Eun-jae sat slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, a thin, scratchy blanket draped around his shoulders. The fluorescent lights of the police station cast a harsh glare on the scene, illuminating the dried blood on his forehead and the angry red marks on his wrists from the cuffs. His hair, now loose and tangled, framed his pale face, and his body ached from head to toe.
"Thank God the police came on time," he thought bitterly, glancing at the officers milling around. "I'd probably be a corpse in some alley right now if they hadn't shown up. But seriously... my wrist is sprained, I'm bruised all over, and on top of everything else, that psycho took my pants off. Great. Just great. Turns out, he's not just a lunatic—he's also a damn pervert. Wow."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. The chair was hard, the room was cold, and the constant hum of chatter and ringing phones grated on his already frayed nerves.
A police officer approached him, a stocky man with a gruff demeanor and a notepad in hand. His uniform was neatly pressed, but his expression was weary, as though he'd seen too many nights like this one.
"We believe this was a targeted attack, Mr. Nikolai," the officer began, his tone measured. "The men you encountered were likely part of a larger organization. Their weapons and tactics suggest they're professionals."
Eun-jae raised an eyebrow, his mind racing. "Targeted attack? No kidding. I've been in Moscow for, what, five minutes, and already half the city's underworld wants me dead. Professionals, huh? Guess I should feel flattered they're sending their best to kill me."
The officer continued, flipping through his notes. "Do you have any enemies in the area? Someone who might have known you were coming?"
Eun-jae hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Enemies? Try half the criminal organizations in Europe," he thought, but he didn't say it aloud. Instead, he shrugged, feigning ignorance.
"No one comes to mind," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his head.
The officer frowned but pressed on. "You're certain? The man who attacked you—we're trying to identify him. Did you get a good look at his face?"
Eun-jae snorted internally. "Good look? Sure, if you count his shoe pressing into my face and the boot kicking me senseless. Real intimate introduction." He shook his head. "It was dark. I couldn't make out much."
"I saw his shoes," Eun-jae said slowly, his voice low, as if still trying to confirm it to himself. He closed his eyes, remembering the distinct shape of them, the sharp lines that contrasted with the dirt and grime of the rooftop. "They weren't just normal shoes. These were... something else."
He paused, trying to collect his thoughts, the image of the shoes vivid in his mind. They were made of a material that wasn't common, something he couldn't place right away, but once he thought about it, the answer became clear. The officer watched him closely, jotting down notes.
"They were animal leather... some exotic kind," Eun-jae continued, his voice taking on a more analytical tone, as if describing something as mundane as a car or a building. "Not like anything I've ever seen before... almost like the hide of something... rare. Maybe ostrich, maybe crocodile, but something more—like it had been made with intention, like it wasn't just for show."
He let out a breath, his mind replaying the sight of the shoes, and the sensation of his arm being twisted, the pressure as the man slammed him to the ground. His mind shifted back to the shoes, narrowing the details.
"They were polished to a sheen, slick, like they'd been treated with some kind of oil or wax, making them almost... too perfect. I could barely see the stitching, but it looked like it had been done by hand. Each thread was tight, clean. The soles were thick, sturdy. Not the type you'd expect for someone trying to sneak around."
The officer raised an eyebrow, tapping his pen on the table. "Interesting."
Eun-jae couldn't shake the feeling that the shoes were a clue—maybe not the most obvious, but a clue nonetheless. He had seen enough to know that this man wasn't just an average criminal. There was something deliberate about him, almost like a hunter who took pride in every detail of his hunt. Those shoes, and the way they gleamed in the dim light as he stood over Eun-jae, were a symbol of something far more dangerous.
"What I don't get," Eun-jae continued, frowning as he drifted back into his thoughts, "is that this guy... he didn't just attack me. He had this... this energy. It was like he knew exactly what I was thinking, like he was prepared for me. Almost like he'd done this before. Not just a maniac, but someone who's done this a hundred times, and still enjoys it."
He rubbed his wrist, wincing slightly as the memory of the man's strength flooded back. He hadn't just been defeated; he'd been overpowered, humiliated, and ultimately left with nothing but his life.
"No one moves like that unless they've been trained. And he was fast... way too fast. I'm no slouch, but he was... untouchable."
The officer sat back, processing the information. "You're saying this person had exotic leather shoes and military-like training? This is starting to sound like more than just a random attack."
Eun-jae nodded, his jaw tightening as the weight of the situation sunk in. "I don't think this was random. Whoever this guy is, he's not just some hired muscle. He's... something else. This feels personal. I'm not sure how or why, but it feels like he knew exactly who I was the moment I stepped into Moscow."
He leaned back against the cold metal chair, his head still spinning from the adrenaline, the pain, the confusion. "And don't get me started on those damn shoes. They were too pristine, too... purposeful. Not something you'd wear if you're planning to just blend in."
He closed his eyes for a moment, the mental image of the polished leather shoes returning with startling clarity. He could almost feel the weight of them again, like they were closing in on him. Those shoes weren't just a sign of wealth—they were a symbol of something darker, something far more dangerous than anything he had ever encountered before.
"So, let's recap," he mused bitterly. "Nearly got shot to death, sprained my wrist, got slammed into the ground, lost my damn pants, and now I'm sitting here looking like a half-dressed crime scene. Welcome to Moscow, Eun-jae. Great start."
His eyes wandered to the window, where the city lights flickered in the distance. Somewhere out there, his target—Bes Ilay—was probably laughing at him. "He knew I was coming. He set this up. That psycho on the roof? He was just a message. 'You're not safe here.'"
Eun-jae was still sitting there, mind drifting through the haze of exhaustion and frustration, when the officer from earlier returned with a colleague in tow. He wasn't sure what was more irritating—the bruises, the fact that he was half-naked under a thin blanket, or the constant barrage of questions. The officer in question, a thin, wiry man with a mop of unruly hair and an almost too-interested expression, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Wait, you still haven't let this guy go?" the new officer asked, raising an eyebrow at Eun-jae as if he were some sort of specimen to be studied.
The first officer gave a quick nod. "Yeah, we're just finishing up the paperwork here. Everything seems to check out, so we'll be sending him to his hotel soon. No GPS or tracking devices on his luggage, luckily. As far as we can tell, he's clean. Just a rough night."
Eun-jae felt his blood pressure rise, the constant needling starting to get on his last nerve. He hadn't exactly signed up for an impromptu interrogation. "I mean, what is this? 'Welcome to Russia, now let's grill you about every little thing,'" he thought sarcastically, letting out a small exasperated sigh that he hoped would shut them up.
The new officer seemed to take that as an invitation to talk more, of course. "Come on, come on, we don't see a lot of your type around here. Tell me, is it true that all Asians are really good at martial arts?"
Eun-jae's eyebrow twitched. "Really? Really? Is this what we're doing now?" He let the sassy thought run through his head, but on the outside, he gave the officer a deadpan stare, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, because the minute I step off a plane, I just immediately start practicing kung fu. Makes total sense, right?"
The officer chuckled at his own question, but Eun-jae wasn't laughing. "Ugh, why does every person who's never met an Asian person have to ask the same dumb questions? Do they think I carry a secret martial arts manual in my pocket or something?"
The officer didn't seem to notice the sarcasm in Eun-jae's tone and instead pressed on. "So what's it like? You know, back in your country. Are you really all disciplined and serious?" He seemed genuinely curious, though his tone was casual, bordering on condescending.
"Seriously?" Eun-jae thought, feeling the sarcasm bubbling up again. "What is this? A bad reality show? I didn't come here to explain my whole damn life to some random guy who thinks I'm a ninja just because I'm from Asia."
But he knew better than to snap at him outright. Instead, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know, in my country, we don't just train in martial arts 24/7. We're not all kung fu masters, and we don't have some mystical connection to ancient martial disciplines. Some of us just like to sleep in and watch TV." His words came out with a bite, but he made sure to keep it light enough to avoid further conversation.
The officer didn't seem to pick up on the irritation, instead leaning in slightly, clearly intrigued. "Huh. Well, that's new. So... do you think you could teach me something?"
Eun-jae blinked, momentarily stunned. "Seriously? Did this guy just ask me to teach him something? What is it with people and their weird requests?" His mind raced as he tried to figure out how best to respond without completely losing his cool.
His thoughts drifted again, "Honestly, I've dealt with more questions than this on a daily basis, but damn. I'm just trying to get to my hotel, get some sleep, and plan my next move. I'm not here for some tourist lecture on the diversity of my culture."
The officer was still grinning like a curious kid, clearly expecting a response. "I don't know... Maybe you can show me a move or two? I'm curious how you guys stay in such good shape."
Eun-jae looked the officer up and down. He wasn't a huge guy—more wiry than anything—and Eun-jae couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Sure, because the best place to show off my 'secret martial arts moves' is in a freezing cold police station, wrapped in a blanket. Yeah, totally. You want me to impress you with my ninja skills right now? How about a round of 'shut up and let me get on with my life?'"
Instead, Eun-jae offered him a pointed look, his expression ice-cold. "No, I can't teach you anything. But you could start by learning how to mind your own damn business." He straightened his back, ready for them to just wrap up whatever nonsense they were trying to put him through. "I'm here to do a job, and I'm already behind. So if you're done asking about my 'Asian secrets,' I'd really appreciate it if I could just go back to my damn hotel and stop being interrogated."
He leaned forward just slightly, his tone no longer teasing but sharp, laced with the frustration that had been building since he stepped off the plane. "And next time you ask me about martial arts or any other ridiculous stereotype, I'm sending you straight to the director of the International Bureau of Dumbass Questions. Got it?"
The officer's smile faltered as he realized Eun-jae wasn't in the mood to entertain his questions. "Right... sorry. Just... trying to make conversation, you know."
Eun-jae's lips curled into a small, tight smile. "Yeah, well, I'm not the person to have a conversation with. Unless you've got something useful to say, I'd rather not waste my time."
The officer backed off a little, probably realizing that poking the bear any further wasn't going to get him anywhere. The first officer, who had been quietly observing the exchange, cleared his throat. "Alright, Nikolai. We're wrapping things up here. Your luggage is ready, and we'll take you to your hotel. Let's get this over with."
Eun-jae stood up, his muscles sore from the rough night. "Finally," he muttered under his breath, grabbing his bag. As he walked toward the door, he couldn't help but think, "I can't wait to get out of here. Just me, my bed, and a few hours of peace before I have to dive back into this mess."