CRACK!
Pain shot through his ankle like fire as he hit the ground, stumbling forward. He swore aloud, teeth gritted.
"FUCK! Shit! Ahhh!"
Every muscle screamed, but he forced himself to move. Branches scratched his arms, leaves slapped against his face. He stumbled through the undergrowth, trying to keep quiet, trying to avoid the guards he knew must be nearby.
The garden was massive, stretching like a forest around the mansion. Blue roses glimmered in patches of sunlight, their petals brushing his arms as he limped past. Each step was agony, but adrenaline carried him forward.
From somewhere distant, he heard voices—guards, patrolling. He froze, pressing himself low into the underbrush, hiding behind a thick tree trunk.
[Shit… shit… keep moving, just keep moving…]
He limped forward again, searching desperately for an exit, weaving between trees and flowerbeds. His ankle throbbed with every step. Pain, panic, and exhaustion warred in him, but the thought of Sergei returning drove him onward.
Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, he found a massive tree with sprawling roots and thick shadows. He collapsed behind it, body shaking uncontrollably, sweat and frost clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell raggedly.
The garden stretched endlessly around him. Blue roses, twisted trees, and shadowed paths gave the illusion of safety but Jiwon knew it wasn't real. Sergei would return, and when he did… he'd find him.
For now, he was hidden. For now, he could breathe.
.
.
.
The black car rolled up the long gravel path, headlights slicing through the fog that draped the sprawling estate. Two guards in dark suits moved quickly, pulling the heavy iron gates aside. When the vehicle came to a halt in front of the mansion's grand entrance, another pair of guards hurried forward, opening the car door with a bow.
Sergei stepped out, tall and sharp like a blade, his icy eyes fixed forward. The guards didn't speak they only lowered their heads as the massive oak doors creaked open.
Inside, the marble hall gleamed under chandeliers. A maid in uniform awaited him. Sergei's voice was cold, clipped:
"Where is he?"
The maid lowered her eyes.
"Same as always, sir."
Without another word, Sergei strode past, his boots echoing against polished stone, until he reached the billiard room.
The scent of cigar smoke lingered there. By the window, leaning casually with a glass of brandy in hand, was Mikhail Victorovich Sokolov broad, silvering hair slicked back, eyes still sharp with the predatory glint of a ruler. The boss of the Nochnaya Sova mafia .
Mikhail turned slowly, lips curling into a teasing smile.
"So you came to see me, Serzh. "
Sergei's jaw tightened.
"Don't call me that."
"Hmm? Why? Does it ring a bell?"
Mikhail's tone dripped with mockery.
Sergei ignored him, staring coldly at the billiard table instead.
Mikhail let out a low chuckle, swirling his drink.
"What was his name again? Hm… Ji… Jiwo?"
Sergei's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Hey, old man. You better zip it up."
Mikhail's laughter deepened, raspy with smoke.
"Hah… poor boy. He must be suffering. Maybe if I had found him with you that day, I could've made something useful out of him…"
For a moment, Sergei's blood boiled, fingers twitching at his side but he remained silent, icy gaze locked onto his father.
Then Mikhail's tone shifted, colder.
"Well. I called you here to discuss about the Snake Blood sneakers. I caught a few rats sniffing around paid off our drivers, tried to map out the trade routes. They're looking for weak points. If they get inside our transport chain, we lose leverage."
Sergei's reply was curt.
"Fine. I'll deal with it."
But Mikhail slammed his glass down on the table.
"That's not what I meant. You know exactly why I informed you, Smert."
Sergei froze at the name.
Mikhail leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"I might be heartless, but you're still my favorite. And because I don't want to lose this organization's weapon which is you ,you'd better raise your guard. At least… don't lose your so-called Jiwonie...I know you'll lose your mind if it happened "
Sergei's icy mask cracked for a second, taken aback.
The door burst open.
"Oh! Kirill!"
Mikhail's booming voice filled the room.
"Hah! Come here, long time no see, my dear nephew."
A young man stepped inside tall, with neatly combed blond hair and sharp green eyes that glowed like a snake's in the light. His posture was stiff, his expression calm yet edged.
"Just call me Kirill Vladimirovich Sokolov. Or Ten. Like you always do, Uncle Mikhail."
Mikhail grinned, leaning lazily on his cue stick.
"Ohoho… what are you so stiff for, Ten? Can't you see I'm being a nice, ordinary uncle right now? Behave."
His final word cut sharp like a blade.
Kirill muttered under his breath.
"…Fine. Whatever."
Then his gaze shifted, locking on Sergei with a sly grin.
"Watchu doin', Smert? How have you been?"
Sergei's reply was cold, flat.
"Good."
"That's some good news,"
Kirill said, smiling faintly, though his tone held a weight of unspoken rivalry.
Without warning, Sergei pushed back his chair and stood.
"I'm going."
But Mikhail's voice followed him like a shadow.
"Smert. Don't forget. I don't care what you do with him just don't let it affect the organization."
Sergei ignored him, the heavy doors closing behind as he left the mansion. Outside, his car engine roared, carrying him back toward his own estate.
Inside the billiard room, silence hung for a moment until Kirill broke it.
"What happened, Uncle Mikhail?"
The older man chuckled darkly, lighting another cigar, smoke curling into the dim light.
"Oh, Ten… you seem to have forgotten everything when you went to America for that little analysis with the Six Coins."
His smirk sharpened.
"How about you go and discover for yourself? Get out."
Kirill's eyes narrowed, but he only muttered,
"…Fine."
He turned and left, the door slamming behind him.
Mikhail exhaled a long stream of smoke, gripping the billiard stick, idly spinning it in his hand like a weapon.
The room filled with the sound of his low chuckle, echoing beneath the weight of power.
_______
Serzh¹ (Серж): pronounced as Serge an soft name for Sergei
Nochnaya Sova² (ночная сова):Night owl
Ten³ (Тень): shadow Kirill's nickname