Black Badger

“Let’s go.”

Yun ignored Jaeyeon completely and stopped beside me.

“What are you doing here.”

“Ah. There was a bit of... misunderstanding.”

“You look thinner.”

Jaeyeon spoke lazily, cigarette dangling from his lips.

Naturally, Yun ignored him. My mentor stopped beside me, pulled a cigarette from his inner pocket, and lit it.

Click—flick. The familiar Zippo lighter he always carried flared, then died out.

“How’s the Chairman’s health?”

Despite being brushed off, Jaeyeon closed the distance.

His foxlike eyes curved with a sly smile.

“Now that you mention it, it’s been a while since we visited together, hasn’t it? Sweetheart, we should go greet him again sometime soon.”

I narrowed my eyes and looked at Jaeyeon.

What the hell was he talking about?

None of this made sense.

Of course, nothing that came out of his mouth was trustworthy. He was probably just trying to get on Yun’s nerves.

And sure enough, Yun slowly turned his head toward him.

The expressionless face he showed was terrifying.

“There are civilians around.”

I whispered the warning close to his ear, because the killing intent radiating from him pierced my skin. This wasn’t the kind of threat used to intimidate—it was the kind that preceded a real punch.

Of course, Yun ignored me too.

“Your master must be busy.”

His low voice was calm, almost casual.

Jaeyeon didn’t answer, just stepped closer.

I watched the two men, nerves tight.

The scent of perfume grew heavier.

Colton’s little pet leaned an elbow on my shoulder and smiled wider.

“Why bring him up now, huh? We were talking about us.”

Jaeyeon said reproachfully—and then dropped a bomb.

“We’re engaged, after all.”

“...What?”

Excuse me?

What did he just—

“What?”

“We promised each other our future when we’d just become adults, didn’t we?”

That smooth, playful voice delivered something utterly absurd.

Yun smoked without denying or confirming it.

My jaw dropped.

“And now you act so cold? How heartless.”

“You’re joking, right?”

My voice cracked halfway through the question.

Jaeyeon lowered the arm that had been on my shoulder and looked back at me. Amusement gleamed in his black eyes like crystals.

“Joking? I spent hours dressing up for our first meeting, you know.”

I mouthed soundlessly, then turned to my mentor.

He was blowing perfect rings of smoke, one after another.

Seeing my look, he said in a dangerously soft tone,

“My foster father sold me well.”

That voice was gentle enough to cut skin.

“When he was still clinging to that idiotic ambition of expanding his influence in every direction. Thought marrying his adopted son to the daughter of a U.S. senator would shift the political landscape.”

“Daughter of a U.S. senator?”

“And you trample poor Ohara’s pure heart every time, don’t you?”

Jaeyeon smirked at Yun.

When he looked like a man, it was impossible to picture his female form; when he looked like a woman, it was impossible to picture this one.

But they were the same being—that much was certain.

“Poor thing, she really loved you. You should’ve seen the fuss she made before going to meet you.”

“I told you to stop using that revolting self-objectifying tone.”

Yun shot back coldly.

Jaeyeon ignored him completely, and Yun’s eyes burned with undisguised disgust.

Standing between them, I felt a moment of light panic.

So they really had been engaged once?

Ohara must’ve been Jaeyeon’s alias, and “the senator’s daughter” a cover identity. She—or he—used to pull stunts like that often.

But still...

Don’t tell me they still—

“Are you still engaged?”

“Do you think so?”

“If the war hadn’t killed her, we’d be one by now.”

Jaeyeon swiped at imaginary tears with a fingertip.

“Such a tragic love story!”

“The war had its uses,” Yun said coolly beside him.

His next words dripped with contempt.

“Well, there are always matchmakers who sell off their subordinates’ bodies for gain.”

Crash!

Jaeyeon’s fist swung.

Actors screamed. High-pitched shrieks and crashing glass filled the room. Bottles exploded across the table—clatter, shatter, alcohol spilling onto the floor.

I yanked back the frozen actress—the one who’d dragged me here—and grabbed Jaeyeon by the nape before he could lunge at Yun.

“Pick your damn time and place!”

Yun had blocked the punch with a bottle, shattering it cleanly, then tossed the neck of it aside.

I tightened my grip on Jaeyeon’s collar, frowning.

“Save your tantrum for somewhere without civilians!”

“Alright, alright. Since you’re asking so nicely.”

The man of a thousand moods erased his rage in an instant.

It was so sudden the actors—who had braced for another blast—only managed dazed gasps.

Jaeyeon relaxed completely. I looked down at his limp arm with a dull stare.

“When a handsome friend asks, how can I refuse?”

Seriously, what was this act now.

I released his arm in annoyance and watched him help the fallen actress up again.

The actors were half out of their minds from shock.

I sighed and began kicking the shards of glass into one pile.

When I was done, I looked at Yun.

“I’d like to see Yehyeon.”

He snorted.

“Stop cleaning and let’s go. Why are you doing that?”

“You broke it.”

“When?”

“You provoked Jaeyeon and—never mind. Let’s just leave.”

Was it amusing to watch me exhausted like this?

Yun blew out smoke and grinned, and I glared at him.

Annoyingly, Jaeyeon was patting my back.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?”

I want to see Colton.

That insane thought crossed my mind as I pulled away from the lunatics. Not far, though—just to the sofa where the actors were sitting. I meant to grab an unbroken bottle. One looked decent enough.

Might as well have a drink before I go.

As I reached out, the actors flinched.

I ignored their reaction.

Then the woman who’d dragged me here stammered,

“E-excuse me.”

“Yes?”

When I turned my head, she flinched again.

Probably terrified because of Jaeyeon—or maybe just the fight itself. I stayed perfectly still so she wouldn’t get more frightened, just waiting, hand still on the bottle’s neck.

She mumbled in a timid voice,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know....”

I gave her a wry smile.

Honestly, that other actor should’ve been the one apologizing.

Not that I particularly cared anymore.

I answered, pitying those who had just witnessed a clash between the two most dangerous enhanced men alive.

“It’s fine.”

“N-no. I’ll apologize properly later! Could I have your name...?”

“Mr. Taleb.”

A familiar voice called my name.

I turned—and saw the man standing beside Yun. Same as ever: a face as pale as Yehyeon’s, hollow eyes, half-tied red hair, neat as always.

I was genuinely glad to see Shashinsky.

He observed me quietly.

“He’s waiting for you.”

So am I.

I nodded and followed the light leading to the eccentric Elder’s quarters.

***

No matter how many times I saw it, it was a hall perfectly suited to Erich Erhart.

Corinthian columns soared toward the ceiling, chandeliers hanging every fifteen meters—not overly ornate, but refined. The ceiling was plastered white.

On one side stood a grand piano, where a musician played classical pieces while a singer in a cobalt-blue gown performed beside him.

A graceful aria floated through the air.

“Sit.”

Lounging lazily, Erich Erhart greeted me with a pleasant smile.

Of course, he didn’t even glance at Yun.

His preferences were as consistent as ever.

“I prepared a cigar for you. Hope it suits your taste.”

“Do I have to sit?”

I’d expected this, but it didn’t make me any happier.

“I was planning to take the game and leave right away. Isn’t this a busy time ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) for you?”

“Not at all. Sit, both of you.”

No use arguing.

I sat heavily across from Erhart. Yun slouched into the sofa beside me. Eyes in the hall flicked toward us, then away.

Behind Erhart stood Shashinsky—and a woman I didn’t know.

Blunt bangs, chin-length hair, skin as pale as his. She wore square black-rimmed glasses. Probably another of Spitfire’s subordinates.

Where had the blonde gone?

I made a mental note of it and reached for the cigar on the table.

Smoking always felt like inhaling and exhaling stale air, but—

“Not bad.”

Shashinsky lit it for me.

Resting one leg over the other, I took a puff and gave my honest opinion.

“Heavy.”

“I’m glad it suits you.”

Erhart’s eyes narrowed in amusement.

The bright suit fit him perfectly. A different breed of elegance from Colton’s—effortless, aristocratic.

“I worried it might not be to your liking.”

“You exaggerate. You know my standards aren’t that high. I’d have smoked whatever you offered.”

“Oh? I’m sure you recognized its quality, even if you don’t show it.”

He picked up a cigar himself.

The dark-haired woman lit it for him.

Spitfire smiled without bringing it to his lips.

“You’ve been in contact with Falcon for a long time, haven’t you.”

At those words, a flicker of unease passed through me before fading.

What was that?

My brow furrowed slightly on its own. Something in his words had stirred an unpleasant memory—one that vanished before I could grasp it.

...I couldn’t remember.

“Before I give you the game, let’s talk about something else.”

Just as I tried to chase that memory, Spitfire’s voice pulled me back.

“About your kidnapper.”

Yun ground out his cigarette.

I could feel the tension radiating from him. I set my cigar down as well.

The Elder spoke easily,

“To get straight to the point—we didn’t find him.”

“What?”

“Do you understand what that means?”

The words made me raise my voice before I could stop myself.

He didn’t care. The man across from me, the third most powerful human alive, simply tilted his head, waiting.

An Elder who turned followers into playthings, more interested in amusement than power—so unlike Falcon or Sukhoi.

I regained composure quickly.

It had been months since the search began.

“So Falcon or Sukhoi is hiding him.”

“Likely the result of an old deal. Those two eccentrics wouldn’t normally bother sheltering anyone—but it seems they’re honoring some arrangement to keep his identity hidden.”

“You must’ve found at least a clue.”

My back had left the sofa.

So had Yun’s. We both leaned forward, fully alert.

“If you could share that much, I’ll speak to Falcon directly.”

“Oh? So you’re certain Falcon’s the one unknowingly harboring your culprit.”

“Not exactly certain, but... I find Falcon far easier to deal with than Sukhoi.”

If you could call that man “easy.”

“I’ll reach out to him first—”

BOOOOM!

A deafening explosion cut through our conversation.

Screams erupted. The sound of collapsing walls, detonations, shouts—guards drawing their weapons all at once—

And Spitfire’s laughter.

“Well, our challenger is quite bold tonight.”

So someone had come to seize Erich Erhart’s power.

Without blinking, he turned toward the shattered wall, his voice filled with amusement.

“Shashinsky, go welcome our guest.”