As Eun-jae stood in the boarding line, the murmur of travelers around him faded into the background. His phone buzzed softly in his hand, and he glanced down at the screen. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over the keyboard before he finally began typing.
"Hey, Mom. I'll be away for a few days. Don't worry about me, okay? I'll call when I'm back."
He stared at the words for a moment, debating whether to add more. The message felt too short, too detached. His mom deserved more than this cold notification, but what else could he say? That he was about to board a plane to another country, heading into danger again? That there was a chance he might not come back?
He sighed and hit send, watching as the message delivered. Almost immediately, the familiar three dots appeared, signaling that she was typing a response.
"Okay, honey. Be safe. I love you."
The simplicity of her words cut through him like a knife. She always knew when not to ask questions, even though he could feel the worry buried in her text. His mom wasn't the kind to demand answers or press him for details, but that didn't mean she wasn't scared.
He replied quickly. "Love you too, Mom."
Pocketing his phone, Eun-jae adjusted the strap of his bag and shuffled forward as the line moved. The pit in his stomach grew heavier with each step toward the plane. He was no stranger to flights—he'd been on countless missions, traveled to places most people only heard about in documentaries—but there was something about this one that felt different. The weight of his thoughts clung to him like an invisible burden.
As he stepped onto the plane, the sterile air-conditioned breeze hit him, and the faint scent of jet fuel lingered in the background. The flight attendant greeted him with a polite smile, which he returned with a curt nod before making his way to his assigned seat.
He dropped his bag into the overhead compartment, slid into the seat by the window, and let out a soft exhale. The faint hum of the engines vibrated beneath him as he settled in, leaning back against the seat.
The window beside him offered a view of the airport runway, where planes taxied to and from their gates, their lights blinking against the early morning sky. He stared at the scene, his mind wandering.
"Another mission, another plane ride," he thought, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. "How many times have I done this now? Too many to count. And yet, it never feels normal."
He glanced around the cabin, taking in the other passengers. Most of them looked like tourists—excited families, businesspeople engrossed in their laptops, couples whispering quietly to each other. Normal people with normal lives. He envied them in a way.
"I wonder what it's like," he thought, his gaze returning to the window. "To board a plane knowing you're just going on vacation or heading to a meeting. No disguises, no missions, no danger. Just...ordinary."
But that wasn't his life, and he had made peace with that a long time ago—or at least, he thought he had.
The engines roared to life, the sound vibrating through the cabin as the plane began to taxi toward the runway. Eun-jae closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. His thoughts shifted to his mom again, to her text message, and the guilt that always came with leaving her behind.
"She deserves better," he thought, his chest tightening. "A son who stays close to home, who doesn't make her worry every time his phone rings. But this is who I am. I can't change that, even if it hurts her."
As the plane accelerated down the runway and lifted into the air, Eun-jae felt the familiar pull of gravity as the ground fell away beneath them. He opened his eyes, watching as the city below grew smaller and smaller, until it was just a patchwork of lights and streets.
The view was beautiful, but his mind was elsewhere—already racing ahead to Russia, to the mission, and to what awaited him there.
As Eun-jae stepped out of the terminal into the crisp Moscow air, the cold hit him like a freight train, knocking the breath out of him. He immediately tightened his coat around his body, shoving his hands deep into the pockets, but it felt like the chill was determined to seep through every layer of fabric he had on. The icy wind whipped against his face, making his cheeks sting and his nose burn. "Goddamn, this is next-level freezing," he thought, his teeth already threatening to chatter. "Does the weather here have a personal vendetta against me, or is this just how Russia says hello?"
Snow blanketed the ground, glistening under the faint winter sun that seemed to offer no warmth whatsoever. It crunched beneath his boots as he walked, the sound sharp and brittle in the otherwise quiet air. Clouds of white mist formed with every exhale, and Eun-jae couldn't help but glare at them like they were mocking his discomfort. "Why did I agree to this mission again? Oh right, because saying no to the agency isn't an option unless you want your life to turn into a bureaucratic nightmare."
He scanned his surroundings, trying to get his bearings. The airport was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of Seoul—it was calmer, colder, and somehow more intimidating. The unfamiliar Cyrillic signs made him feel like a fish out of water, but he quickly masked the unease with his usual sass. "Well, at least the Russians are consistent. Their weather is as cold as their language sounds," he muttered under his breath, the sarcasm comforting him like an old friend.
Pulling out his phone, he checked for any updates or instructions, but there was nothing. Typical. The agency loved to keep him guessing. "Just land in a foreign country, freeze your ass off, and hope the rest of the plan falls into place. Classic strategy," he thought dryly. He let out a sigh, his breath swirling in front of him like a mini storm cloud.
As he trudged forward, a gust of wind sliced through the air, making him wince. He tugged his scarf higher, muttering, "I swear, if one more breeze hits me, I'm catching the next flight back. Let someone else freeze their ass off for this mission." But deep down, he knew there was no going back. Not yet, anyway.
Just as he was about to lament his predicament further, a booming voice broke through the cold, cutting through the muted sounds of the airport.
"Mr. Nikolai Ivanov! It's a pleasure to finally meet you!"
Eun-jae's head snapped toward the voice, his body tensing instinctively. A man in a thick coat and fur hat was striding toward him, a wide grin plastered across his face. For a moment, Eun-jae just stared at him, blinking against the wind. "Who the hell is this guy, and why does he look like he just walked out of a spy movie cliché?"
The man extended a gloved hand as he reached Eun-jae. "I'm Igor Sokolov. I was sent to pick you up."
Eun-jae raised an eyebrow, his skepticism practically radiating off him. "Pick me up? I wasn't told anything about being picked up. And who names their kid Igor these days? Isn't that a villain name?" But outwardly, he kept his expression neutral.
"I wasn't informed about this," he said curtly, his tone cool but polite.
Igor's grin didn't falter. "Oh, there must have been a mix-up. But I assure you, Mr. Ivanov, I'm here on official business. The car is waiting just outside."
Before Eun-jae could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw the director's name on the screen. His stomach twisted in mild irritation. "Of course. The one time I actually need clarity, they decide to be proactive."
He answered the call, his voice sharp. "Yes?"
The director's tone was brisk. "Agent Helix, you're to follow Igor Sokolov to the designated location. He's been briefed and will assist you during your initial setup."
Eun-jae rolled his eyes, biting back a sarcastic remark. "Fine," he said shortly, ending the call before shoving the phone back into his pocket. He glanced back at Igor, who was still smiling like he'd just won the lottery.
"Alright, looks like you're the guy," Eun-jae said with a resigned sigh. "Lead the way, Igor."
As they walked toward the car, Igor began talking—enthusiastically, at that.
"You'll love Moscow this time of year, Mr. Ivanov. The city is beautiful under the snow. Of course, it's cold, but you'll get used to it. Oh, and the food! Have you tried borscht? Amazing stuff, warms you right up. And the architecture! You must see the Kremlin while you're here. Truly a marvel."
Eun-jae followed, his face betraying nothing, but internally he was screaming. "Why does he sound like a walking tourist brochure? Do I look like I'm here to sightsee? Borscht? Pass. I'll take my mom's kimchi stew over beet soup any day."
When they finally reached the car, Igor opened the door with a flourish. "After you, Mr. Ivanov."
Eun-jae slid into the seat, leaning back with a sigh. "If this guy doesn't shut up, I swear I'll freeze myself outside just for some peace and quiet." As the car pulled away, he stared out the window, watching the snowy cityscape blur past.
"Alright, Moscow. Let's get this over with," he thought. "The sooner I can wrap this up, the sooner I can get back to some actual warmth—and my mom's cooking."
The man still continued yapping, filling the car with an endless stream of chatter that grated on Eun-jae's nerves. Igor didn't just talk—he performed. Every word was laced with over-the-top enthusiasm, every sentence punctuated with dramatic hand gestures as if his audience weren't a single, uninterested passenger but a stadium full of eager listeners.
Eun-jae leaned back in his seat, his head resting against the window, trying to zone out. "God, how does someone even have this much to say? Does he ever stop to breathe? Or is he powered by his own endless words like some kind of self-sustaining chatterbox?"
"So, Mr. Nikolai," Igor began again, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes sparkled with an energy Eun-jae couldn't fathom. "Is this your first time in Moscow?"
Eun-jae resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he offered a clipped response. "Yeah."
Apparently, that single word wasn't enough to satisfy Igor's boundless curiosity. "Ah, Moscow! What a city, eh? So much history, so much culture! Have you visited the Kremlin before? Red Square? Oh, and the Bolshoi Theatre! You simply must go to the Bolshoi."
Eun-jae's lips twitched in a semblance of a polite smile, though his thoughts were anything but polite. "Yeah, Igor. That's totally why I'm here—to take selfies in front of St. Basil's and watch ballerinas twirl. Not to infiltrate a dangerous criminal organization or anything."
Igor wasn't done. "Oh! And the food! You haven't lived until you've tried authentic Russian borscht. My grandmother makes the best borscht—you know, with a dollop of sour cream on top? Perfect for winter!"
Eun-jae's jaw tightened. "If I hear the word 'borscht' one more time, I'm jumping out of this car. No, scratch that—I'm throwing him out of this car."