the seraphim paradox

Caesar didn't respond right away. He just kept driving, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his laughter lingering in the air like smoke—low, rich, utterly infuriating.

And then, finally, he spoke.

"Oh, nothing… just… you."

That chuckle. That fucking chuckle.

Eun-jae swore he felt his soul leave his body for a second.

Me? ME?! This bastard just ripped a man's face off, threw another one out of a moving car, shot a woman in the head like it was nothing, and fucking crashed through a METAL GATE—AND HE THINKS I'M FUNNY?!

He sat there, blinking, trying to process the sheer, unhinged, batshit insanity of it all. The car still smelled like blood and gunpowder, his ankle was throbbing like a bitch, there was fucking glass in his hair, and yet somehow, he was the thing that amused Caesar?

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I miss the joke?" Eun-jae scoffed, arms crossing as he leaned forward, his tone laced with pure, unfiltered sarcasm. "Because I don't remember doing anything remotely fucking funny. But please, enlighten me, oh great and terrifying Caesar, what exactly about me is so goddamn hilarious?"

Caesar's smirk didn't fade. If anything, it deepened.

"Everything."

Eun-jae groaned, dragging a frustrated hand down his face. Oh my God. Oh my actual fucking God.

He didn't know what was worse—the fact that they had just barely escaped certain death, or the fact that Caesar was clearly enjoying every second of this.

"You are so fucking insufferable," Eun-jae muttered, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes, trying—really fucking trying—to keep what little was left of his sanity intact.

Caesar chuckled again. That deep, amused, endlessly entertained chuckle.

And Eun-jae?

Eun-jae was going to need a stronger drink.

2:20 AM – Local Hotel

The dimly lit bathroom was filled with the steady rhythm of falling water, the sound echoing against the sleek marble tiles. Steam curled in the air, clinging to the mirrors, distorting the reflections like a fevered dream. The only figure within that haze was Caesar—standing beneath the cascading shower spray, his head tilted downward, droplets sliding down the hard, sculpted planes of his body.

The water traced the ridges of his muscles, streaming down the length of his broad shoulders, rolling over his chest, disappearing into the deep grooves of his abdomen before slipping lower. Every inch of his body was marked by both time and violence—old wounds, fresh bruises, scars carved into his skin like a brutal roadmap of survival.

But none were as striking as the ink.

Across his broad, powerful back, an intricate tattoo sprawled across his skin, etched into him like a legacy he could never erase. A two-headed snake, its sinuous body coiling around a crown, both heads poised with fangs bared—one shimmering gold, regal and pristine, the other black as the void, sinister and unyielding. Between them, a dagger pierced through the crown, splitting royalty in two—a silent omen, a message carved in blood and venom.

As the water continued its relentless descent, it dripped down the jagged contours of his chest, flowing over yet another mark of power—The Two-Headed Eagle. Its wings spread wide across his chest, a symbol of dominance, of reign, of something old and unwavering. One claw clutched a dagger, sharp and merciless, the other grasped scales, the ever-tilted weight of justice. And in the very center—the crest of the Karpov-Troitsky family. A name that still sent tremors through the underworld, a name drenched in both history and infamy.

Caesar lifted a hand, raking his fingers through his damp blonde hair, pushing it back as beads of water clung to the ends before falling away. His lips curled—not in a smile, not in amusement, but something more elusive. Something darker.

Then, a chuckle.

Low, deep, hollow.

The sound reverberated through the enclosed space, a cruel whisper in the suffocating steam. His reflection in the fogged-up mirror barely showed a face anymore—just a silhouette, a phantom of a man who had long since stopped being just flesh and bone.

Caesar exhaled slowly, the warmth of the water doing nothing to ease the ice in his veins. He was already thinking ahead. Already calculating. Already planning.

Because this wasn't over.

Eun-jae exhaled through his nose, his patience running thinner than a threadbare carpet as he sat at the small hotel table, glaring down at his swollen ankle submerged in a bowl of ice cubes. The cold bit at his skin like a thousand tiny needles, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the dimly lit room.

"Ugh, it's so damn cold," he grumbled internally, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to yank his foot out. But pain was better than limping like a broken doll.

His eyes flickered toward the closed bathroom door, where the sound of running water still filled the air. The culprit of his current suffering was in there, probably scrubbing off the remnants of the night's chaos as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, here he was, a victim of that lunatic's reckless decisions, nursing a twisted ankle because someone thought it would be fun to fling him out of a goddamn window.

"This is all that bastard's fault," Eun-jae fumed, shifting slightly in his chair and wincing at the dull throb in his foot. "And there he is, standing under a hot shower, probably humming to himself like he didn't just yeet me into midair like a sack of trash. Freaking lunatic."

His glare deepened.

If there was any silver lining to this ridiculous situation, it was that Caesar's credit card worked flawlessly. Ice cubes? Paid. Painkillers from the minibar? Paid.

"Honestly, if that card had been declined, I don't even know what I would've done. Limped to the reception desk and flirted my way into a free stay? No, actually, scratch that—I'd have found that bastard's wallet and sold one of his fancy rings on the black market."

Then, the sound of a lock clicking broke his thoughts.

The bathroom door swung open, releasing a wave of residual steam into the room. Caesar stepped out, fully dressed—a crisp white shirt tucked into dark slacks, sleeves lazily rolled up to his forearms, platinum blonde hair slightly damp but effortlessly styled.

Eun-jae blinked.

"Wait… fully dressed?"

He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as he studied the man. Something about this felt… off.

"Is he shy or something?" he wondered, his lips twitching in amusement. "No way. A man like Caesar doesn't get shy. If anything, he's the type to step out in a towel, or worse, stark naked just to make a point. But nope—fully dressed, buttoned up, prim and proper like some gentleman with a sense of modesty. Unbelievable."

Eun-jae's gaze lingered, curiosity momentarily overtaking his irritation. He didn't understand it. "Why go through the trouble? We're both men, it's not like there's anything to hide. Hell, if I had his body, I'd walk around shirtless for the sheer fun of it. Ah well, whatever. None of my business."

His stare must have lasted a second too long because suddenly—

Caesar turned his head, locking eyes with him.

The sharp blue of his irises glowed under the dim lighting, his expression unreadable. Then, a smirk.

He reached for the whiskey bottle on the table, fingers curling around the glass, and as he poured himself a drink, his voice came low and teasing.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Caesar mused, swirling the liquor in his glass before taking a sip. His smirk widened. "Are you trying to get me hard by staring so intensely?"

Eun-jae blinked.

Then scoffed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

He rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw the back of his skull. Why was he even surprised at this point?

"In your dreams, Caesar," Eun-jae deadpanned, shifting in his seat as he adjusted his foot in the ice. "Trust me, if I ever wanted to get someone hard, I'd do a hell of a lot more than just stare."

Caesar chuckled, tilting his glass toward him in an almost mock salute. "Is that so?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

But he wasn't here to play word games all night. He had questions—questions that had been nagging at him since the moment they left that godforsaken mansion.

Eun-jae straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening.

"I have some things I need to ask you," he said, voice steady.

Caesar arched an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk. "Oh? Is this an interrogation now?"

"Maybe," Eun-jae shrugged, his fingers drumming against the table. "Depends on how cooperative you are."

Caesar let out another amused chuckle, the sound rich and dark, before setting his glass down.

"Alright then, agent. I'm all ears."

Eun-jae didn't waste time.

"Tell me who you really are."

The question hung in the air for a moment, charged with weight. Caesar's smirk remained, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something calculating.

Eun-jae leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Because from the looks of things, you don't strike me as a normal agent. Let's be real—no agent I know gets an invitation to a high-profile event like that without pulling some serious strings."

He tilted his head, studying Caesar's expression for a crack, a tell, anything.

"And then there's the little matter of the secret passageway—" Eun-jae's lips curved slightly. "You knew about it like the back of your hand. Like you've been through that mansion more times than you can count. That's not something a random agent just happens to know."

He crossed his arms, arching a brow.

"And finally—" he smirked slightly, his voice dipping into something smug. "The way you mingled with the male guests? Seamless. Effortless. As if it's something you do all the time. Makes me wonder just how many rooms you've slipped into at these types of events."

Caesar laughed.

Not a chuckle this time—a full, deep laugh, like he had just heard the most amusing thing in the world. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly.

"Oh, Eun-jae," he mused, still grinning. "You really are something."

Eun-jae didn't flinch. He kept his stare locked on Caesar, waiting.

"So?" he prompted.

Caesar took another slow sip of whiskey before setting the glass down. Then, with a glint of amusement in his gaze, he finally spoke.

Caesar's voice was silk laced with something darker, something dangerous. He leaned back into his seat, the dim glow of the hotel lamp casting sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the almost lazy confidence in his smirk. Like a man who already knew the outcome of this conversation before it even began.

Eun-jae exhaled slowly through his nose, watching him carefully.

"This bastard…"

There was something about Caesar that set his nerves on edge, but not in the way most people did. It wasn't just his unpredictability or his obvious arrogance—it was the way he twisted words, stretched them, shaped them into something that made perfect sense even when you knew it was bullshit. Like he could tell you the sky was green, and within five minutes, you'd find yourself nodding along, convinced you'd been blind this whole time.

Caesar was a man who never let others control the narrative.

And Eun-jae hated that.

"Oh, Eun-jae," Caesar sighed, reaching for his whiskey again. "You're asking all the wrong questions."

Eun-jae's fingers curled slightly, his patience thinning by the second. "Funny. I thought I was being pretty damn direct."

Caesar chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. His every move was deliberate, like a man who always had time on his side.

"Direct? Maybe." He tapped a finger against the rim of his glass. "But direct doesn't always mean correct, does it?"

Eun-jae scoffed. "Oh, here we go."

It was just like Caesar to take a simple question and turn it into some philosophical debate. A distraction tactic. Classic.

"Don't dance around the question, Tsar." Eun-jae leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. "Who are you, really?"

Caesar smirked.

"You already know the answer to that."

"No, I know the version of you that you want me to see." Eun-jae's eyes narrowed. "The agent. The smooth-talking, suit-wearing bastard who seems to have connections in places that don't make sense. But then there's the other you—the one who navigated that mansion like it was built for him, the one who got an invitation to an event he shouldn't have had access to. The one who didn't even flinch when things went sideways, like you've lived through worse. So tell me—who the hell am I dealing with?"

Caesar tilted his head slightly, watching him the way a cat watches a mouse right before deciding if it's worth the chase.

"You're sharp, I'll give you that," he mused. "But you're looking at this all wrong, my dear agent."

Eun-jae barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the 'my dear agent' part. It was so damn patronizing, but that was exactly the kind of person Caesar was. Always talking like he was above it all, like everyone else was just a little slower, a little less aware of the grand game being played.

"Enlighten me, then," Eun-jae drawled, crossing his arms.

Caesar smirked, setting his drink down with a soft clink before leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a secret.

"You assume my presence at that event was some kind of anomaly. That I don't belong in those circles." His smirk widened. "But what if I told you I do?"

Eun-jae's jaw tensed.

"Bullshit."

Caesar chuckled. "You wound me."

"You don't just 'belong' in places like that. That event wasn't for ordinary agents. That was the kind of room filled with people who have power. People who decide things. People who—"

"Exactly."

Eun-jae paused.

"Well then… where should I begin?"

"since you're so eager to know, I'll indulge you."

He exhaled as if this was a burden—like he was sharing something deep, something personal. A well-rehearsed performance.

"I'm a businessman," he began smoothly. "I built my empire from the ground up—no shortcuts, no silver spoon. My father was a military officer, my mother… well, she was Sarah, so you can imagine the expectations." His voice dipped slightly, just enough to add a layer of wistfulness, like there was some tragic past he never talked about. "But I wasn't interested in inheriting some outdated aristocratic title. No, I wanted more."

His eyes flickered toward Eun-jae, watching his expression carefully.

"So, I left. I moved to Russia when I was just a teenager. Had nothing but my name and my ambition," he continued, his voice rich with fabricated struggle. "Started small—import, export. Legitimate business, of course." He let out a light chuckle, as if to downplay the obvious implications. "From there, I expanded. Real estate. Private security. Investments."

He made a vague hand gesture, as if to say, you know how it is.

"Eventually, I built something powerful. The kind of power people respect. Fear." He let that last word roll off his tongue slowly, deliberately.

Eun-jae remained silent, watching him.

Caesar's lips curled slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Of course, people like to whisper. They love their little conspiracy theories. 'Oh, Caesar isn't just a businessman. He's something else.'" He laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. "I let them believe whatever they want. It's amusing, really."

Then, as if sensing the skepticism in Eun-jae's eyes, he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering.

"You see, Eun-jae, men like me don't need to hide behind masks. Everything I do is in plain sight. The problem is—" He tilted his head. "People like you just don't want to see it."

A smirk. A glint of amusement in his icy blue eyes.

"And that's what makes this game so fun."

Caesar leaned back again, watching him with an expression that was entirely too smug for someone who had just been accused of being a liar.

"You're smart, Eun-jae. You'd figure it out eventually." He picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip before continuing. "That wasn't just a social gathering. That was a room full of decision-makers. Of course I had an invitation."

Eun-jae's fingers twitched against the table.

"You—" Eun-jae's voice was slower now, his mind racing through the implications. "You're not just some agent."

"Never claimed to be."

Eun-jae exhaled sharply.

He hated this.

He hated that Caesar never outright lied—he just let people assume the wrong things.

"Son of a bitch."

"So what are you, then?" Eun-jae pressed.

Caesar simply smiled.

"Let's just say… I'm someone who doesn't like taking orders from people who think they're in control."

Eun-jae's stomach twisted.

There it was. The real answer buried under layers of carefully chosen words.

"You don't take orders," Eun-jae murmured, eyes scanning Caesar's face. "You give them."

Caesar simply clinked his glass against the table. "Now you're getting it."

Eun-jae felt like the floor had just shifted beneath him.

He had assumed Caesar was some rogue agent, maybe a spy with questionable loyalties, but this? This was something else.

"He's not working under someone. He's working for himself."

Which meant—

Caesar had power. Real power. The kind that wasn't granted—it was taken.

Eun-jae swallowed, leaning back in his chair. For the first time, he felt like he had underestimated the man sitting across from him.