codename: Seraphim

Sasha chuckled, a low, mocking sound that brought Beom-ki's focus right back to him. "Oh… someone's hungry," he said, voice tinged with amusement, eyes gleaming as he looked at Beom-ki with a smug grin. The rumbling in Beom-ki's stomach was impossible to hide, the sound embarrassing in the otherwise quiet space between them.

Beom-ki's face turned an even darker shade of red as he scowled, trying to look unbothered. "Please, shut up," he mumbled, looking away with an annoyed huff. But then, without another word, Sasha reached into his coat and pulled out his credit card, extending it toward him casually.

Beom-ki glanced down at the card, caught off guard, hesitating. "Here, go and buy some food," Sasha said with a smirk that made it hard to tell if he was genuinely trying to help or just having a good laugh at Beom-ki's expense. "You look like a total mess… no, you are a total mess," he added, his words pointed but his tone almost playful. Before Beom-ki could react, a taxi pulled up, and without hesitation, Sasha slipped inside, tossing one last smirk over his shoulder.

"Hey—!" Beom-ki barely had a chance to protest before the door slammed shut and the taxi rolled away, leaving him alone on the sidewalk. He stood there for a moment, stunned, clutching the credit card as he watched the taxi disappear down the street. His fists clenched, trembling slightly. "Where is he even going?" he muttered to himself, more frustrated than ever.

Beom-ki glanced down at the credit card in his hand, noticing the two golden dragons embossed on it, symbols that looked both regal and ominous. He had no idea what they meant, but it was clear that Sasha was no ordinary guy. With a sigh, he slid the card into his pocket and patted down the rest of his clothes, hoping to find at least a bit of loose change to cover a taxi to the nearest food stall. His heart sank when he realized he had nothing left—not even a few coins. Everything he'd had on him, his clothes, his wallet, his bag… it was all gone, burned in the fire from earlier.

Resigned, he let out a frustrated groan. "Guess I'm walking," he muttered, glancing down the street, squinting to make out the bright lights of a vendor's stall a few blocks away. The smell of street food was already drifting his way, a tantalizing hint of grilled meats and spicy broth, and his stomach growled again in response. With a sigh, he started down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched against the cold.

The walk felt longer than it was, his sore muscles protesting every step. He was exhausted, bruised, and utterly frustrated with Sasha and his strange, unpredictable games. By the time he finally reached the food vendor, he was practically starving, and the sight of steaming dumplings and skewers sizzling over a hot grill was almost enough to make him forget his irritation.

Beom-ki didn't hesitate as soon as his food was in hand. The hunger gnawing at his insides overrode everything else, and he dove in as if he hadn't eaten in days. Each bite felt like salvation, the warmth and flavor filling the emptiness that had been clawing at him since the fire. He finished in minutes, licking the last traces from his fingers and sighing with relief. Finally, he was starting to feel a little more grounded—until he remembered he had to pay.

With a quick thank you, he approached the vendor and handed her Sasha's card, hoping to avoid any awkwardness by paying quickly. She nodded, taking the card, and swiped it against the machine. A beep sounded, and she frowned, glancing up at him. "Sir, your card has been declined," she said in Ukrainian, her tone a mix of confusion and apology.

Beom-ki blinked, taking a second to process her words. He hadn't entirely understood, but the look on her face and the tone of her voice gave him a sinking feeling. "Declined?" he muttered, trying to make sense of it. "Are you serious?"

He gestured to the card, urging her to try again, hoping it had been some mistake or glitch. With a hesitant nod, she swiped it once more, her eyes narrowing as the machine beeped the same decline. She looked back at him, now slightly more annoyed. "Declined again."

Beom-ki felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He tried to force a sheepish smile, gesturing for her to try just one more time. Reluctantly, she did, but the result was the same. She let out a sigh, preparing to tell him off, when something on the card caught her eye.

Her gaze lingered on the two dragons embossed near the top of the card, their sleek, entwined shapes glinting faintly. Her expression shifted from annoyance to unease, and he saw her visibly tense. Her fingers trembled slightly as she muttered something under her breath, her eyes widening in recognition. Without warning, she turned away, pulling out her phone, her hands shaking as she began to dial.

"What…?" Beom-ki's confusion grew. Why was she making a call? And why did she look so rattled?

He frowned, glancing down at the card in his hand. Deciding to try it himself, he moved to the payment machine, swiping the card one last time. The message flashed in bold, unmistakable letters: "Declined."

Beom-ki gritted his teeth, realization dawning on him as he muttered darkly, "That motherfucker…" His hands clenched into fists, the image of Sasha's smug, smirking face flashing in his mind. The bastard had given him a worthless card—probably on purpose. The realization hit him like a slap, and he couldn't believe he'd fallen for it.

He glanced up, seeing the vendor watching him with wary eyes, still holding her phone and speaking rapidly to someone on the other end. He was now attracting a few glances from other people around, and the weight of the stares made him grit his teeth even harder. This wasn't just humiliating; it was infuriating.

With one last furious glare at the useless card in his hand, he shoved it into his pocket and muttered to himself, "I'm gonna kill that bastard."

Beom-ki's pulse was racing as he realized he was drawing too much attention. Every instinct screamed for him to leave before things spiraled out of control. He quickly turned, ready to slip away quietly, but the moment he took his first step, two policemen entered the shop, their eyes scanning the crowd. Beom barely had a second to process what was happening before the vendor started frantically pointing at him, speaking in rapid Ukrainian that he didn't understand. But he could guess enough—the credit card had probably flagged something, or maybe she thought he was a thief. Either way, her distress was all the encouragement the officers needed.

The two policemen immediately zeroed in on him, grabbing his arms before he had a chance to move. Their grips were rough, and he could feel the strength behind their hold as they started pulling him toward the exit.

"Huh...what did I do?" Beom stammered, struggling against them as they tightened their grips. "I didn't do anything! What's going on?"

One of the officers gave him a hard look, his tone laced with impatience. "When you reach the station, then you can talk…foreigner." There was a slight sneer in his voice that made Beom's frustration spike, but the fear was louder.

Beom swallowed, panic clawing at him as he tried to explain, "But I'm innocent!" His voice was almost pleading, but the officers weren't listening. They continued to drag him out, and Beom's mind raced, his thoughts a whirl of desperation. "No, no, no," he thought, feeling a surge of dread. "I can't go to jail, not for something I didn't do. I'm here for a mission, I can't get locked up…" His breathing grew ragged as the urgency built up inside him, filling him with a single, overwhelming thought: he needed to get out of this.

Just then, a flash of adrenaline kicked in, and without thinking, he wrenched his arm free, pushing one officer back with unexpected strength. The officer staggered, his hand reaching instinctively to his baton, but Beom didn't give him a chance. He twisted around and threw a punch, his fist connecting with the officer's jaw in a solid, satisfying crack that sent him stumbling backward, dazed.

The sudden violence created a ripple through the crowd, and people gasped, murmuring in alarm. Phones were raised as onlookers started recording, but Beom didn't care. He was focused, his mind locked on a single goal: escape. He glanced at the officer he had punched, watching as the man swayed on his feet, trying to regain his balance. He threw another punch, aiming for the man's temple, and this time the officer went down, slumping against a nearby table, unconscious.

"Just a little more," Beom thought, preparing to make a break for it. But before he could move, the other officer had already recovered, his face twisted in anger. He grabbed a chair, raising it high, preparing to bring it down on Beom's back.

Beom barely had time to brace himself when, out of nowhere, the officer was intercepted. A strong hand caught the chair mid-swing, halting its momentum entirely. Beom glanced up, his eyes widening in surprise. It was Sasha, standing there with a cool, collected smirk, his fingers wrapped around the chair's back as if it weighed nothing. He looked every bit as imposing as ever, towering over the officer with an air of calm menace.

The officer froze, his face blanching as he looked up at Sasha, clearly recognizing him—or at least recognizing that he wasn't someone to mess with. Sasha's gaze was cold, his smirk widening slightly as he gave the officer a disapproving shake of his head. Then, without a word, he wrenched the chair out of the officer's hands and shoved him back, making him stumble.

Sasha turned to Beom, his expression a mixture of amusement and irritation. "What kind of mess did you get yourself into, kid?" he said, the smirk never leaving his face.

As Beom stood there, his heart pounding from the adrenaline, he glared at Sasha with every ounce of frustration that had been building up. "Who the fuck does he think he's calling 'kid'..." Beom seethed in his head, watching Sasha approach with that infuriatingly calm expression plastered on his face. Sasha's hand shot out, gripping Beom by the arm and lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing, as if Beom were just an inconvenience he could sweep aside.

"Let go of me, asshole!" Beom hissed, his teeth gritted as he struggled in Sasha's grip. But Sasha only chuckled, an infuriatingly amused sound that made Beom's blood boil even more. Without a word, Sasha released Beom and strode over to the two policemen, who were still reeling from the scuffle. Sasha's movements were calm and measured, almost intimidating in their smoothness. He leaned in close to the officers, his voice low as he spoke to them.