least as much from entertainment journalists as fandom. lestat loves louis. armand loves louis. louis loves claudia. that doesn’t mean their relationships are good or positive or anything else. louis loves lestat. louis loved armand once, at least. (claudia loves louis but that’s not really relevant here.)

- relatedly cannot stop thinking about assad saying armand just wants to be loved. 100% correct. the fact that this desire is filtered through centuries of maladaptive coping mechanisms does not make it less true.

- louis has never used social media of any kind. he has a desktop computer to access email and databases of property and art. computers are for work. anything time sensitive gets filtered through armand or his staff.

- armand spends a lot of time on twitter and like 8chan searching for victims. this means he can code switch into perfect tech bro. daniel and lestat find this deeply unnerving. louis doesn’t spend enough time online to really understand what armand is doing. armand used to spend a lot of time on reddit, but even he could tell that the arguments he kept getting obsessed over were bad for him so he had to stop.

- lestat is a tumblr girly. he writes questionable sad poetry and posts artsy pictures. he occasionally gets really into fandom. he is a hannigram shipper. he has the worlds most eclectic music side blog.

- daniel is on twitter in a professional capacity, but he spends enough time there, both doing legitimate investigation and doom scrolling, to be relatively up on modern slang and what is trendy with the youth.

- anyway, my point is, even though lestat and especially armand are most comfortable expressing themselves in a way that is vaguely archaic, louis is the one most likely to need technology/modern phrasing explained to him. but also not that often, he does get out of the house and interacts with real people so he stays pretty up to date.

- i think claudia would entirely mirror louis in regard to computer usage. or maybe not. claudia would be an early internet adopter. she misses usenet and refuses to use any web 2.0. she wouldn’t even use google. she runs into armand on the darknet. mostly she and madeline would run an organic farm in the french countryside using corpses as fertilizer.

- louis and armand are both switches and into violent bloody sex. the fact that most of their sex since paris has been mutually unfulfilling is an achievement. (louis just… isn’t very good at stoping armand from turning sex into trauma reenactment time TM. louis doesn’t like it but armand is very insistent and louis is often lowkey angry at him to start with. they’re both at fault here.) (i’m not going to look up the exact quote but ‘half blank half apocalyptic, what’s it going to be this time? are you gonna want to lick my boots or cut my head off?’ says so so much about loumand.) (and ugh louis wanting predictability after lestat and that being his initial impression of armand and getting mr trauma gremlin instead…)

[thegambitgazette]

Existentialism and Idealism in the Obsessed Artist Trope: The Role of Destruction in the Pursuit of Authenticity

A/N: this is long (2,455 words) and I’m sorry

Index

Introduction Existentialism and the Obsessed Artist Idealism and the Obsessed Artist The Search for Authenticity The Comfort in the Familiar Hurt So... What Now? Closing Words

Introduction

There is an odd sense of awe in losing one’s sanity for their passions… at least, that’s what characters like Nina Sayers (Black Swan) or Beth Harmon (The Queen’s Gambit) portray.

The Obsessed Artist trope is a prevalent motif in literature, art, and popular culture, depicting individuals consumed by their creative pursuits to the point of obsession. While this trope often romanticizes the notion of madness linked to genius, it also serves as a cautionary tale. The Obsessed Artist character often pays a heavy personal price for their single-minded pursuit of artistic perfection, sometimes culminating in self-destruction. The trope therefore underscores the potential dangers of obsession, illustrating how the relentless pursuit of an abstract ideal can lead to isolation, mental health issues, and even physical harm. Yet, despite these risks, the Obsessed Artist remains a figure of fascination, embodying the human struggle to create, express, and find meaning in a complex universe. Why is that?

In trying to unpack why I was so obsessed with the Obsessed Artist trope, I had to do a little digging into my own patterns. I realized that watching people deteriorate because of something they're passionate about is probably the epitome of tragedy, in my opinion; and it’s not because I like seeing people suffer. It’s more so because it’s cathartic, in a way.

I can see myself in them. That’s the easiest way to put it. I think of what I am passionate about and feel like it would never be enough for a number of factors. To dig a little deeper: I feel as though my work won’t be valid unless I’m hurt because of it, like there’s a semblance of pain that needs to be paid in order for something to be valuable.

Now, as it’s written, that’s not a healthy outlook; but, I thought, “But that’s normal, isn’t it? I mean, nothing worthwhile is ever easy.”

Existentialism and the Obsessed Artist

Now, I want to pose a scenario for anyone reading: If a golden chalice was on the opposite side of a rose bush, would you go through its thorns? And if you were to discover that there was nothing in that gold chalice, that it was left behind for a reason, what can you say about your pain then?

In one post, I talked about Kierkegaardian Despair and how Kierkegaard was an existentialist that talked about utilizing one’s own despair since despair is inevitable. I thought that answered the question as to why I believed I had to suffer in order to achieve things: existentialists argue that individuals must confront suffering and embrace it as an integral aspect of their journey towards authenticity and meaning. This does not necessarily mean seeking out suffering for its own sake but rather acknowledging its presence and learning from it in order to live more fully and authentically.

The trope of the Obsessed Artist often intersects with existentialist themes, particularly in its exploration of the relationship between passion, suffering, and creative expression. The Obsessed Artist archetype typically depicts individuals who are consumed by their artistic pursuits to the point of obsession, often sacrificing their personal well-being, relationships, and even sanity in the process.

From an existentialist perspective, the Obsessed Artist embodies the existential struggle to find meaning and authenticity through creative expression. The artist’s obsession with their craft can be seen as a manifestation of their quest for purpose and identity in a world devoid of inherent meaning. Suffering, whether self-imposed or external, becomes a central theme in the Artist’s journey, driving them to confront existential questions about the nature of existence, the value of their work, and the significance of their artistic vision. We’ll get to more on authenticity later.

To put it simply, perhaps the Artist chooses destruction, subconsciously or otherwise, in order to feel something about themselves. However, I still felt that something was missing.

Idealism and the Obsessed Artist

For me, the relation to the Obsessed Artist trope wasn’t too much in asserting my own agency and knowing myself as existentialist thinkers would say. There was something more, something that had to explain why I believed that “madness” was worth the goal, or why the goal required despair or pain.

In other words, “Perhaps the ‘why’ is answered in the ‘what.’” As in, what we are trying to create. Perhaps another reasoning behind the Obsessed Artist’s descent to madness and suffering is explained in what they are trying to produce. For example, going back to the Golden Chalice scenario, the Obsessed Artist allowed themselves to be cut by the thorn bushes because they wanted the chalice.

Once again, I looked into my own art. My writing projects and most of my art pieces, such as “Resemblance,” has a theme of connecting the mundane with the metaphysical. Idealism, as a philosophical perspective, posits that reality is fundamentally mental or spiritual in nature. It emphasizes the role of transcendent truths and spiritual insights in shaping human understanding and perception of reality.

From an idealist perspective, creative genius is seen as a manifestation of their ability to tap into higher forms of consciousness or reality. A creative’s heightened sensitivity to the world around them allows them to perceive and communicate truths that are inaccessible to others. This notion of genius is closely intertwined with the idealist belief in the existence of transcendent truths or spiritual insights that lie beyond the material world.

A/N: Even though I can resonate with this notion in a spiritual sense, this does not mean that one has to be religious or anything similar along those lines in order to comprehend it. One can still apply this connection to “transcendent truths or spiritual insights” in the sense of understanding other complex natures such as how human nature works or whatever one’s thoughts are about our connection with the universe and those around us

Idealism offers a nuanced understanding of the link between genius and madness by recognizing the Artist’s struggles as integral to their creative process. The Artist’s experiences of mental illness or psychological instability are not simply signs of pathology but are also seen as expressions of their heightened sensitivity and depth of perception. In this way, idealism provides a framework for appreciating the complexities of the Artist’s psyche and the role of mental health in shaping their artistic vision.

The Search for Authenticity

Now, what does it mean to search for authenticity and how does relate to the role of suffering in pursuit of purpose?

Existentialism

Existentialist thinkers such as Jean-Paul Sartre and Friedrich Nietzsche argue that individuals must confront the reality of their existence and make choices that align with their authentic selves. For the Artist, authenticity plays a crucial role in their creative process and pursuit of their dreams. The Artist seeks to express their unique perspective, emotions, and experiences through their art, striving to create work that is genuine and reflective of their innermost self. This authenticity is not merely about artistic style or technique but extends to the Artist’s willingness to confront their own vulnerabilities, uncertainties, and struggles in their creative endeavors. Suffering, within the context of authenticity, becomes a means through which the Artist asserts their individuality and autonomy. By embracing their experiences of pain, hardship, and adversity, the Artist affirms their authenticity and commitment to their artistic vision. Suffering becomes a testament to the Artist’s willingness to confront the complexities of existence and express themselves truthfully, even in the face of existential uncertainty.

Idealism

At the same time, in idealist philosophy, authenticity is often associated with aligning oneself with transcendent ideals or spiritual principles. The quest for authenticity involves seeking to live in harmony with these higher principles and values, rather than being driven solely by material desires or worldly concerns. Idealist thinkers argue that true authenticity lies in recognizing the ultimate reality of the spiritual realm and striving to live in accordance with its principles. From this perspective, the Obsessed Artist's quest for authenticity may involve seeking to express and embody transcendent beauty, truth, or spiritual insight through their art. The Artist’s dedication to their craft and their willingness to confront their own psyche and emotions may be seen as manifestations of their quest to understand higher forms of consciousness or reality. Moreover, within idealism, authenticity may also involve a recognition of one’s own intrinsic worth and value as a spiritual being. The Artist’s pursuit of authenticity may therefore be intertwined with a deeper understanding of their own identity and purpose within the larger cosmic order. Suffering does not have the same sense of inevitability in idealism as it does in existentialism, but idealist aspects can explain why suffering exists. In this trope, it may be used to channel into the Artist’s creative process as a means of expressing and grappling with existential questions, emotional turmoil, and spiritual insights. Art becomes a vehicle for transcending the limitations of individual suffering and connecting with universal themes of human experience, ultimately contributing to the search for authenticity both for the Artist and the audience. Perhaps I can write another post on literary devices that use idealist methods of transcending suffering; but, as this post deals with trying to understand why one can feel the need to suffer in order to have something valuable, it does not quite fit.

The Comfort in the Familiar Hurt

Alright, so perhaps I feel the need to suffer in order to validate my work because there is something authentic in that validity in comparison to art without pain. Whether it’s because there is a strong sense of self-awareness in recognizing suffering as a necessity or in that suffering is a tool that links the mundane with the metaphysical, I will subconsciously await that despair and pain while in pursuit of my own truths and happiness.

So, if the why behind the Obsessed Artist’s spiral is explained by the Artist’s attempt to physically represent their own psyche or mental health and how they view the world and/or their attempt to understand themselves amidst all of that, what does that say about destruction being a manifestation of those attempts?

For that, the answer seemed simple enough: it’s easier to destroy than to create.

After all, the Obsessed Artist destroys themselves, their relationships, their livelihood all in their attempt to create something. They seem to cause more harm to the point where it becomes second nature for the character for a number of reasons:

Catharsis and Release: Destruction can serve as a form of catharsis for the Artist, allowing them to release pent-up emotions, frustrations, and existential angst. The act of destroying their work or their surroundings may provide a temporary sense of relief from the pressures of creativity and the burdens of self-expression. By relinquishing control and succumbing to the chaotic force of destruction, the Artist may experience a momentary respite from the turmoil of their own psyche.

Escape from Perfectionism: The Obsessed Artist may struggle with perfectionism and an insatiable desire for artistic excellence. Destruction offers a way to escape from the relentless pursuit of perfection and the anxiety of never being able to live up to their own high standards. By destroying their work or sabotaging their efforts, the Artist can temporarily alleviate the pressure to create something flawless and unattainable, embracing imperfection and embracing the inherent chaos of existence.

Expression of Inner Turmoil: Through the act of destruction, the Artist externalizes their internal struggles and confronts the inherent contradictions and complexities of their own psyche. This outward expression of inner turmoil serves as a form of self-validation, allowing the Artist to confront their demons and make sense of their existential predicament through the medium of destruction.

Rebellion Against Conformity: The Obsessed Artist may rebel against societal norms and expectations, seeking to carve out their own path and assert their individuality in a world that often stifles creativity and authenticity. Destruction becomes a rebellious act of defiance, a way for the Artist to break free from the constraints of societal norms and expectations and assert their autonomy and independence. By destroying their own work or rejecting conventional notions of success, the Artist asserts their freedom to create on their own terms, even if it means embracing destruction as a form of creative expression.

The Artist becomes locked in a cycle of creating and destroying, each act serving as a manifestation of their ongoing quest for self-expression and existential understanding. The destruction wrought by the Artist extends beyond their artistic endeavors to encompass their relationships, livelihood, and ultimately, their own sense of self.

The belief that it is easier to destroy than to create reflects the Artist’s profound existential struggle and the overwhelming weight of their creative burden. The act of destruction becomes a coping mechanism, a way for the Artist to release pent-up emotions and navigate the complexities of their own psyche. Yet, paradoxically, this destructive impulse only serves to perpetuate the Artist’s suffering, trapping them in a cycle of despair and existential turmoil.

So… What Now?

Again, the Obsessed Artist is a cautionary tale. Hopefully, it’s not a person’s desire to emulate the behaviors shown in these characters. In fact, by learning from the Obsessed Artist and integrating these philosophical perspectives into our approach to art and self-expression, we can cultivate a healthier and more sustainable creative process.

Embrace Authenticity Without Self-Destruction

Recognize that authenticity in artistic expression does not necessitate self-destructive behavior. While existentialist themes may highlight the importance of confronting inner turmoil and existential angst, it’s crucial to find constructive outlets for these emotions rather than resorting to destructive habits. By channeling existentialist ideals of authenticity and self-awareness into positive and productive avenues, we can create art that is both genuine and nourishing to our well-being

Challenge Perfectionism

Challenge the notion of perfectionism and embrace the imperfections inherent in the creative process. Incorporate elements of idealist philosophy by recognizing the beauty and value of authenticity over flawless execution. Allow yourself the freedom to experiment, make mistakes, and learn from failures without succumbing to self-criticism or destructive habits. Embrace the journey of self-discovery and growth inherent in the creative process, rather than fixating on unattainable standards of perfection.

Closing Words

Ultimately, this engagement with the Obsessed Artist trope can potentially furnish us with a roadmap towards a more enlightened and fulfilling artistic vocation, one predicated upon the transcendence of personal limitations and the cultivation of a more profound artistic ethos. In so doing, we may embark upon a trajectory characterized by a fidelity to authenticity, an attunement to self-awareness, and a fortitude in the face of adversity.

Of course, these thoughts are just that: thoughts. All of this is merely my own attempt in understanding my fascination with aspects of literature, art, and life. You may resonate with it or disagree entirely or feel something in between.

[blood-orange-juice]

ok so ive never properly played genshin and don’t plan to but i know a bit about it’s lore and characters and i think it’s really neat. however i have thousands of hours on ffxiv. on that note please explain why graha and childe are similar. i only have very basic knowledge on childe and i gotta know

Fellow ffxiv enjoyer. <3

(anyone asking me about G'raha has a 100% chance of getting a wall of text and I'm not apologising for that. enjoy your wall of text)

I'm not entirely sure I'm not a case of a person with a hammer to whom everything resembles a nail, but I do think they are the same archetype.

Sweet characters who could have been perfect sidekicks (who still are perfect sidekicks) but listened to too many epic tales as kids and found themselves in a wrong place at a wrong time and now have to play a key role in some universe-changing story.

Both are defined mostly by their stubborness, they are not very suitable for the roles they've chosen and fail over and over again until they do it somewhat right (barely).

No matter how badass they look, their power is not their own, G'raha is a glorified technician of someone else's miracle and little else than a living key, Childe wields an art of old Khaenri'ah without fully understanding it. It's all borrowed from someone else who needed them to achieve a goal.

They do look badass, but mostly because they larp. I'm honestly not sure which one enjoys theatrics more.

Civilisations that created the magic they use specialised in perversion of the natural order of things. They try to use it in relatively noble ways and mostly hurt themselves but the flavour is there.

Both are unbelievably tragic and both somehow make their stories seem almost lighthearted. Complete absense of self-pity. I think that's what makes them both so charming, it's a rare trait.

Both have an incredible capacity for loyalty and love and an incredibly twisted view of what relationships look like. "I'll cross time and space for you, I'll die for you, I'll build a city for you, I'll live for you but please don't ask me to share my plans." "I'll sacrfice my own health and respect of my subordinates to keep my brother's happyness, probably my humanity too, but don't expect me to actually interact with him."

Both have something that looks like self-sacrificial tendencies bordering on suicidality while being, if we are honest, a self-serving trait (partially born out of low self-esteem but still self-serving). They want to live in an old myth and sacrificing oneself is a perfectly reasonable price for that.

Huge egos. And I mean Huge Egos. It's a bit less obvious in Graha's case but I know the type, you see guys like that in PhD programs a lot.

Huge dorks. Both of them.

Both are stuck somewhere between human and non-human and, hmm... their ability to remain human is the most astonishing quality of both. By all accounts, neither should have. They somehow did.

Both are incapable of lying to the point where a third of each fandom headcanons them as autistic. Both are somewhat all right with tricking people without technically lying (although Childe had more practice).

Both are secretive because no one would understand anyway.

FF XIV is a kinder story, so it's easy to overlook, but technically G'raha is a case of body horror, accepts the role of a villain for a while and hides from the player way too much. Hmmm... Where else have I seen it. Hmm. Oh right. That ginger guy from Genshin.

Minor things:

Both are little shits and enjoy annoying the hell out of people they dislike.

Abysmally bad fashion sense. There should be a name for this particular type and level of bad. I don't think I've seen this anywhere else.

And then there's the colour scheme. Red+black+white+blue and red+black+light grey+blue (it's an "anime magician" color profile, I think. black-red-white as alchemy colours + blue as pure magic/something elemental). Childe doesn't quite fit but still the combination is rare.

They way they talk. Dear gods. Who the hell talks like that.

Here's where the similarities end.

One is morally grey but ultimately a good guy (technically. I think the point of ShB was that Emet and G'raha are almost the same), another is a morally grey but still (kind of) a bad buy.

At every step of his story Graha is surrounded by people who love or at least appreciate him, Childe is pretty much on his own and surrounded by people who are either shitty or clueless.

G'raha is kind. Truly and astonishingly kind, in a doomed world he chooses to love everything he touches. Silly little priest of hope. Of all the things he has done this is the most wondrous, I think. Not the time travel, not the city he founded, just being able to remain kind after everything that happened to him.

Childe is... well, Childe. I think he is a deeply decent person (to the point of having a visceral distaste for any kind of unfairness) and he's idealistic but he's indifferent more than he is kind. Empathy usually develops only when someone has shown the person empathy first and, as far as we know, he didn't have much of that in his life.

Also G'raha builds things. Childe breaks things. Childe breaks pretty much everything he touches.

One is an archeologist and a mage and another is a warrior.

I think these differences are caused mostly by the settings they were put into. Childe raised in Sharlayan would have been a very different person. G'raha trained by a voidsent and shipped off to Garlean military would look very much like Childe.

G'raha also has a beautiful character development arc. I love his ShB role. He has this huge ego in the raids and is insufferable and then we see an older and wiser him with a bunch of actual achievements and a bad case of impostor syndrome (trying to do anything real always humbles a person, we all know that real world is held together by sticks and scotch tape. honestly, this change alone is beautiful). And he gets to be an actual hero when he abandons all hope to be Important and resigns to die as a nameless villain if it saves everyone and spares his loved ones from heartbreak.

Childe's character development is yet to happen and I'm not hoping for much but we'll see.

The only difference that definitely isn't created by setting is that G'raha is naturally manipulative. In a kind-hearted way and mostly for the sake of better larp but he isn't that straightforward. Childe is spectacularly blunt for all his mysteriousness.

As a bonus, they both compare main characters to stars, but in completely different ways.

"No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course," says G'raha to the WoL.

Childe mentions the morning star, which is, of course, pretty and a good companion to a lonely traveler, but also it's not a celestial body you can chart your course by.

It's a guy whose signature weapon is called "Polar Star" and his first artifact set was full of nautical themes, so I think he fully understands what he's saying. "You are my friend but I won't change anything in my life for you."

So I don't think his story will be anything like G'raha's, his life took a different turn very long ago. I do think they used to be similar as kids, bookish boys who dreamed of adventure and being special. So it's fun to compare.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. <3

[synergysilhouette]

An alternate take on "Wish" (2023)

I was hoping I wouldn't have to make something like this. I've already done remakes for movies I liked, and I wasn't expecting to make one on this so soon. I heard a lot of discourse about this movie, as well as a lot of praise, and sadly, the negative feelings for the movie are what I aligned with more. It felt like it was rushed and missing important pieces--weird for a movie that's an hour and a half--as well as unrealized concepts altogether.

Human Star--We all know what I'm talking about. At one point, Star was supposed to be a human who romanced Asha, but this was never realized. Some people surmise it's because Star was confirmed to have (at one stage) been modeled after Asha's grandfather Sabino, who would've been dead. However, in my version, Star is Asha's love interest, sans-Sabino inspiration. He (or whatever pronouns you'd like to use, since Star is nonbinary) would've appeared as a Star at first, helping Asha before taking the form of an ethereal young man after hanging out with Safi, Gabo, and Dario. His fashion would be standout from the get-go, very ethereal and vibrant like a walking ball of light--or a peacock, if you will. In contrast to the yellow aesthetic in the concept art, I'd like a rainbow look or a silver and blue appearance, bringing to mind "Colors of the Wind" and "The Soreceror's Apprentice." He wouldn't speak, instead miming and using sign language to communicate, forming close bonds not only with Asha, but Bazeema and Dario. He's funny and silly, but knows when to be serious and empathetic, like a slightly more serious and wiser version of Sisu. When Magnifico sucks the magic out of him, he falls and starts to flicker, similar to Tinker Bell when losing her magic. This is when the reprise of "This Wish" begins.

2. Asha's personality--You know, she wasn't as cringey as I was expecting since she was supposed to be adorakale, but I do prefer her being a bit more mature. I'd make her in her early 20s and give her a personality similar to Mulan and Pocahontas--athletic, determined, and heartfelt, while still being vulnerable without feeling like she tries too hard to be relateable (I swear, the scene with her grandfather and mother reminded me of Mulan being told to learn her place). I'd also give her (and Magnifico) a different design, but I've already made two posts about that. And I'd make her a bit less perfect with her ideals; she cares about others, but she's somewhat of a social climber, wanting to be Magnifico's apprentice specifically so he can grant her and her family's wishes. Magnifico appreciates her for her moment of cynicism, stating how Rosas has only grown in size because people want to use Magnifico's powers and leave.

3. Asha gets the job--Asha gets recommended by Simon to be Magnifico's apprentice, as he's a knight for the king and he trusts his imput. Impressed by how (unintentionally) translucent Asha is, Magnifico decides to make her his apprentice, giving her the power to use magic like he can. As such, she's his apprentice for a bit before running away.

4. Sakina's wish--Since Asha is over the age of 18, she has already given her wish to Magnifico. She's fine with not achieving her wish, but finds out that her mother wished that her father were alive, as she desperately misses him (it's been about a decade by now). Magnifico becomes something like father figure to Asha, but when she realizes he destroyed Sakina's wish in order to give her magic, she's horrified (she actually finds this out by accident, having overheard Amaya and Magnifico) at his disregard for others' dreams and runs away from Rosas. Magnifico sends people to find her and return her, unharmed, but her magic and her pain summons down Star to help her. Magnifico reveals that bringing Asha's father back from the dead is something he can do--but shouldn't, as it would create unforeseeable harm.

5. Magnifico and Amaya's Past--It's weird how a film's villain gets such a short and not-so-sweet backstory despite this fueling their whole ideology, huh? Deciding to pay homage to Disney, I decided to change his backstory, making it so that he is a genie--or, he was. He spent centuries being used and abused by mortals who wanted his wish-granting power, until Amaya found him and they fell in love. She wished him free, but only with the condition that he stay by her side forever, for while Amaya loved him, she loved power as well. It's revealed that she's a sorceress, but her power is much more limited than Magnifico's (see 1992's "Aladdin" for the power dynamic between sorcerers and genies). Similar to the Evil Queen, Amaya keeps a magic mirror that allows her to see anywhere in the realm she desires, as well as transferring her image to any location, and she is able to shapeshift. She is shocked when she discovers that Magnifico can gift others powers on his level, but that he never offered it to her.

6. "At All Costs" and "I'm a Star" are changed for different situations--It's revealed that Amaya is also a villain, and while she loves Magnifico, she has difficulty expressing it, as she frequently emotionally manipulates him in order to control him, as he's never learned the limits of his powers, and believes in maintaining the wishes of Rosas in order to maintain balance and keep bad wishes from being fufilled, which suits his wife just fine, since it makes her subjects more compliant. As a result, "At All Costs" is sung between the two in a powerful, rumbling, vibrant number that shows their twisted love for each other and their subjects. "I'm a Star," on the other hand, is a power ballad Star uses for Asha and the Teens to gain confidence in themselves, using the animals (and having Asha sing) in order to convey the message to her.

7. The Teens are more present and have lives--Simon is already a knight for Magnifico, Dahlia being a cook for Magnifico is more promiment, Safi comes from an affluent family, Hal and Bazeema are dating (just got the vibe; I'm not saying anything is canon), Dario is a farmer's boy with dreams of being a performer, and Gabo is still figuring himself out, fueling his bitterness in the group since everyone else has stuff going on in their personal or professional lives. As such, no one bretrays or turns their back on Asha--at least, not deliberately; Safi and Bazeema are quick to submit when their families are threatened, while Simon is manipulated into thinking that getting Asha back is solely for altruistic reasons.

8. Amaya's deceit--Intending to get Asha back when she realizes she's summoned Star, Amaya shapeshifts into her father (who we'll call Ignacio for now) and says that Magnifico brought him back in order to have her return. Star attempts to alert her of the ruse, but they have a falling out over it, and Asha and "Ignacio" sing a reprise of "At All Costs." However, once they return to Rosas, Amaya reveals her deceit, torturing Asha with depictions of a violently bruised and battered Ignacio before stripping her of her powers and throwing her, Dahlia, Safi, and Bazeema in the dungeons. As such, Star must rally Gabo, Dario, and Hal to help them escape. During this time, "Knowing What I Know Now" starts off on a sad note, as Asha reflects on the complexity of wishes and how Magnifico was somewhat right.

9. Magnifico's Carnage--I want Notre Dame-levels of mass hysteria and destruction; houses are being raided, people are being injured (maybe even killed? Too much?), all because Magnifico is unraveling; after being abused for so long and even learning that his own wife has been secretly using some of his captive wishes and using it to increase her own power, he goes on a rampage, showing the kingdom how selfish they are, and how despite his best efforts to please them, they always wanted more. As such, the kingdom is left in ruins, and Amaya battles him, enraged that she has no one to rule over. Magnifico, not holding back any longer, takes away her own natural powers, leaving her a helpless queen, and during a battle in the throne room, Asha and the gang uses the magic mirror to repel Magnifico's attacks until one of them hits him and Amaya, turning them into a statue of silver and gold.

10. Lessons learned--While Star doesn't come back (kinda want a "If I Never Knew You" song for this generation), his magic is infused into Asha due to his love for her, allowing her to regain her powers and become a fairy godmother. Asha takes this seriously, seeing how her last experiences with wishes taught her so much and cost so many lives. The people of Rosas are humbled by the experience, and the citizens leave the land as night falls, a shooting star pointing to a distant land for them to inhabit. In the end, everyone wonders what future awaits them, and Asha vows to use her magic to help make it a home--though she asks them to be patient with her, since "even miracles take a little time."

11. We get more vibrant colors! SO much looks like they've been watered down instead of colorful and vibrant like "Sleeping Beauty" (the visual inspiration for the film) was.

Lemme know what you think! Keep in mind, I only recently saw this film, so as time passes, I may edit this--or delete this and make a brand new remake post altogether.

[lackadaisycats]

I love everything of your work, every page is a piece of art, textures, lights, perspective, characters and the script, with perfect balance of hilarious and engaging lore.... It keeps me inspired everyday and gives me the energies to continue my projects. I can't describe the extreme joy your works gives me and I couldn't be more grateful, because it keeps me dreaming and helped me to understand what I want to do in the near future. Thank you so so much \(^ヮ^)/.

I have one question : Do you have any advices for making comics and put them in the world? For some time I had the urge to share my works, but idk what to do :/.

That's exceedingly kind. I'm touched to hear you've enjoyed my work, and if it helped you to understand what creative things you want to do, well, that makes my heart glad. Thanks for sharing that.

Very wordy response to the making and sharing comics question below....

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Making comics is a Whole Big Thing as topics go. It's a little difficult to provide salient advice on something so broad. So much of it depends on what you're specifically trying to achieve, and what your preferences are as an individual. Here are a few bulletpoints, though:

-- Make the comic about things you love unabashedly so that it's fun and engaging to work on. It will still be difficult - it's always difficult - but you're more likely to keep doing the work it if you're in love with it.

-- Don't put off starting until you're 'good enough'. Good Enough is a fantasy place, and Perfect is a big lie. You'll never find either and pursuing them easily turns into eternal procrastination. Get started while the fire is burning, because getting good at something happens while you're actually doing the thing, and less so while you're thinking about maybe doing it. Try to be at peace with the idea that your work will be flawed. All art is. That's what makes it interesting.

-- Try to work with your strengths, not against them. Comic making is already immensely challenging. I'd suggest not making it extra impossible by demanding an entire personality change of yourself in order to do it. For example, if you tend to have intense but short-lived interest in things, don't torture yourself by embarking on a project that is going to take years-long, single-minded devotion. Do an anthology of shorter stories instead of a sprawling epic. Do one-off joke comics, or thoughtful vignettes. Or even break up something longer into short bursts of contained chapters.

-- Don't hurt yourself. Eat right, sleep, get a comfortable chair that's good for your back, get out of that chair and move around at intervals. If something starts aching, stop and rest. If it's aching chronically, see a medical professional. Career ending injuries and health troubles for artists are insidious - they creep up all quiet and mundane while you're busy patting yourself on the back for pulling another all-nighter.

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About sharing online - also a tricky topic! The internet has changed a lot since I began Lackadaisy. The advice I could give derived from my personal experiences in publishing and audience building is a relic of a bygone era at this point…but here are some more bulletpoints (er, paragraphs) that I think are generally pertinent:

-- If publishing publicly sounds daunting and a bit scary, dip your toes in the water before plunging in. Do a publishing test run. If there's a Discord community you're comfortable with or a social media platform you use where you can post for mutuals only, maybe try that first. Or just share directly with a handful of people and ask them for feedback. When I'm unsure about something I'm preparing to post, I usually run it by some creator friends of mine because I trust them to be honest with me. Even if they have some criticisms, it's often reassuring that I can proceed to show it to others without dying inside.

-- Places with a big, built in audience can be great for getting eyeballs on your work, but it’s a mixed bag. Webtoon is the obvious example right now. Just be wary of anyone showing a little too much interest, or coming at you with paperwork to sign. Don't rush into putting your name on something that 1) commits you to unreasonable amounts of output for barely livable wages 2) relinquishes your ownership of your IP, or grants anyone any license to your work without clearly defined boundaries (like a limited term and agreement-ending conditions) -- Contract agreements warrant lots of consideration. Involve a lawyer of your own if you can. At the very least, have friends or family read over anything you might sign. And if it sounds too good to be true, it is. Scams are unfortunately abundant, so do your research/due diligence on whoever you're in discussions with.

-- Make yourself easy to find. Use social media to your advantage. Don't feel like you have to be in every single place, though. Some platforms might not be a good fit for your work, and some might be too much of a hassle or a mental drain to do battle with. -- Scrape out your own space online if you're able - a personal web page, a little WordPress/ComicPress site, or even just a link hub so that people can relocate your work if they lose track. The point is to avoid putting your eggs all in single basket that you have no control over. You never know when the social network growth you've been nurturing for the past several years will just succumb to a billionaire rampaging around like a sociopathic kaiju in the midst of the world's most public midlife crisis.

-- Don't worry about being an immediate sensation. Seeing people respond to your work is a wonderful and immensely gratifying feeling at times, but be patient if all hear are crickets chirping for a while. Longform storytelling in particular takes time to catch its momentum, and readers take time to get invested. Meteoric rises and virality do happen now and then, but honestly, slow and steady audience buildup is probably the more sustainable and less psychologically bewildering way to experience the fun of sharing your stuff with the world.

-- Consistently put your identifier (name/watermark, URL, copyright info, or all of these things) on everything you post online.

---------------------- I hope something here is useful, and if you decide to start making and publishing comics, I hope you find much success and happiness in it!