INTRODUCTION

First-time posting…

Hi everyone 👋

So… this is my very first time sharing one of my stories publicly. I’ve been cooking this up in my chaotic little brain for months now—reworking scenes in my head while washing dishes, daydreaming in the middle of work, rewriting dialogue at 2AM with tears in my eyes (or laughter, depending on the scene lol). This story has meant a lot to me—emotionally, creatively, and even spiritually. So, here goes nothing.

The title is:

💥 CALLSIGN: SCARLET 💥

Genre? Spy thriller meets slow-burn omegaverse meets psychological warfare, with a good dose of sarcasm, unresolved sexual tension, and pain.

WHAT YOU'RE GETTING INTO

This is not a soft, fluffy story. Callsign: Scarlet is a dark, twisted espionage thriller set in a world where secrets kill faster than bullets, and loyalty is always bought at a price.

The story follows Rin Takahashi-Kwon, 27 years of age , codename Scarlet, a cold, calculated, and relentlessly driven recessive Alpha who works under JINX—Japan's elite international security unit. He's got ghosts in his past, blood on his hands, and the weight of the world on his back. After a failed CIA mission leaves a gaping hole in international intel, he's ordered to go undercover in Russia under the alias of Choi Beom-Gyu, a nobody with corporate ties. The goal? Locate a mysterious weapon—Persephone—before the rest of the world even confirms it exists.

But he’s not the only one chasing shadows.

Enter Kaelirian Vassilov Dmitriev-Romanov, a 24-year-old walking red flag, an unhinged enigma assassin with a god complex and a face like sin. Known only in whispers as Tsar' Nochi (The Tsar of the Night), Kael is chaos incarnate. Intelligent, beautiful, deadly, and morally bankrupt in the sexiest way possible. No one knows where he came from. No one knows who controls him. But Scarlet’s mission suddenly becomes a lot more complicated when he realizes that Kael isn’t just the predator in this story—he might be the key.

The two are opposites in every sense .. ice and fire, reason and madness. And yet… some magnetic, twisted force keeps pulling them together, even when everything says they should destroy each other.

WHY THIS STORY?

Because I’m tired of flat characters. I wanted to write about morally grey people. Smart people. Broken people. Funny, unhinged people who set the world on fire and then laugh about it. I wanted betrayal, politics, seduction, spy networks, family trauma, pheromones, and hot assassins who moan names into earpieces mid-mission. I wanted scars. And longing. And power plays that are also foreplay.

If you like:

international espionage

enemies-to-something-more

omegaverse without the cliché overkill

assassins with daddy issues

forbidden chemistry

knife-to-throat flirtation

and psychological warfare

...you’ll probably love this.

If you don’t like slow build, layered characters, or sarcasm as a trauma response, maybe skip this one 😅

Anyway, thank you if you read this far. I’m posting this from a place of vulnerability and chaos. Feedback is welcome. Screaming in the comments is encouraged. Buckle up—this is just the beginning.

Welcome to Callsign: Scarlet.

Secrets bleed. Betrayals burn. And nobody walks away clean.

15th October, 20XX

Kang Industrial Head Office – Osaka, Japan

Time: 19:47 JST

Sirens wailed in the distance, but they were too late to matter.

The streets below Kang Industrial’s monolithic headquarters had already been evacuated. Every light in the thirty-story glass tower flickered under emergency lockdown. Shadows moved like ghosts across floors. The building was surrounded on all sides by sleek, black vehicles with tinted windows—unmarked, fast, and lethal.

These were JINX operatives.

And when JINX showed up, things didn’t go back to normal.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

A scream echoed through the corridors—a woman in a torn pencil skirt bolted from the smoke-choked stairwell, only to be yanked back by one of her co-workers. Fire alarms blared. Bullets had already pierced the security glass on the 27th floor. Red strobes lit the air like the building was bleeding from within.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Gunshots punched through the tension. Somewhere above, a ventilation shaft collapsed with a metallic CRASH.

On the 29th floor, Agent Widow, tall, buzzcut, dressed in combat black with a glowing blue patch on her chest that read JINX, snarled into her comms.

“They’re on the rooftop! Repeat: suspects are on the rooftop!”

She ducked behind an overturned desk, glass in her arm and fury in her eyes.

“Once that helicopter lifts, we lose the package. Everything.”

Another agent beside her, blood on his cheek and rifle shaking slightly, looked up with wide eyes.

“Ma’am…we won’t make it in time—”

Widow cut him off with a feral grin.

“Relax. Scarlet’s already up there.”

Thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip—

The heavy thrums of chopper blades sliced through the Osaka skyline, scattering loose documents and ash. The rooftop was chaos incarnate: steel cases, shredded USB drives, bags of currency—all being hauled into a matte black helicopter by men in bulletproof suits.

In the center of it all stood Theo Andersson—CEO of Kang Industrial, informant, criminal, and bio-weapons trafficker.

Sweat rolled down his temple as he barked orders.

“Take everything! Blueprints, flash drives—don’t leave even a paperclip behind!”

He shoved a suitcase into a guard’s arms and turned toward the chopper.

“We don’t have time—GO!”

But then...

The air shifted.

Something in his instincts screamed.

His head snapped upward—and there, just above, hovering like a mechanical specter, was another helicopter. Sleeker. Quieter. Military-grade.

And on the skids, crouched like a panther with his sniper aimed directly between Theo’s eyes, was him.

 SCARLET.

Black tactical suit hugging every inch of his lithe body.

Red-tinted visor reflecting Theo’s panicked face.

An MSR sniper rifle in his hands, modified—silent, deadly, precise.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Three of Theo’s guards dropped in one synchronized breath—skulls cracking against the rooftop, blood painting the steel floor in wide arcs.

Scarlet leapt from the chopper, landing in a graceful crouch. His body moved like liquid precision—every step calculated, every breath controlled.

One guard ran at him, knife out.

Scarlet didn’t even flinch.

CRACK.

He spun, a flawless roundhouse kick connecting with the man’s face—teeth flew. The guard collapsed, twitching, jaw hanging loose.

Another turned his rifle—but Scarlet fired first.

A silenced shot popped through the air and shattered the man’s femur. He dropped screaming.

Theo panicked, reaching for a small handgun hidden in his jacket.

Bang.

Scarlet shot first. The bullet tore through Theo’s wrist—clean exit.

The gun clattered across the rooftop.

“Ugh—fuck!!” Theo screamed, clutching his bleeding hand.

Scarlet walked forward slowly, eyes behind the visor glowing with cold calculation.

“Mr. Theo Andersson.”

“You’re aware that what you’re carrying doesn’t just belong to you, yes?”

Theo stumbled back, his breath hitching.

Scarlet’s voice was smooth, cold, and far too calm for someone who just body-dropped five people.

He holstered the sniper and cracked his neck.

“That code you’re trying to steal? More than one nation would kill you for it. We’re just the lucky ones who got here first.”

Theo gritted his teeth.

“What the hell are you? Some Russian asset? Mercenary?”

Scarlet smirked.

And then—he reached up slowly and pulled off his visor, revealing sharp, pale eyes, a single black piercing on his brow, and lips curled into a smile that did not match the violence he just unleashed.

“No. None of the above.”

“Ever heard of JINX?”

Silence.

Even the helicopter seemed to hesitate in the sky.

Scarlet stepped forward into the light, wind whipping his coat back.

A small tattoo glimmered on his collarbone, visible now under his open neckline: the JINX insignia — a black jackal swallowing a star.

Theo swallowed hard.

Scarlet tilted his head.

“If you cooperate with us, we’ll guarantee your survival. Well…”

“As much of you as we can carry in one body bag.”

The helicopter was gone now—just a whisper in the distance, carrying Theo Andersson bound, bruised, and bleeding.

The mission was over.

All that remained on the rooftop was chaos and wind.

Spent bullet casings glittered across the concrete like metallic flower petals. The horizon had started to bruise purple, the neon skyline of Osaka humming below like the city hadn’t just nearly been bombed.

Scarlet—codename.

Real name: Rin Takahashi-Kwon.

27. Recessive Alpha.

The "Ghost of JINX.”

He stood at the edge of the rooftop, muscles relaxed but eyes still scanning—always scanning. His sniper rifle was already disassembled, slung on his back. His all-black tactical jacket fluttered against his hips in the rooftop breeze. Everything about him was precise. Quiet. Contained.

He turned, handed the briefcase—the one they all bled to secure—to a junior agent without saying a word.

“Sir, this is…” the kid began.

Scarlet didn’t look back.

“Handle it properly. Deliver it to HQ. If even one document goes missing, I’ll know.”

He was already walking away, toward the stairwell—one hand adjusting the leather gloves over his fingers.

Because he had somewhere to be.

Not a club.

Not a debriefing.

Tokyo.

His mother’s birthday.

At the base of the building, parked near the emergency stair exit, was his motorbike—a matte black Yamaha YZF-R1 with blue chrome detailing and an anti-surveillance tech chip embedded in the dash. It purred like a beast when he climbed on it, one leg over, helmet in hand.

He was ready to vanish into the night.

But—

“Yo! Scarlet!”

A familiar voice echoed through the parking lot.

Scarlet sighed without turning.

Of course.

Agent Stone

—real name Kaito Fujiwara.

Dominant Alpha. Tall. Loud. Muscles sculpted like they came from a rejected Greek god prototype. Always grinning. Always too close. His combat vest was half-unzipped, dog tags clinking against his chest as he jogged over.

“Damn, way to go, Scarlet. You did great up there. Deadly and sexy, like always.”

“You ever get tired of being perfect, or do you just run on cold air and vengeance?”

Scarlet finally turned his head slightly, helmet under one arm.

“Hi, Stone.”

His voice was calm. Flat. But those eyes—cold silver-gray under dark lashes—pierced like bullets.

Stone leaned down a little, towering over him even with Scarlet on the bike.

“Come on, why the rush? Mission’s over, Osaka’s got good food, we could grab a drink—unwind. As teammates.”

He smirked, tongue pressing into his cheek, obviously hoping for one of Scarlet’s rare reactions.

Scarlet raised a single brow. His face unreadable, but the tension in his jaw screamed "I would rather be anywhere else."

“No.”

VROOOOM.

The bike engine rumbled to life. Scarlet pulled on his helmet in one clean motion, visor snapping shut. He didn’t even give Stone a second glance before pulling the throttle.

SCREEECH.

The bike peeled out of the lot in a flash of black and chrome, vanishing into the night.

Stone stood there blinking, then let out a long, exhausted groan.

“Damn. So difficult.”

“No wonder he’s still single…”

He stretched his arms, cracking his neck. Then clapped his hands once, loud enough to echo through the parking lot.

“Alright, people! Let’s wrap this up before the Osaka PD starts sniffing around! Someone sweep the roof! I’m not cleaning up after Scarlet’s body count again!”

Meanwhile, Scarlet took the highway at 160 km/h, slicing through the night like a shadow with purpose. His mind drifted—not to the blood, not to the briefcase, not even to the man whose fingers he shattered just thirty minutes ago.

But to something softer.

His mother’s smile.

The smell of her cooking.

His little brother Yuta’s sleepy voice saying “Onii-chan…” through a cracked door.

For all his precision, Scarlet didn’t carry trophies from missions.

He carried promises.

And this one was simple.

Get home before the candles are blown out.

The overhead speakers echoed softly across the bustling station, their robotic gentleness contrasting with the chaos below:

「親愛なる乗客の皆様、東京行き新幹線はまもなく出発します…」

(Dear passengers, the Shinkansen bound for Tokyo will be departing shortly...)

Scarlet adjusted the strap of his worn black duffel bag over his shoulder, one earbud in, the other dangling near the zipper of his jacket. His face was calm, unreadable, a little flushed from the cold. The high collar of his dark coat brushed his jaw. Even in plain clothes, he didn’t blend in. People noticed him. The way he moved. The way he looked at things like he was calculating every single angle in his head.

He stepped into the train, found his seat, and dropped into it like he’d been carrying the weight of a dying god on his back.

“Fucking finally.”

He slouched back, legs spread a little too wide, arms crossed over his chest. His body language said: Don’t talk to me. Don’t sit near me. I’m two hours from strangling someone with a vending machine cord.

Just as the doors hissed shut, his personal phone buzzed in his pocket.

He took it out.

Yuta.

Video call.

The name glowed like sunshine. Scarlet’s whole face changed.

“お兄ちゃん!"

“Onii-chan!”

The voice was full of light. Yuta, his younger brother, practically bouncing on the screen in his oversized hoodie, grinning like a puppy who had too much sugar for breakfast.

Scarlet smiled—a real one this time. That soft, rare one where his eyes warmed, and his usually sharp mouth relaxed.

“ユウタ、おはよう。”

“Yuta, good morning.”

Suddenly, another face joined the call—his mother. She leaned into the frame, her hair wrapped in a floral scarf, eyes tired but warm.

“お兄ちゃん、誕生日の準備できたわよ〜”

“Onii-chan, we’ve started getting ready for the birthday!”

Scarlet chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“お母さん、お誕生日おめでとうございます。すぐに東京に着くから。”

“Happy birthday, Mom. I’ll be in Tokyo very soon.”

Yuta bounced again.

“迎えに行こうか？”

“Should I come pick you up?”

Scarlet shook his head.

“いいよ。タクシーに乗るから。ゆっくりして。”

“No need. I’ll just take a taxi. You two relax.”

His mother made that tsk-tsk sound Korean moms always made when their children were being "too humble."

“ちゃんと食べた？顔色悪いわよ。”

“Did you eat properly? You look pale.”

“食べたよ。任務が少し大変だったけど。”

“I did. The mission was just a little intense.”

They said goodbye. Scarlet hung up. His smile faded, gently. He leaned his head against the window as the train began to pull away. The world outside blurred into concrete and speed.

“Haaah… finally.”

“I can sleep for an hour or two before I get there. Shower. Eat. Breathe. Hug them.”

“Just exist as a son. Not as Scarlet. Not as JINX’s tool.”

His lashes fluttered shut. Warmth pooled behind his eyes.

And then—

RIIIIIIIIIING.

Different ringtone.

Shriller. Sharper.

Like a blade scraping glass.

Work phone.

Scarlet’s jaw tightened.

He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t move.

“Ignore it. Ignore it. You’re off duty. The mission’s done. You earned this.”

“Ignore it. It’ll stop.”

It didn’t stop.

The train murmured with morning passengers. A baby cried somewhere. People whispered, rustling bags and coats.

“っくそ…”

“Fuck…” Scarlet muttered under his breath.

He snatched up the phone, didn’t even glance at the caller ID.

He knew.

“どこにいるんだ、スカーレット。”

“Where are you, Scarlet?”

“どこでもいいでしょ？何の用ですか、ボス。”

“What?? does it matter? What do you want, boss?”

His voice was low, biting.

“The mission went well. Everything was clean. So why are you calling me?”

The voice on the other end was Agent Director Soma, his superior at JINX.

“I know it went well. That’s why I need you to come to HQ. Let’s have a chat.”

Scarlet’s eye twitched.

“お願いですから、休ませてください。今日は母の誕生日なんです。”

“Please let me rest. It’s my mother’s birthday.”

“It’ll be quick. I promise not to keep you long.”

Scarlet exhaled. Hard.

“Sir. The train has already started. You want me to jump out mid-track?”

SSCRREEEEEEEEECHHHHHH.

The train jerked to a stop.

Passengers gasped.

The overhead speaker crackled to life:

「親愛なる乗客の皆様、技術的な問題のため、この列車は一時停車いたします…」

(Dear passengers, due to a technical issue, the train will be delayed momentarily…)

Scarlet sat up, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“…なにそれ."

“…What the hell.”

His phone vibrated again.

“Get off.”

He whipped his head toward the window.

A black stealth helicopter was hovering above the tracks beyond the station fencing. He could see it. They sent a damn helicopter.

“What are you waiting for? Get down. The chopper’s here.”

Scarlet hung up with such violence it was a miracle the screen didn’t crack. He shoved the phone into his duffel bag like it was a cursed object.

“This is harassment. This is psychological warfare. This is why my therapist ghosted me.”

Passengers stared as he stood. He ignored them.

Tugged his coat back on. Threw his scarf around his neck like it was a noose.

“If I don’t get off, this train isn’t moving.”

He stepped down, boots hitting the platform with the weight of a thousand regrets.

As he walked toward the helicopter parked discreetly in a secure lot, he pulled out his personal phone again. He dialed home. It picked up in two rings.

“あ、もしもし？ママ。ごめんね、電車にちょっと問題があって…遅くなるかも。”

“Ah, hello? Mama. Sorry, there was a small issue with the train… I might be a little late.”

“大丈夫よ。気をつけて帰ってね。”

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Just come back safe.”

“うん。愛してる。”

“Yeah. Love you.”

He ended the call.

“If I die today…”

“I'm haunting every single one of those bastards at HQ.”

“And I'm pissing in Stone’s tea first.”

Breathed out.

And climbed into the chopper.

1:39 PM — JINX HQ, Tokyo Metropolitan Intelligence Complex

Director’s Wing

The helicopter blades slowed behind him, still whining faintly in Scarlet’s ears as he jumped down onto the HQ’s landing pad. His boots hit the ground with a muted thud—shoulders squared, jaw set, and heart completely not in it.

“I better get fucking cake for this.”

“Ah, Scarlet, there you are,” said JJ, one of the director’s lapdogs. He had that always-grinning face, too cheerful for a place like this.

Scarlet barely nodded.

“Please, this way.” JJ turned on his heel, briskly escorting him down the tiled corridors of JINX.

Scarlet’s eyes narrowed.

“Why the director’s wing? Why not debriefing like usual?”

His boots echoed as they walked past two layers of biometric locks and reinforced titanium doors.

“Deputy office…? The deputy’s office?”

JJ opened the door. “Come in, come in.”

Inside the room: Chief Deputy One sitting in a leather chair, expression unreadable, eyes like frozen steel. And next to him—Director Kim, legs crossed, half-smirking like a man who just remembered something funny and slightly evil.

“Ah, there you are.” Kim’s voice carried the usual silk-over-razor-blades tone. “I heard you completed the mission in Osaka.”

“Yes, it went well. I tried my best,” Scarlet replied, stiff, tone flat.

Kim raised an eyebrow and smirked wider. “No need to explain. You tried your best.”

Scarlet nodded—until Kim’s next words dropped like a trapdoor.

“But that’s not the reason I called you here.”

Scarlet stiffened.

“Here we go.”

Chief Deputy One sipped his coffee slowly. “Well, from what I see… you stirred up a bit more chaos than necessary during the mission. Not unexpected, given your... ‘style.’ But.” He shrugged. “A small price to pay to keep our intel secure.”

Scarlet rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his past lives.

“As if they’d be complaining if I failed.”

“They're not pissed. They're testing the water.”

“They always do this shit before asking for something impossible.”

He looked between the two men.

“Wait. Why are these two even together?”

“Boss Kim and the Deputy in one room? That never happens unless…”

Kim reached into a drawer and pulled out a matte-black tablet, then handed it to Scarlet like it was a bomb. “Take a look.”

Scarlet frowned, taking it.

The moment the screen lit up—his expression shifted.

Eyes widened.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“...This...” he muttered.

Kim leaned forward. “Yes. That. It’s a recent intercept. Special intel—top-tier shit. You’re the first to see it.”

“We’ve heard whispers before,” the Deputy added, “but this is the first real evidence we’ve gotten.”

The screen showed a blurry blueprint. High-level encryption. A logo that looked like a fusion between a Greek letter and a military insignia. It was titled: Project PERSEPHONE.

Kim began to explain, his voice steady, lips curved in that predator-smile he always wore when history was about to pivot.

“Russia and Japan. Years ago. Secret alliance.”

“Both nations saw the writing on the wall—cyberwarfare, global instability, shadow governments.”

“They decided to create something… big. Something dangerous. A weapon no one could touch.”

“Something that could shift the entire global power balance.”

“PERSEPHONE,” he said. The name tasted heavy in the air.

“We don’t know if it’s the name of the weapon itself… or the operation… or the tech used to make it,” the Deputy said, still sipping his coffee like this was a goddamn brunch.

“Some say it’s already been built. Others say it’s a myth. But the intel we recovered… suggests it exists. Somewhere. And if it does—”

“It changes everything,” Kim finished. “And that can’t happen.”

Scarlet’s thoughts swirled.

“Weapon? No. This is more than just a weapon.”

“PERSEPHONE.”

“That’s not just a codename. It’s symbolic. Greek goddess of duality—death and rebirth.”

“They’re not talking about a missile or a bomb. They’re talking about something alive.”

“Something that can adapt. Or think.”

“Is it tech? Bioweapon? AI? Human?”

“What the hell did they make?”

The Deputy cleared his throat. “We don’t know what it is. If it’s in our hands, we find it. If it’s in their hands, we take it. And if neither?”

He leaned forward.

“We destroy it.”

Kim smiled again. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Ah. There it is.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Not because I ‘stirred up chaos.’ Not because they need a field report.”

“Because they want me to either steal the most powerful unknown weapon in the world…”

“Or reduce it to ashes.”

“And they want me to do it quietly. Invisibly.”

“Like it never existed.”

Scarlet looked at both men. His fingers curled around the edge of the tablet.

“They say it’s for world safety.”

“But I can see it in their eyes.”

“They don’t care if it kills ten, a hundred, a thousand.”

“They want control.”

“And they’re willing to burn everything to get it.”

Kim leaned back, smug. “So. What do you say, Agent Scarlet?”

Scarlet raised his head, expression calm. But his eyes—his eyes were cold steel.

“Let me guess,” he said flatly.

“If I can’t steal it... you want me to erase it. Off the face of the earth.”

Kim nodded. “Exactly.”

A beat of silence.

Scarlet inhaled slowly.

The office felt heavier now.

Scarlet stood stiff, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the photo Kim had slid across the polished table. A photograph, glossy and clinical — a lifeless body sprawled along the frozen bank of a Russian river. Lips blue, skin pale, eyes shut. A cold, indifferent world around him.

Scarlet’s chest tightened.

“Liam Campbell,” Kim said, his voice unnervingly flat, as if announcing the weather. “CIA. Found two days ago. Solo op in Moscow. Dead.”

Scarlet’s brow furrowed.

“I’ve traveled overseas more times than I can count. I’m fluent in English, Mandarin, Spanish… even Russian.”

“They know that. Field experience is everything in this job — I’ve got that in spades.”

“But Russia?”

“I’ve never even set foot there.”

He didn’t sit down. Just hovered there, stiff like a blade, fingers twitching as if unsure whether to snap or reach for a weapon.

“Sir… I’m not eligible for this mission,” Scarlet said finally. His voice was clipped, careful. “Why not assign someone local? Someone with existing field presence?”

Kim smiled — that same fox-smile that never reached his eyes. “Oh, we did.”

Scarlet’s eyes narrowed. “So what happened?”

The answer came with the slide of more photos.

Bodies. Cold. Bloody. Disposable.

Kim tapped one of the glossy images with two fingers. “Didn’t work out.”

Scarlet stared.

“Liam was on the trail of Persephone. Working solo,” Kim said, tone barely shifting. “We believe he got too close.”

“Too close to what, exactly?” Scarlet murmured, eyes still on the photo.

The Chief Deputy sighed, removing his glasses. “He was gathering intel for over a year. Lived in the underbelly. Got embedded. Built connections.”

“And still,” Kim added with a shrug, “he died like a stray dog in the snow.”

Scarlet felt it in his gut — that subtle churn. It wasn’t grief. He hadn’t known Liam that well. But the image still cut deep.

“Liam was reckless. Smart, but reckless. Always thought he was one step ahead of the world.”

“Guess Russia proved him wrong.”

“So what now?” Scarlet said, eyes flicking up. “The U.S. wants us to clean up their mess?”

Kim beamed, practically glowing. “You’re sharp — that’s why I like you.”

Scarlet didn’t respond. His jaw clenched.

Kim leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Since Japan was involved in the creation of Persephone… we’re at risk too. Technically. So this isn’t just about them. It’s about us. If the Americans find it first, we lose all bargaining power. And if Russia uses it... well. That’s a different kind of hell.”

The Chief Deputy, now standing with phone to ear, turned away and quietly exited the room. The door hissed shut behind him.

Kim took that moment to drop his next little mine.

“I heard you knew Liam,” he said casually. “From that international ops training exchange in Langley, yeah?”

Scarlet didn’t flinch. “That was a one-time thing.”

Kim nodded. “Exactly. Which is why you are the perfect candidate.”

Scarlet stared, skeptical.

Kim smiled. “You don’t get emotionally compromised. You don’t hesitate. You don’t grieve.”

That one landed like a slap.

Scarlet exhaled — slow and sharp.

“So that’s it.”

“Not because I’m the best. Not because I’m the most qualified.”

“But because I’m cold enough to survive whatever the fuck happens out there.”

Kim pushed the tablet closer again. “We need eyes on the ground. We need someone who knows how to vanish. Someone who can handle themselves if — no, when — things go sideways.”

Scarlet looked at the image again. Liam’s frozen face. Blank eyes. Purple fingers.

“A corpse with no country.”

“That’s the job.”

Kim folded his hands neatly. “Scarlet. I want you to continue the mission. Find Persephone. If possible, secure it. If not…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

“Destroy it. Burn it. Bury it.”

“And if I die?”

“Then I’ll be a blurry photo on someone else’s desk. Just another ghost in the system.”

Scarlet was silent for a long moment.

The air in the room tasted dry. Processed. Like recycled breath and old decisions.

“This isn’t a mission. This is a chess game with no board.”

“No one’s sure who’s the enemy yet. Not even the players.”

“They say it’s about global balance. About safety. About responsibility.”

“But they all want the same thing.”

“Control.”

Finally, Scarlet raised his eyes.

“Where do I start?”

Kim smiled wider. “Welcome to Russia.”

Kim stood up slowly, as if the conversation had been casual. Just another Tuesday.

"But first," he said, moving toward the sleek black briefcase on the side table, "you'll need a disguise."

Click.

He opened the case with a dramatic flair that felt theatrical — like he was playing spy master for an audience. Then he pulled something out and tossed it across the table.

Flop.

It landed with a wet, slapping sound. A silicon face, eerily lifelike, still and expressionless.

Scarlet stared.

“…Seriously?” he muttered, glancing down at the synthetic skin molded into the face of a man he vaguely recognized.

“Meet Mr. Choi Beom-Gyu,” Kim said, tone too casual.

Scarlet picked it up reluctantly. The face was flawless. Smooth. Slightly smiling. Almost smug.

“This is disgusting.”

“Feels like I’m holding a peeled version of someone’s future.”

“Who the hell is this?” Scarlet asked.

“Beom-Gyu is a mid-level compliance officer for Daegok Energy,” Kim replied, hands clasped behind his back. “They’ve just signed a multi-billion dollar natural gas agreement with GazEnergo — one of Russia’s state-owned monsters.”

Kim paused, letting the info sink in.

“He’s been scheduled to travel to Moscow for a series of protocol meetings. Documents, inspections, oversight — boring, bureaucratic sh*t. Very safe. Very invisible.”

Scarlet raised an eyebrow. “And how does that give me access to Persephone?”

Kim grinned like he’d just been waiting for that.

“The Moscow execs hosting Beom-Gyu have direct ties to the Kremlin’s black science budget,” he said. “One of them might be funneling resources. If Persephone exists — that’s your crack in the ice.”

Scarlet turned the mask over in his hands. It felt wrong. Like a lie with skin.

“So I’m a gas company pencil-pusher now?” he said flatly.

“You’re a ghost with a corporate badge,” Kim replied.

Scarlet remained quiet. His jaw clenched slightly.

“Disguise, infiltration, uncertain terrain.”

“Standard ghost work. Except it’s Russia. In winter. Undercover. Without backup.”

“All based on a few rumors and one dead body.”

Kim tapped the table. “But listen carefully…”

Scarlet’s eyes met his. Something shifted in Kim’s tone — just slightly. Like oil in water.

“While you're there…” Kim continued, voice low, “beware of Tsar’ Nochi.”

Scarlet froze. The name was familiar — whispered once, maybe twice. In a hallway. In a report that had no clearance level. Not a person. A myth.

“The King of Night?” Scarlet asked slowly.

Kim nodded once. “We don’t know his face. We don’t even know his voice. Only that he exists — and when he moves, bodies hit the ground.”

Scarlet narrowed his eyes. “Did he kill Liam?”

Kim’s silence lasted a beat too long. Then—

“I don’t know.”

Scarlet hated that answer.

“Bullshit.”

“You never say ‘I don’t know’ unless you actually do.”

“Or unless the truth is worse than silence.”

Kim continued, “But if he’s involved, you need to be sharper than ever. One slip, and you won’t even see your own blood before it hits the snow.”

Scarlet stared down at the mask again, then set it back on the table like it was radioactive.

“Your flight leaves at 3PM,” Kim added, glancing at his watch. “Your documents are being sent to your secure account. Get changed. Get ready.”

He started to walk away, then paused in the doorway.

“And Scarlet…” he said, turning his head slightly, “don’t die.”

Scarlet’s expression didn’t change. But something in him twisted.

“Don’t die.”

As if it were a polite suggestion. Like saying ‘bring an umbrella’ or ‘mind the weather.’”

“Don’t die. Just another line in the contract.”

“Another checkbox to tick off before your name becomes a file number.”

“I hate this place.”

“I hate this job.”

“But most of all — I hate how goddamn good I am at it.”

Scarlet exhaled, long and slow. He picked up the mask. Then the phone. Then the folder marked OPERATION: NYX.

He didn’t say goodbye.

He just walked out of the room — a shadow with someone else’s face in his hand.

The fluorescent lights in the airport washroom buzzed overhead — clinical, humming like static in his ears. Scarlet stood at the sink, the silicon mask now fully adhered to his skin. Smooth. Slightly tight around the jaw. Beom-Gyu's face stared back at him in the mirror — mild-mannered, harmless, bureaucratic.

“It fits.”

He adjusted the glasses. Nothing fancy — wire-rimmed, just the right amount of nerdy. Even his hair was styled differently now, parted neatly, controlled, polite. The perfect image of a man who followed orders, sat through meetings, and never carried a gun in his life.

Scarlet — or Rin, his real name — stared long and hard at the reflection.

“If I saw me now… I wouldn’t even flinch. That’s the point, right? No threat. No presence.”

“They always say masks are supposed to hide you. But this? This feels more like erasure.”

He sighed through his nose, then leaned down to rinse his hands in cold water. The chill grounded him.

A soft vibration buzzed in his pocket. He pulled out his personal phone — the one he kept hidden, encrypted beyond trace.

1 New Message.

From: 母さん(Mom)

「ちゃんと食べなさい。愛してる。」

(“Make sure you eat properly. I love you.”)

Rin’s chest pinched. Tight, sudden.

He closed his eyes for a second, then looked up at the mirror again.

“She’s worried. Always is. I try to hide it, but she knows.”

“She lost a husband. Then a daughter. All that’s left is me and Yuta.”

“And I keep leaving her. With nothing but another name on another plane ticket.”

He touched the edge of the mask — not gently. As if testing its limits.

“I promised myself this one would be the last.”

“Go to Moscow. Finish the job. Come back. That’s it.”

His jaw clenched.

“I owe her that. I owe Yuta that.”

“They didn’t sign up for this life. They didn’t choose to lose everything. And I won’t let them lose me too.”

His mind drifted — uninvited — to his sister. Yuri.

She’d been tall, proud, loud when she laughed. Just like their dad. Wanted to follow in his footsteps. She died trying.

Rin was twelve when the news came. Everyone in the platoon — gone. Just like that.

All they got was her blood-stained badge.

And a box of folded uniforms that smelled like gunpowder and metal.

“After that… it was like we stopped breathing for a while.”

“Mom married again. Hajime was—no. That’s over.”

“He’s rotting where he belongs.”

He wiped the water from his hands with a paper towel. Tossed it in the bin. Then fixed the collar of his coat, straightened the glasses one more time, and turned.

Gone was Agent Scarlet. Gone was Rin, even.

Only Choi Beom-Gyu remained.

The hallway outside was crowded — travelers wheeling suitcases, murmuring in Japanese and English and Korean. The announcer's voice echoed through the terminal, calm and emotionless:

“...Flight 273 to Moscow now boarding at Gate 14A...”

Scarlet walked with even steps, his passport in hand, his forged documents tucked neatly in his carry-on.

The mask didn't itch. It hugged his face. Sealed him in.

“I’ve worn worse.”

“This is just another uniform. Another skin.”

“If I can survive Hajime, I can survive Moscow.”

He scanned his boarding pass, nodded at the smiling flight attendant, and stepped through the gate. No one even glanced at him twice.

He slid into his seat by the window and looked out at the tarmac. The sky was iron-gray. Cold even through the glass.

He pulled out his phone again, looked at the message one more time.

「ちゃんと食べなさい。愛してる。」

“Make sure you eat properly. I love you.”

He typed slowly, carefully.

「分かった。俺も愛してる。帰ったら一緒に食事しよう。」

“Got it. I love you too. Let’s eat together when I’m back.”

He hit send. Then powered off the phone completely.

The cabin door shut. Engines roared to life.

As the plane lifted into the sky, Scarlet rested his head against the window. The hum of the jet engine beneath him sounded almost like breathing.

“This time... I’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

High above the Sea of Japan, Flight 273 sliced through the clouds like a whisper.

The in-flight cabin lights were dimmed — soft and sterile. The kind of lighting that made you forget whether it was day or night. Scarlet — or rather Choi Beom-Gyu — had just unbuckled his seatbelt when the overhead ding chimed. He excused himself, navigating the narrow aisle with quiet grace, duffle bag still slung across his shoulder.

The lavatory was small — barely enough space to turn around. He locked the door with a soft click, then looked into the mirror.

The mask held up well. Seamless around the ears. The brow ridge didn’t shift even when he furrowed his eyebrows. The edges of the latex were invisible, tucked just beneath the collar of his dress shirt.

He adjusted his glasses again, slightly lifting the bridge.

“Good. Still believable.”

“No creases. No folding at the corners. That guy back in Tokyo knew his prosthetics.”

He leaned in, inspecting the lip curve. His reflection stared back — blank, unreadable. Ordinary. The most dangerous kind of disguise.

Suddenly—

BANG. BANG.

The sound of something slamming against the overhead bin echoed through the metal cabin walls.

A voice — loud, male — was barking something. Slurred. Words mangled.

“Here we go…”

Scarlet blinked once. His fingers paused on his glasses.

Then a scream.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” someone shouted — high-pitched, terrified.

Another thud. A flight attendant stumbled backward, her shoulder hitting a seat as she tried to keep distance from the passenger.

From inside the lavatory, Scarlet stilled — listening.

Another thud.

Now the noise was unmistakable — a commotion, spreading across the aisle like a slow leak. Passengers whispering. Gasps. Then voices rising.

“Sir please—please stay calm!” a young air hostess pleaded, her voice taut with panic.

“No! They’re watching me! I know it! I KNOW IT!” a man shouted. His voice was jagged, desperate, cracked open by fear or drugs — maybe both.

“Paranoia. Probably stimulant-induced. Adderall? No — too manic. Maybe methamphetamine.”

Scarlet adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Then ran a hand down his tie, straightening it slowly.

Outside, another flight attendant rushed toward the cockpit.

“They’re calling the pilot. Flight crew protocol. If it gets worse, they’ll either restrain him or request an emergency landing.”

“Just great.”

He closed his eyes, leaned back slightly against the lavatory wall, and exhaled through his nose.

“In cases like this, the plane stalls.”

“Security gets involved. Flight gets grounded. Sometimes even rerouted.”

“And guess who gets to have a private little chat with immigration at the next airport?”

He tapped the back of his head softly against the wall, once. Then again.

“Not my business. Not my mess.”

I am Beom-Gyu. I’m no one special. I keep my mouth shut, drink bad airline coffee, and land in Moscow at 3 PM local time.”

“That’s it.”