The way she had watched him leave, her eyes trailing after him like a hawk sizing up prey, made him uneasy. He could practically feel her gaze burning into his back even as he put more distance between them. "Ending the meeting so quickly... she couldn't risk letting me ask more questions. A clever move on her part." A hint of bitterness filled his thoughts, realizing how close he'd come to getting valuable information, only for her to cut things short before he could push further.
Beom's fingers tightened slightly around the briefcase in his hand as he walked. "It's clear she's hiding something, or at the very least, she's protecting someone. That someone has to be Yaroslav. The way she deflected my questions about him, like she was dismissing an old friend's bad habits... it all lines up."
Beom took a deep breath, grounding himself as he scanned the photo of his partner on his phone. Just as he was studying the details—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with sharp features and an imposing frame—he felt an unexpected warmth at the nape of his neck, like someone breathing right behind him. Before he could fully register it, a voice broke the silence.
"Oh, that's me."
Startled, Beom let his reflexes take over, and his fist flew before he could think twice. He felt the solid impact as his knuckles connected with the intruder's jaw, making him stumble back. The man took it in stride, rubbing his cheek with a look of amusement rather than irritation.
"WHAT THE HELL, MAN!" Beom exclaimed, instantly shifting into a taekwondo stance, his legs wide and his fists clenched. His pulse pounded in his ears, half from the shock and half from embarrassment at his instinctual reaction.
The man simply chuckled, straightening his posture and adjusting his coat with a nonchalant ease. His tall, sturdy frame towered over Beom, and as he looked down, the amusement in his blue eyes was evident. He had a powerful yet graceful presence, exuding confidence as though he was accustomed to handling unpredictable situations.
"Apologies for sneaking up on you like that," the man said, his smooth Russian accent giving his voice a warm, almost lilting quality. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Sasha… Sasha Balakin." He extended his hand, his large fingers steady, as though expecting Beom to shake off the incident with the same calm.
Beom blinked, glancing down at his phone again to confirm. The face in the photo and the man before him were undeniably the same—a strikingly tall figure with pale skin, piercing blue eyes that seemed simultaneously sharp and warm, and a cascade of blonde hair that framed his chiseled features. And as much as Beom wanted to ignore it, Sasha's slight smirk and sparkling eyes gave him an almost puppy-like charm that didn't seem to match his otherwise commanding appearance.
Beom couldn't help but laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing as he dropped his hands. "Guess it really is you," he muttered, trying to brush off his initial reaction. "Just... maybe don't breathe down my neck next time."
Sasha's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the reaction he'd provoked. "Ah, where's the fun in that?" he teased, his voice low but playful, with just a hint of challenge. "But point taken. I'll be more careful next time, comrade."
Beom shook his head, feeling a mix of annoyance and respect for this towering man who, despite his serious role in their mission, seemed to carry himself with an infuriating ease. There was a strange familiarity in Sasha's demeanor, as though they'd been through this before, despite only meeting now.
"So… Russian partner assigned to help me?" Beom asked, raising an eyebrow. "You know what that means, right? I'm not just going to blindly trust you until I'm sure of where your loyalties lie."
Sasha held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Understandable. In our line of work, trust has to be earned." He crossed his arms, his gaze steady and unflinching as he looked Beom directly in the eye. "I'm here for the same reason you are—to find out what Yaroslav's up to and stop him. Nothing more, nothing less."
Beom studied him, still wary, but he could see that Sasha's eyes held no hint of deceit—only determination and a hint of curiosity. "Alright, Sasha," Beom finally said, his voice softening.
As they strolled down the long hallway, Beom could feel Sasha's quiet presence beside him—a silent but powerful figure, his footsteps soft yet steady. Just as Beom was about to turn his focus fully back to their mission, Sasha's voice cut through the silence, catching him off guard.
"Wait…" Sasha's tone was casual, as if he'd just remembered something trivial. "I don't even know your name."
Beom came to an abrupt halt, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow. There was a flash of skepticism in his gaze as he studied Sasha. "How don't you know my name?" he asked slowly, his voice tinged with suspicion. "You were assigned to me. As my partner. In a highly classified mission. And you don't even know my name?"
Sasha's blue eyes sparkled with a subtle mischief, a smirk forming on his lips as he regarded Beom with that cool, unruffled demeanor. He lifted his hands slightly, a gesture that seemed to say, Who, me? Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he spoke in a tone that was calm, almost calculating.
"Ah, names…" Sasha chuckled, his voice slipping into a lower, smoother register, as if he were telling Beom a secret. "Names can be deceiving, you know." He leaned in, just a fraction closer, his gaze flickering with amusement and something that felt almost like a challenge. "Sometimes, it's more interesting to discover someone's true nature before being distracted by… labels."
Beom narrowed his eyes, feeling an odd mix of intrigue and irritation. Sasha's words hung in the air, each one carefully chosen, giving the impression that this man never revealed more than he intended. It was unsettling, to say the least, especially considering that he was supposed to be Beom's ally. Yet, here he was, playing games, his demeanor as slippery as it was charming.
"So, that's it? You just... forgot my name on purpose?" Beom asked, crossing his arms, his expression a mix of frustration and curiosity.
Sasha tilted his head, his smirk widening as he observed Beom's reaction. "Let's just say," he murmured, his eyes flashing with an almost predatory amusement, "I find that names can sometimes distract us from what's right in front of us. Besides," he added with a sly grin, "I'd rather get to know you beyond the name written on a file. Isn't that what partnerships are about?"
Beom took a deep breath, the kind of sigh that signaled he was starting to accept Sasha's presence in this mission, even if he wasn't entirely sure about the man yet. He finally met Sasha's gaze, giving a slight nod, a glint of determination in his eyes.
"The name is Baek Beom-ki," he said, each word crisp and deliberate, as though he were allowing Sasha a small glimpse past his guarded exterior.
Sasha's eyebrows rose, his expression shifting from intrigue to genuine curiosity. He gave a thoughtful nod, seeming to savor the name, letting it roll over his tongue a few times in silence. Then, after a beat, he asked, "Ah... So what does Beom-ki mean?"
They continued walking side by side, their footsteps echoing lightly down the corridor. Beom glanced at Sasha out of the corner of his eye, weighing his response. There was a certain irony in Sasha's sudden interest. After all, this was the same man who had claimed names were mere "labels." But now, here he was, wanting to know what Beom's name meant. Beom smirked to himself, wondering if this was yet another one of Sasha's manipulative little games.
He finally answered, his voice low but steady. "Beom-ki... it means 'strong like a tiger.'" As he said it, there was a faint hint of pride in his tone, though he kept his expression composed.
Sasha's eyes sparkled with amusement as he processed the meaning, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "A tiger, hmm? So, strong and fierce." He glanced over at Beom, his expression playful yet strangely intense, as though trying to decipher what kind of "tiger" he was dealing with.
Beom felt a faint flicker of annoyance—Sasha's demeanor was still as elusive as ever, and his words held that same subtle challenge as before. "Yeah, something like that," Beom replied, letting his voice trail off. He kept his gaze forward, not willing to let Sasha see the full depth of his thoughts.
But Sasha pressed on, his tone shifting to a feigned innocence. "And what about Baek? That part must mean something, too, right?"
Beom hesitated. He knew Sasha was digging, not just for the sake of learning his name, but perhaps to gauge how much he would open up—or resist. "Baek means 'white' or 'pure,'" he replied after a pause, his voice carefully guarded.
Sasha gave a small, amused nod, his eyes gleaming as he processed the contrast. "Interesting... Strong like a tiger, and pure as white. Quite the combination, don't you think?"
Beom rolled his eyes, a smirk forming on his lips despite himself. "Look, names don't define a person," he muttered, parroting Sasha's own words back at him. "But I guess you'd know all about that."
Sasha laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed down the empty hallway. "Touché," he replied with a grin, clearly appreciating Beom's comeback. "But I'm just trying to understand you better, Beom. After all, we'll be working closely together."
Beom glanced at him sideways, his skepticism evident. "Understanding me won't be as easy as learning my name," he said, his tone laced with warning. "I don't trust people so easily."
Sasha held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, his blue eyes bright with amusement. "I wouldn't expect anything less from someone strong as a tiger," he replied smoothly, then added with a hint of sincerity, "And I wouldn't want it any other way."
They finally entered Sasha's suite—a spacious office and bedroom combined, where luxury met practicality in an elegant but utilitarian space. The walls were lined with dark wood, giving the room a warm but intense atmosphere, and large windows offered a view over the Moscow skyline, glistening with city lights against the night. Sasha motioned toward a leather armchair near the desk.
"Make yourself comfy," he said with a casual smile, slipping off his long black coat and hanging it neatly on a nearby coat stand. Beom observed Sasha's movements, his eyes noting every subtle detail, every practiced motion. Sasha's ease unsettled him; it was as though he was the master of every space he entered, always in control.