Climbing the ladder, Beom scanned the top shelves for anything that stood out. His hand brushed against something tucked behind a row of books. Curious, he pulled it free and climbed back down to examine it. It was a leather-bound album, slightly worn but still elegant.
"What's this?" Beom muttered, settling into a chair as he opened it. His eyes widened as he stared at the first photo. It was Yaroslav, younger but unmistakable, standing next to someone who looked shockingly familiar. Beom leaned closer, his heart skipping a beat.
"Wait… is that me?" he whispered. The resemblance was uncanny, but he knew it couldn't be him. "No way. That's not possible. Who the hell is this guy? My evil twin? Long-lost sibling? Doppelgänger from another dimension?" His voice grew louder as he tried to process what he was seeing.
The two in the photo looked close, almost like family. Beom frowned, flipping through the album for more answers, but it ended abruptly after a few pages. The rest of the album was empty.
"Great. Of course, the mystery gets cut off just when it's getting good," he muttered, slamming the album shut. He sat back in the chair, his mind racing. Who is that guy? Why does he look like me? And why does Yaroslav have these photos?
His fingers tapped against the cover of the album as he stared into space. I need to figure this out. If Yaroslav thinks he can keep secrets from me, he's got another thing coming. With a determined huff, Beom tucked the album back into its hiding spot before leaving the library, his mind buzzing with questions he was determined to answer.
Beom carefully descended the ladder, his mind still whirring from the strange discovery in the album. His thoughts buzzed with a thousand questions, but curiosity pulled him forward, deeper into the library. He wasn't quite sure what he was hoping to find, but the thrill of exploration made him feel a little less like a prisoner and more like an adventurer—if only for a moment.
He wandered between the towering shelves, his fingers grazing the spines of books as he meandered through the maze of leather-bound novels, biographies, and scientific journals. The musty smell of old paper hung in the air, a familiar scent that almost felt comforting despite the unusual circumstances. As he turned a corner of the room, something small caught his eye.
A little door—no more than a foot high—was tucked between two shelves. It was almost easy to miss, hidden away behind a thick curtain of books. Beom crouched down, curiosity piqued. What could this be? Some kind of secret compartment? A hidden stash of something I shouldn't see? he thought with a smirk.
He pushed the door open, revealing a small space within. His eyes scanned the tiny compartment. It wasn't much, but a small object on the floor immediately grabbed his attention. A camera. Beom reached down, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. It didn't look too old—maybe a few years at most. The silver casing gleamed under the soft lighting of the room. He pressed a button, but it stayed dark, unresponsive.
"Huh, looks like it needs some power," he muttered to himself. "Doesn't even turn on. Great, another broken gadget in this godforsaken mansion." He sighed, setting the camera back where he found it. Probably something he uses to spy on people or track them—yeah, that's definitely not creepy at all.
Just as he was about to stand up and walk away, something caught his eye again. A gleam of light reflected off something resting on the floor near the far wall. He took a step toward it, bending down and blinking in surprise.
What is this now?
It was an electric guitar. Beom ran his hand over it, examining the smooth body of the instrument. It was sleek, well-kept, and had a glossy black finish with silver accents. The guitar's shape was something out of a rockstar's dream, elegant but with an edge. He strummed the strings lightly, but they didn't make a sound. It was clearly there for display, not for actual playing. Still, the sight of it made Beom raise an eyebrow. Wait. Hold on a second…
He leaned back, glancing around the library once more. He plays the piano, the violin... and now an electric guitar? Is he some kind of multitalented human or just collecting instruments for fun? Beom felt a mix of amusement and disbelief. What's next? A harp? A sitar? Maybe a tambourine in the corner somewhere?
"Jesus, Yaroslav, do you do anything other than play instruments and torment me?" Beom muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle. He glanced at the guitar again and snorted. Maybe I should join the band. I bet I could rock a bass guitar. Hell, I might even take up the tambourine and be the percussion genius he never knew he needed.
A small, sarcastic grin crept across Beom's face as he set the guitar back down and stepped away. What the hell is with all these instruments anyway? he thought. Maybe I could try learning one myself while I'm stuck here—start my own musical revolution. I'll call it 'Escape from Yaroslav's Mansion: The Acoustic Chronicles.'
He snorted at his own joke. Yeah, that'll definitely be a hit. If I ever get out of here, that is.
With one last glance at the guitar, Beom slowly stood up and walked away from the little door. The bizarre little room, its mysterious camera, and now the strange discovery of the electric guitar added to the pile of questions that were stacking up in his mind. His head felt dizzy with all the strange things he'd uncovered today.
"Why does this house feel like I'm in some twisted version of 'The Truman Show'?" Beom mumbled under his breath. Everything's too controlled, too perfect, and I'm the only one who doesn't have a script.
He couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The guy's gotta be a walking talent show. Too bad I don't have the energy to be impressed. Now, if I could just find a way out... He sighed deeply, brushing his hand through his hair. That's the real challenge. Maybe I should learn how to play the piano while I plot my escape. Play a little Chopin while making my great escape. Seems fitting.
With a self-deprecating chuckle, Beom headed out of the library, his mind still spinning.
Beom stepped into the red-and-black room, his eyes immediately drawn to the bold color scheme and the strange, suggestive layout. His gaze landed on the pole standing in the center of the room, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. The pole gleamed under the light, a stark centerpiece in a space that screamed both elegance and decadence. Then, his attention shifted to the bed, which seemed far too luxurious and, frankly, a bit ominous for his taste.
What the hell is this room supposed to be? Beom thought, his head tilting as he took in the details. Is this some kind of... seductive dance studio? A boudoir? Wait, am I in some rich man's weird fantasy room? Oh, my god, what if this is where he brings people to… ew, nope, nope, let's not go there. He shook his head as if trying to clear the mental image from his mind.
His curiosity, however, couldn't be stifled. His eyes darted back to the pole, a mischievous thought bubbling up despite himself. He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against the cool metal, and a nostalgic smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It's been a while, he thought, remembering how good he used to be at pole dancing. Back then, I could swing and spin like a pro. I bet I could still pull off a move or two.
With a sudden burst of determination, Beom grabbed the pole and placed one foot against it, trying to hoist himself up. He managed to lift his body partway, balancing on the pole with a bit of effort, but the strain was immediate. A sharp, unpleasant tug reminded him of the surgery he'd undergone—one he hadn't chosen, one that had changed his body forever.
"Ah, damn it," Beom hissed under his breath, sliding down from the pole and landing back on his feet. He rubbed at his side, feeling a dull ache that refused to be ignored. Right. So much for that. Guess my days as a pole-dancing icon are officially behind me.
Still, a wry chuckle escaped him as he stared at the pole. Imagine Yaroslav walking in right now and seeing this. He'd probably smirk and make some sleazy comment about how I should save the moves for him. Beom rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. Ugh, as if.
Deciding he'd had enough of the bizarre room, Beom turned and made his way out, his thoughts swirling as he stepped onto the balcony just outside. The crisp air hit his face, cooling the faint heat of frustration that lingered from his failed pole attempt. He leaned against the railing, looking out over the sprawling landscape.
Snow blanketed the trees in every direction, creating a serene but isolating view. The sky above was a pale, endless expanse, its quiet beauty at odds with Beom's inner turmoil. There were no signs of life—no towns, no people, no roads. Just an unbroken stretch of wilderness.
"Guess I'm in the middle of nowhere," he muttered aloud, his voice barely more than a breath. The thought hung in the air like a bitter truth he couldn't escape.
His mind wandered as he stood there, taking in the emptiness. No roads. No neighbors. No way to signal for help. This place is perfect for someone like Yaroslav—a man who needs to keep his 'guest' trapped with no escape. Beom's fingers tightened on the railing, frustration building in his chest.
And then another thought struck him—a darker, more unsettling one. He's probably watching me right now, isn't he? Beom's eyes darted around the balcony, searching for cameras. He hadn't spotted any earlier, but he knew Yaroslav well enough to suspect they were there, hidden somewhere in plain sight.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Of course, he's watching," Beom said, half to himself. "Bet he's sitting in some fancy room right now, sipping wine, watching me embarrass myself on that damn pole. Pervert probably enjoyed every second of it." He rolled his eyes, the thought both infuriating and ridiculous.