#this was a design for my partner as a part of a trade

[maxpawb]

design

[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.

[ashyyslashy]

faustian bargain - marquis vincent de gramont x f! reader (john wick: chapter 4)

synopsis: To clear your debts to The High Table, you agree to a proposal by the Marquis to live with him as his partner.

warnings: language, sexual content (p in v sex, choking), semi-toxic relationship dynamics

word count: 2.8k

a/n: the john wick lore makes my head spin!

You stared into the weathered face of the man on the portrait before you, tucked away in a private corner of the Marquis' expansive gallery. The wrinkles and creases bore the weight of years of suffering, the lines of his face hard set in permanent anguish. You often imagined them as a collection of sins etched onto his aged features. Sometimes, you found yourself likening the image to a Picture of Dorian Gray. You would wonder whether the Marquis' misdeeds had marred this painting instead of his own self, leaving his striking handsomeness intact, and he’d hidden it from view.

The portrait reminded you it was too late to regret the changes that had taken place; only to find a way to cope with them. You had become used to seeking refuge in your thoughts amidst the entrapment of your existence. You would conjure whatever you liked to make this engorged mansion seem less stifling.

You had made an off-hand comment to the Marquis once, that you felt like a cat in a cage without enough room to stretch its legs.

He had chuckled, with his own catlike eyes boring into yours. "Mon amour, you are only bound by your own pride and reluctance. Laissez-vous être libre."

In seeking freedom from The Table, you traded one form of enslavement for another. For some unknown reason, the Marquis had taken an interest in you upon your first meeting. So he offered you a choice: join the fruitless battle to kill John Wick or stay with him in his home until it was all over, in some sort of twisted romantic scenario. Whether he was driven by boredom, liquor, or pure schadenfreude, you were unsure. Regardless of his motivations, you knew there was really only one correct answer if you wanted to live.

"I'll live with you," you'd told him. "But what is it you really want from me? No bullshit."

"The companionship of a beautiful woman, is all. Is that truly so wrong?"

His full lips formed into a roguish smirk.

You should have known there'd be a catch. You didn't simply live in his mansion - you were confined to it. Even with supervision, you weren't allowed to leave the property. As a result, you desired his presence in order to fill your solitude, developing a sudden and unexpected connection to the man. It was shocking how quickly your resolve to spite him faded. He became your lifeline, your connection to the outside world. And despite your best judgement, the more time he spent away, the more you yearned for him.

You hated his brand of intoxicating hedonism, the luxury items and expensive food he lavished upon you to win your favor. But you wore the designer dresses he laid out on your bed and drank the aged wine that was served at dinner.

You felt like you were betraying what you stood for through your infatuation with him. You resented yourself for growing so dependent upon him. Every touch you shared, every pent-up moment of sexuality - and there were few and far between - sent a flood of guilt rushing throughout your body. You'd wanted to escape The Table, but had only gotten yourself in deeper by fraternizing with the enemy.

The worst part of all was that he assumed a total indifference towards you. He would only provide you with the occasional caress or kiss on the cheek and any coy allusion he made to romance or sex in conversation was carefully veiled. He was forcing you to make the first move, and you wished so strongly that you could shatter his confidence by refusing to make it.

But at the same time, your resolve was wavering - every part of you was consumed by a flaming desire for him, steadfast in its absolute power.

You knew you had to do something to extinguish it.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The clatter of silverware resounded throughout the dining room, forks scraping against fine china.

You'd been fixated on him all night. Your eyes were glued to the veins flexing in his hands as he grasped his utensils, the curve of his lips when he brought a forkful of food to his waiting mouth, the tensing of his sharp jawline as he chewed.

Every time he met your gaze, your nerves stood on end. The meal seemed to drag on, and no matter how much you ate, nothing could fill the gaping pit of anxiety in your stomach. It was just the two of you tonight, and the air felt charged with electricity.

"C'est fini," the Marquis commanded suddenly, pushing his chair back. It dragged across the polished floor with a squeal.

As you always did, you stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen, starting to wash them until the staff refused to let you help any further. You wished they would allow you to do more- you hated not feeling of use, and you disliked others waiting upon you. Your sense of independence was unshakeable, even here.

When you left the kitchen, the Marquis had gone, likely retired to his chamber. You were counting on that. You hurriedly crossed the house, taking deep breaths for what you were preparing to do.

Standing in front of his door, you raised your right knuckle and rapped upon the wood. You heard shuffling within.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's me," you replied sheepishly.

"D'accord. Come in."

You slowly pushed open the door and stepped into his room. His bare back was facing you, muscles rippling as he leaned over to unbutton his pants.

Your cheeks grew hot. "Um- you know, you could have told me to wait and gotten dressed first."

He turned around, stepping out of his pants and laying them next to his discarded shirt on the bed.

"I was not aware you were such a prude."

You scoffed and mumbled something under your voice about "public decency", trying to hide the anxiousness creeping into your tone. He strolled past you with an air of nonchalance, naked save for his boxers.

"So are you going to tell me why you're here?" he continued after several moments, folding his clothes with all the ease of someone who's never had to do their own laundry. He slipped a silk robe over his body before pivoting towards you, his eyes boring into yours.

You let out a breath of air. "Um... I need to ask. What's going on here? With us?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. What is it you want from this?"

He shook his head. "Déjà vu. You have already asked me this. My answer has not changed."

"Sure. My company, huh?" You replied in an insinuating tone.

"If you are implying that I expect you to do sexual favors for me, do not worry. I would have asked by now."

"What a gentleman."

"Mmm. When I say company, I mean company, chérie."

"Alright. Well..." you stepped towards him, shaking off any lingering feelings of hesitance. "I think you're a coward."

He moved closer, a dark look crossing his face. "Oh, do you?"

"Yeah. You know, I hear a lot around here. And I see how you pull the strings to ensure that everyone but you faces John Wick."

His jaw hardened. "It would be wise not to involve yourself in things that do not concern you."

"See, but you being a coward does concern me. I mean, it must be why you're just biding time until I make a move on you. Since you won't be the one to do it."

You were playing with fire, taunting him like this. You'd know him long enough to become immune to his attempts at intimidation, however.

He treaded backwards, barking out a laugh. It was strange to see him lose his perfectly-maintained composure even for a brief moment.

"You think you know everything, non?"

"I know more than you think," you countered. "You didn't deny it, after all."

"So this was the purpose of the visit? You have come to lecture me for not being man enough?"

"No. I came to ask you to be honest."

"I am not an honest man, chérie. You should know that. So what is it you want me to say?"

You were aware you were about to give away the upper hand, but fuck it.

"It'd like to know if you really do want me."

He shook his head, lips pursed together in amusement. "And did you not just boldly declare that I do?” 

"Stop toying with me."

He let out a sigh of exasperation. "I cannot understand why you ask me this. If I did not want you, why would you be here? I have given you space, and you interpret this as a sign of cowardice. I did not think boldly pursuing you would go over well. My mistake."

"That's not what I'm saying," you retorted, an indignant cry escaping your lips. "I'm alone in this house most of the time, and when you are here, you treat me as if I'm invisible. I feel like the fucking toy that the spoiled brat refuses to play with."

"You believe this is how I see you?"

"Yes, I believe it," you spat.

He laughed again, the sound not as sharp as before, humorless.

"How wrong you are."

"Then tell me your side of the story.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on either side of him.

"I decided I would not send you to the front lines of this war with John Wick. I am confident I will win, bien sûr, but not without casualties. I did not want you to be one."

"Why?"

"J'sais pas. A feeling I had that I cannot explain. I just knew I wanted to give you a way out. I..." he trailed off. "I did not do it to taunt you, as you think. And I am not indifferent towards you. I thought that much was obvious."

"How wrong you are," you imitated.

"You are one to talk, chérie. You walk around as if you hate me and everything I stand for."

"I wish I did,” you replied ruefully.

His expression was unreadable. You approached him, standing over his form on the bed. Tentatively, you reached out to untie his robe, your movements slow in the case that he'd want you to stop. He stared up at you with unblinking eyes as you slid the folds of his robe to the side, revealing his bare chest. He shrugged the rest of the garment off, allowing it to fall to the floor. You slowly ran your hand across his abs down to his happy trail. 

"Do you like what you see?" he murmured, his eyes searching you for validation that you were surprised a man of his status would be asking for.

"I saw it before when you were walking around half-naked, but yes, I do."

Ignoring your sarcastic comment, as he tended to do, he gestured towards your own clothing. "Take it off."

You were too caught up in the headiness of the moment to protest that he'd phrased it as a demand. You pulled your nightgown over your head, and it joined the clothing pile on the floor.

Gazing at you intently, he placed his hands firmly on your waist and pulled you towards him. He took one of your breasts in his mouth and then the other in turn, swirling his tongue around your nipples. You dug your hands into his brunette locks as he peppered your chest with love bites, exercising his newfound lack of restraint. 

It was hypnotizing to see his guard go down, a hungry, animalistic fervor overtaking him. He was feverish with his movements as he pulled you to straddle him, his hard cock pressing against you. You tugged down his boxers and let the member spring free, admiring it for a moment before moving your hand in front of you to pump it up and down. You adopted a slow pace to offset his sudden frenzy, determined to leave him wanting more.

He slid backwards across the bed and you followed, your hands still working around his cock. He laid his head down on the pillow, looking at you lazily with hooded eyes.

"This must be how all of your fucks go, huh? You just lay down while the other person gets you off?" you teased while suspecting there was some truth to the notion.

"I'm simply fulfilling the role you've already carved out for me, non?" he retorted, reaching out his hand to smooth your hair back.

You spit on your hand and lubed up his cock, feeling the intensity of his gaze burning your face. You pressed down on his shoulders for support as you lifted yourself up into a crouching position, lining him up with your entrance. 

He sat up slightly, helping guide you onto his cock with eagerness. He sloppily buried himself inside you, and you began to create friction, bouncing up and down with your legs wrapped around him and your nails digging into his shoulders. 

You relished in the effect that your ministrations had upon him. He was a silent lover beside the occasional soft breath or inhale, but his pleasure revealed itself through his body language; his mouth gaped slightly open, eyebrows furrowed, head arched back. You couldn’t help but admire him.

The two of you moved in harmony, soaking in your collective loss of inhibitions as your pace grew faster. You’d caught yourself imagining this a few times late at night, cursing yourself as your hand crawled down to the hem of your nightgown. 

It felt so much fucking better when it was real. 

You scratched deep marks in his skin as ecstasy washed over you, climbing closer to your high, your walls clenching against his cock. Suddenly he was trying to move you off him, and the spell was broken as you looked down at him in confusion.

"Lay down on your stomach," he instructed, and again you bent to his will.

You felt his arm snake around you from behind, his hand clamping down around your neck. You went lightheaded from the sudden loss of oxygen, and a moan escaped your mouth as you felt him enter you again.

"Is this man enough for you, chérie?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he rammed into you from behind.

He was pounding you mercilessly, and you knew that to tell him to stop was to reveal further weakness. You moved to brace yourself against the bed frame, but his hands were on your arms, pinning you down so you were entirely at his mercy.

"Tell me I'm a fucking coward now," he challenged.

"You're - not - a - coward," you managed to choke out, his thrusts continuing to increase in intensity, the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberating throughout the room.

He hummed his approval, before taking ahold of you and flipping you onto your back. His left hand moved to play with your clit as the other returned to your throat. Your back arched in anticipation, your body tingling from the combination of his cock thrusting into you and the movement of his fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you cried out.

"Ouais, cum for me."

Your body trembled under the weight of your orgasm. As soon as you'd collapsed back down, he quickly pulled out of you, letting out a guttural groan as he shot his load over your tits and upper stomach.

He reached his index finger into the mess, drawing a heart in the sticky liquid and completing with an arrow through the center. The juvenile gesture caught you entirely off-guard until you looked up to see the amused, self-satisfied expression on his face. 

He pressed his finger against your lips, gently nudging for you to open it. You took his finger into your mouth, sucking it clean.

The Marquis laid down beside you, his eyes roving over your body. You surveyed his in return, unused to seeing the skin that he always had hidden under layers of a suit. You half-expected him to tell you to get out, maybe even toss you a twenty-dollar bill, but he said: "Do you want to sleep here tonight?"

It took you a moment to process the question. "Uh- yeah, I guess I will."

"Très bon. I will get you a cloth to clean up.”

He rolled off the bed. As you listened to him rifle through the cabinets, you were hit with the realization that you'd crossed a line you couldn't come back from. You'd fallen into his trap and given yourself over to him, just as he'd always suspected you would. 

He returned to your side, handing you a plush washcloth. You wiped off the evidence of your clandestine encounter, but as he turned off the lights and pulled you under the covers with him, you knew it stained you somewhere deeper. 

When you closed your eyes, all you could see was the haunting portrait. And all that lingered on your mind was a deal with the devil. The Table still had its claws in you.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Do you all have any proof that Invictus wants nothing to do with Harry or is it just a hunch based on narratives you’ve made up yourselves? Or maybe it is just wishful thinking on your part?

First off, reading and context is fundamental. No one has said Invictus wants nothing to do with Harry. We’re saying that it doesn’t make sense why Invictus keeps Harry around when he doesn’t appear to provide them any value. From a liability and risk management perspective, they have to be doing something to protect themselves from his lack of engagement.

And it is actually data-driven speculation. I don’t make stuff up here; I am always researching, I am always reading, I am always learning, and that is what informs my theories. There is very little I take at face-value.

But since your insult was polite, I’ll let you look at my homework instead of telling you to go figure it out yourself. Just this one time.

So this is the financial report from the UK charity registry:

Expenses (money going out) and income (money coming in, i.e. the donations) are virtually the same. In other words: as of 2022, Invictus is barely breaking even. This is not good; it means, more or less, they're one crisis away from some serious problems.

It also means that their actual Games - which, in 2022 would have been The Hague/Dutch IG - are expensed entirely by the host city. So basically, the charity itself is nothing more than a glorified events planner spending someone else's money. That's...not exactly the mission we're told that Invictus Games is.

Now, that orange line there on the bottom is what the UK calls "governance." (In the US, we call it "administrative.") This is what it means, from IG's 2022 financial report:

Note that this doesn't include salaries for the 12 (as of 12/31/2022) employees at IG. According to Giving is Great, a UK charity watchdog, senior staff costs (i.e. salaries and benefits) is 26%, or approximately £500,000. Add the governance/admin costs, and we're looking at £750,000 a year just to keep the charity's lights on. When your total budget is £2 million, that's a big chunk of change. 40%, in fact.

Second let's look at their income. The UK charity registry breaks the "gross income" down into several subcategories. For Invictus Games:

(The column headers were cut off but from left to right it's 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, and 2022.)

Meaning that in 2022, their income came from donations, trading, and charitable activities.

(Remember that in 2020, the Royal Foundation made a £1 million donation to Invictus Games, which I believe makes up the majority of that £1.4m donation. If that assumption is correct, then that means in 2020, Harry was only able to fundraise an additional £400,000 in donations. Now, 2020 was a very difficult year for a lot of charities and nonprofits so that steep dropoff isn't unusual to see in the financial reports.)

Now from the 2022 financial report, here's what these categories mean:

So just really quick. Unrestricted means that the recipient chooses where/how to spend the money. Restricted means that the donor directs where/how the charity spends the money. So Invictus could spend £381K of the donations (Category #2) anywhere they wanted to, but for the remaining £700K of donations they received, they had to follow specific directions on how to use it.

What this is saying is that of the total income earned by Invictus Games in 2022, only £1.08 million came from donations.

Now, in my (volunteer) experience working in nonprofit fundraising most lay people (i.e. members of the general public who donate to charities) don't usually direct or designate their donation. So most of the regular donations are going into the unrestricted pot. Corporate donors, sponsors, or partners are more likely to give restricted gifts, where they direct how the money will be spent. So based on my experience, I feel comfortable assuming, or suggesting, that £231,447 received in unrestricted donations is people like, you, me, and Sussex Squad donating to Invictus out of pocket.

That's a pretty poor showing. And in my opinion, it's a direct reflection of Harry's leadership; he isn't inspiring people to donate to Invictus. Instead, the bulk of Invictus's income/donations is coming from corporate sponsorships.

Most charities cannot survive on corporate sponsorships and partnerships. It does not guarantee long-term survival. Long-term survival is predicated on investments, endowments, and contracts...which Invictus doesn't have, which means their patron isn't doing his share.

Third let's look at the actual Games themselves. The Hague/Dutch IG was given a budget of €15 million (~$16 million). According to this leaked letter from the Dusseldorf IG Committee, the Hague IG Games actually ended up costing €25 million (~$27 million). That's a 60% increase, and it's impossible for all of that to be due to COVID-related inflation.

Going backed to the leaked Dusseldorf IG letter, their budget was about €27 million (~$29 million). It's being reported that the Dusseldorf IG actually ended up costing closer to €37 million (~$40 million). This is a 37% increase; they were also very over budget.

And in March 2023, Invictus Games 2025 signed and published, to their website, a Contribution Agreement outlining that Canada's budget for the Vancouver IG is $30 million CAD (~$22 million USD); $15 million CAD (~$11 million USD) from the province of British Columbia and $15 million CAD from the government of Canada.

So if I split the baby for budget overrun [(60% + 37%)/2=48.5%], we're looking at Vancouver IG to probably end up costing around $44.5 million CAD.

In other words...they're in trouble. Meaning that Invictus and its board should be working together with the local corporation(s) to cut costs and increase savings/get new sponsors and partners. Meaning that the patron should be out there campaigning and fundraising for money or figuring out how and where to cut costs...but he isn't.

Or those efforts aren't visible. Not when the competing PR is about Harry's attacks on the BRF, Spare, Meghan's merching, and stories like this one of key leaders being abruptly fired and whistleblowers leaking to the press.

Now why would someone be abruptly fired without notice? It's not for shock and awe. It's either for incredible malfeasance (like fraud and embezzlement) or because someone much higher up wanted it. Since there's no paper trail or proof of wrongdoing - which Vancouver IG would have leaked in some way, shape or form - all the evidence strongly suggests the two men were fired because someone else demanded it. Maybe, say, someone who costs so much more than he's actually worth, who causes more problems than solves, who has alienated a lot of public goodwill. Of course, that's just pure speculation. But it is strange. One person getting fired without notice, sure, not really worth paying attention. But two people? And two people who purportedly know a whole lot about what's happening behind closed doors? That's hinky.

Have I forgotten anything?

Oh, right. This: growing criticism and dissatisfaction from local host-nation communities, Invictus's competitors and their families, and social media over the Sussexes' inability (and disinterest) to promote anyone but themselves whilst attending events.

The last thing any brand wants (or needs) is an ambassador that alienates their core customer base and prospective supporters and dominates the news with controversy. Brands, including nonprofit organizations, rely pretty heavily on:

The goodwill and positive attention their ambassadors generate

The users, fans, supporters, customers, and consumers that follow their ambassadors and

The networks their ambassadors move in.

Harry doesn't do any of that either:

He loses public goodwill every time he opens his mouth and invites only criticism.

The customers (the veterans and their families) aren't happy that their efforts are overshadowed. The consumers (people at home following along) are unhappy and dissatisfied that they can't find information about the competitors or the Games themselves because the only press coverage is about Harry and Meghan.

Harry is completely excluded from the royal, military, international, and aristo networks that propped him up 10 years ago to launch this thing. Invictus can't tap into that anymore, so why should they keep him around?

Let's review.

Invictus's expenses and income barely break even. Further, their reserves allow them to operate for less than one whole year. That's a really uncomfortable place to be in. Where is their patron to help seek out income streams that would build up their reserves?

Based on donation data, they're wheezing along on spit and prayer. They rely almost exclusively on corporate sponsors/partners. There's no investments, no endowments, no contracts. Actual "from the people" donations is just paltry. Where is their patron to lead fundraising campaigns, recruit new sponsors, develop investment opportunities?

The costs to host the Games keeps ballooning. Some cost overrun is normal, expected, and even budgeted for, but not the amounts that Invictus keeps turning out. Where is their patron to help look for new partners or charm everyone over with budget cuts?

There was a personnel shakeup in the Vancouver 2025 leadership that caused a lot of questions and concerns about their readiness to host their events and revealed a lot of morale issues. Where was their patron to calm the chaos?

There's growing criticism over the patron's behavior that is reflecting badly on Invictus Games and their brand. Where is the patron changing his behavior, changing his attitude, changing his priority?

I'll tell you where the patron is. He and his wife are flying around the world to party at Soho Houses, whine about being cut off from his family after he spent 3 years attacking them, spending other people's money in ridiculous ways, and getting wastedly high after his wife and kids go to bed.

The longer Invictus Games is associated with that, the more it reflects on them and their brand. They can't afford that. Not when they're promoting themselves as "family friendly" or "family supporting" (which is how they've justified Meghan's involvement).

It doesn't make any sense for them to keep Harry on. He's not fundraising for them. He's not schmoozing. He costs more money than he brings in. The people they serve don't like him. He isn't bringing big donors in. He isn't speaking to or supporting his family.

And allllllllll this together is why I say "I wouldn't be surprised if Invictus is trying to phase Harry out." It's why I say "depending on how well Germany Invictys 2024 goes, that may be the proof they can survive without him."

It's data-driven speculation. Not something I've made up. The only thing that's made up is the speculation about why two senior leaders were so abruptly fired. But that isn't even part of the analysis or the calculation.

Next time, anon, you're doing your own fucking research.

[mousical]

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

his engineer, her driver

pairing; female!engineer x lando norris

warnings; none!

type; head cannons

a/n; underrated dynamic me thinks

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

having the cutest radio moments

so many youtube compilations of your interactions

“Radio check please, Lando.”

“I love you!”

“Loud and clear.”

you’re trying to remain professional, but he doesn’t really care

i mean the team is pretty much used to it by now.

that doesn’t mean you aren’t embarrassed every single time he says something affectionate over the radio.

especially because you just know it’s going to get broadcasted.

sky sports eats it up every single time

getting scared every time he crashes, but also having to stay composed.

“Are you okay? Confirm you’re okay.”

“M’ Okay. Were you worried about me?”

“Engine off.”

needed to set clear boundaries to separate your work from your relationship

there were definitely some arguments after sochi 2021

as soon as you’re both off track, work talk is BANNED

no matter how much you try to explain it, he has no idea how the car works.

“I just don’t get it. How is Red Bull so fast on the straights?”

“I told you. Their sidepod design really minimizes drag while still optimizing down force. It’s actually pretty brilliant-“

“Yeah, okay- but, like, how are they so fast?”

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

him defending you in the media when bad strategy calls are made

you cheering him up in the garage after a dnf.

you making regular appearances on lando.jpeg.

constantly posting him on your story.

representing mclaren on the podium for his first win and celebrating with him!!

champagne kisses omg

surprise cameos in mclaren media videos and in the media pen!

occasionally making appearances on stream and in Quadrant videos.

always being paired together in the team videos! you carrying the both of you in the jeopardy video with your knowledge of F1.

him carrying the two of you in the mario kart video because as smart as you may be, you are a terrible driver.

the both of you facing a bit of controversy in both your shared workplace and on social media

having to deal with nosy reporters

“I guess it can be tough sometimes- but I love what I do, and I love being a part of this team. Lando is my best friend, and my partner in every sense of the word. We support each other and understand the unique demands of our careers.

Honestly, being in love with someone who shares your passion for the same thing is incredibly special. We get to experience some of the most exciting moments of our lives together, and that's something I wouldn't trade for anything."

with both of your very busy lives, you definitely prefer staying in whenever you get the chance.

much of summer break is spent snuggling under the covers and binging all the tv shows that you missed during the season.

always being the first person to congratulate him over the radio! and the first one he goes to after getting out of the car.

“That’s P5 Lando! Incredible drive, love.”

“The car was beautiful today, let’s keep up the good work!”

“Recharge on, darling.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

passing notes to each other during briefing sessions

one time zac caught you passing lando a note and made you read it out loud.

“You’re so cute when you’re not paying attention.”

in conclusion you two would be the most dynamic duo in the paddock ok thank you bye

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

[ya-boi-haru]

You know what, I like you, let me share my headcannons/thoughts on an AU I recently mentioned...

Fable smp Coffee Shop AU...

• Sherb runs a 24/hr (or late opened) Cafe, The Alchemist Brew. They specialise is mixing different coffee flavours to create a new taste and can even create one for a persons specific need or even mood.

The people that have often come in say it was exactly what they needed; students coming in to study found they work best with Icarus' creations - jokes that they put a focusing chemical drug in it. People on first dates say they added an ingredient that was a big ice breaker for them to bond over. A few cases come in home sick and the drinks taste like home somehow.

• Rae runs another cafe in a different part of town. It's a more traditional place, more old fashioned, rustic aesthetic.

Rae got to take over this place a lot sooner than he thought.

His mother went missing when he was young and his step-dad, Fable, left a few years ago. Icarus' was supposed to take over the buisness but they wanted to do their own thing, especially since Rae and Icarus had different ideas on how they should run the place.

So Rae runs the Gilded Cafe. While keeping the more traditional things on the menu, Rae also explores the history with Coffee. Makes ones how they would make it 30, 50, 100 years ago and happily, shares it with their customers.

• Athena is learning how to open their own bakery (Flour Garden) with Jamie. They offer their goods as a trial to both Gilded and Alchemist Brew Cafe. This way they get to try new foods and have people taste test them and both Cafes get a unique item on their menus each week. The feedback from customers is always appreciated and it sparks new ideas for foods and types of foods.

• Momboo runs a flower and tea shop, The Pink Tulip, both as a seperate transaction but has a talent for getting sweet tastes out of nature's prettiest petals

• Which is a dramatic comparison to her sister, Ocie/Kai, who runs a bar, Sea Dragon, iconicly known for its underwater sailor/pirate aesthetic and strong drinks to match

• Wolf is a business analyst and has helped with the businesses as well as a few others around town

• His partner, Centross, helps manage the Sea Dragon. A couple years ago, he tried to start a buisness with Icarus and Easton (who is a real estate agent), but it crashed and burned real quick. Wolf talked to Kai and she was generous enough to help Centross get back on his feet and they ended up working really well together.

• Aax works in the Gilded Cafe with Rae. He came to Rae looking for work - one in a new town with no connection to the Telchin company. They were awful, treated their employees terribly, and they would use special artificial chemicals in their drinks to make it taste like flavours (Hazlenut, vanilla etc), never the real thing, even their machines were designed to cut corners with brewing.

• Ulysses is still with Telchin, casual, but is still in the town with his Partner. He used to be able to do beautiful coffee powder art, but since the accident in the shop he can't even hold a cup steady.

• Will runs little a Cafe - The Traveller - based on flavours around the world, some places he's been lucky to actually travel to. Seven helps him run the place and really good with machines so they never have to worry about things breaking.

• Now all these businesses have their challenges, but Icarus feels they have an extra one...

A night club across the street 2 doors down, "The World Port". It's an exclusive place and Icarus had heard a few things about it.

It's a jack of all trades types of place, has accommodation for any events, Bachelor party's, birthdays, buisness meetings, heck even wakes.

Icarus' problem is that - for some reason - the owner recommendeds The Alchemist Brew to their customers as a place to sober up. Which would be fine if that didn't mean nights of drunks coming in, making a mess and passing out. They somehow get their mail mixed up as well, and The World Port is loud and makes it hard to focus on work.

• The World Ports concept is to be a place for everyone. It's main area is a bar with a dance floor and great music. They have sectioned off rooms, identified by colour, each room can accommodate for certain events. You could hold 3 different events in once.

• Smaller Headcannons/Notes:

• Caspian comes into the Gilded Cafe as a place to write his stories. He started going there for the nice coffee and cozy vibes, but the manager seems really nice and passionate about his work, so he kept coming in and is now a regular. And the Barista working there is cute nice to talk to as well

• Rae grew to appreciate the small talks with Capsian while on shift. He's even made it into a few pages of Raes sketch book - that will never see the light of day - but that has nothing to do with anything! Rae always draws random customers for practice! Despite Aax pointing out that he draws Caspian more.

• Aax and Rae are dating and are peeking interest in Caspian.

• Wolf and Centross are dating, though Centross is showing interest in Kai. He would deny it to hell and back even though everyone can see it.

• Icarus gets new ingredients/inspiration from their friends. Athena and Jamie's creations, Momboos flowers etc

• During the business Icarus, Centross and Easton tried to run, Icarus made a purple drink that turned out to have an addicting side effect. Part of the reason thee business failed.

• Since the World Port is exclusive, Icarus can't get in to talk to the owner. However, there have been times when they've come into the Alchemist Brew, and Icarus has just not been in there at the right time to see them.

• If they don't want to deal with maintenance companies, the other owners ask Seven to come over and fix their equipment, especially if it should be a simple fix.

• Galahad works at The Traveller and suggested their own mix of a spicier blend

Feel free to add onto or suggest things!

[aromantic-pantyanarchy]

I’m getting dragged on reddit for talking about this fuckin character so I wanna pitch her here. In my most recent dive into the backpages of the Marvel catalogue I have discovered a cool ass chick.

This is Shela Sexton, AKA Escapade.

Escapade is a trans mutant who’s got a kind of platonic life partner, best friends for life thing going with another trans mutant named Morgan Red. Together the two decided to use their powers to become supervillains, “but a supervillain that helps people and only hurts people who deserve it”.

But the fun doesn’t stop there. Beyond being a trans Robin Hood and actually coming away with a cool name and a sick design, there’s a handful of interesting things about this character. For one, despite being a mutant she doesn’t actually like to rely on her mutant power, instead she considers herself a tech fighter, utilizing random gadgets that she’s stolen on previous heists.

And what is her mutant power you ask? Well that’s also pretty fun, she has the ability to swap “circumstances” with anyone for a limited number of time. Not only trading places with them, but also switching things like physical condition, social status, skills and abilities. If she’s getting the hell beaten out of her, she can swap places to make herself the one coming out on top, though the injuries will come back later.

And she’s good at infiltrating enemy bases, since she can switch places with a guard and no one will question her presence for as long as the swap persists.

Now, as for her story, things have not been going well for Shela. She’s recently been visited by Destiny and Emma Frost, who claim that a future visions portends that Shela will end up unintentionally killing Morgan, and this has her shook. A large part of why she’s so hesitant to use her powers is because they play a part in his foretold death. Now, both Shela and Morgan can figure that Emma wants something from her, but to what end and how much of the story is a lie is still up in the air.

If you’re interested in reading, the story begins in the 2022 edition of “Marvel Voices: Pride” and carries over into the most recent run of New Mutants issues #31-33. It’s actually a very emotional arc, hitting on a lot of themes that make both trans narratives and X-Men stories work so well, feeling powerless against malicious systems that seemingly only exist to hurt you and standing up anyways, the dread of an oncoming “bury your gays” and the enraged fight against what you’ve been told is your ultimate fate. And, don’t worry, there is a happy ending. I’d highly recommend.

[tototavros]

I should write up something about the history of antitrust and open source development, specifically of SQL

back in the day, back when we had antitrust and before WWII, antitrust laws were often used to go after small and medium sized businesses who would come together and build up information, e.g. about how much suppliers would charge each of them for lumber or furniture makers creating a design book so each of the partners could take advantage of each others' improvements of technique

and big business would find a sympathetic small business and make it worth their while to complain that oh poor me I'm being left out while they're colluding for profit!

on sql, part of why Oracle became such a monster was Oracle SQL server, which Oracle was very good at making sure you paid for. and Microsoft had a decent SQL package as well but it was for Microsoft Winblows

and my impression is that a bunch of big corps like Google, FB, etc. came together and decided to make sure that development of open source SQL alternatives and now everyone writes Postgres, MySql or Sqlite

which doesn't have the issues of previous antitrust cases, because since it was open source, to take advantage of brilliant but ideological contributors, there were no competitors harmed and no standing to allege a restraint of trade

interesting to think about now that the Internet has made dissemination and convening of information

[exnori]

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[lean-mean-demon-genevieve]

More environmental virtue signaling from Gen today. She wants you to believe that 1.) magic fairies drop off these bags free of charge and evaporate your old sweaters into butterflies and 2.) that she actually gave away her designer jeans because she cares so much about saving the world.

Of course there’s a cost involved in these start-ups, this only makes sense. So you PAY for them to send you a bag to put your things into and then the return shipping is already paid for so long as it stays below a certain weight. There are several options but at minimum, one bag costs $14.50. A subscription option for 6 bags per year for $94 also exists. And that gets you access to their Rewards program.

But you won’t hear Gen mention any of that in her little ad or caption. Which is intentional.

While donating to your local charity shop is indeed free, there’s nothing saying that all or part of your donation doesn’t still end up in the trash. Especially if it’s rags already. They don’t pledge to resell, reuse, or recycle everything whereas Retold says this:

Clear as mud. Seriously, can someone translate that last sentence? Some of this sounds ok, but it also sounds like you’re paying them to use your textiles in their upcycling projects that they will continue to profit off of?

The Retold website also partners with several “sustainable” brands that you can purchase from their “Sustainable Store.” (Anyone else remember when Gen mentioned a storefront for the Towwn website?) And their rewards program goes something like this:

If you send them one scrap of cloth, they pledge to send you $15 in rewards but it doesn’t go back in your pocket like it says above. No, you get $15 worth of credit to spend on a bunch of brands you’ve never heard of. Here’s the link. I’ll wait for you to come back…

In case you’re not seeing it yet, the whole thing is a great big circle jerk of consumerism. It’s that image of the snake eating itself. Ain’t nothing for free. Especially not Gen and Towwn.

Here’s my point: Sustainability is a challenge. And I understand and appreciate anyone who wants to try to reduce their carbon footprint. But please stop treating this woman as if she is actually doing anything but patting herself on the back for profit.

If this bag still sounds like something you’d be willing to engage with, then that’s cool too. It’s not the worst trade off if you have the money to spare and if the textiles really do stay out of the landfill. I’m just here to be a good steward and to help you be an informed consumer. Per her branding for Towwn, Gen wouldn’t have it any other way. And whether you buy a bag or not, rest assured her check has already cleared.

[starlightrows]

Better Late Than Never

Chapter 2

Masterlist

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Pairing: Alpha!Boba x Omega!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: processing past trauma

The drizzling rain showers come and go but eventually transitions into silent snowfall after a few weeks. The tall evergreen trees that make up the Seelyia forest get a light dusting of snow that eventually gets heavier and heavier until the bows become weighed down and the snow slips off and falls to the ground.

You’ve only seen snow a handful of times in your life. Usually you can see snow dusting on the mountains from your village and on the far off eastern ridge line of the valley. Maybe it had snowed on the valley floor in the past, but not during your lifetime.

Ahni helped you make a new dress better suited to the climate, made of thick fabric that keeps you warm even without a cloak. She helps you make a new cloak as well, trimmed with soft fur. Ahni has been a wonderful friend these last few weeks. She’s introduced you to everyone in the pack, helped you settle into a community tent with other omegas your age, and taught you how this pack functions together.

Hunting groups go out every few days to bring back wild game. Mostly alphas and betas go on the hunting trips, but any are welcome to join if they wish to participate. Those who don’t go out to hunt process the meat to be eaten soon or preserve it for later, its is hide tanned to make leather and its pelt is used to make clothing and blankets.

She also explains to you that this pack is nomadic, traveling when and where the council decides. Usually for trade, or hunting, or gatherings of their allied packs. They use wooly bantha to help transport their belongings and to ride, but they aren’t kept in camp. Bantha camp is always a few miles away and they are attended by a few members of the pack that stay with them full time.

You’ve also learned that this pack, and apparently most other packs beyond Lyra Valley, have a very different way of life when it comes to sex and mating. In your village alphas, betas and omegas were kept separate from each other for the most part. The concept of bonding with a mate must have been done away with at some point by generations above you. Who you mated with was designated and assigned by the reigning alphas. Children were raised by the community and placed into their designated biological group when they began presenting usually at about four years of age.

“So, no one is allowed to mate or have sex?” Ahni has asked you.

“No. Mating without express permission from the reigning council was forbidden in my village…. I thought it was normal”

“I have never heard of a pack operating that way” she admits “What do the alphas do when they are in rut? And you, poor omega, how have you survived your heat without a knot to cope with the pain?”

“The alphas would go to the north woods when their rut was approaching… I never thought to ask where they went or what they did” you shrug “Omegas were sent west to the deep water pools… we were taught from a young age to tread water in the freezing ponds during our heats”

Ahni looked horrified. “That’s…. That’s awful. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Why is that bad?” Her alarmed state scared you, you never questioned how things were done in your pack. You were born and raised there and knew nothing else.

“Because! Your heat is your biology telling you what it needs. You’re an omega. Omegas need care and comfort during their heat, either from other omegas or from a partner that can provide the release for you…. not a frozen pond to numb their needs away” She explained

You had many discussions like this with Ahni all through the winter months. You learned a lot about the social dynamics between the three presentations. Different packs treat the dynamic differently, but some things are the same across the spectrum.

The more you learned, the more you resented your pack. You found yourself hoping that you would not have to return to them in the spring. You wanted to live in this world that allowed omegas to embrace their instinctual needs, and gave betas equality in their social structure of the pack, and enforced healthy balance for alphas to embrace their own needs without exerting undue power over omegas and betas.

By the time the snow melted away the pack had already moved several times since you joined them. The pack was now camped near a large river that had many smaller creeks and streams shooting off from it. You had no idea where this river was located in relation to Lyra Valley, and you hoped to never find out.

The sun shone down bright and warm, every member of the pack was in the creek that day. Pups laughed and screamed and splashed in the water, the youngest getting their first swimming lessons from the older children or their parents. Most people were washing their clothes and their bodies alike. Some had no shame and were completely naked. Others chose to wear undergarments or simple shifts to cover themselves while they bathed.

You were swimming with Ahni and some of the other omegas you’ve become close to, laughing with them and enjoying the warmth of the sun on your shoulders. Some of them were naked under the water but you weren’t quite ready to cross that boundary yet, so you wore a linen shift.

After a while you went ashore to dry off and hang your freshly washed clothes on a line. You pinned your winter dress to the line and suddenly got the feeling you were being observed. A familiar scent prickled at your nose, dark mahogany wood, sharp pepper, and sweet blackberries. You turned and looked over your shoulder and saw Boba Fett, Alpha of the pack, looking at you from across the meadow. He catches your eye and stands from where he had been leaning against a tree and starts making his way towards you.

“My lord alpha” you give your head a little bow when his feet stop before you.

“Omega” he address you kindly “As you know, the winter snows and our packs movements have made accessing Lyra Valley difficult. But I have finally gotten word back from the riders I sent out. Your village survived, smaller in number I’m afraid, but surviving all the same. If you wish to return home, I will give you a bantha and guards to escort you now that the weather has improved”

You swallow the lump that formed in your throat the moment he mentioned Lyra Valley. You can’t help the frown that settles on your face “Your pack has shown me unparalleled kindness and acceptance that I will never be able to repay” you start “I… I would ask that you let me stay with your pack if it’s not too much trouble my lord alpha”

Boba reaches out towards your face, lifting your chin up to look at him with two gentle fingers “You have done well learning our ways, if you wish to stay I will gladly accept you as a permanent member of my pack”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you my lord” Your cheeks are so warm and flushed as your heart surges with joy. You feel an immense pull in your chest towards him, like your gratitude and relief at being welcome to stay wants to jump out of you and take physical form to offer thanks.

As if this day could not get any better! You dismiss yourself from Boba and run to find your friends and share the good news. The pull you felt spreads from your chest down into your belly when you move away from him. It grows stronger and more powerful. Putting distance between you and him felt something like separating magnets. But you rationalized it as being nervous energy and forced it out of your mind so you could continue running to find Ahni.

——

The warm days of spring brought more light each day and new growth to the fields and forests you and your new pack traversed. The pack traveled much more frequently and much greater distances in the spring and would even more in the summer, you’ve been told.

Every day you seemed to learn something new. New lands meant new wild fruits to gather, mushrooms to find, grasses to weave, animals to hunt. Ahni told you that more omegas in the pack would be having heat cycles now that spring was here. She taught you about nesting, self soothing that didn’t involve soaking in cold water, and she told you that the best solution to deal with your heat is an alpha to knot you.

“I don’t think I could do that” you shied away from that thought. Your newfound freedom excited you, but you still found yourself running back to old habits and ways of thinking when you felt overwhelmed.

“Oh, you don’t have to! No no, biologically that’s what your body wants during heat, so it’s the best relief you can get. But no one will expect you do anything if you don’t want to” she explained “Some omegas help each other during their heats, getting each other off to ease the pain, but not everyone wants that. There is no shame in building a nest for yourself and handling it however you feel comfortable”

That made you feel better. You were so grateful for Ahni’s seemingly endless patience and acceptance for you. Sometimes you feel like an overgrown pup, needing to be taught everything about the world at such a late age. Ahni never let you get far with those thoughts, better to learn now and live free than never learn at all.

In late spring, when the days started turning from warm to hot, Ahni went into heat. She had spent the winter and all of spring “fooling around” with a beta she liked. When her heat started she went to his tent and didn’t come out for five days. The other omegas you shared your tent with told you that they all knew this was going to happen.

“What do you mean?” You asked

“His name is Litus, he and Ahni have been pining for each other since they were pups” Samara explained

“She goes with him when he ruts and he stays with her while she’s in heat” says Addam

“This isn’t just her heat this time” Ginny smiles “This time it’s for good”

“What’s for good?” You ask “He’s not hurting her is he?”

“Of course not!” Addam assures you “They’re bonding. Mating for life”

“Ohh” you nod in understanding. “So they’ll never be with anyone else now?”

“That’s the idea. Obviously not everyone follows that vow unfortunately” Samara shakes her head “But we take bonding seriously in this pack. You can have sex and mate with whoever you like so long as they’re consenting, but a bond is a promise”

“Do bonded pairs raise their own pups?” You ask

“Oh yes. Not all parents are bonded, but it is expected that anyone who had a hand in creating a life help raise it” Ginny says

“What was it like being raised with no parents?” Addam asked. Samara elbowed him in the ribs and shook her head at him.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to” she frowns at Addam

“No no, it’s alright” you assure them “I didn’t feel like I was missing out because no one had specific parents. I was raised by the generation that was about ten years older than me. By the time we were ten our mentors were twenty and were done raising us. Then it was our turn to raise the young that came after”

“Pups raising other pups” Ginny mused “What do they do after 20?”

“Maintaining the pack. Hunting, farming, tending the livestock, doing whatever the reigning council told you do to” you shrugged

“But you didn’t get to choose. Say if you loved tending the animals, but they made you hunt instead?” Samara asked

“Then you would do it. We were taught to always obey the reigning council… I never wanted to find what would happen if I didn’t do as I was told” you admit

The three omegas share glances between them “Submission is valued and earned by pack leading alphas. I’m so sorry you grew up in a place that forced your submission” Ginny says sadly

“I never even thought about it growing up. But when I think about it, when Ahni found me and brought me here — I didn’t even think about going home. I don’t really miss anyone. I’m sure everyone thinks that I died in the raid, and I’m kind of okay with it”

“You have a place with us now. You’re part of this pack and this family” Addam smiles at you

[imagine-you]

every lover's got a little dagger in their hand (2/?) [joel miller/reader]

Summary: You find Joel at Cumberland Farms in the midst of his quest to save the human race. "You had so many questions you wanted to ask Joel. Where did he get a kid from? Where was Tess? Was he on a job? If so, then why the kid? Did he feel anything when he looked at you?" Word Count: 3.9k Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who supported part one. This wouldn't have continued without y'all. Title from Love From the Other Side by Fall Out Boy.

part one

The trip to Lincoln was supposed to be relatively short compared to most of the trips you were used to taking. The painfully awkward silence made it feel like it was several days long and not the hour it took to trek out there.   

You kept shooting small glances at Joel, wondering if he was regretting his decision to let you tag along. Joel seemed to purposefully keep his eyes forward, not even bothering to acknowledge you. There was a set to his jaw as he walked, and you knew something must have happened, because he looked like he had something on his mind that he would rather forget.  

"So," Ellie started, falling back to walk at your side. "When'd you meet Joel? You don't look that old," she observed, looking you up and down.  

"We've got a few years between us," you admitted, shooting her an unimpressed look at her scoff. "What?" 

"It's more than that," she said, pulling her knife out of her jacket pocket. She started trying to flip it over and over in her hand, fumbling it every so often.  

"Yeah, well, I don't think a kid should be hearing about that," you pointed out. You knew you could keep the conversation PG enough to give Ellie the gist of your relationship with Joel, but not while Joel could overhear. What if he heard the love you still carried for him in your voice? What if he disagreed with you? What if he never thought you actually had a relationship and instead considered it a series of flings? What if he didn't think it was worth mentioning at all? You didn't want to find out the answer to any of those questions, so you decided to go the easy route and bow out.  

"Alright, well, I'm about to start eating my hair out of boredom," Ellie told you, briefly pointing her knife at you. "So, give me something here. Like you said that infected at Cumberland was put there by you. How'd you manage that?" 

You noticed Joel glance briefly at you, a quick there-and-gone-again look, as if he was also interested to know how you trapped an infected in the cellar.  

"Well," you started, aimlessly kicking at a rock. "It almost cost me my life," you reminded her, ignoring another brief look from Joel.     

--- 

You weren't sure how this job had gone so sideways so fast. It should have been a simple pick-up-and-trade, but you faced an obstacle at every turn. It was one of the first times you began to regret your choice of not having a designated partner for your runs. First, FEDRA blocked the road you would have taken, searching for something which you hoped wasn't you. Next, your contact failed to show up, which meant the whole run was a bust. Then, you had the bright idea that you were so close to Boston, you might as well visit Tess.  

Even you weren't really kidding yourself. Visiting Tess meant visiting Joel and that was really what you wanted after all the bullshit you had gone through. You wanted to drop by Cumberland Farms to stow away the goods you had meant to trade, so you wouldn't risk losing them if you were attacked or came across FEDRA.  

You were less than a mile out when you made a near-fatal error.  

 You saw one infected stumbling along in the woods. It wasn't far away from you, so you resolved to take care of it as quietly as you could. Your mistake was assuming it was alone. That one infected turned out to be five infected, and they all came running at you.  

You got off one shot, two, before you realized that you would simply have to run. You thought you could get to Cumberland and hold them off from there. You didn't count on the sixth infected to run at you from the side, tackling you into the dirt. You felt something scrape your side, your hand sliding over a sharp, jagged rock.  

The blood only made them more frenzied, eager to get to you. Your ankle felt like it was on fire, but you couldn't care. You had to run, escape, because if you became one of them, then you ultimately lost.  

You managed to take down the one that tackled you before pushing to your feet. You ignored the pain, counting on the adrenaline to carry you through. Every moment felt drawn out and weighted, but it was simply a passing second where you had to make the right choice or die.  

You didn't dare look over your shoulder as you ran. You kept your eyes forward, avoiding roots and debris that would trip you. You felt like there was a knife in your side, each breath in painful and sharp. Your ankle threatened to buckle under you and your hand was bleeding, stinging little zings of pain reminding you that you were wounded.  

You were trying not to panic, but you could feel desperation to survive clawing at you. This might be it, you couldn't help but think. This might be the last moment you were alive. The last moment you were truly human. You tried to push those thoughts aside and just focus on moving forward, ignoring the pain and fear fighting for your attention.  

You could just see Cumberland Farms up ahead when you started to finally allow yourself to think that you weren't going to make it. Five infected all on your trail while you hobbled along, injured and bleeding? No chance.  

You were going to have to do something crazy, you resolved. Something that might take you down with it, but at least you weren't going to leave this world infected with Cordyceps. That was all you really cared about at the moment.  

For a fleeting second, you thought of Joel and how much he would disapprove of your plan. Maybe he would mourn your death and maybe he would be glad to be rid of you. You didn't know. You had no clue. Which just about summed up your whole relationship with Joel. Confusing and uncertain and leaving you clueless.  

You only had a few seconds to enact your plan, knowing that if you slowed down at all, you would be swarmed by the infected. You rounded the back of Cumberland Farms, letting out a cry of pain when you stretched an arm back, grasping for the weapon you kept lodged in the side pocket of your bag. You finally wrapped your fingers around it, allowing yourself one moment of relief.   

You drew to a stop once you hit the back of the store, fumbling with the door for a moment before pushing inside. In a perfect world, you wouldn't need the weapon in your hand at all. You could get to the cellar and lock yourself in, regroup, and then deal with the infected once you weren't about to pass out from the pain.  

You got the cellar door open before it all fell to shit again.  

You assumed the infected would follow you around the building and through the back, but one of them surprised you, running in from the front. You had barely enough strength to push it away towards the back of the room before you brought the weapon in your hand up. You pulled the pin on the grenade and launched it into the group of infected at the back of the store, attempting to shield yourself from the oncoming blast.  

The grenade detonated quicker than you thought it would, taking care of the infected for you. You didn't count on being so close to it when it went off, though, and you were launched backwards, through the cellar door. You were weightless, floating, for one perfect moment before you hit the ground.  

You were sure you blacked out, because the next time you were aware, you were writhing on the ground, screaming. The pain in your side had doubled, tripled into a knot of agony. You glanced down, your hands covered in blood, to see a piece of a branch sticking out of your side. Had it been there the whole time? It must have been, but this was the first time you allowed yourself to notice. You were sure it was scraping along your gut, causing internal damage you wouldn't be able to fix stuck in the cellar of a gas station.  

Your hands traveled down to wrap around the branch in your side. You knew you shouldn't pull it out, but now that you knew it was there, you were painfully annoyed by its presence. You wanted it gone. Now. But you had a higher risk of dying if you simply yanked it out. If the shock didn't kill you, then the blood loss surely would.  

You heard the screech of an infected and prepared yourself for the worst. You weren't in any shape to fight one off, but the sharp sting of a bite never came. You cast your glance to the far side of the cellar, where part of the building had collapsed, rubble taking up the back half of the cellar. There was a face staring back at you, the rest of the body submerged beneath the debris. It shrieked at you again, uselessly trying to pull itself free, but stuck.  

"Fuck you," you snarled, pain making your vision swim as you shakily held a hand up, flipping it off.  

--- 

"Now, hold on," Joel said, halting your story. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how reckless that was?" 

You quirked an eyebrow at him before slowly raising your shirt to show the scar on your side. "Yeah," you drawled, smiling at him. "I think I do." 

Joel opened his mouth, no doubt ready to give you hell, but Ellie spoke first.  

"So, you were bleeding out, delirious from the pain, and what? You magically got better? Rubbed some dirt in it and walked away?" 

"No," you snorted, shaking your head. "There's more to the story than that." 

--- 

You lost track of time in the cellar. You knew you were bleeding. You knew you were in pain. You knew you were in danger. But you couldn't seem to make any of your limbs work. Once it started growing dark, you knew you had a hard choice ahead of you. Make yourself move or simply lie there and die.  

The sounds of the trapped infected had become background noise to you.  

"You can do this," you muttered, your hands clenched into fists to help you deal with the pain. "Just get the fuck up," you hissed, finally pushing yourself to your knees.  

It was a slow, torturous crawl to the trash can you had dropped into the cellar years before. You managed to roll it into the right place and slowly but surely pull yourself up onto it. The tricky part came when you had to straighten up, an excruciating ball of fire exploding in your side. You let out an agonized shriek to rival that of the infected before you forced your shaking hands to grab the edge of the floor above you.  

You didn't remember much of how you managed to actually get out of the cellar. It was a blur of pain and swearing and wondering if you should just let yourself fall back into the cellar and die.  

By the time you were stumbling out of Cumberland Farms, you knew you only had one option if you wanted to survive.  

You were sure you could easily be mistaken for an infected as you staggered down the road. You were covered in blood, your ankle dragging as you pushed yourself forward against your body's wishes. You forced down a scream of pain when you felt your foot roll over a rock, your ankle protesting the movement. There were black spots dancing at the edges of your vision, your field of view growing smaller and smaller the longer you walked. Your head felt dangerously weightless, as if it would simply float above your body and eventually become untethered and your breaths were getting shorter and shorter, barely coming at all.  

You didn't remember reaching your destination, but suddenly your hands were fumbling with a keypad and you were struggling to remember a string of numbers you could have sworn were ingrained in your memory. You didn't remember sitting on the ground and you didn't remember when it started raining. Your clothes were soaked, a mix of blood and water, making them cling to your skin in all the wrong places.  

"We've got one that somehow avoided the traps," you heard someone say, startling you out of your daze. 

You didn't know how you were suddenly looking up at the sky or why it was now daylight.  

"Help," you rasped, hoping you were discovered by a friend and not a raider.  

"Shit," Frank hissed, his voice coming closer. "It's Y/N. Let's get her inside." 

"Hold on. Stay on that side of the fence," Bill said, holding out a hand to stall Frank from coming any closer. "She could be infected." 

"It's Y/N," Frank tried to argue. "She needs our help." 

Bill pulled to a stop over you, staring down at you. You saw Bill pull out a virus checker before he crouched down, holding it near your neck.   

"Bill," Frank warned, apprehension in his tone.  

"Please," you managed to say, staring up at Bill. You didn't know if any of the infected had managed to bite you in your rush to escape. If you were infected, then you wanted them to put you down before you turned. You didn't want to risk Bill and Frank more than you already had just by coming here. "Please," you repeated, managing to nod up at Bill.  

He watched you for a moment before pressing the sensor to your neck. The sharp sting barely registered to you. It wasn't long before you heard Frank let out of a breath of relief. You saw the flash of green signaling you were in the clear before everything went black.  

You were aware of things in brief flashes of time. You woke up the first time, a pained cry leaving you as Frank and Bill attempted to get you into their house.  

"I know, I know," Frank tried to soothe you. "We've got you." 

You woke up the next time on a table, screaming in agony as Bill pulled the branch out of your side. You were vaguely aware of the push and pull of your skin being stitched together. You could hear Bill and Frank talking above you. Frank sounded so worried and you wanted to tell him it would all be okay, but you couldn't seem to get anything out.  

The first time you could actually make sense of what was going on, you realized you were on a bed.  

"You scared Frank," came a voice from your side.  

You glanced up, noticing Bill leaning against the wall of what you assumed was a spare bedroom, watching you. He had a gun in his hand, aimed at you, as if he didn't fully trust you wouldn't turn despite the all clear you got from the scanner.    

"I'm sorry," you got out, your throat dry and scratchy. "I don't even remember getting here." 

"You're lucky you didn't trigger one of my traps," he pointed out, finally lowering his gun. "You're lucky to be alive." 

"Yeah," you sighed, suddenly aware of the tight feeling at your side. You moved to touch your side, but Bill stopped you.  

"Don't," he warned, shaking his head. "You'll fuck up your stitches." 

You wanted to thank Bill for having your back. He had every right to leave you out there. You knew he'd let the whole world burn to protect Frank and you respected that even when it meant you'd burn too. You simply settled for meeting Bill's gaze, letting everything you wanted to convey show on your face.  

Bill simply dipped his head in a nod, his expression as stoic as ever, but his eyes conveying his understanding. In turn, you knew what he was telling you with just a look. His expression was stern, with just a hint of softness beneath it.  

You can't stay here. 

I have to protect Frank.  

I'm glad you're alive.  

"Once you're back up on your feet again--" 

"I'll be out of here," you finished for him. "I'm grateful," you told him, offering a small smile. Your eyes felt heavy and your breaths were coming out slow and measured. You could feel yourself beginning to fall asleep again. 

"I know," you heard Bill say before you drifted off.  

Two weeks later, you felt like you were on the edge of overstaying your welcome. Your wounds were healing nicely and you could walk without feeling like your ankle was going to snap. You knew it was time to leave. 

"You could stay," Frank offered, escorting you to the fence surrounding Lincoln.  

"I know," you said, grinning at Frank. "But you know me. Can't stay in one place too long. It's not me." 

"Y/N," Frank called, stalling you near the gate. "You know you're welcome here anytime. You don't have to wait until you're bleeding out to visit. Bill’s a grouch, and he’s got a funny way of showing it, but he likes you. He wouldn’t mind seeing you more often either." 

"Thanks," you told him, taking a step towards him. You held your arms out, waiting for Frank to step into your embrace. "I'll be back," you promised him. "Hopefully without the blood next time," you joked, pulling away from him. "Take care of yourself, alright? And the grouch too." 

Frank laughed, shaking his head. "You too. See you later, Y/N. Be careful out there." 

"I'll try," you promised, winking at him, before you exited through the gate. You started walking down the path, sparing a look for Frank at the gate. You raised your hand in a wave before you turned around, resolving to visit them the next time you had to do a job in the state.  

---  

"And I haven't been back since," you admitted with a frown.   

"Wow," Ellie breathed. "So, they saved your life and you couldn't even make the time to visit them? Remind me to let you bleed out next time." 

"Okay, smartass," you said, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that easy, alright? Besides, I'm here now, right?" You pointed out, glancing at Joel, wondering if he got your meaning.  

Joel was focused on Lincoln, though. He carefully instructed Ellie around the traps Bill had built and approached the gate. He typed in the code, glancing around, waiting for Bill or Frank to appear at any moment. Surely, Bill already knew you were here.  

You followed Joel and Ellie through the gate and shut it behind you. You kept waiting for Bill or Frank to greet you, but you made it to their house without a sign from either one of them. A tendril of dread started to take root in your gut as you watched Joel easily push open the front door of their house. Bill always made sure it was locked if they were both inside. There was an eerie stillness that had settled over the town and you feared the worst.  

You immediately moved upstairs, searching for the couple, but you drew short just outside an upstairs bedroom by Joel's worried voice calling Bill's and Frank's names. You rushed downstairs to see he was trying to open their bedroom door, obviously locked to keep anyone out.  

"Uh, guys?" Ellie called, drawing you both to the dining room. She held a paper in her hands, reading over the words written on it. "This is for you," she said, glancing up at Joel. She tried to hand him the letter, but he refused with a shake of his head.  

"You read it," he prompted, moving to lean against the wall while he listened.  

You listened to Ellie read Bill's letter to Joel, keeping your eyes on him. You weren't sure if you were concerned about Joel or just trying to ignore your own feelings about Bill and Frank dying. It wasn't until Joel reached forward and snatched the letter away from Ellie, reading over something, before he shoved it at you.  

"Joel, you know--" 

"Just give me a moment," Joel interrupted Ellie, pushing past you to walk out of the room. You heard the door open and close and you were left alone with Ellie in the dining room.  

You glanced down at the letter, reading the words Joel and Ellie didn't dare read aloud.  

"I don't think he's over it yet," Ellie started, looking to you, cautious in case you didn't want to talk about it. Talk about Tess.  

"I didn't even realize she was gone," you admitted, trying to process three deaths all at once. The world grew smaller each day and you weren't sure what you would do when it finally disappeared.  

"I think he really loved her," Ellie observed, watching you.  

"It was hard not to love Tess," you conceded, trying to get your thoughts in order. There was pain and shock and grief and guilt. You couldn't even find it in you to be jealous that Joel was so torn up over Tess and so obviously in love with her, because you understood. She was there for him through everything. She was his constant and you knew that losing her had to have shaken his world.  

Your eyes caught on your name further down the letter.  

And Y/N, if this is you, Frank wants you to know that you're welcome to any of it. You can stay, put down roots if you want. Pick any house you want. You'll find everything you need in the bunker. But if you can't stay, take what you need. Don't go falling on anymore trees, because we're not here to keep you from bleeding out. Good luck, kid. 

A sob caught in your throat, the reality hitting you all at once.  

Frank and Bill were gone.  

Tess was gone.  

You only had Joel now and by association Ellie and Tommy.  

"I'll be right back," you told Ellie, hastily handing her the letter. You followed after Joel, finding him sitting on the lawn outside. "Hey," you whispered, approaching him, not wanting to startle him.  

He didn't look at you, but you saw his shoulders tense before relaxing just a bit. You moved to sit at his side, letting your knee brush against his leg.  

You sat there in silence with Joel for a few moments before you glanced over at him. "I'm sorry," you told him. "I know," you cut yourself off, knowing there weren't even words for what Tess was to Joel. "I know," you repeated, letting it stay there. Joel didn’t want to talk about it and you’d respect that, but you didn’t want him to feel alone. Not now and not ever.  

He didn’t have to be alone and you were starting to realize you didn’t quite need to be alone either. Frank and Bill had years together, loving each other and surviving together, because those experiences didn’t need to be mutually exclusive. You only wished that you had understood that sooner.  

Joel dipped his head in a nod before he finally looked at you. "I've got to go get Tommy out of some trouble in Wyoming and then I've got to get the kid somewhere. You're welcome to join us if you want in," he offered, the corners of his lips ticking up in a smirk. “Unless you’ve got a job you’d rather get to.” 

"No. No job,” you answered, not caring about anything else but Joel and whatever journey he needed to take. "I'm in.”  

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[thekingofthenameless]

Tell me your top 3 OCs

Thanks for the ask!!! :D

My top two are definitely Merlin and Charlie!

(I have other ocs of course, but I have no thoughts about them rn because I’m writing a oneshot specifically centered around these two, so I’m just gonna talk about their bond for the third lmao.)

1. Merlin:

Merlin (full name Merlin Caledonensis Ambrosius) is a Black transgender aroace man! (Specially non-partnering, as well as being romance and sex repulsed.) He’s also neurodivergent: he has schizophrenia, psychosis (as a symptom of it), misophonia, and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He has a carefully crafted image of himself that he’s made as a way to survive, and no one besides Charlie, Ganieda, or Vivian will know his true self.

He hides it all under being a very mellow person.

He’ll smile easily, make shitty puns, converse with most people he comes across, give advice and trade knowledge freely without there being any catch, unlike some others out there.

Many consider him a friend, one of the most renowned protectors of magic, and one of the most famous magical beings, that everyone at least knows the name of. (Despite the demons that apparently have plagued his mind for centuries.)

But both he and his dragon are shrouded in myths and legends that no one knows are true or not, and he’ll never confirm or deny, simply dodging the curiosity or asking about the questioner with a smile.

(Unless it’s about being secretly married, because then he’ll go on a disgusted rant about being thrust into romance, and how he’s never been in a relationship, and he doesn’t need it, he has Charlie and his sister and his friends.)

His secrecy isn’t just limited to his past; it’s to the point that he feels exposed if someone simply finds out something he likes.

He usually doesn’t think about the fact that he’s constantly hiding parts of himself to make him seem more palatable, but when he does, he resents it. (And understands, because he’s hard to deal with. He has no idea why Charlie still loves him, sometimes.)

Just a few of the secrets he holds close to his chest are being naturally left-handed, hiding it behind the mask of ambidexterity that he taught himself. His complete and utter lack of romantic or sexual attraction, to the point of being repulsed at the idea. His aversion to a frankly maddening amount of sounds, and being born a girl, who hadn’t wanted to change his reproductive organs because they didn’t make him feel distressed and not at home in his own body like his breasts.

The voices in his mind tell him that everyone knows, no matter how hard he’s tried to hide them, and that they’ll hurt him again; Charlie has to constantly reassure him that no one else knows besides the two of them. (But not that he’d never betray him by revealing them. He’ll always trust his familiar, and Charlie knows that.)

Art Dump! (And an excerpt of his appearance from another character’s point of view because I’m lazy lol)

Click on the pictures for better quality and to see the whole thing! (The old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

[Amos] tries not to stare, taking in his appearance nonetheless. The man who is apparently Merlin seems to be only a couple of inches shorter than him, even from where he’s standing. Long white hair, that shines like freshly fallen snow, rests halfway down his back. It’s locked into thick strands that remind him of strong rope, tied up into a mid-high ponytail. Every side of his head is shaved, showing softer but still coarse hair that glimmers like frost. “Merlin,” Uther calls. “I have someone for you to meet.” He turns, revealing his face. He’s beautiful. He’s Black; his skin is a warm, dark brown. Several scars (one on the left side of his forehead, above his eyebrow; another spanning from his forehead to his nose, ending a little below his eyes; and the last across his left cheek) darker than his skin adorn his face. His eyebrows, eyelashes, and beard (which has a coarse, curly texture) are as white as his hair. His almond shaped eyes are a lighter shade of blue, with orange rings around his pupils. Eyebags darker than his skin, but a different shade than his scars, are under them. The bridge of his nose is prominent, making it curve. An aquiline nose, if he remembers correctly. He hasn’t seen anyone who has it in a while. He’s wearing a dark green bliaut, (that shows some of his chest, and he has to quickly look away) brown pants, a long, hooded blue cape, and brown heeled boots. A necklace, which is only a gem held with black string, rests against his neck. A bracelet is on his right wrist, and a ring is on his right hand’s second finger.

2. Charlie:

Charlie (full name Charlemagne William Ambrosius) seems a little rougher around the edges than his wizard, but he’s still nice (once he gets to know someone).

If he doesn’t know them yet, he won’t hide the fact that he stares them down while gauging their character. And even if he does, if they aren’t Ganieda or Vivian, he’ll still give them the same stare if they say or do something that could register as a possible threat to his beloved. (Yes, he calls Merlin that now. You’re welcome.)

He’ll say the things that Merlin thinks but won’t say, and doesn’t care that he comes off as mean or blunt sometimes either.

No one else’s opinion matters as long as Merlin is safe.

Anyone trying to separate the two of them, no matter for how long, immediately comes off as suspicious to him. People have attempted to take advantage of his familiar’s illness in the past, by convincing him that their actions weren’t real and were things he hallucinated or imagined. Sometimes, they also do the opposite and make him remember things that never happened.

And there’s the separation that still haunts both of them in different ways.

He’d been out hunting (which takes hours, since he’s a 3,000 pound dragon that eats a lot, but at least he only needs to eat every 4-5 days) leaving Merlin behind with their mutual acquaintance, Mordecai. His familiar had been feeling slightly tired, but neither of them were too worried; he’d hopefully sleep it off.

When he returned, Merlin was gone.

After hours of frantically trying to contact him through their telepathic bond multiple times while tracking his scent, he found a monastery.

His companion’s scent led him down to a dungeon, which had a chair with blood at its feet. And it continued in a trail somewhere else.

He had to quell his rising terror and fury to focus on finding him, following the blood and still strong scent upstairs.

Finally, he’d found the door that Merlin seemed to be behind, and he entered quietly when he only heard silence.

Even after seeing the blood, he still wasn’t expecting Merlin on a bed, sheets under him bloodied and stained, two corpses on the floor.

He was curled into himself, staring off at nothing.

They’d tortured him, broken him.

He never wants to see his beloved look that like again.

Art dump and excerpt:

(Like Merlin, the old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

(Charlemagne stares at [Uther] the whole time, red eyes almost glowing in the dim light.) How is no one else unnerved by him? He’s entirely unsettling, with those red eyes, (at least they have white sclera; that helps with making him look slightly less monstrous) giant, feathered wings colored like lava, and thick-furred body colored like soil and fire. (What kind of dragon has fur and feathers, anyways?) Besides that, the mark of being a familiar adorns his leg, for lack of a better word, unable to be hidden.

Their bond:

(To help with some things, cambions and dragons both age extremely slowly! Cambions age one year in every five years; dragons age one year in every fifty-five years.)

Yes, I did math for this lmao.

(Dragons also turn fully adult at five years old [two hundred seventy-five chronologically]. At a year old [fifty-five], they’re still too small to open their eyes. Five years later [60], they’ve opened, but their teeth haven’t grown in yet. Ten years later [70], they’re able to be weaned off milk. At two years old [110], they’re able to speak. From there, the main changes are their bodies slowly changing into adulthood.)

Merlin and Charlie have been familiars for a long time: over 4,000 years. (I don’t have an exact year yet. 😓) The two of them have been best friends, and inseparable for most of their lives.

Merlin, pre-transition, as a thirteen year old (chronologically 65) on the cusp of puberty, found him abandoned by his parents in the woods. They didn’t think he’d survive for much longer; the only reason he wasn’t classified as a runt was because mammalian dragons only have one offspring at a time.

At a year old (chronologically 55), he was too small to even open his eyes, but he could hear. Merlin’s hands gently ran over his fur, murmuring soothing words, getting him used to the feeling, voice and scent of human, before he gently cradled him in his arms and took him home. The little kit would be eaten by anything opportunistic enough if he didn’t.

Adhan was used to her son’s empathetic nature, but she never expected him to bring home a dragon.

Eventually, she was convinced, though.

Merlin fed him cow’s milk from a wooden bowl, hoping that he would able to digest it. (He was, fortunately.)

He looked down at the kit, colored like soil and fire, and lava all in one, and decided to name him Charlemagne William. He wasn’t going to give him his last name just yet.

Merlin always knew he was more intelligent than an average animal, no matter what anyone else thought, and talked to him as though he was human even back then.

Soon, it became commonplace to see the two of them together, Merlin either holding the little dragon in his arms, or carrying him in the blanket that he wrapped around himself.

Charlie became more affectionate as well, always curling against his side or on his chest.

By the next five years, when Merlin aged into fourteen, there was no concept of the two ever separating, but there was confusion when Charlie stayed the same size and age. (He’d opened his eyes only recently, and his teeth weren’t coming in; he couldn’t eat solid food as a result.)

Amidst Merlin’s worry over his dragon not seeming to grow, puberty slammed into him.

And he didn’t feel like a girl. It wasn’t his clothes; he’d always loved outfits that go down to his knees or farther. It was his body.

He felt too feminine, felt like he was all blossoming curves and soft features. He hated seeing his breasts grow, and he began to bind them, hiding the fact from everyone; fortunately, his healing factor helped offset any negative effects, and everyone was focused on getting Ganieda and Vivian together, anyways.

(Ugh, romance.)

But what he would be if he wasn’t a girl? A man? (Yes, is his answer, deep down.) That was ludicrous.

This would pass.

(It did not pass.)

At night, when everything was quiet, he vented to his dragon about everything, gently cradling him in his arms. How he didn’t feel like a girl and didn’t feel at home in his body. How certain sounds set him off, and people thought he would outgrow it, but he wasn’t, and how he was terrified of telling his family these things. He had to be a good daughter.

(Charlie would nuzzle him, understanding every word, purring as loudly as he could to comfort his beloved wizard.)

Charlie finally started growing more teeth when Merlin was sixteen, chronologically eighty years and six months then. He slowly weaned his dragon, introducing him to different types of meats and other foods. Apparently, they’re omnivorous, but it’s usually easier to just eat meat instead because of their size.

Despite the relief at the fact that his dragon just aged very slowly, his body dysphoria refused to leave. He knew that it wasn’t normal to hate looking at yourself in the mirror, and hate becoming a woman. (Especially since Ganieda accepted it, and loved it, happy to grow older so she and Vivian could marry sooner.)

Sometimes, when he was sure that everyone was asleep, he’d shapeshift into a man under the moonlight streaming through his window. He’d stare at himself, reverently running his hands over his face, quietly walking around his room in the body he so desperately wanted.

But he pushed it down, keeping it a guilty secret. Womanhood was still important to him; he had to be a good daughter, a good sister, and he loved them too much to just leave. But how would they react, if he did tell them?

(Charlie always treated him with the same love, man or woman, affectionately nuzzling him and purring. His eyes held an understanding that he wished everyone else would have.)

Maybe… he could broach the topic with his mother.

He did, eventually, and she gently stroked his steadily growing locs as he curled against her, speaking in nothing louder than a whisper the whole time. (Charlie rested against his feet, quietly watching them both. Adhan easily believed her son about his intelligence, now.)

She didn’t have any advice, in the end. But she kissed his forehead and told him that she’d always love him, no matter what. And if she did end up having a son, then she’d be blessed with the most amazing one she could have.

Twenty-five years later, at twenty-one (one hundred five years old), he shapeshifted into a man again, this time using his magic to make this form his true one. He cried when he was finally able to have the body he’d wanted for so long permanently.

Charlie wrapped around his legs, nuzzling him, and he picked him up, holding his dragon close. He purred loudly, sweet and comforting, even as Merlin’s tears soaked his fur.

Another seventeen years later, when Merlin was twenty-four (one hundred twenty-two), and Charlie was two (one hundred ten); Merlin was reading by the fire, and Charlie was curled against his right side.

Charlie looked up at his wizard adoringly, letting out soft purrs. He wanted to speak, talk to him just as much, and thank him for everything he’s done.

Merlin’s hand reached down to gently scratch his head, and he leaned into the contact, wishing he could speak even more.

Maybe… he could try.

“Merlin?” He said quietly, doing his best to not wriggle in excitement so the surprise wasn’t spoiled.

His wizard looked up at the unfamiliar voice, brow furrowing in confusion. After searching the room, his gaze went back down to him. “Charlie, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” was his simple answer.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening in shock. “What- You just talked.”

He smiled proudly, tail thumping as his wizard’s brain broke. “You can talk.”

After the subsequent reveal, and excitement had died down, they had long conversations that lasted for hours. At the end of it, their bond had only strengthened, and now, they knew things about each other that no one else ever would.

Twenty-three more years later, when Merlin was twenty-nine (one hundred forty-five), his schizophrenia began to set in.

He began to hear people calling his name when they hadn’t; began seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, with nothing being there when he turned around, confused. His food began to taste terrible when he knew it was the same as everyone else’s, and he became terrified of it being poisoned.

Then the voices and delusions started.

They started out positive, but over time they began to tell him crueler things.

His delusions told him that someone has invaded their home and is walking around (he can hear their footsteps), bugs were crawling on his hands in the dark until he turned a light on, or touched Charlie so his glowing spread to his hands.

And they happened over, and over, and over again, but every time it was real until he came out of it and remembered that they aren’t.

At least they usually didn’t last for that long.

But his hallucinations started getting worse, and instead of just hearing nonexistent voices, people and creatures appeared.

Sometimes it made absolute sense that a stranger was in their house. And they weren’t a threat, simply doing things that made him inquire why they were there.

Charlie, who was up to his knees now, was determined to help his wizard.

He suggested putting bells on the door so Merlin can think back and remember if they rang or not before he panics about a stranger being in their house. (It isn’t foolproof, but it does help.)

When the gaps in Merlin’s memory began to get worse, it didn’t matter. He’d remember for him. He’d eat some of his food first so that he knew that it wasn’t poisoned. He’d stay awake when he was afraid of falling asleep.

Merlin took care of him first. It was his turn.

After they fought in battles, and Merlin’s sensitivity to loud noises increased, along with new trauma, his stance didn’t change.

He’d breathe on him instead of calling his name so he doesn’t get as startled, and he’d walk across a room (in the rare occasion of that) instead of yelling for him. He’d do his absolute best to not yell at someone making him angry, no matter how much he wanted to.

He’d understand when Merlin got snappy because of his senses being bombarded with too much, and never blame him for it. He’d lay his head on his stomach as a comforting weight when panic became too much.

He’d say that he loves him, and he’s not going anywhere, he never is, and repeat those words over and over again, as many times as he needs to.

Merlin was sixty-five (three hundred twenty-five), when he became immortal. He could’ve used the spell that makes aging stop at thirty, like Ganieda, but the main reasons he didn’t was because he wanted to have natural white hair, not just changing his hair color, and he thought looking older would make him seem more distinguished. (If he’d aged badly, he would’ve shifted back to his younger appearance and kept the white hair. He didn’t, though.)

Charlie was a fully grown adult at five years old (three hundred thirteen), and just his head was as big as Merlin’s torso.

They went flying together now, and Merlin had crafted a saddle himself. Sometimes it was just a slow, leisurely fly for the sake of it; sometimes it was high speed, filled with loops and falling through the air. They still hardly ever argued about anything, but in the very rare occasion they did, they’d stay in the same room, spending time together in silence so they can calm down and see the other’s point of view. They always, always talked things out in the end.

They share the same feelings towards each other: I love you. I love you so much that I can’t fathom spending time away from you unless it’s absolutely necessary, and I’ve willingly chosen to stay with you for the rest of our lives. This bond was formed by a labor of love, and nothing can ever separate us, except for death.

I know things about you that no one else ever will. Typical familial terms like father figure or brother don’t fit us, because our relationship is far too complex to dilute it down into one role.

Soft whispers and gentle touches define us.

I am not leaving you. I am never leaving you.

One morning, after they woke up intertwined together, like always, there was a mark of swirls and leaves on Charlie’s right front leg, and when Merlin looked at his own body, there was one on his right bicep.

No one knew what they meant, until Merlin’s throat was slit after an ambush.

He didn’t die immediately. He choked on his own blood for at least ten minutes before he passed out, terrified of dying, hoping Charlie was safe, and would be able to recover in the end.

He woke up in a meadow filled with flowers, any signs of his violent death gone.

Before he could panic, a voice called his name.

He turned to see a being with completely dark, blue-ish gray skin.

Her hair, braided in a fishtail, long, feathered wings that almost dragged on the ground, and eyes, subtly glowing, were all completely white.

Golden earrings pierced her ears; a necklace of the same color with a red gem rested against her neck. A circlet that matched both was on her head.

Amara, goddess of life.

He immediately knelt in front of her, averting his eyes. He knew the legends, had seen paintings and murals of her. But why was she here?

Charlie appearing out of nowhere startled him. Completely forgetting about proper etiquette in front of a goddess, he ran to his dragon, stroking his fur and hugging him tightly.

Charlie hadn’t been hurt at all, unlike him. He didn’t know what had happened; he’d been trying to find him since their separation, and suddenly… he was here.

Amara had been quietly watching, smiling. She offered to explain, making both of them look at her; Merlin sheepishly apologized for his lack of decorum. She laughed and waved it off, understanding.

Charlie rested his head against his chest, and Merlin carded his fingers through his fur after they sat down. Amara explained that Merlin wasn’t going to die permanently: his heritage of being the former Anti-Christ had given him resurrective immortality. It was far more pragmatic than to make a new Anti-Christ every time one died. The markings on the two of them were from them becoming familiars, a bond of a precious animal companion and a wizard.

Charlie had received some of Merlin’s powers without them realizing it, which meant that if one of them died, they both would, and they would resurrect together. They also had a telepathic bond, like Merlin and Ganieda.

There was no spell to perform for them to become familiars. It was because they loved each other that much.

They’re still one of the only familiar pairs in the world, even now. Many wizards have animal companions, of course, but none of them have formed that bond created by a labor of love.

Art dump:

THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.

Artist credits: HappyArt9, cat-gh0ul, NaldThal, heropaws, biposi, and honeyxmonkey!

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kicho's Main Story Chapter 6 Part 1

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. JP SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Mai: "So, this Kicho who is here now is..."

Sasuke: "I don't know all the details, but I guess he was affected by the distortion of history."

Sasuke: "That means he was originally a different person who never existed."

Mai: "Isn't that impossible?"

(How can one person's existence change like that?)

Sasuke: "I can't say it's impossible. There's always the unexpected."

Sasuke: "Have you noticed anything unusual around you since the wormhole stopped appearing?"

Mai: "Unusual?"

Mai: “Oh, after the attack on Azuchi Castle, the book I brought from the future turned weird.”

Mai: “It was a travel guide, which had some historical info in it, but right now, most of the pages are blank.”

Mai: “It was as if the future had disappeared.”

Sasuke: “I see. That would explain why I can no longer observe wormholes.”

Sasuke: “Then, to return to our original time, we first have to deal with the distortion.”

Knock, knock.

Mai: "-----!"

Subordinate's voice: "Have you finished carrying the package?"

Sasuke: "Ah, yes. Safely."

Subordinate's voice: "I see. Then I'll walk you to the door."

(Looks like he's on the lookout.)

When I blinked at him, Sasuke immediately understood and replied cheerfully while quickly writing something on a piece of paper he had taken out of his pocket.

Sasuke: "Thank you very much."

Sasuke: "Well then, miss, I'm leaving. I look forward to working with you again."

Mai: "Yes, it's my pleasure."

I accepted the note he laid on the table, and just as I crumpled it up to hide it in my hand, the door opened.

Kicho's subordinate: "This way, please."

Sasuke: "Yes."

I looked over at Sasuke, resisting the urge to wave my hand.

After confirming the two had left, I gently unfolded the crumpled-up paper.

"Anyway, there may be some serious things ahead. I'll come back to you again. Until then, please take care."

(Serious things, huh?)

(I finally have a chance to get in touch with Mitsuhide, thanks to Sasuke, but there are more mysteries to solve.)

That rainy night, I finally felt grounded, and my vague sense of self took shape when Kicho told me I should just live as me no matter what.

(Is there anything in this world that didn't exist originally?)

(If so, when everything goes back to the way it was, will it be as if it never existed again?)

Kicho: "That's all for today."

Mai: "Okay.”

Kicho: "............"

Mai: "What is it?"

Kicho: "That's what I want to ask. What happened while I was away?"

Mai: "Eh, is something wrong with me?"

Kicho: "You have dark circles under your eyes. Are you having trouble sleeping?"

(As expected, he's sharp as a tack.)

Mai: "My sewing tools and fabrics arrived the other day, and I got caught up in making clothes."

Mai: "I know staying up late is not good, so I'll be careful."

Kicho: "Yeah, it's not worth it if you hurt yourself. It's best to do it in moderation."

(To be honest, I haven't even come up with a design yet because I don't know what to make.)

(I can't talk to him about it, hence the lie.) 

For the past few days since my encounter with Sasuke, I couldn't stop thinking about what I had heard.

I found myself worrying about his every move more than ever and ended up thinking about a lot of things at night.

(In the first place, if there's a historical distortion involved, he may not even be aware of it, and it's probably none of his business.)

Kicho: "By the way, I have one more thing to tell you."

Kicho: "We're going to have a banquet here at the trading post in two weeks to get acquainted with our business partners."

Kicho: "No, I think it would be better to call it a party."

Mai: "I could kind of imagine it. Can I help with the preparations?"

Kicho: "Yeah. You're quick to catch on."

He nodded briefly and took a few papers from his desk drawer.

Kicho: "Here is a summary of what I need."

Kicho: "We don't have much time, so we'll have to split up the work with the others."

Mai: "What about the business meetings?"

Kicho: "I'll head to one tomorrow alone."

(Alone.)

Mai: "Then, we'll be working separately for a while."

Kicho: "Also, I'm not going to have my men watch you 24/7."

Kicho: "As long as you don't make any suspicious movements, there is no need to be so worried."

Mai: "What?"

Kicho: "You looked bothered just now. I just thought you were worried about the surveillance."

Mai: "No, it's not that一Oh."

I involuntarily turned around to escape his gaze.

(Was I feeling lonely just now?)

(Nah, there's no way. Maybe he's right. Maybe I was just worried about the surveillance.)

Kicho: "Mai, what's wrong?"

Mai: "N-Nothing!"

Mai: "More importantly, um, I'm gonna get ready for today's work. Excuse me!"

Without making eye contact, I left the room in a hurry.

Mai: "*sigh* That surprised me."

I put my hand on my forehead and took a deep breath.

(Anyway, let's go to work.)

Then, without seeing Kicho much, I began to spend my days running around preparing for the event.

Mai: "Is that the guy?"

Kicho's subordinate: "Probably. It's easy to tell when he's dressed like that."

Mai: "Right. I'll go talk to him then."

(I still get nervous when I'm with other people.)

(Until now, I've mostly been working with Kicho.)

I came to the port today with his men to get the necessary supplies for the party.

Hiding my tense appearance, I hurried over to our business partner, wearing a tall hat.

Mai: "Hello. Um, here, please."

When I handed him the letter that Kicho had written for him, he smiled, nodded, then beckoned me to come over and walk on.

Mai: "They have some stuff over there. Let's go."

Kicho's subordinate: "Yeah."

(I can't believe he's already made all the arrangements.)

(We worked every day and night, so when did he start preparing all this?)

Thinking of him, I looked at the man walking ahead of me.

(Still, it's fun to see all these fancy-looking clothes.)

(I bet the people attending the party will wear something nice, too.)

(I wonder what Kicho plans to wear.)

Mai: "Right!"

Kicho's subordinate: "Is something wrong?"

Mai: "Yes, I've finally decided on the design."

Kicho's subordinate: "Design?"

Mai: "Um, I mean the style of the kimono."

Mai: "Hey, can I ask you for some help?"

That night.

Kicho: "What's the matter with you guys? Why are you in a hurry?"

Kicho's subordinate 1: "Before you return to your room, can I have a moment of your time?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "It'll only take a moment, so please remain standing."

Kicho's subordinate 3: "Excuse me!"

Kicho: "Hey, what are you suddenly wrapping around me?"

Kicho's subordinate 4: "Don't worry about it. We'll remove it as soon as we finish the measurement."

Kicho's subordinate 2: "This one is complete. How are the others?"

Kicho's subordinate 3: "Done."

Kicho's subordinate 1: "This one is also complete."

Kicho's subordinate 4: "Then I'll take them and report back to Lady Mai tomorrow."

Kicho: "Mai?"

Kicho's subordinate 2: "Thank you for your cooperation, Lord Kicho. We apologize for troubling you."

Kicho’s subordinate 2: "Well, please excuse us!"

Kicho: "Hey, you guys...!"

Before Kicho could call out to them, his subordinates quickly left.

Kicho, who remained there alone, looked at the door of Mai's room at the end of the hallway with a look of dismay.

Kicho: "I didn't expect you to order around my men in just a few days."

Kicho: "What the hell are you up to?"

One week later.

(Yup, it looks pretty good!)

Comparing the design with the finished material, I pulled my sewing kit next to me.

(All I have to do is sew the rest and make adjustments as I go along.)

(I really appreciated their cooperation.)

His men were willing to help me when I asked them to get his measurements for the clothes.

(They weren't as scary as I thought they would be when I talked to them.)

(Just like Kicho.)

(I haven't seen him for about a week, but I hope he's okay.)

I imagined his face and felt a little sad.

(Anyway, I'll do whatever I can to finish this before the party next week.)

(If I do it on my breaks, I'm sure I can finish it.)

Mai: "Crap, it's this late already!?"

Remembering my promise, I rushed out of the room.

Mai: "Thank you for your cooperation. I really appreciate it."

Merchant: "No, this is nothing. Merchants help each other from time to time."

(He's so kind.)

Today, I visited a merchant we met along the way to borrow some supplies for the party at a warehouse near the main street.

Merchant: "The tablewares are on that shelf, and the vases and picture scrolls are over there."

Merchant: "Next is一sorry, there are too many things to keep track of."

Merchant: "The items stored in this warehouse are not particularly meant to be used, so please take them as you like."

Mai: "Okay, thank you very much."

Merchant: "By the way, I heard that Lord Kicho is coming today."

Mai: "He's busy right now, so I'm taking his place."

Merchant: "I see. He really trust you."

Mai: "I don't know about that."

(Sometimes it's because they don't trust you that they keep you around.)

(But I don't think I should say that here.)

Mai: "Don't worry. Even if he's not here, I'll do my best. Huh?"

Before I knew it, something cold touched my neck, and as soon as I looked at it, I saw him holding something shiny.

(A knife!?)

Mai: "Why?"

Merchant: "Sorry, but a businessman needs information to make a profit."

Merchant: "See, I told you before. We need to help each other from time to time."

Mai: "I don't have any information. I'm only一"

Merchant: "Shut up!"

Mai: "............"

I could feel the coldness of the knife as he put more force into it.

(What should I do? Kicho's subordinates aren't here yet.)

The man had a scary glint in his eyes, as if he believed that what he was doing was the right thing, with not the slightest hint of hesitation.

(I don't think I can buy some time.)

(I have to handle this myself!)

I quickly stepped back, put my hand on the shelf, and knocked it down forcefully.

Merchant: "Whoa!"

Crash!

Mai: "I'm Kicho's secretary, but no matter what I am, I will never do what you say!"

Merchant: "Guh, you cheeky little shit! Hey, you guys, come out here right now!"

(Are there more people outside!?)

(Then I can't escape.)

???: "Yeah, I was going to come out even if you didn't tell me."

Mai: "Huh?"

Kicho: "It looks like you gave my secretary a great deal of hospitality."

Mai: "Kicho!"

A graceful silhouette holding a pistol emerged against the light shining into the warehouse.

Kicho: "Your buddies outside are in no condition to be of any use anymore."

Kicho: "Get that girl over here now, or I'll shoot you."

Merchant: "Damn it!"

Mai: “Ah!”

He pushed me hard in the back, and before I had time to catch myself, a blinding pain resonated through my entire body as I fell to the ground.

Mai: “Ugh...”

Kicho: “Mai!”

Kicho immediately ran to me while the man rushed to the doorway, smiling wryly at us.

(Don’t tell me he’s...)

Merchant: “Later, losers!”

Mai: “W-Wait!”

I frantically shouted, only to be answered by the sound of a door being closed, followed by the sound of a lock.

(What to do? We’re trapped.)

Mai: “Sorry for causing you trouble.”

Kicho: “............”

Mai: “Kicho?”

I looked up with my hands on the floor and saw him breathing shallow breaths, and his face was so pale.

Mai: “Um, are you okay?”

Kicho: “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Mai: “Yeah, you’re not okay.”

He immediately turned away from me, but I could see a bit of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Mai: "Are you hurt somewhere? Or are you feeling sick from all the work you've been doing the past few days?"

Kicho: "No, none of the above. It's because of this situation."

Kicho: "I have to get out of here as soon as possible."

Kicho frowned as he fell on one knee, clutching his collar.

(His hands are shaking, and his breathing is becoming more frantic.)

(Is there anything I can do?)

Mai: "You stay put. I'll find a way out."

I got up and walked around the warehouse, relying on the little light I could see.

However, there was no place to go in or out except for the closed door.

I tried opening it, but it was locked from the outside.

(I don't think I can do anything about it from here. At least, if someone passes by一no, what if it's a guard?)

Mai: "Kicho, we need to find a way to get out of here."

Just as I turned around, his shadow slid out of its position.

Kicho: ".............."

Mai: "Kicho!"

I ran to him and supported his body as he fell to the floor.

Just listening to the sound of his weak breathing made me feel suffocated.

(What's wrong with him?)

Kicho: "...ive…"

Mai: "What?"

Kicho: "I want to live."

Previous Part╏Masterlist╏Premium

[crguang]

sweet reliable women 🥺 i'm excited to meet her!

if you had to pick your favourite 3 hsr and genshin women, who would they be and why? i think i could take a crack at guessing two of the star rail women you'll pick, hah

-💙

GSHDHSJSJFJF im unfortunately very predictable…. and my type is so obvious😭

for genshin my favourites are:

- ningguang. we go years back her and i, i love women in high positions of power who have to put on a performance for the world and have a softer, hidden side to them. i admire her composure, strength and the fact that she can navigate any social situation… people have a lot of misconceptions of her because of her ambitions but she’s a good person who knows when to be ruthless and i love her lots for it

- yelan. my little adrenaline junkie… shes just so fun?! she hides behind so many disguises, lies as she breathes, is a masochist and a secret intelligence agent. they made her for ME!!! her and ning are canonically partners in crime, she’s part of the reason why ning is the tianquan and is her most trusted friend. plus she’s sexy and smart and i need her in my bed

- arlecchino. my type to a T, she fits all of my attraction criteria— powerful, diplomatic, astute and sexy with a side of her no one really gets to see. she genuinely cares for her children despite her upbringing, wants to bring a change to the way the house of the hearth functions, is a little weird and off-putting… i love that its unexpected for her to be so chill because shes so intimidating 😭 like wym the 4th fatui harbinger loves watching insects in the wild and having barbecues with her kids

my fav hsr women are (unsurprisingly):

- kafka… KAFKAAAAA what an annoying, irritating, lying little shit im obsessed with her. i initially thought she was going to be a little like yelan (she kinda is… they’d get along fast) but she’s just an arrogant little shit who lies for fun. she’s cocky and confident and the worst part is that her bite matches her bark. i cannottt help but be attracted to her, she’s a jack of all trades and it makes her deliciously unpredictable. PLUS they made her a violin player!!!!! thats my favourite musical instrument!!!!! i listen to classical music every day. her design is also one of my favourites— i love that she’s completely covered and still the sexiest character in the game. people went insane just seeing her SHOULDERS, like we all turned into Victorian men catching a glimpse of a woman’s calves for the first time when she took off her coat😭

- black swannnnnn❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ just stunning. no notes. 10/10 design. that suave personality and charm makes me melt and every time she comes on screen so do i— i mean… i find memokeepers in general very interesting, but what’s better is that since they forego their mortal bodies and become memetic entities, they don’t really have human emotions other than what’s felt through people’s memories. but black swan does, a little; that primal fear she feels in acheron’s memories, her preference for warm, wistful memories… it’s just so interesting. i also love how consistent and transparent she is, some memokeepers steal or erase memories but she doesnt. she has morals (aesthetics of memory, as she says) and she sticks to them until the last resort. she’s supposed to be inherently objective, and she isn’t. i love that a lot. also, because shes very good at what she does her presence is so reassuring, her smooth, low voice just adds to the feeling i need her to hum me to sleep

- JINGLIU. that voice alone gets her in my top 5 but her LORE… the fact that she’s doomed by the narrative???? that she pushes past her limits, rises when she should have fallen, out of spite and hatred to fight her own inevitable end???????? incredible. she’s above material things and immaterial concepts like status and fame because she only lives for one thing: to kill a god. and as she pursues her goal, she becomes a little like them, indifferent and ruthless. she’s a woman who’s lost everything and who refuses to lose her mind despite it being inevitable. her will is incredible. i love her design (tho she shouldve been wearing pants or actual armor😒) the moon is my favourite entity and she embodies it. i’m one of those people who go “omg look at the moon” every night, they made her for meeee

[dragon-appreciator-fray]

Depths of Promises Sworn

A Reading by the Author

Tonight's Chapter: 2 - Fourteenth of Her Unholy Brood

Link to Chapter 1

Same deal as two weeks ago. I'm reading my own writing and sharing my extensive thoughts below the cut. Like the original text, this week and every week that follows will preface content warnings that will likely not stop getting worse anytime soon.

But that's Depths of Promises Sworn in a nutshell. An entire cast of really good girls in the jaws of an arranged marriage between two imperial powers that is slowly closing around them.

If this is your first time seeing this, there are 27 chapters available for free in the link below at the time of writing this post.

Content Warnings: (I go into detail on Scribblehub/Royal Road)

Self Harm, Misgendering, and unwanted Bodily Alterations

Immediately, Ayre is in full discomfort mode. Attempting to minimize physical contact while barreling their way through a social situation with someone who pays respect to every detail that Ayre feels stifled by.

I'm not being subtle with Amari's white fur being associated with nothing but trouble and Ayre later being greeted with hostility for having pale and pallid flesh.

As a writer, I'm white and writing about transitioning within an imperial core that is hostile to me, but is still willing to afford me privilege that others would be denied. This story isn't going to shy away from the cast's complicity in imperialism.

That said, Ayre shows a lot of signs of already being abused. That they are aware of much of the harm Vylia does to others and has decent instincts is part of what makes them interesting as a protagonist to me. But they are being traded away in an arranged marriage to Lunaria. This is just the start of Ayre being uncomfortable in a new climate and surrounded by strangers.

Amari does absolutely infantilize Ayre a touch here. The relentless calls of Princeling and seizing on any perceived insecurity on her part is something most of Ayre's siblings would expect and appreciate. Ayre's mentioned as such in the last chapter.

But getting to see someone else play out that part makes Ayre incredibly uncomfortable. A fun thing on reflection is that I'm incredibly glad I drove a wedge between Ayre and Amari immediately. This story's first arc would absolutely not survive the two of them becoming close at any point. With that said, Amari has every reason not to want to get close to Ayre, but to push at their buttons and twist the knife and just be kind of a bitch here.

I'm REALLY happy with how that shakes out. It lets me save incredibly insightful Amari PoV chapters for the Second Arc where her investment in the plot and Ayre's own understanding of their sense of self is a lot more relevant.

Gemstones feature prominently in this chapter too. Astraea's Onyx plating goes unremarked upon as something fun for readers to chew on. Because the moment Ayre sees the Lunarian Watcher masks, they begin to speculate on the kind of perception enhancements the gemstones enable.

Charged stones. A drain on emotions. And an off the cuff remark about anyone not being useful being bled of any and all emotions considered unnecessary to perform a role are all the kinds of thing Ayre would learn with a low DC Knowledge roll. The latter piece of information is slightly inaccurate gossip. It's not that bleak, but it certainly paints a picture of the kind of society Ayre is stepping into.

And then there is the commentary on that stones are resistant to change.

So. Quick sidebar. Lunarians are Elves that have changed enough to not have any respect for the very idea of a "Race." They have cut stones that help them control the kind of changes bodies get. (If that sounds like a slippery slope, this story will eventually have Eugenics content warnings.)

I even left the design of Ayre's arranged marriage partners, Cerya and Theriya almost entirely up to the artist I commissioned. Just gave her some fun inspiration and accepted whatever I got handed.

Lunarians are gonna deviate wildly from what one might expect of Elves, relying heavily on stonework and metal/gem crafts because even fantasy wood is an incredibly mutable and fragile material.

And then we have Astraea. Who is here and trying to do her best, but Ayre is more than capable of representing themselves as one of the Castellan's blood.

Ayre gets to make some very fun first impressions.

Self harm is important to how Ayre operates, but this isn't elaborated on immediately.

Ayre is happy to lose a limb here. So long as no one shoots a bolt through their heart.

And then the Second Thorned Watcher approaches Ayre to give the readers some fun descriptors that finish building up Ayre as an inhuman monster.

Black sclera, pallid and sunken flesh. (Hello subtle indicator of Aayre's self harm in the form of self deprivation) And a view of Ayre's fangs to top off the Vampire allegations.

Yeah. Fourteenth of Her Unholy Brood presents Ayre as Vampire Royalty.

Ayre immediately gets unpleasant. Like, STRAIGHT to threats while doubling down on a willingness to have grievous wounds inflicted upon their person in the process.

Just to make a point.

What's funny, is that I didn't expect to even be sharing this story with you all. I had an entire other story I intended to be writing instead of Depths of Promises Sworn, but I decided I wanted it to be a carefully edited novel.

Depths was meant to gain me an audience to sell said novel. Both very quickly depict protagonists who are willing to escalate scenarios far past anyone else is willing to risk in order to sidestep a fight.

It... didn't work out for Jill.

Ayre though, it works beautifully. They've got an entire extended family of abusers with a reputation for being monsterous brutes to lean on.

Only for Ayre to immediately spiral into a series of thoughts that depict them as someone merely going through the motions of what they expect their siblings to do. Ayre's justifications and framing in their head risk violence over reckless assumptions to make.

But in this instance, they are right enough that the threats stick.

We're not going to talk about Amari's cloth bound husks pulling the carriage. The TLDR is that they're undead.

It ended up not coming up for all of Arc 1 and a lot of the justifications for using undead also don't come up until Arc 1's end.

Don't worry about it. :)

Once Ayre is through the gates, a touch on the shoulder is enough for Ayre to... let go. Everything loses focus as what is described as a parasite eases off their chest.

One of the only instances of the words biological processes are used here to give the impression that what has been done to Ayre is academic/scientific in nature. Vylia has academies that get the rare mention, but they won't feature prominently until we leave Lunaria.

A note to my past self would have been to allow Ayre to lean into some academic language, but that blanket of descriptors and characterization got gobbled up by Theriya when drafting the cast.

This chapter ends on an important line for this arc, that come from Astraea: "It's over. You're not fine. You are not the role placed upon you, but so much more. For the first time in your life, you are far from the watchful gaze of the Castellan, her Executioners, and your siblings. You are allowed to just… not be fine."

None of this brings Ayre any comfort.

They're not ready for that.

Being separated from their abusers demands time before the lasting grip on Ayre no longer suffocates them.

Ayre's entire body shakes.

They have stated an acceptance with losing limbs.

When Ayre looks at parts of their body, they don't recognize parts of itself as theirs.

The rest... comes from a sister, Lenore.

One whom Ayre loved dearly, suggesting yet another reason why Ayre differs from the rest of their family.

I'm incredibly comfortable associating Lenore as a reason why Ayre is likeable. Even if a dead woman in a man's backstory/motivation is something I find incredibly distasteful. I knew from the very beginning that what I wanted to do with Ayre would take the perception of that and run with it before getting very very very messy with the unrevealed reality of Ayre's bodily situation.

But that's enough from me.

Ayre ends this chapter lying through their teeth.

They. Are. Fine. Better than fine, really.

The road to accepting that they are not okay is a long and bloody one that will span the entirety of Arc One. But it need not be an unpleasant one. Not when Ayre is quickly surrounded by seven (or eight, hehe) insightful girls who all see so much thoughtful kindness in Ayre.

Yeah. I really really enjoy writing these reflection pieces. It's so easy to fall in love with my own writing when I put so much time and effort to make it appeal to me.

I can only hope that there's enough here to catch the eyes of discerning girl and monster enjoyers.