The car hit a small bump, making Beom jolt. "Seriously, just take the wheel! I don't want to die today, thank you!"
Sasha rolled his eyes, clearly enjoying Beom's suffering. "You're fine."
"Fine?" Beom snapped, glaring at him. "I'm one bad swerve away from meeting the Grim Reaper, and you think I'm fine? Sasha, I swear to God, if we survive this, I'm suing you for emotional distress."
Sasha chuckled, his tone annoyingly calm. "You're cute when you're panicking."
Beom groaned, muttering under his breath. "Cute? Oh, sure. Let's flirt while we're speeding into oblivion. That'll make this better."
As the car finally steadied, Beom released the door handle and crossed his arms, still glaring at Sasha. "Next time, I'm driving. You're banned from touching a steering wheel ever again."
Sasha shot him a sly grin. "But then I wouldn't get to see you squirm like this."
Beom clenched his jaw, his patience officially gone. "Squirm?! I'll make you squirm when I throw you out of this car. Keep pushing me and see what happens."
Sasha only laughed, and Beom groaned loudly, looking out the window. "Why am I even here? This man's going to be the death of me—either from stress or a fiery car crash."
The towering gates creaked open on their own, an ominous welcome to the grand mansion looming ahead. Sasha didn't hesitate, driving the car straight in like he owned the place. Beom, on the other hand, was already sweating bullets. He sat rigid, watching the imposing building grow larger as they approached, his nerves jangling.
"This feels like walking into the lion's den," Beom muttered under his breath, gripping the white handkerchief in his hand. "Except this lion has armed guards and probably no sense of humor."
As soon as Sasha brought the car to a stop in front of the mansion, a group of heavily armed bodyguards surrounded them like a tidal wave. Guns gleamed under the porch lights, and the guards' expressions were stony and menacing.
Beom swallowed hard and quickly raised the white handkerchief, stepping out of the car. He spoke in his best Russian, his voice trembling only slightly, "We come in peace."
One of the guards wasn't buying it. Without hesitation, the man shoved Beom against the car, patting him down for weapons. Beom winced, trying not to let his irritation show. "Is this really necessary? I look about as threatening as a wet cat in a snowstorm."
Meanwhile, Sasha stepped out of the car with all the grace and poise of someone who thought himself untouchable. He didn't flinch, didn't blink, didn't even glance at the guns trained on him. One of the guards moved forward to search him, but Sasha shot him a glare so cold and commanding it could have frozen fire. The guard hesitated, then backed off without a word.
Beom rolled his eyes internally as he felt another unnecessary shove from his overzealous handler. "Of course, they don't lay a finger on Mr. Tall, Blond, and Intimidating. But me? Sure, let's treat me like a walking crime scene."
Before Beom could protest, a new voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
"What's going on here?"
Beom turned his head—well, as much as he could while being pinned to the car—to see Vladimir Popov stepping out of the mansion. He was flanked by two equally intimidating men, his presence exuding wealth and power. His tailored suit practically screamed untouchable.
Vladimir's sharp eyes darted between Sasha and Beom, lingering on each of them as he approached. Sasha stepped forward, smoothly introducing himself under their agreed-upon alias. "Ivan Morozov," he said with a slight bow of his head.
Vladimir extended a hand, shaking Sasha's with a firm, businesslike grip. "Ah, Mr. Morozov. Welcome."
Beom cleared his throat, stepping forward cautiously. "And I'm Pavel Kim," he said, his Russian crisp but a little too polite.
Vladimir's attention shifted to him, and Beom instinctively extended his hand for a quick, formal handshake. Maksim took it—but instead of a swift shake, he held onto Beom's hand longer than necessary. His thumb brushed against Beom's palm before it started rubbing slow circles.
Beom froze, his brain short-circuiting. "Wait...what is he doing? Is this... Is this some kind of rich guy power move?!"
Vladimir's eyes flicked to Beom's face, his expression calm but calculating. "Pavel Kim," he repeated, his tone slow and deliberate. His hand was still moving, now tracing deliberate, almost intimate circles into Beom's palm.
Beom's eye twitched. "Okay, this is officially weird. Why is he still holding my hand? And why does it feel like I'm being interrogated through finger Morse code?!"
He forced a polite smile, trying to gently pull his hand away, but Vladimir tightened his grip slightly. Beom's inner monologue went into overdrive. "Oh, great. Now I'm stuck in a hand-holding hostage situation. If I yank my hand back, he'll probably have me shot. If I don't, he'll probably keep doing...whatever this is. Why me? Why is it always me?!"
Sasha's voice cut through Beom's panic. "I hope we're not interrupting anything important, Mr. Popov."
Vladimir finally released Beom's hand, his smile thin. "Not at all. Please, come inside. Let's discuss this opportunity of yours."
Beom quickly clasped his hands together, keeping them out of Maksim's reach as he followed Sasha. "This guy's got more red flags than a bullfighter's closet. And now I have to sit through an entire meeting with him? God, I hope Sasha knows what he's doing, because I definitely don't get paid enough for this."
Vladimir gestured toward the luxurious leather chairs opposite his oversized mahogany desk, his tone polite yet laced with authority. "Please, have a seat."
Beom hesitated for a fraction of a second before lowering himself into the chair. It was absurdly comfortable, almost like sitting on a cloud, but he couldn't bring himself to relax. His back was stiff, and his palms felt clammy. "This chair is too nice for someone like me. I feel like I'm about to be offered either a million dollars or a one-way trip to the bottom of a river."
Sasha, of course, looked completely unbothered as he settled into his seat. He leaned back slightly, exuding an air of confidence that Beom found both irritating and impressive. Beom resisted the urge to glare at him. "Cool, calm, collected. Meanwhile, I'm over here sweating through my shirt. Fantastic start."
Vladimir clasped his hands together on the desk, his piercing eyes scanning both of them. "So, gentlemen, you've come to discuss... an investment opportunity, I believe?"
Beom took a deep breath. "Alright, Beom. You're the talker here. Time to put those acting skills to use. Just sound confident. You've got this. Maybe."
"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. Popov," Beom began, his voice steady despite the rapid thudding of his heart. "We understand you're a busy man, so we'll get straight to the point. My partner and I represent a cutting-edge weapons development firm. We specialize in advanced designs tailored for high-efficiency performance. What we're offering is an exclusive chance to preview and invest in one of the most revolutionary models to date."
Vladimir's expression remained neutral, but his interest seemed piqued. He leaned forward slightly. "Revolutionary, you say? And what exactly are we talking about here?"
Beom glanced at Sasha, who remained silent but gave a small nod. Taking the cue, Beom continued, his hands gesturing subtly to emphasize his words. "The AK-257. A weapon that combines precision, durability, and adaptability like no other. It's a game-changer, Mr. Popov. This isn't just a tool—it's an advantage."
Vladimir arched an eyebrow, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "Bold claims. And yet, I've heard plenty of bold claims before. What makes this... AK-257 different?"
Beom smiled, though inwardly he was panicking. "Stay calm. Don't overdo it. Sell the dream, but not too much. And for God's sake, don't stutter."
"It's not just about what the weapon does—it's about how it does it. The AK-257 is designed with modular components, allowing for quick adaptations in the field. Whether you need long-range precision or close-quarters versatility, this weapon delivers. It's lightweight, resistant to extreme conditions, and incorporates advanced recoil reduction technology. Plus, it's built for longevity—fewer breakdowns, fewer failures."
Beom leaned forward slightly, his tone dropping into something more conspiratorial. "In short, it's not just a weapon. It's a statement. A statement of power, efficiency, and dominance."
Vladimir regarded him carefully, his steely gaze unreadable. Beom's heart sank a little. "Does he look impressed? I can't tell. Oh no, what if he thinks we're bluffing? Sasha, do something before I dig us into a hole we can't climb out of."
As if on cue, Sasha reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black tablet. With a few taps, he brought up schematics, performance reports, and field test videos of the supposed AK-257. He slid the tablet across the desk to Vladimir, his movements calm and deliberate.
"See for yourself," Sasha said simply, his voice smooth and authoritative.
Vladimir picked up the tablet, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the data. The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the electronics. Beom resisted the urge to fidget, instead clasping his hands tightly in his lap. "Alright, this is it. Please, please let him be impressed. Otherwise, we're toast."
After what felt like an eternity, Vladimir looked up, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting. And you claim this is ready for production?"
Beom nodded quickly, his confidence returning. "Absolutely. We're prepared to handle exclusive manufacturing deals. What we're looking for is a partner who can help us bring this to market on a global scale. Someone with the resources, influence, and vision to see its potential."
Vladimir set the tablet down, steepling his fingers as he regarded them both. "And what do you need from me?"
Sasha leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable but his tone razor-sharp. "A commitment. The AK-257 isn't for everyone, Mr. Popov. It's for the elite. For those who know the value of power and aren't afraid to wield it. Are you that man?"
Beom almost rolled his eyes at Sasha's dramatic delivery but kept his face neutral. "Wow, he really went all-in with that line. But hey, if it works, I'll let him have it."
Vladimir chuckled softly, the sound low and dangerous. "You certainly know how to sell an idea. Very well. Let's discuss terms."
Beom exhaled slowly, relief flooding through him. "Thank God. I thought we were about to get thrown out—or worse."
As the negotiations began, Beom couldn't help but steal a quick glance at Sasha. "He's got that smug look on his face again. Sure, he played it cool, but I did most of the talking. He owes me for this one. Maybe I'll make him carry all the gear back to the car later. That'll teach him."
The heavy oak door to Beom's assigned room creaked slightly as he pushed it open, his heart pounding against his ribs. He stepped inside cautiously, his eyes scanning every corner. The room was lavish, adorned with an ornate chandelier, plush rugs, and a bed that seemed fit for royalty. But none of it registered. His focus was entirely on the task ahead. "I'm not here to enjoy luxury; I'm here to dig up dirt."
He yanked out the small earpiece Sasha had slipped him earlier, securing it into place. A brief static crackle was followed by Sasha's calm, almost bored voice.
"Finally connected? Took you long enough."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Beom muttered, keeping his voice low. "I'm going up the tunnels to see if I can find anything. Good luck, by the way."
Sasha's scoff echoed in his ear. "You'll need it more than me, shorty."
Beom rolled his eyes. "Typical Sasha. I'm out here risking my neck while he just sits back with his fur coat and smug face."
His thoughts wandered momentarily to their earlier conversation.
Flashback
Beom had crossed his arms, watching Sasha adjust a small black tracker device in his hands.
"I placed this tracker on Vladimir's clothes," Sasha said, his tone casual, as if planting tracking devices was an everyday activity for him.
Beom blinked. "How the hell did you even manage that?"
"Don't ask questions, just follow the tracker and get the answers," Sasha replied with a smirk.
Beom raised a brow. "Uh-huh. Classic Sasha move—be mysterious, make me do the grunt work, and then take all the credit later."
"I'm going to search somewhere else. Try not to mess up, partner," Sasha added before vanishing into the shadows.
Present
Beom sighed. "He always gets the easy part. Meanwhile, I'm playing cat and mouse in some creepy old mansion."
He moved quietly through the room, locating a hidden vent at the base of the wall. It had been mentioned on the schematics Sasha managed to dig up earlier. Sliding it open with careful precision, he slipped into the narrow tunnel, his phone serving as a flashlight. The space was cramped, and he had to crouch low to maneuver through it.
"Ugh, this place reeks of damp and mold. I swear if I come out of this with a lung infection, Sasha owes me big time," Beom muttered under his breath.