chapter 8
Kai stood like nothing had happened — not the gunfire, not the missile, not the car that capsized with both of them inside it. His fur coat still swayed in the wind like he was on the cover of a twisted fashion magazine: War Crimes, but Make It Couture.
Then, from his coat pocket, he pulled something out with a lazy flick —
a black credit card.
Matte finish. No name. No logo. Just sleek, powerful, and dangerous-looking.
"This man is a walking red flag," Rin thought bitterly. "No, scratch that. He's a red carpet rolled out straight to hell."
"Here. Have this." Kai offered the card, eyes half-lidded, casual.
Like he was handing over gum. Or a grenade.
Rin took it hesitantly.
Stared.
"What's this?"
"My card." Kai smirked, cocking his head as if the idea should be self-explanatory.
"Use it. More people might come track you down — dig yourself into a hotel or something. Lay low." He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting with that eerie glimmer of mischief that made Rin want to punch him on instinct.
Then in Ukrainian, he muttered with a crooked grin,
"Yoi, ty vyhlyadayesh yak povnyy bezlad."
("Jeez, you look like a total mess.")
Rin just glared.
His fingers tightened around the card.
"Black card, huh…?"
"How rich is this guy anyway? And why is he treating this like a one-night stand instead of a mission gone nuclear?"
Before Rin could say something — maybe thank him (doubtful), maybe cuss him out (more likely) — Kai's phone buzzed.
He glanced at it.
"Hm. Yes... alright, I'm on my way."
Short. Efficient. Ominous.
Rin's brows furrowed.
"He's not gonna tell me who that was?"
"Aren't we supposed to be partners? Or at least temporary allies? I almost drowned, and he's over here taking mysterious phone calls like this is a brunch date."
Kai tucked his phone away, already stepping into the road.
And then—
SSSCCRREEEEECHHH.
A taxi pulled up. How the hell it even spotted this godforsaken place, no one knew.
Kai opened the door without looking back.
Slid in.
Shut the door behind him like Rin didn't exist.
"Wait, what—?!"
Rin blinked.
"HUH??"
His breath fogged up in front of him, chest rising. The cold punched harder now that he realized Kai was leaving.
"HEY!!! WAIT!!! KUTABARE!!!" Rin shouted, slamming his hand against the air like that'd stop the wheels from spinning.
But the taxi was already gone.
Vanished into the icy mist curling down the street.
Silence.
Rin stood there, soaked to the bone, shivering like some abandoned stray dog — a drowned rat with attitude.
He looked left.
Nothing but cracked sidewalk and empty streetlamps flickering overhead.
Looked right.
More nothing.
The chill seeped into his bones now, and all the adrenaline from the chase had bled out. All that was left was the simmering anger and the aching cold.
His lips trembled as he exhaled slowly, the black card still clutched in his hand like some twisted version of a mercy gift.
"At least tell me where I am..." he muttered under his breath, sulking like a kid left behind on a field trip.
No phone. No weapons. No dry clothes.
And the only person who might've helped him was gone — ditching him after a warzone like it was nothing.
"Is this what being his partner feels like?"
"Manipulated. Used. Ditched."
Scarlet — the real Rin, not the mask — clenched his jaw.
He looked down at the black card again.
"So this is it, huh?"
"He plays the devil. Drops you into hell. Then flips you a card and says 'have fun, sweetheart.'"
Typical.
Kai didn't save people.
He just threw lifelines for sport — to see what people would do with them. Whether they'd climb out or choke on it.
"That asshole' Rin muttered
Rin stepped out of the bathroom, a threadbare towel low around his hips, steam still clinging to his skin like it didn't want to leave. His wet hair dripped onto his collarbone, plastering strands against his neck, and the overhead light flickered weakly above him — like it was struggling to stay alive, too.
His pierced nipples caught the light, glinting just slightly, like small steel secrets. A reminder that under all the chaos, all the blood and burnt skin, there was still something defiantly him underneath it all. Even if it was bruised. Burnt. Tired.
And then —
movement.
The tiniest blur across the floor.
Rin froze.
"Was that... nah—"
"No fucking way."
The blur returned — quicker now. A little grey body, beady eyes, a mouse.
"Ain't no way I'm sleeping in this roach motel with Mickey Mouse's broke cousin running laps in my room."
Without thinking, Rin reached for the closest thing — a chipped ceramic ashtray left on the dresser. Heavy. Ugly. Deadly.
He hurled it. A sharp CRACK echoed as it smashed against the wall.
The mouse?
Dead.
Rin stared, a little horrified.
"...Oh shit. I actually killed it."
"Ew-ew-ew-ew-EWWWWW—" he muttered, face contorted as he grabbed the limp body by the tail, barely holding back a gag, and chucked it into a trash bin with all the grace of a child yeeting a spider.
He brushed his hands like he just committed a war crime. Which, spiritually? He had.
The bed looked like it belonged in a war zone.
The mattress creaked, a violent wheeze of old springs and older sins. Dust puffed into the air like it hadn't been disturbed since the Cold War. Rin sank down on it with a sigh that bordered on a whimper.
KOFF KOFF.
He coughed instantly, waving the air.
"When was this place even cleaned?"
"1876?"
"Jesus."
He laid down anyway, too tired to give a shit. Muscles aching. Mind fried. The room's walls creaked like they were holding secrets. Or corpses.
"I should sleep."
"Just close my eyes... Just for a bit. I can't even lift a finger right now."
But just as he exhaled —
His eyes shot open again.
"...This is the time Mom usually calls."
He sat up slowly, the air colder now, wrapping the thin motel robe around himself. The terry cloth scratched against his skin like regret. His face was tight with quiet anxiety.
"I lost my phone in the explosion. No contact. No trace."
"She's probably losing her mind. And Yuta — school probably started again."
He sighed. Deep. Bone-heavy.
"It's just one day, right? Just one day without calling. It's no big deal."
"Except I know my mother. If she doesn't hear from me in two days max, she'll call the damn embassy."
He walked barefoot down the creaky stairs in the ratty bathrobe, looking like a war survivor and a backup dancer for Nirvana. The front desk clerk was dozing off, slumped over the counter like gravity had defeated him.
KNOCK. KNOCK.
The man jolted upright with a yelp, cursing in Russian. "Blyad', ty menya ispugal!"
("Damn, you scared me!")
Rin stood there like death warmed over. "I need to make an international call."
The man squinted at him. "It's expensive. You can pay?"
Rin pulled out Kai's black card, holding it up like a threat. "Yeah. I got this."
The clerk muttered something in Russian again, shrugged, and handed over the dusty landline like it was an ancient relic.
RINNNNG. RINNNG.
"もしもし? (Moshi moshi?)"
A soft, worried voice answered — his mom. Okāsan.
"お母さん,それは私です.リン.電話しましたか?"
("Mom, it's me. Rin. Did you call me?")
"リン!何回も電話したのに,どうしたの!?何かあったのかと思った!"
("Rin! I've called you so many times, what happened!? I thought something terrible had happened!")
Rin chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"まぁ,大丈夫だよ.携帯をなくしただけ.心配しないで."
("I'm fine. I just lost my phone, that's all. No need to worry.")
"でも,どうしてそんなことに!?リン,しっかりしてよ."
("But how could that happen? Rin, you need to be more careful.")
"ごめん,お母さん.次はすぐに電話するから… ユウタはどう?"
("I'm sorry, Mom. I'll call you next time right away... How's Yuta?")
"ユウタは元気よ.学校に戻ったばかり."
("Yuta's fine. He just went back to school.")
"よかった… みんな元気ならそれでいい."
("Good... as long as you're both okay, that's all that matters.")
"あんたもちゃんと食べてる?痩せちゃダメよ."
("Are you eating properly? Don't lose weight, okay?")
Rin laughed softly.
"はいはい,わかった.愛してるよ,お母さん.バイバイ."
("Yeah, yeah, I got it. I love you, Mom. Bye-bye.")
Click.
He put the phone down gently.
The warmth lingered for a second — then reality dropped back in.
GRRRRGHHHHHH.
His stomach growled like a demon trying to claw out of him.
He looked over at the clerk. "Are there any decent restaurants around here?"
The guy shrugged. "Small diner. Two blocks down."
Rin nodded.
"Cool. I'll risk food poisoning."
As he turned to go, his eyes swept down his bare legs and that ratty robe again.
"I need some fucking clothes too," he thought.
"I look like a malnourished escort on laundry day."
The diner looked like it had been ripped straight out of a Soviet-era postcard — except the kind that got left behind in a flooded basement. The neon "OPEN" sign buzzed like a dying mosquito, flickering red and blue in a way that could probably trigger seizures. Everything smelled like cigarette smoke, stale cabbage, and something long-dead in the pipes.
Rin, now fully clothed in a generic hoodie and skinny jeans from a shady thrift shop, stood by the table, his gaze fixed on the "meal" in front of him like it had personally insulted him.
"This place is even shabbier than the hotel," he thought, lips curling in disgust.
The soup was grey.
Grey.
The fish looked like it had jumped onto the plate mid-mortem.
The dumplings sagged like they'd given up on life halfway through the boil.
"Of all the restaurants in the city, this guy recommended this hellhole? Wow. He's either trolling me or trying to poison me by proxy."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and picked up the fish with his spoon, sniffing it.
Instant regret.
His stomach lurched.
"Okay nope—this thing smells like it was cooked in a rusty engine."
Still, he clenched his jaw.
"No. Be mature. Don't be dramatic. Don't judge a book by its cover."
He dipped the spoon into the soup, brought it to his lips, and took a sip.
Instant betrayal.
"SHEEESHHH—" he muttered under his breath, eyes widening in horror.
"Okay. I'm judging. Full judgment. What in the seven layers of culinary hell is this? Who seasoned this—dust?"
He poked at the dumplings next. They stared back.
"Ugh. This is the universe telling me I've made a mistake. Coming to this country was a mistake. Everything since day one has been a chain of bad omens."
His thoughts spiraled as he chewed reluctantly on the gummy texture of disappointment.
"From the kidnapping... to the bombing... then the shootings... and let's not forget getting hunted like a rabid animal while dragging that psychopath around like we're in some twisted buddy-cop nightmare."
He paused mid-chew.
"Speaking of—where the hell is Kai? Did he just... leave me? Again?"
He swallowed the last dumpling with visible suffering and downed the watery soup just to chase the taste out. He leaned back in his chair, exhausted and dead-eyed.
"Complaining won't get me anywhere. I've got to regroup. First thing — contact HQ. Let them know I'm alive. Then report everything that's happened. If Romanov's put a target on my back, I need support. Backup. Surveillance. Reinforcements. Something."
He tapped his temple with a knuckle, deep in serious thought.
"But how the hell do I even reach HQ? My phone's gone. My bag's gone. Everything's gone. Blasted into ash."
He groaned and stood up, heading toward the counter where a woman stood chewing gum like it owed her money.
She looked... haunted. Her hair was a beehive of fried blond curls, stiff with decades-old hairspray, and her makeup was like an Instagram filter from hell — blue eyeshadow, lip liner two shades too dark, blush applied like war paint.
CHOMP. CHOMP.
She snapped her gum, staring at Rin as if she knew he didn't belong here.
"Yeah, lady. I'm aware. I'm the only one in this room under the age of 70 and not chain-smoking."
He cleared his throat.
"Ring me, please."
CHOMP.
She popped her gum with a wet snap, and without breaking eye contact, muttered,
"3500 rubles."
Rin stared.
"3500?! For what? Food poisoning and trauma?!"
He blinked, annoyed, but remembered the card in his pocket.
"Whatever. It's not even my card."
He slid Kai's black card across the counter. The woman picked it up like it was radioactive, then slowly dragged it through the old, clunky card reader.
Beep.
She didn't say anything. Just... stared at Rin.
Hard.
Rin's brows furrowed.
"...Why is she looking at me like I just bought plutonium?"
The woman suddenly turned and waddled over to a pair of uniformed policemen who had just entered, chatting amongst themselves. She leaned in, whispered something, and pointed — directly at Rin.
Rin's body went ice cold.
"Wait. Wait. What?"
The officers turned to look at him. One of them frowned. The other adjusted his belt.
"They're definitely talking about me."
"Is there a problem?" Rin asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, his stance casual.
The cops approached.
Too fast. Too direct.
"Sir, please follow us. We'd like to have a word with you."
Rin's heart dropped. He instinctively took a step back, hands up.
"What? But—I didn't do anything. What's this about?"
One of the officers was already behind him.
"At least tell me what's wrong!" Rin demanded, panic creeping into his voice.
But they were already moving to restrain him.
The clunky old card reader beeped twice — then spat out a small red error on the screen. The police officer pointed at it with a crooked finger, his voice dripping with tired authority.
"The card you used? Stolen. Look."
The bright, damning letters lit up the screen:
TRANSACTION DECLINED – INVALID ACCOUNT
Rin blinked once.
Then twice.
The walls started to close in.
"No... that can't be right. I used this card at the hotel. I used it to buy clothes. It worked—didn't it? How... how is this happening now?"
His fingers twitched at his sides as a cold chill crept up his spine. He wasn't just a foreigner in this country anymore — he was now a suspect. A criminal. A threat.
"No. Nonononono. I am NOT going to jail in a country where I don't even speak the language fluently. Where they eat grey soup and rats crawl through the bathroom. Hell no."
The officers moved closer, their hands hovering near their belts.
"I need to think. Fast."
Scarlet's mind raced with every scenario, every failed mission brief, every diplomatic horror story he'd ever heard. He glanced toward the exit, but they were already flanking him.
One officer reached for his wrist.
"This is the only way out."
Rin's fist connected with the man's jaw like a hammer to drywall.
"UGH!"
The cop staggered backward, crashing into a table and sending cheap utensils flying.
Before the second officer could draw his baton, Rin twisted his body, slamming an elbow into his gut.
Oof.
The man doubled over.
Rin didn't wait. He pivoted low and flipped the man over his shoulder — the body hit the tiled floor like a sack of rotten potatoes.
"YOU BASTARD!" the first officer snarled, wiping blood from his mouth as he rose again.
Rin readied himself, chest heaving, but then—
CREAK.
The diner door swung open with that familiar dissonant bell chime.
Kai.
Kai stepped in like he'd just come back from a goddamn coffee run, hands in his coat pockets, face calm, cold, amused.
"Thank God—finally," Rin thought, letting his shoulders drop slightly in relief. "The card owner is here. Everything should be fine now. He'll clear this up, right? He has to—"
He didn't notice the officer lunging up behind him.
CLACK!
The cuffs snapped hard around his wrists, yanking his arms backward with painful force.
"Got you, bastard. You're not going anywhere." the officer growled, his breath hot and ragged against Rin's ear.
The other officer, still limping from the earlier beatdown, grabbed Rin's arm roughly.
"Let's go."
Rin's heart thundered. He turned his head toward Kai, his voice sharp, desperate.
"Fucking bastard! At least help me!" he snapped.
Kai didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just stood there, watching, as if Rin was some mildly interesting play unfolding before him.
And then—
One of the officers lifted his fist.
"Move faster, you punk—"
That's when Kai struck.
In a blur of movement, Kai's hand snapped up and latched onto the officer's throat.
Lifted him.
The officer's feet left the ground.
His eyes bulged as Kai held him there like he weighed nothing more than a sack of flour.
The diner fell silent. Even the buzzing neon light seemed to hesitate.
Kai leaned in slowly, his smirk spreading like oil on water.
"Shall we have a chat first?"
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
He tilted his head ever so slightly to glance down at Rin — still handcuffed, stunned, and glaring up at him.
There was something sinister in Kai's expression. Something gleeful.
He liked this. The power. The tension. The way people squirmed under his control.
Rin's stomach churned.
"Manipulative prick."