Never Break The Chain

by Anonymous

Summary:

At twelve, Vasily started to have strange dreams. He thought it was just a bad omen when he saw that dying man over and over again, causing him heart ache and panic when he realized he had already fallen for someone he shouldn’t have and probably never existed.

Except he had really found him.

In this series, Vasily had a vague idea about his past life and met Ogata in the first part (probably should read it first). He went to Japan to sort things out, but got dragged into more chaos.

Chapter 1

Life is hard—that's practically a universal truth. Except for Vasily.

For him, life was easy. Had been, at least.

He had a knack for bending the world's unfair, impossible rules, effortlessly. People claimed the class divide was unbridgeable, especially in education, yet he still got into, or rather, was begged to attend the best schools, all because academics wanted him to win them medals. Some said making a decent living in this economy was impossible, but he'd already made more money than he knew how to spend—limited only by the imagination of a working-class kid who'd never come up with the lavish ideas. And it wasn't like he'd sold his soul to the devil. He just sold patents, when he got bored.

His intuition was unmatched. The buyer had even complimented him the day they shook hands and signed the contract, right before the obscene string of zeros landed in his bank account. Vasily should've been stunned, but he just shrugged. "I guess."

He never told anyone his real secret.

At twelve, the dreams started. Weird ones. Not that dreams were unusual for a teenage boy—most were either thrilling or embarrassingly horny. He began dreaming of strangers' faces from distant lands he'd never seen, even though he didn't live near any Asian communities. He figured it was just his brain processing the manga his math camp roommate had lent him. Around the same time, he noticed something else, that his chest would tighten whenever a beautiful man appeared in those dreams.

He'd wake up flushed, half-hard, and panicking—because, great, he had to rethink about his identities, which were probably not always prevailing.

That wasn't exactly the secret. People had eyes, but Vasily wasn't scared. He knew he was privileged, because the world would forgive him. They needed his skills, and would just look the other way. Or maybe they just expected a tech genius to be a little weird—the real secret to success, maybe.

Although, was it really so hard for a kid to outsmart his peers when he had possessed the memories of a battle-worn soldier? A man who'd survived the twentieth century's chaos—wars, famines, empires and unions collapsing like rotten timber. He'd thought he was done with all that. The twenty-first century was supposed to be different. No more hunger, no more barbarism. They had the Internet now, translators, instant communication—surely humanity would stop gutting each other over misunderstandings.

Turned out, nothing had really changed. The fault was within humanity itself, and no orbiting of stars could make a difference.

He realized too late that the "meeting" he'd been invited to was not academic or business, but about an invasion. The discussion was about taking down major infrastructure with remote hacks.

A smarter man would've walked away, refusing with a simple "not interested," and they might've let him be. But something had gotten under his skin that day. Maybe it was his grandmother's shaky call from Kyiv, her voice tight with fear. Maybe it was the fact that any script kiddie could've pulled this off, with or without him. Or maybe he's again so arrogant to believe he could alter the fates of others, however inevitable, against the crushing of machines.

So he signed up, and then deliberately blew the plan all to hell.

Point is, Vasily should've been living it up right now, wasting his life in luxury, bouncing between clubs, befriending celebrities, maybe buying some resort where he could flaunt a boyfriend in the most homophobic country imaginable and still get away with his VIP exception.

Instead, he was stuck in Ilya's basement, eating instant noodles, ten thousand miles away from home and waiting for his asylum status to clear.

Worse? His assets were frozen. Not that he hadn't planned ahead—some funds offshore, some on-chain, the usual.

But someone high up had yanked the rug out, locking him out of his own wallets. Technically it was almost impossible—if they wanted to get to him, they had to find his encrypted online presence on the chain first. Then they would need to present proves to the exchanges to freeze his account. Anything could go wrong in the process, if he himself tried to do the same to some other guy. More than that was the humiliation. He was supposed to be the best at this game, and yet here he was, outplayed.

Ilya never let him forget what a leech he'd become. If not for the vague promise of repayment and the sympathy from their little runaway community, the old man would've kicked him out months ago. Vasily couldn't even blame him. The odds of him bouncing back were laughable, and he was useless on the farm, picking the grapes when they were still sour, getting in fight with wild geese when he wanted to observe closely. And he definitely couldn't remind Ilya that he'd already watch him bleed dry once a lifetime ago.

Nobody else remembered the last hundred years. At least, he hadn't met anyone who did.

When he saw that familiar face at the con, he nearly let out a squeal embarrassing enough to shame a starstruck fangirl, if not hiding his face in case that the government agents were still looking for him. He burned to know—how much did Ogata remember?

It was hard to say how much he'd changed. In his teenage dreams, the details had been fuzzy—just a white hood, a shadowed figure. But as memories resurfaced, the image sharpened: black slicked-back hair, porcelain skin, that infuriating smirk, and, for some reason, a gun that always aimed at Vasily's face. Other than that, he only saw the man lying in his arms. He was not breathing.

Vasily didn't remember much else.

Had they been close in that past life? They must've been. He couldn't imagine the scenario of two guys being together, from two countries at war in an even more backwater age. But why else would Ogata haunt him, even when they had been buried in the graves, now again walking on this earth and still managed to crash into each other through the crowd?

He couldn't shake the feeling of regret in the dream, when the body was turning cold in his arms. The bleeding from the eye and his own heart. The crushing what-ifs. He couldn't repeat that, letting the man slipping through his fingers again. Not this time.

Except this Ogata remembered nothing.

So when Ogata invited him to his hotel room and they burned through the night, Vasily couldn't decide if he was flattered or terrified. Even now, it felt like a fever dream. Had it even happened? But then—how else would he know the mole behind Ogata's neck, the dip of his waist under his palms?

He might come up with nothing yet, but what—what could explain the tremor when Ogata had again held his old rifle in hand, their connection clicked back on naturally, and his breath hitched at his sudden power over Vasily's life and death?

Under his digital pen reappeared the same face that had been there once and again, lost and found in the passage of centuries.

"Still not over your little obsession? Ilya had deadpanned, spotting the pictures on Vasily's pad.

No. It wasn't enough. Touching Ogata again wasn't a want anymore—it was oxygen, water, the basic elements for survival. You don't just stop thirsting when you're still alive.

"This is stupid," Ilya warned as Vasily stuffed clothes into a backpack. "You're only months from a green card. And you don't really know this guy."

Vasily zipped the bag shut. "I don't want to be American."

And that's how he ended up—lost in the Tokyo crowd, swallowed by the tidal wave of bodies at Shibuya Crossing. The déjà vu was unsettling. He checked his phone. Last message from Ogata was from one month ago, when they were still talking.

Their texts had been sporadic at best. Ogata would ignore him for hours, then maybe just as suddenly, he would demand nudes in broad daylight. Time zones, probably. Not that Vasily cared if his pics got leaked. He had nothing to be ashamed of himself.

But Ogata's interest had faded like a dying signal.

"I'm coming next Wednesday."

"Where do you live?"

"Are you going to see me?"

All unread. It was a miracle the texts even delivered.

People eyed him, whispering. Just another clueless foreigner, they probably thought—some white guy who'd taken a fancy in Japan and now stood paralyzed by its reality. They would think so, naturally, as it was the truth in most circumstances. So when he ordered in Japanese, and the waitress gasped like he'd performed a magic trick.

"Your Japanese is so good!"

Doubtful. The Japanese were painfully polite. Still, he wasn't sure if it was considerate or condescending when she brought him a fork for his ramen.

He ate it anyway. Twelve hours in economy with airline food had left him starving. No time to waste—he'd barely stopped at Narita before bolting to the city, ground zero for his hunt.

He'd already missed the sakura season. Early summer had taken over, the cherry blossoms long gone, replaced by thick green canopies shading the street. On the sidewalks, tourists and locals packed shoulder-to-shoulder, as there seemed to be a long holiday here, and Vasily could swear that he had never seen so many people at once in his lifetimes.

He ignored the urge to gawk and pushed forward, GPS in hand, backpack digging into his shoulders. His destination was an upscale apartment that was not far from Legion7's headquarter in Shibuya. Ogata had once mentioned hitting the gym there before sending a shameless mirror pic of his abs. Vasily had cross-referenced every high-end building with a fitness center in the area.

Would've been easier if Ogata hadn't been this carefully guarded his personal information

It took days for Vasily downloading and scouring through a leaked database of express companies for delivery records. The express companies didn't require real names and had taken caution to desensitize phone numbers, and all he could get his dirty hands on was the tedious list of purchase records and all these crazy usernames.

What nickname would Ogata use? His given name? Unlikely. Something trying so hard to look cool? Or—Vasily snorted—something cute?

He typed "cat" into the search bar.

Fifty thousand Japanese people popped up.

Three sleepless nights later, surrounded by empty cereal boxes and energy drink cans, he finally hit gold. It was a recent order for Russian language textbooks, firearm manuals, Melville, Mishima, and—bizarrely—a book on mindfulness.

Vasily's lips twitched. Of course. Now he couldn't think of what other kind of books Ogata would read.

He wondered why he started to learn the language.

Standing outside the apartment building, Vasily fired off one last message. "Look out, I'm outside ur apartment."

He knew how it sounded—more like a threat than a romantic pleading.

If Ogata pretended not to see it? He could just go up. Well, he didn't exactly have copy the key to the apartment or even the entry to the building, and the security was probably maintained with actual caution here in this country. Alright. He'd wait. Not like the man could avoid his own apartment forever. Sooner or later, he'd have to come home, unless he planned to abandon all his possessions and flee the country at the sight of Vasily's face.

The message was read instantly, this time.

Ogata's reply came fast, and hurtful, "I don't live in Tokyo anymore, dumbass."

Vasily blinked. He'd actually run. Again. Why? Where did he…? Well if it meant he had to track him again, difficult but not impossible, he would—

Another text, "Moved to Sapporo."

And then, as if reading Vasily's mind, as if so sure he would hop right onto the next flight (he did, and the emergency ticket purchase was insanely overpriced), Ogata added, "I'll pick you up at the airport."

At the New Chitose Airport, Vasily nearly sprinted off the plane before catching himself, slowing to a too-casual walk as passengers eyed him. Outside, the Hokkaido night air was crisp, needling his skin.

Then he saw him.

Ogata leaned against a sleek imported electric car—the kind bought for showing off, not exactly for practicality—wearing nothing more than a thin blazer, hunched slightly against the cold. He was almost curling himself into a small ball. The sight sent Vasily's pulse skittering and blood go to places—for now just his face, flushing like some teen meeting his online crush for the first time.

Ogata didn't speak, just popped the trunk with a remote click for the luggage. "Get in."

Vasily obeyed, sliding into the passenger seat—Japan drove on the left? Weird.

He stared at Ogata, expectant.

Ogata didn't look at him, though, occupied himself with activating the autopilot to leave the parking lot. He muttered something, "Seatbelt."

"You're so nice," Vasily chirped, strapping himself up and fumbling for the buckle slot.

"Car won't start if your belt isn't fastened." Ogata said flatly, still remain the indifference in his tongue.

"I mean," Vasily pressed, "I half-expected you to ghost me completely."

Ogata only snorted, as if a certain image had crossed his mind. "And let you keep stalking me? A little pathetic to watch."

Vasily paused. "You basically tell me to come here, you know."

Ogata finally glanced at him, lazy, amused, over the Vasily's awkward sitting position in the small car. "Still, you could've stayed in Tokyo. Or California. But here you are." A smirk. "Was that fuck really that good?"

Ogata's laugh was short, clipped, like he'd caught himself mid-sound. In the car's dim light, Vasily finally noticed it—two fresh, symmetrical scars framing his chin.

The realization hit like a punch.

Vasily had only ever known Ogata in fragments—glimpses from dreams, half-remembered from another life. He'd pieced him together after meeting him in person, but something always felt missing.

Now he understood.

Those scars. They matched exactly the shadow from his nightmares, the figure from his feverish teenage dreams.

"When did you get these?" Vasily reached out, hovering just shy of touching.

Ogata snorted. "After moving here, right after the US trip." His hands rested on the steering wheel. "Took your advice—can't work for people who had leverage over you—and found a new gig up here."

"What happened?" Vasily had no memory of how Ogata got those scars last time. Somehow, he'd always assumed they were just part of him.

"Got run over by some delivery guy." Ogata scratched his nose. "Guy didn't even have insurance. That's just sad." A pause, when he his smile began to resemble one from the Cheshire Cat, neglecting the stretch on the stitches. "You'd like how I got compensated, though."

Vasily didn't really like the hint in his tone. He had a faint hunch who and where this was going to be.

"Actually," Ogata added, casual as if the idea had just drifted across his mind, "he invited me over for Golden Week."

Vasily's fingers dug into his knees. He hadn't flown across the ocean just to sit idle while Ogata played house with some random guy for the entire week.

"Can I come, though?" If there was going to be a fight, he needed to be informed, and prepared.

Ogata glanced at him like he'd asked why the sky was blue.

"Obviously. You're staying with me, aren't you?"

The moment they crossed threshold, Vasily tried to push Ogata against the door, only for the man to slip away from his grip like fish into the sea, disappearing into the bathroom with a flick of the shower switch.

Left alone, Vasily stood there, listening to the rush of water, a dopey grin spreading across his face. He toed off his shoes, miraculously remembering to leave them at the door, and took in Ogata's apartment with something like awe.

It was pristine.

His own places had always been hurricane-swept disasters. Growing up, he was forced to share a room with his sister, who'd yelled herself hoarse for having to take the mother's role and pick after him for the messes he left. He had to repetitively justify himself that he was not the "irresponsible man" she accused of—he had his own system. Their Khrushchyovka was small, and his collection of "trash"—her accusation again—was vast. Even after moving to Saint Petersburg for school, then later when he was financially capable to rent his own studio, he'd treated living spaces like extended workbenches, sleeping where he coded, eating over keyboards.

But this? This was a grown-up's home.

The kitchen gleamed with unused high-end appliances, the dining room sporting a dustless wine rack. The furniture matched—actual coordinated sets, likely picked by some overpaid interior designer. The space felt both lavish and empty, like a showroom. Guess he wasn't kidding about just moving in.

Vasily hesitated about where he should put his dirty backpack, eyeing between the vase-decorated dining table and the cream-colored fur rug by the sofa. If they fucked on that sofa—genuine leather, Jesus—Ogata might actually skin him.

Scratching his hair, he flopped onto the couch and grabbed the game controller.

He turned it on and went over the library. Ogata's latest progress seemed to have been stuck on a historical revenge game for weeks—started from months ago, and still only had finished about half of the checkpoints? He came to recall that Ogata had mentioned something about losing interests in the childish pursuit of rankings. It appeared that he was just not getting any better.

Vasily started a new save, stretching back cozily as the opening cinematic played. The narrator's voice was calm, melodic, though his jet-lagged brain barely caught maybe one word in three, assuming he had the vocabulary to understand it all.

The room was warm. Steam curled under the bathroom door. Somewhere beyond it, Ogata was—

Naked. Wet. Close.

The thought tangled with the TV's blue glow, the sofa hugging his ass, the comfort and safety of being here, wanted, waited for. It was so stupidly perfect like everything he had ever wanted for his life, that he didn't even see the title screen before he passed out.

Vasily woke to the sound of pained grunts and the clatter of metals from the sound system. He blinked, disoriented—when had he slid onto the floor, curling up like a dog by Ogata's feet?

The room was still dark, lit only by the flickering glow of the game screen. Above him, Ogata sat rigid on the couch, bathrobe loosely tied, glaring at the TV with an expression caught between concentration and murder. It was hard to tell if he was pissed by the fact that Vasily had fallen asleep before he even got out of the bath.

Vasily uncurled from the rug and clambered onto the couch, draping himself over Ogata's lap like an overly affectionate stray.

"Get off." Ogata jabbed an elbow into his ribs without looking away from the screen. "I'm about to win this time."

Fair enough. Vasily leaned back, watching the ninja avatar slash through enemies with a glowing sword. Ogata's fingers were moving precise and lethal over the controls.

To Vasily, these brutally difficult solo games were tedious—die instantly, or die to some trash mob for carelessly letting one's guard down right after beating a boss—designed with malicious intentions, and purely for the enjoyment of the masochists.

But Ogata now seemed to be transfixed. His pupils swallowed the screen's light, his nose scrunched in focus, his breath held as the boss's health bar inched downward.

"Stop staring," he snapped suddenly, finally blinking. "You enjoy watching me lose?"

For one, it wasn't entirely untrue. But the real thrill was this, seeing him up close, unguarded, in a private way no one else would have the privilege.

Ogata's hair hung damp and loose, strands clinging to his forehead. There's a tiny cartoon duck on the lapel of his bathrobe. The way the robe cinched tight at his waist, the reveal of a sliver stripe of skin on his bare chest—that could be the accidental or deliberate. Vasily's fingers twitched. Was that smoothness natural, or did he go through the trouble and pain to have them waxed clean? His mind flashed to the touch of Ogata's skin under his grip—

"Can I at least suck you off?" The words tumbled out, unfiltered and came directly from whatever was playing in his mind. But it was not his mind doing the talking right now, after all.

Ogata flinched, his grip on the controller tightening. For a second, Vasily thought he'd actually roll his eyes and tell him off since the boss fight wasn't over.

"No one's stopping you," Ogata muttered, not even glancing away from the screen.

Happily, Vasily dropped himself on the carpet again after being granted with the permission, his knees sinking into the plush fur, his brain vaguely processed the possibility that it was purchased for the exact purpose, and slotted himself between Ogata's thighs, cupping the roundness of his knees that just fit in his palms.

A giddy noise escaped him when he realized Ogata hadn't bothered putting on underwear.

Ogata's body wasn't responding yet, but that was half the fun. Vasily closed his eyes, humming nonsense against skin before taking him in—slow, savoring the clean, faintly fruity taste from bath, the way his dick was still soft that it could be engulfed all in. He enjoyed the sensation of the growth inside his mouth until he couldn't keep it in without risking losing his exhalation.

He gave a few sharp sucks, and Ogata's breath hitched above him. But the man was stubborn, refused to acknowledge the effect on him. Instead, he braced his elbows on Vasily's shoulders, controller clicking furiously, acting for all the world like this was just a convenient armrest.

Oh, it was on.

Vasily glanced up. Ogata's lips were pressed white, his gaze locked rigidly on the screen, deliberately avoiding looking down—except for the telltale way his eyes darted, just once, and thought it wouldn't be noticed.

Grinning, Vasily dragged his tongue in broad, wet stripes across the head, swiftly, repetitively, until the velvety skin jumped uncontrollably against his lips. Just pushing the tip in, he launched his attacks, flicking swiftly at that sweet spot beneath the crown and venturing deep inside the seam with a ruthless efficiency. His hand worked at the base, thumb pressing into throbbing veins as precome started to pool on his tongue. Intoxicated by the bitter taste, his tongue began to swirl and scoop it up, and then swallowed greedily.

It was drinking nectar for him. He only needed to focus on this single, simple task at hand, and in the end, he would get his long-awaited award.

Ogata's thighs trembled like bowstrings, his balls drawn up dangerously tight. Vasily palmed them gently, almost chuckling at their desperate weight. He wouldn't last another minute. In triumph, he could hold the fact over Ogata's head for a long time.

Then came the shift. He felt Ogata's gaze burning into him. Vasily glanced up through his lashes, somehow felt the necessity to make full use of the rare chance to put on a show of pink tongue darting on the well-tortured sensitive skin for one last taunting circle—

"Fu—"

The curse shattered as Ogata came, hot stripes painting Vasily's chin in uneven bursts.

Vasily sat back on his heels, swiping across his lips before licking his fingers clean. In his periphery, Ogata stared—that rare, unguarded shock twisting his features. Vasily grinned, waiting for his praise.

What came instead was flat. "You ruined the game."

Not exactly what he had been waiting for. The controller lay abandoned somewhere, and the screen showed "YOU DIED" in crimson, reminding of yet another failure. Ogata's expression darkened, despite having just been pampered by every trick Vasily had learned from all his previous encounters.

Rolling his eyes, Ogata stood. Vasily followed closely on his heel—finally going to the bedroom for his turn. He had missed it so much. The months of separation had driven him mad with the wanton and the memory of that night, that he had pressed down on the firm body and watched the stoic composure shattered and—

The door slammed in his face.

"What—?" He didn't understand what was happening at first. He'd earned this, hadn't he? But Ogata never promised anything. That shouldn't become a problem, in any of his predictions.

"You sleep on the couch." The words were iced steel through the door.

Vasily forced himself to breathe in slowly. Fine. If it was what he preferred. He then exhaled again, smiling. Although hadn't had his wildest dreams fulfilled, the day had already paid him more than what he had bargained for. It was better than eighty percent of outcomes from his strategic evaluation before he departed.

Collapsing back onto the couch, he surrendered to the lingering scent, pulled out his cracked Android phone, and began sorting through neglected emails. Patient. Always patient.

Notes:

I’ve always wanted to write a fic that reflects the real, contemporary world, the generation growing up listening to Born this way and having to deal with this??? Anyway it’s jusss my take it’s only going to get more out of character from here😹

Chapter 2

The weather was perfect.

The forest was of impossible scale, their trunks stretching upward until they vanished into the cloud, untouched by axes or time.

He craned his neck. No end in sight. Next to these giants, he was a mayfly, insignificant size and lifespan in comparison.

Then came the realization:  they were no mere trees, but more like what they had in northern religions, that the trees connected human history and everyone that had ever lived in it. Each ridge represented a year, and each crack a heartbeat. Above, the wind stirred the canopy, unfolding every living being's unique experience of joy, sorrow, love and loss. They twirled on unseen currents, slow and weightless, before settling into the earth below.

To sleep. To dream.

To begin again.

At first, he mistook the distant, whispering sizzle for another breeze, until the wildfire arrived in thick black coils, its hungry tongue licking at centuries of fallen leaves. Smoke clogged his throat, acid and ash, as he doubled over coughing—no, they had yet to restart a new life—

Vasily jolted awake to a cough. The air was thick with the smell of something burning. He rolled off the couch, knees buckling against the smooth carpet, and staggered upright, looking for the source of fire. He turned, pulse hammering, but only to find Ogata utterly unfazed in the kitchen, poking at a toaster that spat ominous black tendrils into the air.

With a bored tap, Ogata flipped the switch on, and the ventilator whirred to life. He then slid the plate toward Vasily without looking up, before loading fresh bread into the toaster for himself.

Vasily thought he must be dreaming, finding Ogata prepare breakfast for him. He could feel a creepy grin threatening to spread across his face, if he wasn't struggling to choke down the pieces of bread that were nearly burnt to charcoal.

Ogata stood slumped against the counter in rumpled pajamas, cradling a coffee from his ridiculously advanced machine that would take care of grounding, brewing and frothing. He was still drowsy, steam curling around his face like a sleepy halo.

Vasily moved in for a morning snuggle, only to be met with an elbow to the ribs.

"Get off," Ogata mumbled around his mug, the rejection was lazy but clear. "There's disposable toothbrushes in the bathroom, if you didn't pack one."

Vasily tightened his embrace around Ogata's waist instead. His body fit there perfectly between his arms and chin. "Then we can make out after?"

"Not happening." Flipping two golden-brown toast slices onto a plate, Ogata reached for the jam with his free hand. "We've got about an hour's drive ahead. Holiday traffic's going to be hell."

The highway between Sapporo and Otaru flowed surprisingly smooth. The last few miles stretched along the coastline where sea met sky with a shimmering line. Sunlight poured through the tinted windows until Ogata thumbed the controls to slid open the sunroof and then slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

Salt-kissed air rushed in, carrying the distant cries of seagulls and the rhythmic whisper of waves. Early summer breeze played through Vasily's overgrown hair, now long enough to dance across his forehead, unrestrained.

He caught Ogata's profile in glimpses. The sharp line of his jaw relaxed behind those dark lenses, his fingers tapped an absent rhythm against the steering wheel. The electric car purred silently beneath, blending with Ogata's reassuring presence beside him. It felt like he was inside a car commercial, in which he had ever seen such views and companionship on the open roads.

He didn't want the drive to ever stop.

Still, when they pulled at the parking lot of a traditional inn, he didn't complain. His fingers still hovered over the VoyageInsight for the things they could do here. They could walk along the canel, to see the last cherry blooms before they vanished from this northern island completely.

He nearly forgot about the guy Ogata had mentioned earlier.

The man emerged from the inn's entrance wore a varsity jacket, athletically built, with a cap tilted on his spiky hair. His curious gaze settled on Vasily, causing an involuntary prickle of unease to crawl up the back of his neck, beyond mere jealousy or suspicion. Vasily knew he shouldn't feel threatened, but past experiences had taught him that this man was capable of pulling someone through shoji screens and effortlessly tossing them over his shoulder.

"You brought company?" He yelled at Ogata harshly as the man stepped out of the car with a swag Vasily was certain was not there a moment ago.

Ogata straightened up, lazily smoothing back his wind-tousled hair, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Yeah. He's chill. Do I need to introduce you two?"

Vasily took Sugimoto's somehow shaky, sweaty hand. "Do I know you?" The guy asked, not in a confident way that was usually expected from a jock like him. He then immediately realized his mistake—no way this foreigner would understand him. He shot Ogata an expectant look.

"You can get to know him better. Later." Ogata said with a smile that could probably indicate a conspiracy, already striding into the inn and leaving the others to handle his luggage.

In the lobby, Vasily sat stiffly, abandoned by Ogata who'd vanished to change. Sugimoto slid a chipped teacup toward him before returning to the front desk, fingers pecking at a keyboard with slow progress.

The room fell silence, only audible was the creak of aged wood, paper lanterns casting swaying shadows across tatami mats.

Vasily cleared his throat to break the awkwardness. "I speak some Japanese."

Sugimoto spun on his stool, eyebrows climbing. "Really?" He waved Vasily over. "Perfect. Help me with my English essay."

Vasily opened his mouth, about to remind him that it was neither his first language nor specialty, but found himself crossing the room anyway. The textbook splayed across the counter revealed an art history assignment—relieved to know he was at least not a high-schooler—dense literature reading that he was struggling with.

It was a little difficult to imagine the sporty young man would choose his major for cultural preservation. Vasily flipped through pages of Hokkaido's landscape and wildlife, revealing a print of a fading wildcat. His finger traced the dying feline's serene smile belying the blood streaking its fur. "You know this piece?" 

Sugimoto glanced up from the pages, somehow a little embarrassed. "Yes, but I don't really get it…What's the railway doing here? A metaphor, maybe?"

Vasily had attempted to recreate his renowned masterpiece in this lifetime. However, just as his once impeccable sharpshooting had faltered, he found he could not hold the charcoal in quite the same way. Marksmanship's perfection required shooting at real people on the battlefield, and art demanded practice—years of painstaking effort, in sadness and repetition. He had spent four decades repainting until he felt he had finally captured the scene he'd witnessed near the railway tracks with this small ball of fur.

He wouldn't expect anyone to understand it.

Sugimoto continued, "The artist had the same name with you, but it's a common name in Russia, right, Vasily-san?"

"He's also an artist, as it happens." A purring, sly and honeyed, sliced through the lobby. "Maybe he'll do a sketch for you. You know, the life drawing kind."

The teacup rattled against its saucer as Vasily's grip faltered. He turned so fast that his vision blurred. When it cleared—

Ogata leaned against the doorframe, transformed. The yukata draped over his frame had a deceptive simple tailoring, but the geometric floral pattern wasn't a common design among men. The obi cinched just tight enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath. This wasn't some borrowed inn garment but made with custom fitting, carefully transported for this exact moment.

Vasily's knees betrayed him. He stood without conscious thought, the stool screeching against hardwood as some invisible force yanked him toward Ogata. The scent of sandalwood and something indefinably Ogata flooded his senses as he closed the distance.

"You—" Vasily's throat clicked. "You packed this?"

Ogata's smirk deepened. He started to turn away, letting the silk whisper against his skin. "Problem?"

Behind them, Sugimoto choked on his tea.

Ogata rolled his eyes but let Vasily trail him into the room like a man under a spell. The door slid shut with a whisper, and Vasily was on him immediately, hands slipping beneath the yukata's collar, lips mapping the exposed line of his throat, teeth grazing the sharp jut of his collarbone.

Ogata's voice dripped with snarky amusement. "Fits your fantasy, doesn't it?"

Vasily barely paused, too busy relearning the feel of the biceps under his palms, focusing on the feeling of smooth skin over hard muscle. "...what?" he murmured against Ogata's pulse, not yet incomprehensive of the aspersion.

A chuckle, dark and knowing. "Isn't it why you are here? All those sketches of naked, muscular Samurais," The mocking tone wasn't lessened, even when the fingers were deftly combing through his hair and caressing the back of his neck. "Don't pretend like you don't understand what I'm talking about. Surely you have a special taste."

Vasily pulled back just enough to see Ogata's smirk—all teeth, razor-edged.

"Special taste?" Vasily countered, thumb brushing the hollow of Ogata's throat, and then retracted as if was burnt, finally realizing what had he been accused of. "No, no, listen, it's not about that. It's—"

The words tangled in Vasily's throat. How did people say these things? It's you—that I wanted, ever dreamed of, to meet, to talk, to know you better and to actually have you by my side—without sounding fake and crazy?

Ogata wasn't stopping, though. "You know, I can tell Sugimoto also take a fancy at you. Notice the way he took sneak peeks?" He leaned in, his finger tracing idle circles over Vasily's shirt, whispering seductively and lowly just within a breath's range. "I don't think he'll refuse, if you invite him."

This time, Ogata held his gaze—really held it, unlike all these times he hurriedly moved away when their eyes met—eyes black as spilled ink even in the sunlight streaming through the bamboo blinds. His lips quivered, a laugh trapped behind teeth concealed as a serious discussion of such possibility.

Vasily took a step back sharply. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Ogata blinked, somehow a little surprised. "He likes you," he insisted, but something brittle edged his tone.

"And not you?" Vasily's brow furrowed, the shadow deepened on his forehead.

A cold scoff out of Ogata's nostril. "Well, I've tried. Told him it didn't count if it's casual, but—" He pointed at his eyes, "—maybe he'd punched me in the face, but I can tell if a guy's curious." Half-turned away, Ogata put some distance between them, "You go, do the talk. Try act sweet." He took a glance at Vasily, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You know, your kind of move."

The words came from Vasily's mouth was jarring even to his own ear. "Don't you get it? I wasn't—"

"Oh I get it." The sneer split across Ogata's face, "That's alright. Don't worry about being topped by a manlier man—I'll let you two have me at the same time."

Vasily left the room with a shuddering sound when he slammed the door shut behind him.

Blood roared in his ears, his fingers twitching with the urge to seize Ogata by the throat and pin him to the wall until he stopped playing games. He wouldn't—couldn't become like his—only letting the heat of the impulse scorched through him.

He was going out in the yard to have a smoke to cool down. He fumbled in the wrong pocket and found the unopened box of condoms he hurriedly picked up at the airport convenience store. The sight sent him deeper into anguish. Already spent a day here, and he hadn't had the chance to make use of it. And now, while it might still happen, it was not in a way Vasily had envisioned. It was all wrong.

Then the wind shifted.

Beyond the shoji screens, a cherry bloom tree stood still. The blossoms clung to their branches in dense, snow-bright clusters. The gust tore through them, sending petals spiraling into the air. A million tiny pieces created a pink blizzard, thick as the winter storms of Vasily's northern hometown. They choked the courtyard in perfume, sticking to hair and lashes, burying the world in something overly tender.

His vision blurred, only partly from the pollen tickling his tear ducts. He'd imagined this scene a thousand times since Ogata actually replied to his message. It was even more beautiful than he'd ever pictured—almost too perfect, like something out of a movie, where props crew would make the petals from foam plastics. But then again, weren't people just recreating movie scenes from the greatest moments they had seen in life?

Except Ogata wasn't really here with him. He was only dozens of feet away, yet somehow still out of reach. He's here, but not for him.

Maybe his words weren't just hurtful, but true. Maybe Vasily had crossed the ocean to chase a fantasy, not the real person.

He was still rubbing his eyes when a massive truck rumbled into the yard, squeezing into the tight space like it had done it a thousand times before. The door swung open, and a small figure hopped down from the driver's seat. Without missing a beat, they started hauling out one overstuffed shopping bag after another from the truck bed—until they paused, catching sight of Vasily.

Then, with zero hesitation, the short person cupped their hands around the mouth and yelled, "Oiii, Sugimoto! Get your butt out here and help me! There's a foreigner crying in our yard!"

Vasily scrubbed at his face. No way a little allergy should've hit him this hard. Before he could overthink it, quick footsteps approached, and suddenly a tiny pack of tissues was shoved into his hands. He blew his nose, the sound embarrassingly loud.

"You okay, Vasily-san?" Sugimoto's voice was soft, cautious, his concern was real as he watched Vasily attempt to clean himself up. "Hang on, I'll grab the nasal spray—"

"I'm fine," Vasily croaked, but Sugimoto was already bolting back inside, though not before snatching up at least two shopping bags on the way.

That left Vasily alone with the small person still staring up at him. Vasily glared down—and froze.

Set in the cherubic face was those big, round blue eyes, printed in a faraway memory across the veil of time. Those eyes belonged to someone who could launch a powerful bounce from her tiny body to kick him out of the path of a poison arrow.

He had encountered enough reincarnations of people from his past life, and wasn't supposed to be surprised by such occurrences anymore. Yet, there was something distinct hidden in those eyes.

Recognition. A profound sorrow that seemed unfit for someone so young, barely old enough to drive. These were the eyes of a warrior and a witness, someone who had fought, seen, and chose to remember.

What's more, she too had sought out the same elusive connection with Vasily. Her lips pressed into a thin line, either in determination to spell out the truth or wrestling with her memory to retrieve the precise name. Finally, she whispered, "Zukin-chan?"

At the sound of this name, Vasily blinked, momentarily taken aback. During those past encounters, he hadn't paid attention to the names they called him, not comprehending the language, or having enough focus on anything other than his escaping prey. He didn't even know their names, except—

"Chitatap?" He tried.

The girl was momentarily speechless, but then a burst of laughter escaped her lips. "Yes, yes! I know it's you!"

Curious about the peculiar name, Vasily asked, "That really is your name?"

Making a face, she responded, "No, that was the dish. I'm Asuko," she said, rolling her big eyes. "Forget about that, it's just a registered name these days. Call me Asirpa!"

Lightness was brought to the moment, and for a brief instant, her eyes returned to their clear, cloudless state, reminiscent of the old impression she had left on him—striding confidently through the winter forests, bow in hand. She had moved with the grace and pride of an elfin royalty, unafraid of the weighty decision to take her people's fate into her own hands.

With a note filled with relief and joy, she exclaimed as Vasily pronounced the name correctly, "It's wonderful to hear you speak!"

"Do you mean my Japanese?" he asked, scratching his head. "I've been teaching myself for years, knowing that I must come here someday, though it is still not very good..."

Asirpa gazed at him as if he were talking nonsense. "No, I meant, you couldn't talk back then—" Her eyes darted towards the door, which had slid open at some point, revealing a pair of watchful eyes peering intently at them. "Ogata had shot through your face."

The weight of her words pressed heavily on his mind even as they settled down at a Sukiyaki pot.

No, he had no recollection of this. He knew Ogata had pointed a gun at him and likely pulled the trigger, but he didn't know the result, or the exact location of his wound. How could he have been mute? All those words he thought he spoke—could they merely have been figments of his inner monologue? It made a strange kind of sense. He remembered the poetic phrases he thought he was mumbling in his dreams—how could anyone truly articulate such dramatic, soul-stirring words aloud?

He had assumed different, from the way Ogata was dying in his arms. He thought he had won the duel, and buried him along with lifetime regret.

He found himself staring at Ogata with a newfound perspective, watching as him, seemingly unaware of the subtle change, busily added cabbages and carrots to the pot. He hid a plate of shiitake mushrooms when he thought no one was looking. Catching Vasily's gaze, Ogata placed a finger over his lips.

"This tastes like shit," Ogata whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

Vasily hummed, nonchalantly.

Sugimoto returned from the kitchen with a box of eggs. He handed one to Vasily without a word before sitting down and cracking an egg into his own bowl.

"Wait." Ogata halted Sugimoto's next move, turning towards Vasily with an expectant look. "Do you know how to use the raw egg?"

Vasily swallowed hard. Raw? Surely, they wouldn't...

Just as Sugimoto was about to intervene, Ogata shot him a look that could freeze fire, effectively silencing him. "Let him try," Ogata said, barely concealing the mischief in his voice. "Let's see."

With no other choice, Vasily followed Sugimoto's lead, cracking the egg into his bowl. The yolk stared back at him, clear and beautifully colored—but undeniably raw.

He should have studied more about their culinary customs. Vaguely, he recalled something about eggs being lightly cooked in hot springs on tiny floating plates, leaving the yolks runny like melted cheese.

Picking up the large spoon, he watched the others' faces for any hint of guidance. Their expressions remained solemn, giving nothing away.

Carefully, he ladled some soup from the pot into his bowl, mixing it with the raw egg. "Like this?" he asked, desperate for confirmation, just as Ogata and Sugimoto burst into uncontrollable laughter. Ogata even bowed his head, hiding his face behind his hand.

Vasily tried to pull Ogata upright, but the silk fabric slipped through his fingers. If not for the looming threat of overturning the pot, he would have tackled Ogata right there on the futon. "How do you actually eat this thing?"

"Wha—" Asirpa emerged, a large cutting knife in hand, interrupted in the process of keeping her promise to grill them the best salmon heads. "Don't fight, it's dangerous!"

"We're not fighting," Ogata raised his hands defensively. "Just some friendly… bonding." He nudged Vasily playfully, prompting him to release his grip on Ogata's shoulder.

Asirpa lowered her knife, observing them before a glint flickered in her eyes. "It's so good to see you two getting along after all this time."

From somewhere nearby, Sugimoto growled, "Asirpa?"

"Yes?"

"Didn't I mention something about jumping to conclusions about men dating each other?"

Arms crossed, Asirpa pouted. Vasily struggled to maintain his composure, striving for an air of cool indifference. Meanwhile, Ogata leaned back casually, draping an arm over Vasily's shoulders. "But we are," he said, unfazed by Vasily's sudden twitching and stiffening, keeping his gaze fixed on Sugimoto. "Unless, of course, you're biased—or perhaps scared?"

Sugimoto would have jumped up, were it not for the threatening gleam of the giant knife in Asirpa's hand. Vasily, trying to ignore the verbal sparring between Sugimoto and Ogata, focused his attention on the bowl before him and downed the creamy egg in one swift gulp, while an unseen hand lingered on his lower back and gave quick squeezes on his rightful property.

Indeed, the salmon head was incomparable, its skin crispy, its fat gelatinous, and even the eyeball proved chewy and surprisingly juicy after Asirpa demanding him to open his mouth before tossing the thing in.

"It would taste better raw," she shook her head sadly, "but it's not the season yet. And," she coughed lightly, "actually, you shouldn't eat it raw, even if it's freshly caught. The parasites can only be avoided if the fish is caught and processed under very specific conditions. A fact I learnt only recently."

A bit too late for that. Vasily chewed mechanically. Perhaps it was the worms that had burrowed into his brain that had infected him with craziness and creation. He had no justification for himself this lifetime.

Vasily made his way towards the adjacent backyard, sidestepping Ogata, who was sprawled leisurely on the tatami mats like a well-feed feline basking in the sun. Sugimoto had previously advised him on how to use the open-air bath and cautioned him about not lingering too late in the cool night.

Turning on the tap, Vasily reclined and allowed the warm water to envelop him, offering a soothing escapade from his otherwise vulnerable state. The comforting heat provided a moment for him to rethink about his life.

He found himself questioning many of his past decisions, those once filled him with unwavering confidence. Opting for a tech major over pursuing his already skilled art, only because it would be challenging and fun; his rebellious streak against the superpower, fueled by an arrogant belief in his destined uniqueness and ability to defy the odds. And then there was his infatuation with Ogata, whom he'd idolized as someone worthy of all admiration, only to discover the man heartless, unserious, utterly dismissive, especially towards him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Vasily as another body slipped into the bath beside him.

"Starting without me?" Ogata chuckled, his yukata noticeably absent. He nestled comfortably between Vasily's legs, his feet coming to rest against Vasily's chest.

"Shouldn't you be busy with something?" Vasily muttered, trying to mask the jealousy that threatened to betray his cool demeanor.

"Busy with what?" Ogata retorted, his toes playfully wandering into Vasily's chest hair, clamping down and giving a sudden yank.

Vasily couldn't suppress a pained gasp, though it wasn't exactly painful—just a few stray brown hairs floated on the water's surface now. Gripping Ogata's ankles, he drew them closer to the edge of the tub, holding them firmly.

"Now he doesn't want you," perhaps he was using too much force that Ogata had let out a hiss, "you come bothering me."

"Well, I have guessed it right, there's something perverse about him," Ogata said, retrieving his feet from the iron grip. He sat up and crawled closer until he was straddling Vasily's lap. "Worse than I thought. Having more interest in a barely legal... than me."

Vasily's mind raced. "They are just friends, aren't they?" And they could only be—he calculated in his head—five years apart. He couldn't point it out to Ogata the fact that inside Asirpa lived a weathered soul, that those two also had shared an ancient history.

Ogata grabbed his chin in hand so Vasily had to look at him. "You have no idea how human mind work. How disgusting they can be."

He leaned in, and Vasily closed his eyes. His breath turned faster as the wet tongue started to search between his lips, tried to slip in. The shift in Ogata's demeanor did not escape Vasily's notice, but it felt more like a calculated manipulation than the tender touch of a lover's genuine caresses.

Still, he was too weak-minded to push him away, when Ogata adjusted his position and sat down onto his stiffening member, awash by the steaming hot water and the rhythmic rocking of a solid body above him. He could only jerk upwards, no longer the master of his own body, and bury his face between the slick, well-defined chest muscles to hide away from his own shame.

Cradling Vasily's head in a tight embrace, Ogata grinded down on him with a determined persistency. "Yes, yes." He groaned, and then turned Vasily head upwards to look directly into his eyes, now watering from the intensity of pleasure and mortification. A smile, unable to tell its mischievousness from malice, spread across Ogata's eyes. In their dark, wide reflections, Vasily could see himself, flushing red, desperate, already a puppet for his playing.

"You're so lovesick. You make me sick." Ogata spat at him.

Vasily didn't talk back. He felt the same.

Notes:

listen up weebs, the raw egg is used as the dipping sauce. a lesson learned by author the hard way when they had it first time with some quote unquote friends. those bitches were merciless.

Chapter 3

Sugimoto kept calling. From the look of it, he was running out of patience, stomping around the yard, kicking pebbles like a kid throwing a tantrum.

By the third ring, someone finally picked up, whining over the speaker. "Can you pick me up? I'm already at Boutarou's."

"You better be downstairs by the time we get there!" Sugimoto barked before waving at the other car and hauling himself into the passenger seat of the big truck.

Vasily gave Ogata a shove, but the man was practically melted into the driver's seat, his body refusing to function without his morning coffee, in the inn or the entire five-mile radius.

Asirpa's family inn located in the suburbs, a perfect spot for city strolls or countryside hikes. But apparently, their itinerary was already set. To make up for the minor incident that had left Ogata inconveniently scarred, Sugimoto had roped them all into a diving and camping trip to Shakotan. And of course, because Sugimoto somehow knew someone to call in for a favor to cover the tickets.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt and sandals, yawning on the side of the road, was indifferent to Vasily's presence, clearly holding no memory for the grudges from another life. Stood beside him was the magnetic owner of the private campsite, although dressed in an equally loud shirt and sandals. Vasily might've assumed they were a couple, given the matching outfits—until Boutarou started handing out more of the same shirts.

Ogata glared at the hideous patterns like they were a crime against humanity.

"Suit yourself," the long-haired man said with a shrug, turning to Vasily instead. He leaned into the car window, dangling the shirt in front of him like a peace offering.

Vasily held his gaze. Something about the guy unsettled him, but not in the same way Asirpa did. At first glance, the man was effortlessly relaxed, his voice smooth as he explained that scuba diving operations wouldn't commence until the weather warmed up. The next moment when he thought no one was watching, his eyes flicked back to the group, studying their interactions with quiet intensity.

He met Vasily's gaze when he was caught studying Ogata. The man didn't even flinch, just raised his hands in surrender, a grin playing on his lips.

Vasily's shirt clung to his back as he struggled with the tent poles, which repeatedly slipped from his grasp. Opposite him, Ogata was meticulously disregarding the instructions, tying knots where they were not meant to be, his face an unreadable mask.

"Left side's higher," Vasily grunted, squinting at the leaning tent pole.

Ogata didn't even look up. "Your depth perception is as faulty as your knot-tying skills."

"My what now—?"

A pause. The tent sagged between them like a collapsed soufflé.

Along the shoreline, their companions had seemingly disappeared, off gathering equipment and refreshments. The sea breeze carried distant sounds that might have been Boutarou's laugh, or possibly a distressed seagull. Behind them, the sea shimmered in the golden hour light, waves pattering at the shore, carefree. It didn't help with Vasily's mounting frustration.

"I think we're missing some bolts," Vasily drove a stake into the ground with a sharp crunch.

Returned from parking, Asirpa's shadow fell across their sad piece of work before her disappointed sigh did. She crouched down, poking at the pole. The entire structure seemed to groan under her scrutiny.

Before Ogata could explain, Asirpa cut in sharply, "Don't say it." She flipped her hair over one shoulder, pointing towards the shoreline where the others were setting up. "Ogata, go assist Boutarou with sorting the fishing gear."

"That's hardly—"

"Your business? Correct." Her smile bore an undeniable command. "Off you go."

Watching Ogata slink away—possibly relieved—Asirpa plopped down beside Vasily, rolling up her sleeves. "Alright, let's fix this mess."

She did not hurry towards the tent poles, instead took out the mat that had been resting on the ground. She instructed Vasily to clear away the seashells and pebbles before dragging the mat and spreading it out, ensuring that moisture would not seep into the tent. Observing the loosely tied knots, she shook her head, undid the thread, and demonstrated to Vasily how to retie them properly, mirroring her technique.

He thought about the days they had wandered in the wilderness, although the condition was even hasher. With no camping gears, they always ended up to stay in the open wild in the night.  It appeared that, unlike him, Asirpa had turned her inherited memories into something practical, already adept at survival skills and even mentioning her plan to explore the Antarctic someday.

Watching her meticulously clear away the tent tools and wrappers, Vasily couldn't help but be reminded of his sister. It unsettled him somewhat to consider how they matured more so than men of similar or even older ages. He used to be utterly annoyed by the constant nags.

He reminded himself that this small woman might know far more than she let on.

Settling into the sand chair, Vasily hesitated. The sea breeze flapped the tent overhead, nearly drowning out the quiet words he had just spoken. "What really happened?" he murmured, then added, "Between me and Ogata."

Asirpa paused, her fingers still hooked around the pull ring of a chilled drink from the mini fridge. "How much do you remember?" Her tone was careful.

"Not much." Just fragments. And so many contradictions he couldn't reconcile. "Were we friends or foes?"

Asirpa's gaze drifted toward the beach, where Shiraishi and Sugimoto had all but given up on fishing, now tackling each other on the ground where tiny pebbles had elicited painful groans from them.

"You wanted to kill him," she observed, voice calm as the tide.

The words hung between them. Vasily's throat tightened. "Did I…do that?" He held his breath, bracing for the verdict.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, quietly, "No, I did."

It didn't make sense. He remembered the wound—clearly a gunshot. Asirpa's grip tightened around the juice, her fingers denting the metal as liquid overflowed. "If not for me," she said, voice low and strained, "he wouldn't have been poisoned. He wouldn't have lost his mind… and kill himself."

He turned to see Asirpa hunched over, one hand pressed to her face.

"Hey," His attempts at comfort felt clumsy. "Then it's not really you."

She shook her head and continued, "I learnt more after that—meeting all the people I have to—" She paused, glancing over at Ogata. "He had a rough time. If I learnt anything from the past, bad experiences change people."

How worse could he be? Vasily dared not imagining. "What's he like then?" The question slipped out of him almost involuntarily.

Asirpa eyed at Vasily carefully. "I won't tell you more—It's not like I don't trust you with a secret, but he's better off now without those memories."

Is that so?

Vasily leaned back, his gaze fixed on the figure holding the fishing pole, waiting with eerie patience. Observing him from a distance felt familiar and comforting, so long as he didn't have to confront the man beneath the exterior. He'd imagined finding someone like himself: solitary, proud, defiant. Instead, he found cruelty and coarseness. A narcissist.

Well, at least that's something they had that in common. How else could he explain his need to look out for a kind of his own?

He didn't press further. Instead, he asked, "Have you ever wondered why you remember?"

"Constantly," she replied. "At first, I believed it was the will of the Kamuy—even after they had abandoned us, after I... failed to preserve our culture as it was. But the Ainu don't believe in returning like this, so that couldn't be it. Then I realized—maybe it wasn't the Kamuy who wanted me to remember. Maybe it was me who wanted to."

She paused. Ogata had just pulled in a fish as long as his forearm, yelling out to anyone who would listen. "When I met Sugimoto again this time, it was the start of the pandemic. His whole family was sick, and I was so terrified history would repeat itself—that they'd be taken from him again. I did everything I could: called a doctor friend, sent food, medicine. He couldn't understand why a twelve-year-old would care so much." A faint bittersweet touched her lips. "Not that I blame him. They live—that's what matters. And it wasn't really because of me. Modern medicine did that."

Then, her smile broke like dawn, bright enough to light up the world around them. "So, to answer your question," she said, "I think we remember—so we can watch over them. So they get to live happily this time."

Vasily stared as Ogata approached, dropping the sizable fish carelessly onto the ground before them with a thud, its scales shimmering under the sunlight. He slicked his hair back with a quick, practiced motion.

"Looks like I'm the only one who's having some work done here," Ogata announced, as he cast a dismissive glance around the neat yet simple campsite, as if he wasn't struggling with putting it up minutes ago. Without waiting for a response, he ordered, "Start cooking."

The way Asirpa looked at him was almost...lenient.

The sun now hung low on the horizon, swaying as if on the verge of collapse, its blazing orange glow untempered by even a single cloud. Enormous and round, it loomed like an apocalyptic fireball, its radiance so fierce it seemed capable of boiling away the seas. One might imagine this as the final moment before all life, before they face extinction.

Yet such a catastrophe remains billions of years distant, far beyond the lifespan of humanity, under the most fortunate circumstances. The people by the seaside, unshaken by the ominous scene, raised their phones instead, angling for the perfect shot to hold the sun between their fingertips or pretend to swallow it whole.

By the tent, the grill sizzled with the day's fishing catch, though that was only a small portion of their meal. The majority of what they had brought—meat and vegetables—also had already been consumed.

The water rippled as a head broke the surface, seaweed clinging to it like driftwood. The figure rose, dripping. Despite had warned his guests that the sea was still too cold, Boutarou had plunged in the sea himself. Now, emerging from the waves, he held something aloft and shouted. Shiraishi hurried over, and moments later, he returned cradling an object, tilting it into the sunset's glow for a better look.

"This must be worth a fortune," Sugimoto remarked, eyeing the round pearl shimmering with the sun's fiery reflection. "Are you going to sell it?"

"Sell it?" Shiraishi considered, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "Well… yeah, I guess? Gotta pay rent."

Sugimoto blinked. "Aren't you staying with Boutarou? You don't even pay for food."

Ogata's dry chuckle cut in behind them. "He can't be a sugarbaby forever, you know."

Shiraishi whirled around, indignant. "The hell's that supposed to mean? I'm straight! I only date beautiful women!"

Sugimoto caught the slip immediately, leaning in with feigned curiosity. "Beautiful women, huh? What about women who aren't beautiful?"

Ogata reclined in his beach chair, adding fuel to the fire. "So, Shiraishi—beautiful men or ugly women? Pick one."

Shiraishi stuttered, gaze dropping. "D-Do I have to?"

"Yes."

He groaned, crossing his arms. "Alright then... Beautiful men, I guess! But it's not fair, there's no straight answer to that."

Sugimoto arched a brow. "The straight answer is 'all women are beautiful', obviously, duh!"

As Shiraishi lunged to his feet, hurling pebbles at Sugimoto while the other man dodged with a practiced ease, Vasily found Ogata leaned in, whispering, "I give him two weeks."

"One," he didn't glance up from his phone, thumb still scrolling.

Ogata's smirk widened. "Wanna bet?"

Something about a gamble had clearly caught Shiraishi's attention. "What's the bet?" he asked.

Ogata smirked, arms reaching up to the back of the chair, lazily. "Your ass, obviously. If I were you, I'd start stretching—if I had a well-endorsed boyfriend." His gaze flicked pointedly toward Vasily, lips curling up.

Vasily remained unmoved, but he could feel the warmth beginning to rise in his cheeks,  just as a sharp pebble struck Ogata square in the face, sending him toppling backward off his chair. He scrambled to his feet, instantly launching into complaints about the wounds on his jaw which hadn't fully healed and threats about refiling a lawsuit.

"Are we though?" Indistinctly, Vasily muttered to himself.

The evening deepened, the campfire's glow casting flickering shadows as Vasily listened to Asirpa strumming the ukulele, humming off-key for quite a while before he began to sense that something was not quite right. He'd assumed Shiraishi would return, so their lack of tents hadn't seemed like an issue, until now. The bald man was already drunk and snoring after crawling in one of the tents.

Vasily turned to Ogata, who sat motionless, staring into the flames as if lost in thought. "Where are we going to sleep?" he asked.

Ogata blinked, as if startled from a trance. "Huh? Tired already?" He tilted his head, then smirked. "We're sleeping in the car. Haven't tried that yet."

Vasily's expression remained neutral when he greeted good nights to the others.

Just as his mind began conjuring the implications, Ogata merely popped open the trunk, flipped down the rear seats, and spread an air mattress over the flattened car floor. "Come in, then," he said, his eyes glinting like an animal of the night.

Only after climbing in, reluctantly, expectantly, did Vasily realize how cold the night had been. Inside the car, the air was thick with warmth, the space cramped but intimate. The trunk's ceiling brushed his hair, and the flattened seats left barely enough room for two grown men. And yet.

Ogata was close. Finally, after the day's relentless distractions, all the idle chatter, the mindless card games—they were alone.

Vasily had spent hours trapped in his own thoughts, circling the same unresolved thing between them, never quite grasping how to sever this sick, stubborn pull Ogata had on him.  He wouldn't suppose it was possible to reason or understand him. He knew better than to think he could quit this life-long addiction easily.

Maybe he should consider what Asirpa had said. Or maybe he just needed to indulge it one last time.

He was supposed to be a new man now. He was supposed to have a life, not this.

If only he knew how to let go.

Ogata didn't pounce on him as Vasily had half-expected. Instead, he settled onto the makeshift bed, resting his head on a folded jumper. "Lie down with me," he said, voice low. "Look."

Vasily hesitated, then lowered himself beside him. And then he saw it.

The panoramic roof above them was half-transparent, a window to the cosmos. Through the glass, the night sky stretched out above them, a indigo expanse of canvas, studded with countless twinkling stars. As the car was parked nearby the beach, far from the city lights, the stars appeared brighter and more vivid than ever before. The Milky Way was clearly visible, just like a luminous scar across the constellations. Now and then, a meteor streaked, a brief trail of light, there and gone.

Vasily had spent enough nights under open skies, but never like this. Never safe enough to let his guard down and truly see them. In the wild, the glints in the dark had always been warning eyes of carnivorous beasts.

Enclosed in this fragile shell of metal and glass, the world beyond felt distant. All that remained was the hush between them, with the illusion that the stars were close enough to touch.

It was so unreal.

It felt like forever.

In this hushed celestial cathedral, his every resistance seemed insignificantly small against the grand clockwork of the universe. A desperate laugh welled up inside him—how could he dare defy, when eons of cosmic tides had conspired for this moment of truth? All the long-unanswered questions now answered, with the warm weight of Ogata against him, more real than any youthful fantasy, it was then that he understood what he must have begged the universe to keep him going on—to craft imperfection, impairment, and impossibility that would bring them here together.

Beside him, Ogata murmured something, low, self-satisfied, like a cat who'd finally cornered its prey. Vasily was almost too drunk, smiling triumphantly, on the fortune's improbable mercy to register it.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ogata's voice was all velvet. "Finally make use of this damn roof."

"Yes," Vasily breathed, the word catching in his throat. "Beautiful."

And then he was leaning in, lips tracing the curve of Ogata's mouth softly, when a hand slid into his waistband. He didn't pull away.

The next morning, when Sugimoto came to call them for breakfast, Vasily's head still swam in a fog—thick, syrupy, like the heat pressing against the car's windows. The air inside was stifling, heavy with scent and drowsiness. Outside, Sugimoto stood holding two ice cream cones, despite how unlikely they would belong in the breakfast menu.

"Hey," he called, squinting through the glass. "Have you seen Asirpa?" The ice cream started dripping down his fingers and onto the sand. "And where's Ogata?" His gaze swept the empty beach, as if expecting the man to materialize from a pile of sand.

"Here," came Ogata's sluggish yet muffled voice from beneath the seats. Although didn't really stop what he was doing between Vasily's legs, he managed to tilt his head just enough to leer at the flustered man outside, his tongue still working in slow, deliberate circles, as if he was the man who was actually enjoying the creamy vanilla frosting.

Sugimoto nearly dropped both cones. "What the—" He spun away, ears burning. "Why are you guys like this?! We could hear you last night! The car was shaking!"

Ogata's response was a low, satisfied hum vibrating against Vasily's skin. "It's grown-ups' game, kiddo." His lips enclosed between the girth before parting with a smacking sound, "wouldn't need to get ice-creams before you can hold hands."

Sugimoto might have punched through the window if he wasn't gripping tightly the ice-cream cones—both creamy, one dusted with cocoa powder, one with matcha—"Well maybe ask if he WANTS to get ice creams first!"

"No time," Ogata breathed out, nosing lower, "we are having a competition. See who can last longer."

As Sugimoto lunged, Vasily acted quickly, one hand snapping the window shut while the other forced Ogata down, efficiently silenced him by filling up his mouth. Ogata protested at the sudden strain on his jaw, but within moments was humming with delight, leaning into it with enthusiasm.

Vasily dragged his hand over his eyes to maintain some self-control.

Later, when they entered the diner, Ogata appeared to be in unusually high spirits, while Vasily trailed behind, his head bowed as if shadowed by a dark cloud. When asked what he wanted, he merely shook his head. His mouth hurt now. Several brightly colored drinks were already waiting on the table. Without a word, he picked one up and began quietly to sip his drink through a straw while people at the table chattered away.

Shirashi was still rambling about his last trip to Phuket—as Boutarou's guest, of course. That man seemed to have business everywhere, owning some yachts there. In the photo he was showing them, they were island-hopping, and Shirashi perched on the second deck beneath the sail, halfway up the mast and dangling precariously. Another clip featured him strapped to a damn parasail, his screeching drowned out by the sound of the speeding motorboat that he was tethered to.

"You know what's crazier?" Shirashi ignored the bewildered looks they gave him after showing off pictures with two dancers. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a fresh tattoo. "Got this done over there," he announced, thrusting his arm across the dinner table. "Boutarou, show them our matching tattoos!"

With an indulgent smirk, Boutarou pushed up his sleeve, revealing his own ink.

As some at the table raised their eyebrows, Sugimoto squinted at the designs. Both featured a kanji character inside a circle, but something was off. Pointing between them, he asked, "They look similar, but yours says 'fortune' and his says 'drum'… How exactly do those match?"

"Well... I like the design," Shirashi said with a cough, brushing off the skepticism. "Sure, the two of us don't match, but that's the cool part—because it's not just us! The tattoo artist said you'd actually need twenty-four people to complete the full set."

Shirashi shrugged. "The artist hasn't handled out all the kanji yet. Said it'll be like a magic spell—twenty-four people from all over the world, each with their own character. Once complete, it'll unlock the greatest fortune imaginable. Like… billions, maybe?" Looking around the eyes at him, he pouted, "Stupid? I know right."

"Sounds hippie," Sugimoto commented between bites of his omelet rice.

"Sounds like something else to me." Ogata arched an eyebrow, turning to Vasily. "You catch my drift?"

Vasily nodded, then shook his head again. "The sequence, though?"

Ogata hummed, "Could be problematic. But with all the keys in hand..." He let the implication hang like the tines of his fork. "Not impossible to try blasting through."

Their voices stayed low, their coded exchange slipping unnoticed beneath the clatter of cutlery and dinner chatter. Not like anyone else on the table would bother understanding the way they're around each other. Meanwhile, Asirpa's attention had latched onto something entirely different. "What was that tattoo artist like?"

Shiraishi scratched his head. "Eh, some hippie type, I guess."

"Can you describe him more clearly?" she pressed.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "How should I remember? Hurt like hell—I nearly blacked out halfway through."

Boutarou, ever composed, swirled his drink before adding, "That man wasn't local. Though to be fair," he shrugged, "the streets of Thailand are paved with people of every sort. And I couldn't tell where he's from. Kind of mixed."

His words only deepened Asirpa's unease. She turned toward Vasily just in case the man had at least some memory of it, only to find him hunched over the table in intense conversation with Ogata, their heads were nearly touching. Ogata listening with that particular focus of his, the usual unseriousness vanished as the gears turning visibly behind his eyes.

"What do you two get?" Asirpa cut in.

Vasily faltered, glancing between her and Ogata as if weighing how much to reveal. Ogata, meanwhile, leaned back with an exaggerated sigh, fingers kneading the tension in his neck. "Tch. Explaining this to these idiots would take all day."

"Of course," Sugimoto rolled his eyes. "There's nothing good coming out of his mouth."

But Asirpa held up a hand, silencing him. Her gaze locked onto Ogata, unyielding. "Try us."

"Well, here's the thing," Ogata began, scanning the table with the weary look of a man about to explain rocket science to toddlers. "How much do you actually know about Bitcoin? Ether? Digital Currency?"

He tried one name after one. Shiraishi mumbled something about being scammed—how he'd sent real money but never received the promised coins. Boutarou casually mentioned tracking prices "for portfolio diversification," while the two younger people just shook their heads in confusion.

"Exactly as I feared," Ogata groaned, massaging his temples. "How do we explain the basics?"

Vasily set down his empty bubble tea cup with a decisive clack. "Start with fundamentals," he said, assuming the tone of a patient professor. "Before cryptocurrency, you need to understand what money actually means."

Sugimoto groaned, "Vasily-san, not another economics lecture!" He slumped in his seat like a schoolboy dreading class.

Ogata's voice cut through coolly. "Even that might be too advanced for them." His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the table. "Simplest explanation? It's money that exists outside banks and government control. Try buying illegal goods in the black market with regular cash, your bank can detect you immediately. But when encrypted...No one could tell." A dangerous smirk played on his lips. "Well, except for a few pros."

Asirpa leaned forward, elbows on the table, her eyes sharp with focus. Sugimoto, meanwhile, dragged a hand down his face. "What does any of this have to do with those tattoos?"

Ogata's grin was all teeth. "What's the matter, Sugimoto? Couldn't sit through a single lecture at university either? I'd hate to see your GPA." He didn't wait for a response before continuing, "Let's see...what parts can I skip? Certainly not explaining encryption itself..." He waved a dismissive hand. "Just know it's what keeps your bitcoin from anyone else. All that money might as well be worthless without the right key."

Vasily's expression darkened, memories of seized accounts flashing behind his eyes. "Not entirely impossible."

"Exactly," Ogata nodded. "That's where the mnemonic phrase comes in. Instead of memorizing impossible strings of code, your encryption gets converted to..." He made a vague gesture, "...a few random words, twenty-four utmost. 'Mnemonic Phrase', they're called. Meaningless separately, but together?" A sharp snap of his fingers. "They reconstruct your entire digital vault. Feed them into a wallet app, and you have control over the money." He exhaled through his nose.

Several pairs of eyes widened around the table. "Twenty-four words, you mean—?" Sugimoto began, only to be cut off.

"It occurred to me," Ogata said, noticing Vasily's silent objection before correcting himself, "to us, that this hippie might be referring to a mnemonic phrase." His fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the table. "Though the logistics are problematic. Like, how to reconstruct the sequence without knowing the original order?"

"Brute force," Vasily offered helpfully. No one around the table was eating, and food was getting cold, so it wouldn't hurt if he helped himself with the gyoza from the plates...

Ogata said quickly. "Theoretically possible, but impractical. Even with sufficient computing power to calculate all combinations, most wallets have attempt limits. Three failed tries and they'll blacklist your IP for the day."

"You can bypass those restrictions by cracking the wallet apps itself," Vasily countered.

"Hot wallets?" Ogata's gaze turned razor-sharp, darting to Vasily's phone on the table. "Those are typically secured with— Don't tell me you're breaking into them with the most primitive—"

Vasily simply shrugged, popping a gyoza into his mouth. "It works."

He glanced around innocently to see if anyone would make a protest, but it seemed that everyone at the table was vigorously rolling their eyes at him and Ogata's self-centered conversation.

Except for Asirpa, who was tapping a ball pen, retrieved a piece of paper that looked like a flyer, and flipped it over. "Slow down, let's start over," she said.

Notes:

author learnt abt 1 bitcoin fun fact and immediately converted it into yaoi❤️‍🔥
but don’t worry, coming up more filth not finance❤️‍🔥

Chapter 4

Notes:

i said filth

#warning: transphobic language

Vasily scanned the room as he waited for his drink.

When they'd mentioned a nightclub, he'd imagined something different. He'd been to clubs in plenty of cities, and most followed the same pattern—sweat-slick bodies, strobe lights, and the kind of debauchery that left him feeling filthy the next morning. He'd tagged along to this, figuring it could be worse, for it was supposedly Sugimoto's friend's bachelor party.

This place had karaoke.

The air reeked of fried food and cheap beer, the walls plastered with peeling band posters and flickering neon. In the far corner, Shirashi belted out off-key lyrics with unshakable confidence, while Sugimoto hovered nearby, mic in hand, waiting for his turn to chime in. Their soon-to-be groom friend wedged himself into a corner, seemingly forgotten, even though this event was supposed to be about him. He didn't seem to mind, holding a hand clapper to cheer them on.

Vasily slumped back and pulled out his phone, scrolling through a stack of photos waiting to be edited and posted. A sky streaked with cotton-candy like clouds. Local snacks gleaming in shop windows. Random street cat that curled up beside him. A few candid shots of Ogata, slumped over in seat or bed.

Then there was the tattoo of Shirashi and Boutarou.

His gaze drifted up, landing on the bartender.

Boutarou was shaking a cocktail when his eyes met Vasily's. He hadn't spoken yet, but his gaze lingered, expectant, as if daring him to ask something.

"Why bartend here?" Vasily finally asked. "I thought you own the place."

Boutarou's lips curled. "Saves me a paycheck, doesn't it?" Then, leaning in slightly, he whispered. "Besides… I like talking to people. Learning their secrets." His hair almost brushed against Vasily's forearm where it rested on the counter. Just as he considered putting some distance between them, Boutarou slid something forward—his drink, finally served.

Vasily brought the berry-infused glass to his lips. The refreshing blend combined cherries and berries with smooth vodka, fruity and Russian, just the way he liked it.

Boutarou's smile curled, "So? How is it? Does 'Love Potion' suit your tastes?"

Vasily nodded.

The long-haired man braced his elbows against the weathered counter, the amber glow of overhead lights catching the sharp angles of his face. "So..." His fingers idly tracing the wood grain on the bar, "How long did it take? Going after him?"

Vasily didn't lift his gaze from his drink. The ice had nearly melted, swirling in slow, listless circles. "A hundred years," he muttered, as if confessing to a crime. He knew it sound like he was making things up.

Certainly, Boutarou thought he was being dramatic, shaking his head. "I mean seriously." He leaned in, "How long between first talk and first fuck?"

"...Three hours."

The long-haired man's eyebrows shot up. "Huh." He took a deliberate pause, "And how long between then and now?"

Vasily's exhale fogged the glass as he dragged a finger along its edge. "Two months."

"Then it's not that bad, I guess?"

No, it's not like they were not hanging round each other all the time—

"Word of advice? You need to take control, you know. I see the way you're around each other. It goes nowhere if you let him take the lead." Boutarou said slowly.

"Is that so?" Vasily's voice dripped with skepticism. "How's your progress?"

"I'm doing this at my own pace," Suddenly, Boutarou retreated back. "I enjoy the process."

He'd better not be. Vasily wasn't about to lose that bet.

But in the meantime, he understood. He'd enjoy getting to know Ogata better, letting things unfold naturally until they reached a point where they could truly open up to each other, not that he's complaining about all that great sex—at least, he thought it was great. Ogata seemed to want something different. Something mind-blowing.

Said man was sprawled across the couch. He hadn't waited for the rest of the guests when he arrived at the bar before immediately started ordering shots. Free drinks were, after all, the only reason he'd come to this party.

"Why else would I attend some straight guy's bachelor party? For the strippers?" He'd snorted at the idea. Then the alcohol dragged him down to the floor. Vasily had hauled him onto the couch so he could pass out properly. Now, listening to the noise around him, it almost felt like a blessing that Ogata didn't have to endure the rest of the night sober.

"How did you two get to know each other?" Vasily asked.

The man Boutarou had been obsessively following all the way from Thailand was now drunkenly belting out a lewd song while attempting to twerk. Vasily couldn't fathom how Boutarou's mind worked. At first, he'd assumed it was the past connection. But no, there's no such thing. He just… wanted the same things, made the same choices.

"In an underground casino," Boutarou said, grinning. "Mind you, this was in Thailand, where gambling's illegal. I was there on business when I found him locked in a back room—lost all his money and was about to be shipped off to some organ harvester, I guess. So I cut a deal to get him out. And by the time I came back?" He let out a short laugh—rare for him, since most of his smiles felt like performances. But this one was real. "Gone. The bastard escaped on his own."

"And then," he continued, "there was a pride parade in the city. He was running around taking pictures with drag queens, and at first, he thought I was one too!" He gestured at his long hair and flowing wrap. "I get it. He shrieked when he realized, but... we kept hanging out after that."

Leaning on his elbow, a rare, almost dreamy flicker crossed his face—unsettling in a way, coming from someone like him. "He'll give in," he murmured, voice low with certainty. "Just give it time."

A faint voice came from behind Vasily. "What are you two conspiring about?"

He turned to find Ogata, freshly woken, rubbing sleep from his eyes while adjusting his crumpled collar. "Damn," Ogata's voice was rough, "what did you spike the drinks with?"

"Ogata-chan~! Come sing with us!" Shiraishi called out, waving enthusiastically from across the room.

Ogata's nose wrinkled as the bubblegum tunes of some K-pop girl group blared through the speakers, unfortunately able to make out the lyrics since the song had been released in Japanese. He turned to brush it aside, but then... paused. Something caught his attention. With the quiet precision of a stalking feline, he changed course and glided toward their corner, ignoring Vasily's presence entirely.

"So you're the groom?" Ogata dropped onto the sofa, accepting the mic someone handed him only to let it dangle carelessly from his fingers, had no intention of using it.

"Yes," the large man replied, subtly shifting away to maintain polite distance. "Hi, I'm Tanigaki." He extended his hand.

Ogata didn't take it. He yawned and stretched, settling deeper into the cushions. "Who planned this party anyway? Bit dull, isn't it? Where are the strippers?"

"I did!" Sugimoto cut in, shooting Ogata a disapproving look. "Tanigaki's not that kind of guy."

"For someone about to be trapped in marriage," Ogata mused, his gaze drifting lazily over the room, and to Tanigaki, "this might be his last chance for real fun. Not that it stops some guys..." A knowing smirk played at his lips. "I know plenty who keep playing."

If Ogata was plotting something, he was going about it all wrong. Vasily could see it. There was something different about Tanigaki. The man was built like a brawler but moving with deliberate care, setting down his beer bottle as if afraid the glass might shatter under his grip. This was the kind of man who'd stick around.

Too bad Ogata hadn't noticed, leaning in closer with that razor-edged smirk. "Or do you actually believe you can stay faithful?"

Tanigaki's fist tightened around the hand clapper, knuckles whitening, but his voice stayed steady. "Yes. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

"Woman?" Ogata paused, then snorted. "Ah, right, right. I assumed this 'marriage' was something… unofficial." His gaze dragged over Tanigaki, lingering. "My mistake. You just don't look like the straight kind."

Tanigaki's jaw tensed. "Well. Strictly speaking, I'm not."

Ogata barked a laugh, sharp as a blade, and then turned to Sugimoto. "Should've guessed. He is your friend, after all. Tough guy with a little secret, huh?" His fingers crept forward, almost brushing Tanigaki's knee. "Shame there's nothing here to liven things up… but I've got a few ideas."

"Leave him alone! He's, he's—" Sugimoto cut in, shooting nervous glances at Tanigaki.

"It's fine." Tanigaki waved him off, then seemed to remember something and chuckled. "Why don't you tell him how we met?"

Sugimoto grimaced. "You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?" He slumped onto the couch and began, "Alright, fine. We were at the same gym."

Ogata perked up, clearly anticipating some sordid scandal.

"There's always this… male competition, you know? We had that. I used to rag on him—called him a cow, said his ass was that fat." Sugimoto scratched his neck, suddenly sheepish. "Then one day, I caught him injecting himself with something. Thought, 'Ha! Finally caught this cheater using steroids!'"

"Not wrong," Tanigaki interjected, grinning. "It was testosterone."

Ogata froze.

"I'm trans," Tanigaki said, satisfaction dripping from his voice as Ogata recoiled like he'd been burned, scrambling back from where he'd been draped all over him.

"What the f—" Ogata's eyes raked over him, disbelief sharpening his tone. "But you look just—"

"Not cool, Ogata!" Sugimoto growled, stepping forward. "You got a problem with that?"

Ogata dragged a hand down his face before bursting into harsh laughter. "Well, that explains so much..." He wiped at his eyes, shoulders shaking. "And no—it's just he's not interesting anymore."

"Of course that's where your mind goes," Sugimoto scoffed, crossing his arms. "Typical."

Ogata's grin turned jagged. "Oh? So what, he got you all hot and bothered until you realized, 'Hey, still technically a woman, so I'm not really gay?'" He leaned in, voice dripping with dark sweetness.

Sugimoto launched himself across the room, fist connecting with Ogata's face with a sickening crack. "You don't get to say that!" His grip on Ogata's collar jerked the man forward as the punch landed. The eye socket already purpling, swelling shut.

Vasily shot up from his seat. He might have found it amusing to see Ogata reap what he'd sown, if not for the fresh blood beading along the man's unhealed chin wound. Guys were all half drunk, and he needed to extract Ogata before Sugimoto's righteous fury ruined the stitches.

But Sugimoto was still riding the adrenaline high, chest heaving with the obligation to protect his friend's honor. So when Vasily's hand touched his shoulder, his reflex kicked in.

A flash of movement. Then the ceiling spun into view as Vasily's back hit the floor.

"What are you—oh shit!" Sugimoto's body had moved before his brain caught up. He hovered awkwardly, hands fluttering. "Gosh, did I just—? I heard something crack—"

Vasily tasted iron in his mouth, but his limbs still obeyed. He pushed himself up quickly. "Don't hit him," he said weakly, reminded suddenly of how terrifying Sugimoto could be.

The flicker of regret in Sugimoto's eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. "After what he just said? To someone who fought to be himself? To finally be happy?" His voice dropped to a dangerous grow. "And you're defending him? Just because you're dating?"

"We're not—" Vasily began, but his protest died in his throat.

"I don't get you, Vasily," Sugimoto spat. "Why waste your time with trash like him? Letting him harass every man in his path?"

From the floor, Ogata dabbed carefully at his face with a tissue. "I think the answer's obvious," lips curving up, "He didn't really do a good job."

Sugimoto seized them both by the back of their collars and threw them out of the club.

The country road before them like a black ribbon, winding into the darkness. Intermittent streetlamps cast pools of jaundiced light along the pavement, their glow barely stitching together the patches of the night. Inside the car, silence sat thick between them. The only sound the shuddering whisper of wind through roadside trees, their leaves trembling in the passing breeze that drifted through the window.

Vasily didn't know where they would go.

There was no way they could keep lingering around that tight-knit group, not after Ogata's behavior, and certainly not after the damage Sugimoto had so visibly left behind. Maybe Asirpa could have smoothed things over. She might have been willing to tolerate them, to give them another chance—but she wasn't here.

It wasn't that she didn't drink or do karaoke. She had left in a hurry earlier that day, muttering something about urgent business, people she needed to meet. She had been determined, so much that she hadn't even allowed Sugimoto to go along with her.

Vasily had answered all her questions across the table, but his mind wasn't in it. He was only here for Ogata, really.

He turned to study the man in the driver's seat—face still swollen, anxious, fingers drumming restlessly against the steering wheel. Yet his gaze remained fixed ahead, as if he actually knew where they were going.

If the trip was truly over, they should've been heading back to Sapporo. But the road before them suggested another direction.

"Where are we going?" Vasily finally asked.

Ogata hummed, avoiding the question. Instead he asked, "When do you go back?"

Back. Vasily hadn't thought about it seriously. Technically, he could stay for months, but it was more complicated than that. If he intended to stay in California, for lack of better options, he'd have to report to the authorities from time to time, proving he hadn't violated the terms of his asylum status. He had really just sneaked out.

"Maybe after the Golden Week," Vasily said, forcing lightness into his voice. "I assume you'll be busy with work by then."

He could play this game again, skipping inspections, catching flights here whenever possible. Of course he wanted to stay forever, but that wasn't realistic. And eventually, Ogata would grow tired of him. What would he do then, if Ogata decided to cut him out completely?

Ogata smoothed back his hair, keeping the strands from obscuring his view. "Hmph. Any plans before then?" He didn't wait for the answer. "I haven't properly seen Hokkaido since moving here. Could use some sightseeing."

Vasily's pulse jumped. That sounded dangerously like an invitation. "Can I come?"

The car filled with silence, as if Ogata was taking time to consider it. Then came a low chuckle, "You know, I wonder the same thing Sugimoto asked you," he mused. "Why do you stick around? Yeah, I get it—you want this ass so bad. But is it worth the trouble?" His voice turned wry. "Might not look like it, but I know. I'm... a lot."

Maybe it was how Ogata had cut straight to the shallow, obvious truth that Vasily couldn't quite face it himself. Or maybe it was the way Ogata knew his own flaws, acknowledged them and kept being exactly who he was. Whatever the reason, it made the moment uncomfortable for Vasily. "Then why do you act like this?"

"Like what?" Ogata shot back, all traces of introspection gone in an instant.

Vasily exhaled through his nose, "You said I wasn't doing a good job back at the club. I thought it was good."

"You call that good? Jeeze." Ogata scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't get me wrong—love that dick. But you're so... careful. Feels weird. What, you only done long-term thing before? No hook-ups?"

Vasily considered this. "How long is 'long-term'?"

"Dunno. Years? Months?" Ogata's gaze slid to the window. "Not my area. I don't do relationships."

Vasily could tell. Some people just gave it off like natural defensive chemicals. "Me neither." He told him.

And it wasn't that he didn't want it. But it was always inconvenient. Never safe. And he was always occupied—too many things to do, too little reason to bother. Without that inexplicable click, deep attraction just...didn't come.

"Then why hold back?" Ogata's tone was sharp, almost biting. "Don't tell me you're actually a gentleman."

For Vasily, it was basic decency, treating a sexual partner with respect. "I don't think so...? Do you want me to—"

"—Or are you just boring?" Ogata cut in with a sneer. "Man, what's your plan when we get to the hotel? Hug me? Kiss me slowly? Make sweet love to me?" He opened his mouth, stretching it into a theatrical yawn. "I might just fall asleep just thinking about it."

Vasily couldn't deny he'd been thinking the exact thing. But wasn't it as selfish? All those tender blowjobs, morning kisses, lovemaking under the stars—were they really for Ogata, or just what Vasily himself wanted?

He's making a mistake if he thought he was going to go anywhere with that. Boutarou's words echoed in his mind. You should take the lead.

He wondered how.

Outside the window, shadows of trees swayed in invitation.

"Pull over." The words left his mouth before he could reconsider.

"Hmph?" Ogata's fingers tightened on the wheel. "What's your problem?"

"Pull over," Vasily repeated, voice low. "Let's do it here."

Ogata's face flickered through confusion before settling into amused understanding. "Here? You?" A dry chuckle, "Don't force yourself just for my—"

"No. Not for you." The lie came easily. "There's no one around. Seems... exciting."

Ogata shot a look at him that told he's going to eat him alive.

Vasily barely had time to steady himself once he stumbled out of the car, before Ogata seized him by the belt, hauling him toward the trees, as if reason might claw its way back into Vasily's mind at any moment. A country road, yes, isolated, but not some lawless wilderness. The car was parked lousily by the road and that might attract traffic patrols' attention. The woods were sparse, the road still visible in glimpses between the slender trunks, headlights occasionally cutting through the dark.

Too late for regrets now. Vasily thought as Ogata yanked him forward, and suddenly it was Vasily who pressed him against the rough bark of a tree. Hands tangled in his hair, dragging him down, and suddenly, his tongue was sucked into a hot, dampen place tasting of gin and whiskey. Intoxicated, he was, and no alcohol was able to make comparison to slick slide of tongues like this.

Ogata shuddered against him, breath hitching between wet, open-mouthed kisses. His grip tightened in Vasily's hair with unnecessary possessiveness. "Mmm… not a bad idea at all."

Vasily braced himself against the tree, fingers digging into the trunk for balance. One hand slid down Ogata's back, mapping the muscles beneath his polo shirt, then lower, tracing the dip of his waist before seizing a handful of his ass, firm and taut even through the fabric. A low groan escaped Ogata's lips, muffled by the crush of their mouths.

He didn't stop there, and pushed past the waistband of Ogata's trousers, fingers sinking into bare skin, kneading the dense muscle beneath. It felt different like this, the cleft between those perfect curves deepening as Ogata arched against him, trapped between Vasily's body and the tree.

Heat surged up Vasily's neck, his face burning. Not embarrassment, no. This was the wildfire rush of control slipping through his fingers. The roar of blood in his ears drowning out thought, and for a dizzying second, he feared he might black out.

His hands locked onto Ogata's hips, pressing him harder into the tree. Like some base creature rutting in the wild, no, something more, something capable of hoisting Ogata up and slamming him into the tree over and over until—

A sharp shove interrupted him. Ogata pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark and inquiring. A breathless pause—then he dropped to his knees.

The grass between the trees was patchy, brittle in places, but Ogata paid no mind to the dirt streaking his trousers. He leaned forward, tongue darting over his lower lip as his fingers made quick work of Vasily's belt.

"Give me that." A rough murmur, and then his hand was around Vasily, hot and heavy against his palm, the flushed length twitching under his inspection. Ogata smirked, satisfied, before bending forward and sealing his lips around the tip. One sharp tilt of his chin, and he took it deeper, deeper, until the thick heat hit the back of his throat and stayed there, snug and suffocating.

Vasily's breath stuttered. Ogata had given him this before, yes—lazy, half-hearted. But now, standing, looking down, it was different. The face wore disdain and arrogance on a daily basis now distorted around the girth of him, lips stretched obscenely. The bruise under his eye hadn't faded. The sutures at his jaw strained dangerously as he forced himself wider.

It was too much. The wet suction enfolding the whole length, the rubbing of lips near the base and the way the tip had hit somewhere so deep that it was SUPPOSED to trigger gag reflex. But Ogata had either trained his body to profess this, or—it had become a second nature of him.

Vasily groaned at the thought, his fingers tightening on Ogata's shoulder before being guided away, upward, into the silken strands of his undercut. From below, Ogata's gaze flicked up through dark lashes, and then came a gentle pat on his ass, like an encouragement.

He could take a hint. He gripped Ogata's hair, wrenching a sharp, stifled moan from those stretched lips.

"Mmm… nice," came the ragged murmur, voice thick. "Come on, come on."

Vasily wasn't one needed to be asked twice. He tilted Ogata's head back with a tug, angling him just so, before sheathed himself to the hilt in that scorching heat.

For a heartbeat, Ogata faltered, heels skidding against the dirt as the force rocked him backward. But then he steadied, knees planting firmly, throat opening effortlessly to take each punishing drive. It was too much to hear the obscene wet slap of skin and the choked gurgle of spit overflowing past swollen lips.

Ogata's chin glistened, strands of saliva swinging heavy before splattering the earth beneath them.

It was amazing—Vasily's thoughts frayed into static as his hips stuttered forward, fucking that face desperately. Words failed him. There was only the obscene sight of Ogata, pliant and swallowing around him, throat working in perfect, willing submission. A receptive vessel for his personal use.

Or was he?

Ogata's lashes fluttered, his breath hitching around each brutal thrust. A low, satisfied hum vibrated against Vasily's cock whenever his grip tightened in that dark hair. He was enjoying this too much. Was this what he'd wanted all along? Something filthy, literally? His palms dug into the dirt for balance, his own arousal straining visibly against his trousers, the fabric doing nothing to hide how the roughness only spurred him hotter.

Abruptly, Vasily wrenched free, yanking Ogata upright in one sharp motion. A wet pop, followed by a whimper of protest, cut short when Vasily spun him against the tree and pulled his pants down.

"Umm, got lube in the car," Ogata muttered when his cheek still pressed to the bark.

"I know." Vasily fumbled in the trousers tangled around his ankles for the condom. "But aren't you still loose from yesterday? Or the day before?"

A breathless laugh shook Ogata's shoulders, "you're not wrong, but—" the words were cut short by a sharp hiss as the sudden intrusion. Vasily wasn't joking about or making empty threats. He really did just put it in with the littlest preparation. "—aren't you supposed to be Mr. Nice Guy or something?"

"Not tonight." Vasily leaned in, simply, barely made his words out between gritted teeth. A hand slammed against the tree beside Ogata's head. "Brace yourself."

Ogata hummed, bracing his arms against the tree as he adjusted his stance, arching back to meet Vasily's cock. "Alright," his voice rough, "not like I haven't done it before."

The remark was interrupted by a sharp thrust halfway in. Ogata's breath hitched, fingers digging into the bark as he hugged the trunk tighter. It was a sturdy tree, weathered by winter gale and unbroken by summer storms. Yet Vasily couldn't help but wonder if it would hold against the force of two grown men fucking like this.

Not that it would stop him.

He pulled out just enough to spread Ogata's cheeks wider. The dim glow of moonlight and distant lamplight did little to pierce the woods' shadows. What he could see was the stark contrast of Ogata's skin—pale and smooth, almost unnervingly flawless. Vasily wasn't sure if it was just him or if it was an Asian thing—he immediately shot that thought away. Ogata's mockery that day was still lingering in his ear. Although, the memory of Ogata in that floral yukata, smug and infuriatingly tempting, flashed behind his eyes. He regretted it at least twice a day, that his own stupid pride had kept him from pinning Ogata against the traditional inn's paper screen and ruining his pretty yukata and everything along with him.

But this was as good. Vasily looked down, mesmerized at his cock flushed deep red against the porcelain-like skin, the hole still stretched wide, twitching helplessly around nothing. How much had it taken before? A dark, crazy thought flickered through him—pry it open further, test its limits, see how much more Ogata could take—

Ogata writhed impatiently beneath him, ribs taut as he twisted halfway around. "Come on in," he goaded, "Don't be afraid of breaking me. Break me." His voice deceptively soft, but his smile cruel, as if a daring to see how much Vasily could fulfill his promise.

Vasily lined himself up, pressing the swollen head against that abused rim. Ogata groaned, his forehead dropping hard against the tree as his body tensed. Vasily gripped his hip, spat between the crack, and pushed in slow, relentless. He had to hold down so tightly that Ogata wouldn't be pushed away by the force of it.

"Fuck—that's it, that's it…もっと…" Ogata's voice frayed into a whimper.

Vasily obeyed, pulling out just enough to slam back in deeper, drawing out another broken noise. "好きですか?" he murmured, grinding into that spot that made Ogata shudder—

A sharp elbow jabbed his ribs.

"Fucking weirdo," Ogata gasped, breathless but vicious. "Don't speak Japanese—yours is horrible…"

Vasily quickly shut up and began driving into him with shallow thrusts. Each movement jolted Ogata forward, bending him further until his torso dipped low, barely keeping himself upright.

Vasily hauled him up slightly, trying to angle him onto a gnarled root for better leverage, but Ogata's sneakers kept slipping, so he tried something else. A sharp shove between the shoulder blades forced Ogata down, arching his spine until his ass tilted higher, offering himself up.

There. The new angle had granted Vasily a more efficient access to his sweet spot, punching ragged moans from Ogata's throat as that fat cock dragged ruthlessly over—

Ogata's hand darted toward his own neglected length, but Vasily was faster. He caught the wandering wrist, wrenching it back and pinning it tight against the small of Ogata's back.

It was almost pathetic to watch the way Ogata twitched beneath him, making those choked, desperate sounds, taking every thrust like his body had forgotten how to refuse. Vasily watched in a daze, hypnotized by the sight of himself disappearing over and over between those clenched cheeks. He hooked a thumb into the flushed, trembling flesh, spreading it wider just to see, to watch that ruined hole cling to him, rubbed raw and crimson with every punishing onslaught.

The condom had been pre-lubed, but the oil-based slick had long since dried, leaving nothing but a faint, sticky sheen. Vasily wavered—should he slow down? Or let them both suffer the consequences tomorrow? Not that it mattered. His body wasn't listening to reason anymore. Not when desperate groans began to tear away from his own throat. Gosh, he felt like a fucking animal—in the wood, with his mate, just heat and the primal need to claim. Around them, there's nothing could be found in the modern society.

And then, it occurred to him, this could've been done a hundred years ago. This could've been done over and again if he had caught Ogata before the man had done anything foolish to himself.

He wrenched the man below him, to turn his face around. Those eyes half-closed, dazed and confused between torture and ecstasy, but when they opened, his gaze locked onto Vasily's like a challenge.

"It's what you want too, isn't it?" Ogata's whimper was weak, out of breath, but even now, he dared to mock Vasily, to dig into the raw, unraveling edges of his control. "Isn't this the real you?"

For a heartbeat, Vasily's grip loosened.

Ogata collapsed face-first into the dirt with a choked gasp, his body jolting as Vasily's cock slipped free. He barely caught himself at the root to keep from hitting the ground fully.

Vasily stared down at him. Ogata was wriggling between his legs, like he might try to get up, to fight or flee—and suddenly, the sight hit him with terrifying familiarity.

He'd seen this before.

Ogata's half-bare body in the dirt. The stark contrast of pale skin smeared with mud. Some small woods, somewhere, perhaps in Hokkaido...

In another life, he had buried Ogata in a place like this.

Those eyes were in a bloody mess. His breath was stilled. He was unresponsive when Vasily cradled his face, memorizing the lines of him, to keep it so deep inside him, so he could carry it into the next life. So he would know how to identify him across the crowd, to walk closer, and begin a conversation, and find out what would happen this time around.

Vasily kneeled down like a prayer, his palm splayed between Ogata's shoulder blades, pinning him down as he again sheathed himself to the hilt. Ogata hissed, but the sound twisted into something wanton when Vasily started moving, hard, relentless, grinding Ogata's face into the moss and mud.

And God, look at him. Arching back, spreading wider, offering himself up like he'd been waiting for this very ruin.

Whatever that was.

Vasily's thrusts grew frantic, insatiable. Let Ogata think him unnatural. Let him think him monstrous. He was. No matter how boldly he walked, how fiercely he wore his pride, the truth coiled beneath his skin like a second shadow. His worse self was always there, wasn't it?

No. He caught that train of thought. This wasn't his worse self. If it lived in him, then it was true. And if it was true—then it was good. He had never lied to himself, never flinched from the raw, ugly parts. He would not allow his true self to be denied or doubted, even by himself.

Vasily bore down, fingers digging into Ogata's hips. "Don't move," he gritted out. "Just take it."

The surrender was instant. Ogata went still beneath him, obediently. Like a good soldier following orders. Like something already dead.

Notes:

i think sugimoto and shiraishi had met at a TWICE concert

Chapter 5

Notes:

the smut must go on…

#warning: internalized homophobia

"What made you choose this career path?"

From his very first interview, Vasily noticed how fixated recruiters were on this question. Why this industry? Why our company? Where do you see yourself in five years?

They asked as though twenty-year-olds should have their entire lives mapped out, when most could barely decide what to eat for lunch.

So he learned to think on his feet, spinning answers that sounded just plausible enough.

Yes, my middle school math teacher inspired me. Yes, I've always admired that infamous vigilante hacker. Yes, I aspire to lead this company's security division when I've gained enough experience in a few years.

None of it was true. But it would be what they wanted to hear.

Those made-up words seemed to make the interviewer happy—until one moment, when a predatory gleam flashed in those eyes.

"A pretty boy like you could do better, no? Acting? Modeling?"

Back then, he hadn't known enough to recognize it as harassment rather than compliments.

Those words sent him back to an old memory. He had attempted to walk like a model in his sister's sparkly shoes, only to find himself clumsily tripping over his own feet, hitting his head on the doorknob. It was more of the innocent curiosity of a seven-year-old rather than any form of sexual awakening. Nevertheless, his father had whipped him, believing it was necessary to rid him of things that shouldn't be there.

"Well?" The voice yanked him back to reality.

No mahogany conference table. No leering interviewer in a tailored suit. Instead, all that filled the space was a dimly lit motel room, with a blockbuster playing in the background, its light flickering over the beer in his hand. Ogata lounged beside him, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. He took a leisurely sip from his own, and casually posed the question just as the TV screen showed the classic monster unleashing havoc upon Tokyo.

They'd been driving along Hokkaido's coastline, stopped at windswept beaches and fishing towns. When the nights fell, they pulled over at hotels. They fucked with the urgency that came with the approaching end of the holiday—Vasily was amazed how fast time past when you stayed up late all night and got up even later.

And sometimes, they just lay tangled in scratchy sheets, doing nothing at all.

"Money, obviously," Vasily said nonchalantly. "My mom's the only one supporting us. And there's this full scholarship for computer science. Not much of a choice."

He wasn't lying, but there were faster tracks, if money's the only reason. Software development, for one. Most of the people he knew in the field were only there for the paycheck. They might not even like it. The thought of sitting all day, designing buttons and interfaces, felt suffocating. Not everyone was cut out for that kind of work.

To break them apart, on the other hand, that was something else. Reversing a sleek, polished app into its raw, primal form—it made him feel like he held the keys to every backdoor, like he was the admin of every system, every connection, even society itself.

It was power. Divine power. The same kind he once wielded with his old rifle, knowing exactly when and where to pull the trigger.

Ogata let out a thoughtful hum, turning over that sliver of information. "And your father?"

"Dead." Vasily shrugged. "Found drunk and facedown in a gutter. More common than you'd expect."

He took another sip to stop giving off more.

He left out the details, how it happened just days after the man had taken his one final frustration from his gas station job out on them. Vasily had been too young to understand, but old enough to remember the strange timing. His mother was absent that freezing night, and his sister's knuckles turned white around his wrist when the police asked questions.

"She was here all night," his sister had said, her stare a silent command. Vasily kept his mouth shut.

"Anyway, she's remarried now." He flicked a crumb off the sheet. "After we graduated high school. Well—my sister did. I didn't exactly finish it."

Ogata, however, had missed the humble brag about the grade skipping. "You've got a sister?" he asked instead.

"Two." He exhaled just as Ogata's stream of smoke began to irritate his nostrils. "One older, one younger—though the younger's just a half-sister." He leaned back, the headboard creaking under his weight. "Haven't heard from her for some time. We're on good terms, but..." A pause, then, "She moved back to Ukraine to stay with our grandparents. You know how these days are like."

Ogata paused. For a brief moment, Vasily wondered if the man might actually produce something resembling human empathy.

Instead, what came was pure him. "Hmph. Two sisters." A slow, deliberate drag on his cigarette before he blew the smoke ring over Vasily's face. "They say sharing the same womb with sisters alters a man... genetically. Or growing up surrounded by women." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Explains why you're such a fucking fairy, doesn't it?"

Vasily questioned himself what he should anticipate from this man. And he'd known enough queer men to tell there was no pattern in it. "Where'd you get that theory? Got sisters yourself?"

Ogata choked mid-sip. Once he recovered, his voice returned smooth as ever. "No. My mother only had me."

Vasily noticed the deliberate phrasing. It felt like a word play he might use himself. "And your father?"

"Dead." Ogata's reply came swift and unexpected. So, here's another thing they shared in common. Vasily shook his head, "No—I mean, are you his only child?"

Ogata's gaze fixed on some distant point beyond Vasily. "I am now."

He refused to elaborate on that.

The exchange of family tragedy could have forged a false intimacy, but it's already gone. Vasily might have just wasted his only chance to learn anything real about this man. Ogata rarely spoke of himself. They had spent a week together, yet all they'd done, aside from sex, was wandering through towns, sitting over plates of seafood, and sharing silence.

He couldn't shake the feeling that they were just… filling time, having nothing better to do for the holiday. Maybe Ogata was expecting something else, except Vasily happened to be right there, willing and available. He was just convenient.

It was almost degrading, how much he still enjoyed his company. How little effort Ogata needed to keep him hooked. Somewhere along the way, Vasily had let go of the need for their bond to be profound, fated, special. No grand design, no deeper meaning. Perhaps this was simply how ordinary modern people handle such relationships, long as their brain wasn't fucked by some ancient histories.

And even this was about to be over. Golden Week would end, and he couldn't stick around, for he had his own mess to deal with.

Back in the US, he'd have to explain why he'd vanished from his residence. Available fund was running thin, and even if he delayed things, he couldn't stay here indefinitely before his visa expired. The embassy might allow him to extend the stay, for his Ukrainian passport could potentially elicit sympathy, assuming they never discovered the truth.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew this was kind of unethical, an abuse of the citizenship passed down from his mom. After all, he hadn't suffered like the real victims. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It wasn't as if he didn't know what it meant to be a criminal—had done his share of killing in a past life. He had left it behind, he thought.

But now it struck him, with sudden clarity, that even to be a bystander was its own crime. The worst thing a country could do was to transform all its people into accomplices of its brutality, simply through their existence, their endurance, their silent acceptance. No one was innocent. Not even when he had stopped doing it.

Why couldn't he have just been reborn somewhere peaceful, where he could just live a normal life?

He glanced at Ogata.

The man wasn't nice. He's always this rude thing to everyone, never bothering to act nice even for those who showed him kindness.

But it could be worse. At least Japan hadn't seen war in seventy years. Ogata could even barely remember how to hold his old rifle.

The thought had been eating at him, that he would never again witness that lethal precision. He ached for the fearless warrior, the man who burned brightest when brimming with violence and murder. Maybe he had been too infatuated by the broken, blood-caked vessel that it infuriated him to see Ogata like this—unfocused, diminished, as if that razor-edged killer had never existed.

But that was conjured by suffering. Now, surprisingly, Vasily felt so happy for him.

They were no soldiers here, no opposing sides, just two men who could choose something different this time. They didn't have to destroy each other. They could simply coexist.

On screen, the giant monsters had ceased their battle, now united against a new threat. Ogata took a drink and let out a derisive sniff. "Typical Hollywood nonsense."

Vasily could point out that it was just a science fiction movie, and there was something refreshing about seeing former enemies fight together. But Ogata wouldn't appreciate the thought.

"I'll show you a recent Japanese version," Ogata declared. "Now that's decent filmmaking."

Vasily knew which one he was talking about—a beautiful, brutal film set against the backdrop of war. He could see the reason.

"There're serious movies, and there're Hollywoods. These American movies are just funny to watch." He said as the unlikely alliance play out on screen.

"Funny how you don't realize the monster IS America," Ogata said with a cold sneer. "Take a guess—Why else would we invent a creature radiating nuclear power, right after WWII? And now look, suddenly he's the hero. Classic."

Vasily turned around to find a serious face, amused by the way he analyzed what was supposed to be mindless entertainment. The shallow furrow between his brows was almost adorable when he got like this, like a nerd. Without thinking, Vasily leaned in and caught Ogata's lips in a quick kiss. The taste of beer lingered between them.

Ogata blinked slowly, processing the sudden contact. Then his expression darkened. "Don't even try," he growled. "You're not convincing me."

Vasily studied Ogata's profile in the dim light, and asked simply, "Would you prefer living in a time where you could've been a soldier?"

Ogata's beer hovered halfway to his lips. "Maybe?" he added quickly under Vasily's scrutinizing gaze. "Not because I want to fight. Just means we wouldn't be fucking bitched."

A century of collective suffering whispered otherwise in Vasily's bones. He figured Ogata hadn't learned anything because he's so damn lucky to forget.

Didn't know where that came from, but he could take a guess.

"Really?" Vasily finished his beer and tossed it across the room, listening to the soft thud as it landed in the trash. "Thought you liked that."

Ogata didn't catch his meaning at first. He blinked—then it hit him. In an instant, he launched himself at Vasily.

Vasily dodged the burning cigarette butt, catching Ogata's wrist and wrenching it away from his face. But Ogata didn't back off. He loomed over him, his free hand tangling in Vasily's hair, the mess of it spilling over his shoulder.

"You think I want it this way?" A sharp yank. "You think I don't wish I could be the perfect son—entitled to everything?"

Vasily didn't understand. "You mean—for being homosexual?"

Ogata paused, then sat back. "Yes. What else could that be," A dry snicker. "It's not like we chose this. Don't you wish you weren't cursed with this… abnormality? That you didn't have this itch—this thing society says is wrong?"

Vasily frowned. "No. Why?"

"So you could have real power. It's that simple."

Vasily's hands slid to Ogata's hips, grip firm. "I don't need the society to give me power. And I don't take orders from anyone."

With a sharp flip, Vasily threw Ogata onto the bed, his back hitting the sheets with a muffled sound. The lingering smoke from the cigarette dangerously hovered above the sheet, but Ogata's hand remained steady, dangling off the edge as ashes tumbled down at the sudden movement.

He stared up at Vasily, unfazed, then slowly raised his hand to take another drag. The ember glowed bright as he inhaled, the smoke curling from his lips like a challenge.

"Even mine?" he exhaled slowly, letting the haze drift into Vasily's lungs.

Vasily coughed. Ogata's secondhand smoke might kill him someday. A slow death, he thought, after decades of marinating in that toxin. He almost wished it would.

"Depends on the order," Vasily said, brushing hair from his eyes. "What's on your mind?"

"Now?" Ogata hummed, dragging out the syllable as if pondering some great philosophy, then flatly, "The usual. In and out, cum and pass out." He curved up the corner of his lips, "Or—I can stay put. Be a good boy for you. The way you like it."

"I don't—we don't—"Vasily stuttered, "I mean, we could try something else. Something we hadn't tried yet."

"Hmph, I wonder what that could be."

Vasily's fallen hair obscured his view again. He didn't bother pushing it back. "Do you want to fuck me."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ogata's face before settling back into indifference. "Not really. Not interested in your bony ass." Playfully, then, casually in afterthought, "How many men have been there anyway?"

"That's not something you ask people," Vasily said. "I never asked you."

Ogata arched an eyebrow. "I'd tell you." His eyes tracked Vasily's expression. "Or not, if you'd rather not."

Vasily exhaled through his nose. In close quarter, the air smelt like a mix of death and Ogata. "I don't care."

Ogata looked at him, lips twitching. Finally, he stubbed out his cigarette in the bedside ashtray, the ember dying with a hiss. "As you should."

His hand shot to Vasily's neck, yanking him down. A little surprise, but Vasily caught himself on his elbows. He left a quick peck on Ogata's jaw, avoiding the sutures, then pushed up again to strip off his own shirt swiftly. Ogata hardly bothered with clothes in their intermission, just made yesterday's shirt a makeshift pajama, now slowly tossing it away. Vasily looked down at Ogata, who had his arms folded under his head, waiting for him.

"Surprise me."

Vasily began tenderly, but soon came to the memories of their past encounters, each one ending in something wild and rough. Ogata pinning his wrists to the bedpost, riding him while spitting degrading words when his fogged mind couldn't keep up. His own hands gripping that thick throat, watching the Adam's apple bob up and down as Ogata gasped for air, pleasure spiking from the lack of blood.

The illusion of choice had been offered, but in truth, it was a challenge for him to improvise whatever would satisfy Ogata most. Vasily paused his gentle bites along the delicate skin between shoulder and arm—his favorite part of Ogata's body, even now feeling the taut muscles shift beneath, lying down there—before trailing lower.

When he lifted Ogata's legs, the man let out a soft, pleased whimper. He found the discarded lube tangled in the sheets and slicked his fingers generously.

"Open wider." He demanded, making his voice cool. Ogata tensed up as a long finger traced over him, teasing before pressing against the still-loosened entrance from their late-night activities.

Vasily's fingers moved with practiced ease, but his gaze stayed fixed on Ogata's face—watching the way his teeth clenched behind parted lips, stifling every sound into tight, controlled breaths.

Vasily murmured, "Relax. I'll make it good for you."

Ogata muttered something like, "this again?" though his attention sharpened as a second finger slid in. He shifted slightly, adjusting to the sensation, then commented with a sly grin, "Can't wait for something thicker."

"Just a moment," Vasily began, but—

"No, I'm not talking about your cock." Ogata sprawled across the sheets, swinging his legs up to rest on Vasily's shoulders. "I left all my shit in Tokyo—toys included. Maybe it's time to restock."

"Is that so," Vasily said, noncommittal.

"Yeah, I mean, yours does the job well enough—even if it doesn't vibrate." Ogata's gaze flicked over him, "But toys don't leave when the holiday's over. Just something I can stash away and pull out when I'm horny." Then came the interrogation, "Think you could beat that?"

"…No." Vasily's reply was short. He leaned down, close enough that Ogata could feel his breath. "Then I have to make good use of this short time."

Before Ogata could say something, Vasily dipped back down, fingers still working him open. He pressed his face against the firm muscle of Ogata's thigh, the cool skin soothing against his flushed nose. A sharp, salty scent filled his lungs—sweat, alcohol, the lingering bite of cigarette. He inhaled again, slowly, before sinking his teeth lightly into the inner thigh. The flesh was already mottled pink from earlier marks, and he dragged his tongue over the faint imprints, soothing them with wet, languid strokes.

He hadn't understood this hunger—this need to taste, to claim with teeth and tongue—until he'd found out he'd missed the chance for a lifetime unable to indulge it. Now, he would take his fill.

"Oh, come on," Ogata hissed, voice fraying at the edges. "Stop fucking teasing—"

Vasily ignored the way Ogata's thighs tensed around him, an impatient demand to get to the point. But he wouldn't be rushed.

He dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up Ogata's inner thigh before settling where muscle met groin, sucking the sensitive skin there just to hear the sharp, bitten-off sounds above him, then went lower. His tongue traced the faint seam of the perineum, wet and teasing, before pressing closer, flipping briskly as saliva slicking the way as his fingers worked deeper.

"Fuck—" Ogata's voice cracked, "The hell are you doing? Eat me out like some—"

The rest dissolved into a ragged exhale as Vasily circled his rim, then dipped inside occasionally alongside his fingers. Ogata collapsed back with a shuddering groan, "Ugh, disgusting. I didn't even shower."

But soon his words dissolved into broken gasps. Vasily savored the way the flesh yielded around him, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, lapping at the stretched rim, thrusting in briefly, then retreating without reluctance. He was so focused that he barely registered the sweat beading at his temples, the sting of it trickling into his unblinking eyes. It was familiar, this single-minded intensity—like sighting a target through his monocular.

Now, Ogata seemed to be coming undone beneath him, dismantled piece by piece, as if he were a trophy or recompense from a private conquest he had stubbornly insisted on. He wanted to draw it out this victory, to see just how long Ogata could endure before breaking.

His fingers slowed to a maddening tease, skimming over that sweet spot only occasionally, just enough to wring out a shudder. And when Ogata's hips jerked forward, seeking more, Vasily pulled away—his mouth wandering, tracing the swell of his balls, the dip of his inguinal crease, the tense plane of his abdomen—each touch lighter than the last, each one coaxing out another frustrated groan.

"Fuck—you want to hear me beg? Fine." Ogata's voice cracked, "Please...please, I want it. I want your cock inside me now."

Had Vasily been less resolved, those words, almost sweetened to a desperate mewl, paired with fingers tangling in his hair—might have worked. His own body betrayed him, arousal surging at the plea. "Please," Ogata gasped again, arching beneath him, "let me have you. I'm fucking dying like this."

But Vasily didn't yield. If anything, he pressed down harder, his grip turning punishing as he pinned Ogata's hips to the mattress. He knew better, knew the moment he relented, Ogata would probably flip their positions and take what he wanted. This was a game of control, and Vasily intended to win.

His grip tightened around the cock resting against Ogata's abdomen, admiring the way it twitched, glistening with clear fluid against the defined ridges of muscle. That body—something his own could never achieve without that same obsessive training. How many hours had Ogata spent in the gym, sculpting himself into this? The image flickered through his mind of the man bending down, lifting things up, the way his body tensed up impossibly to the limit, the back of his thighs flexed when he stood up from a squat—before he bent down, licking a slow stripe up the length to clean the slickness away, then took him into his mouth.

He tried to swallow him down to the root, but it wasn't as effortless as Ogata made it seem. He had no real talent here. Halfway was his limit, so he adapted, focusing instead on the tip, swirling his tongue in tight, practiced circles. He sucked just hard enough to wring out choked gasps, to feel the muscles in Ogata's thighs jump under his palms.

Ogata's glare could have killed him, but a sharp throb cut him off as Vasily's thumb pressed in, joining the other two fingers. He yelped, "Fffuck—give a man some warning if you plan to fist him."

"Okay," Vasily murmured, neither confirming nor denying. His lips parted, sealing around Ogata's hardness with lingering pressure, savoring the way his body tensed in response. With three fingers already in, his ring finger traced the stretched rim in a way that was both teasing and threatening.

He could barely resist the urge to slip the rest in. To sink his fingers in deep, to feel the desperate clutch of Ogata's body around him, to the wrist and above. The way his rim fluttered, reddened flesh twitching around the intrusion, was almost too much to bear. Vasily's pulse thrummed with the urge to ruin him—it would be so easy to give in, to let himself be consumed by Ogata, to stretch him wider, harder, until every gasp was a plea, until pleasure bled into pain.

For a fleeting moment, he imagined going further—stretching him past his limits, tearing into him until he bled. He could wear his blood like an armband. Ogata could be unable to walk or sit without aching for days.

And then Ogata would be furious. Vasily couldn't bear the thought of him pulling away.

So he held back. For now.

He withdrew all at once, fingers slipping free with a slick pop.

Ogata was panting, voice ragged. "What…why do you stop—?"

Vasily didn't answer. He just towered over, sealing his mouth over that twitching, open hole, and devoured him with something akin to hunger.

If only the walls were thicker, so Ogata could shout out without restrain. If only Ogata could stifle the desperate noises clawing out of his throat like some feline in heat—but his control shattered under the ruthless ministration. His fingers twisted into Vasily's hair, tugging weakly. "Ugh, ugh—fuck, stop it—"

When shoving him away failed, he reached for himself, only to have his wrist seized mid-stroke. Vasily's gaze snapped up, the cold warning in it glacial and unnegotiable. Ogata choked at the wordless authority—then his hips jerked as the climax tore through him, leaving him shaking without a single proper touch.

Vasily murmured something against Ogata's nape, nuzzling the damp skin between his shoulder blades. Ogata lay pliant in his arms, limbs heavy with exhaustion, succumbing to sleep after being stroked into blissful compliance. His head lolled against the pillow, the intense, drawn-out climax had drained all his energy.

"We're not done..." Ogata protested as he reached out weakly before his arm falling back onto the sheets. Within moments, his breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep.

Vasily studied the unguarded face beside him. It always felt like an achievement that he had turned Ogata in this state, passing out after how good Vasily made him feel, finally giving what he wanted and what he needed. The sharp edges of Ogata's usual scowl softened into something almost youthful. This quiet transformation had become his secret observation these past nights.

Yet sleep wouldn't claim him as easily. He reached for his phone, the screen lighting up to reveal a few unread messages—mostly from Asirpa.

She had abandoned them earlier, leaving her esteemed guests to wander the coastline without a guide. Important business, she'd claimed, "Vasily would understand—if he wasn't so single-minded chasing after Ogata!" without offering any explanation

Vasily huffed. Whatever she meant, it couldn't have been that urgent.

The messages included photos—an odd collection of candid shots. Elderly men with scary faces. Hard-eyed men who carried danger. Or just a few casually revealing tattoos while lounging on the beach, their ink similar to the patterns Shiraishi and Boutarou had.

Then came Asirpa's final message. "You mentioned the twenty-four words. Can they be restored if a few are missing?"

Vasily's thumb hovered over the screen. What was she talking about now? He typed a firm "no".

Even if she had all the separate characters, found their right English translations, reassembling them in the correct order would require impossible computational power. Vasily rubbed his temple. Although, he'd once believed his wallets were unhackable too—but technology evolved. Quantum computing. AI pattern recognition. Nothing was truly secure anymore.

His phone vibrated again.

"What if I knew a few possibilities for the missing word?"

Vasily exhaled sharply through his nose. "Possible in theory. But unlikely. Even if I could bypass attempt limits, which would also take a long time, the calculation after would still take a very long time."

"How long?" Her reply came instantly in hope.

"Centuries." He had to tell her. To say the least of it. "And that wasn't the end of it. Even if you can access the wallet, you still need to know how to launder all that money."

Silence followed. Having swiped away the messages, Vasily supposed Asirpa had either finally given up or started to look into the basics of money laundering. Just as he began scrolling through a stream of cat videos, her reply finally came—long and heavy.

"Vasily, last time our paths crossed, you were so fixated on Ogata, that you didn't realize you'd been dragged into a war over stolen gold. The map to the gold was split into twenty-four tattoos, inked onto convicts by a man named Wilk—my father in that life. Doesn't it look familiar?"

A pause, as if she were steadying herself.

"In this life, I grew up with only my mother. She told me my father died in an accident when I was young. But if that's true… who is the man in Thailand giving out those tattoos? If it's really him, then he's either in danger—or he is THE danger. And if these phrases are the key to some fortune… where did he get it? What does he plan to do with it?"

Her words lingered, raw with something between fear and determination.

"Please. Help me find him."

Notes:

don’t know how to explain it now but the Godzilla scene is relative to the plot lol

Chapter 6

As they rolled through the drive-thru, Ogata grabbed his black coffee and passed Vasily his preference—a sickly sweet, caffeine-free drink.

Vasily tugged down the mask to take a sip, carefully avoiding getting any drink on the fabric. He noticed Ogata's piercing gaze fixed on him. "Why do you always wear a mask, by the way?"

"Running from government agents," he quipped.

Ogata's expression didn't flicker. "Very funny." He hummed, "The first time I saw you, I suppose you'll look hideous under that."

Vasily hummed, "Oh, and now I'm not?"

"Yeah, I mean no. You still look better with it on. I mean", He slipped on the coffee sleeve, irritably. "Maybe I'm just saying your face is better covered." Ogata tossed in the remark as an afterthought. A soft beep confirmed the payment handled seamlessly by his car.

Vasily watched the transaction complete, lips thinning. "You really shouldn't rely on that. IoT systems are weak."

"Is that so? Guess you're just old-fashioned." Ogata asked casually, already pulling back onto the road as they continued toward Sapporo. His gaze flicked to Vasily's phone—perched on the charging pad with an outdated converter, stubbornly incompatible with the car's wireless tech. A smirk tugged at his voice. "How old are you, really?"

"I was born on the last day of the last month of the last century—"

Ogata tsked, "Always this dramatic." With a slight roll of his eyes, he added, "No kidding?"

"Yeah, why would I?" Vasily stirred the drink with the straw, "and you?"

"First month of the new century."

"So we're basically the same age."

"No. We're a century apart. You're paleolithic."

Vasily opened his mouth, but no words came out. It wasn't wrong, that he was in some ways, a last vestige of a bygone era.

Outside, neon signs from the street bled across the windshield, painting his profile in synthetic pinks and blues. Ogata slid down the window just enough to let in the crisp Hokkaido air.

Vasily's lips curled slightly, "Yeah, but old doesn't equal bad. I work with these old systems." Vasily tapped his chipped phone case absently.

Ogata's grip tightened on the wheel. He cut a sideways glance, catching the way Vasily's profile in the glow of passing headlights. "So what, you just freeload on cracked apps?" He eased his tone into something lighter, "Is that your field of work?"

"Not just apps." Vasily was somewhat hesitant about disclosing his early projects involving military. "Cars. Satellites. Nuclear plants." He knew that sounded like bragging, but, "I've worked with enough of them to know. Those legacy systems have many design flaws."

Ogata seemed unimpressed. His silence stretched a beat too long, so Vasily pressed on, "What's yours?" The synthetic leather creaked under his weight as Vasily turned fully in his seat.

"Hmph?" Ogata's eyes fixed on the road ahead where Sapporo's skyline pulsed with distant, corporate blues.

"Your specialty."

Ogata's finger stilled. "Me? Here and there." He shrugged, a little too fluid. "Now, just audit. Easy money."

The car's AI chose that moment to chime—a warning about another upcoming crossroad. Vasily didn't look away. "Really. What do you audit?"

A flicker of tension in Ogata's jaw. He adjusted the rearview mirror unnecessarily, avoiding eye contact, "Digital capital flow."

Leaning forward, Vasily felt the seatbelt dig into his shoulder. "Earlier, you gave the impression of knowing more than just the basics of auditing," his tone low and probing. "Or were you simply putting on a show for an audience that wouldn't know any better?"

Ogata emitted a dry cough, a bit unnatural. "Alright, fine. At my previous company, I did more than audits." Vasily could tell he was choosing his words with care. "We specialized in online security. Some of our clients... were major exchanges."

Vasily's eyes narrowed.

Ogata took a long sip of his coffee before continuing. "I understand how it operates, just enough to spot security breaches." he said, setting the cup down.

Vasily watched him closely. "If you say so. Let's say I have a wallet that got frozen. How would I extract the money, if I were you?"

"Why is that frozen then?" Ogata raised an eyebrow. "It's usually one of two reasons. Have you done something illegal? Or did you upset someone you shouldn't have?"

Vasily's grip tightened around his cup. The lukewarm liquid inside trembled. Ogata's sideways glance was questioning him, and Vasily hurried to fill the silence. "I wasn't joking about the secret agents."

The car plunged under an overpass, and for a moment the interior darkened. Ogata's face became unreadable. "Is that so." His voice was dangerously smooth, "I might have seen something like that in the records. During security checks, that is."

A jolt went through Vasily. "You..." His voice came out sharper than intended. He could almost picture Ogata in some dim backroom, browsing through dossiers for faceless men. "Was that related to the Russian government?"

Ogata didn't give him a straight answer. "I don't know what you're implying. And I never questioned what my former manager tasked me with."

Vasily watched him closely, taking in the tightly pressed lips, then let it slide for now. He threw himself back against the seat, arms crossed tightly. "That's my retirement money, you know."

Although, his mind was still racing. A third party with backend access to a platform that promised transparency. Experts blindly following orders from shadowy clients. Ogata's former company had its share of misconduct. Would it really be surprising if he'd stumbled onto something?

Ogata could be a whistleblower, Vasily realized. If given the right reason. And that could put him in danger.

"How much money are we talking about?" Ogata asked.

Vasily pondered, "A few hundred grand."

Ogata raised an eyebrow. "In US dollar? And how much do you have now?"

Vasily talked under his breath, "Just some cash."

A dry snicker escaped Ogata. "But you can't just park everything on-chain."

Vasily shot him a glare. "If only I had more time to move it offshore, but it was an impulse decision that I—"

"You know," Ogata cut in, "I haven't actually seen you spend a single yen this whole trip." The lights of passing storefronts flickered across his smirk. "I paid for the hotels, the diners, the cafes. Hell, I even bought the condoms." He side-eyed Vasily, "Well. That explains a lot."

Vasily took a feeble sip from the sickly-sweet drink—another thing he hadn't purchased. The straw made an empty, rattling sound against the bottom of the cup.

"I'll pay you back," he muttered, the same hollow promise he'd made to everyone he had owed to. "Once I access my funds. And...I've still got assets on smaller exchanges. It's just," He gestured vaguely at the passing streetscape. "You can't exactly buy ice cream with BTC."

Ogata's laugh was lighthearted, as if he were savoring the thought that Vasily would likely remain stuck in this financial dependency for some time. "Relax, I'm just fucking with you." His right hand left the wheel—dangerously long for someone supposedly focused on driving, if not for an auto-drive car—and came to rest on Vasily's thigh. "Spend my money, if you must. You can figure out the repayment."

As they passed a garishly lit ice cream parlor, its neon sign casting a pink glow across Ogata's features, he flashed a grin that was all mischief. "Want some? My treat."

Under the glow of fluorescent lights, the ice cream shop's glass display shone brightly, rows of colorful tubs sweating in the summer heat.  Vasily stared at the options too long, and Ogata nudged him aside with an elbow. "Just get me black sesame," He jabbed a finger at the menu.

Vasily's hand hovered close to the pastel pink strawberry-milk flavor, its label adorned with a cartoon cat licking its paw and sprinkled with edible glitter. Ogata let out a snort, "Of course." Although he swiftly paid, watching as the shop girls clumsily filled their cones. Sesame seeds scattered everywhere.

When their orders were ready, Ogata received a jet-black cone dripping with what looked like molten tar, while Vasily's was a messy swirl of pink goo that dripped onto his wrist. Taking his cone, Vasily took the first lick of his pink dessert with deliberate slowness, meeting Ogata's glare. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, unbearably artificial. Perfect.

"Too sweet. Tastes like diabetes," Ogata remarked, before making himself look at his own treat with a critical eye.

"Maybe because you don't always have dessert?" Vasily said as his pinky finger brushed against Ogata's, tracing slow, idle circles.

"A small price to stay in shape. And it's not really my thing." Ogata glanced down at the odd movement. "What are you doing?"

Vasily's voice softened, suddenly self-conscious and a bit embarrassed, but he didn't pull away. "We could… hold hands now."

Ogata went still, and then let out a sharp laugh as realization struck. He scanned the shop—the girls behind the counter were practically staring, wide-eyed—before quirking a brow at Vasily. "Here? Now?" His tone was almost scandalized, as if this were some brazen act, as if he was not the same man who'd done far more shameless things with him.

"Now," Vasily said, seizing the hand before it could slip away. In this fragile moment, something like shyness flicked in Ogata's eyes. It was too rare to waste. Vasily didn't care whether this sudden act of generosity was from good or ill intent. All that mattered was the way Ogata didn't yank free, just turned his face at the last second, letting Vasily's lips brush his cheek rather than his lips.

"Stop it," he protested half-heartedly. "People are watching."

"They seem to think we're cute," Vasily mused, lips curling as Ogata's ears reddened, however hard he had tried to keep his expression flat. He turned to the nearest girl, her cheeks pink to see two cute guys getting smoochy. "Hey, can you take photos of us holding ice creams?"

However, the girl hesitated, her voice trembling. "Uh… sir?" She pointed nervously past his shoulder to the street outside. "Your car's... hissing?"

Ogata turned first.

Outside the ice cream shop's window, thick, misty fumes billowed from beneath the vehicle. The car emitted a series of unsettling high-pitched whines, like a teakettle screaming through concrete.

His breath caught. In one swift motion, he grabbed Vasily's arm and pulled him back. "Move."

The first blue-tinged flames curled from the wheel wells as they hit the floor. Shop girls scrambled behind the counter, one still clutching her phone, fingers shaking as she screamed into the receiver:

"Officer, we've got an emergency! There's a car—!"

KRRRACK—the ominous sound cracked as the entire vehicle lurched upward, suspended six inches in the air by a soul-shaking thud. The green-orange fire tore through the white fumes, as the battery bank rupturing with an ungodly electrochemical shriek. The shockwave blasted out every shop window, glass exploding into a blizzard of glittering shards.

Then another sound—pop-crack-pop-crack—battery modules detonating like a string of lethal firecrackers.

"Stay down!" Ogata barked, shielding Vasily's head just as another explosion rattled the building. A flaming piece of debris smashed through what remained of the window, sending the girls scrambling backward with a shriek.

Vasily's thoughts spun in disarray. What was happening? He heard a violent sound and initially mistook it for the continuation of an explosion or perhaps the impending collapse of the building. Only when its rhythm sharpened did he realize it was Ogata's heartbeat, pounding relentlessly against his skull.

He twisted, attempted to wriggle free to see what was actually going on, but Ogata firmly held him in place. "It's not safe yet, wait a bit," he whispered urgently, keeping Vasily pinned down, left no room for argument.

"Shit—" it was too late, Vasily's stomach dropped. "My stuff's still in the car!" He thrashed against Ogata's grip. "All of it—"

Ogata's grip was unyielding. "Doesn't matter. You can wear my—"

"Not just clothes!" Vasily cut in, panic sharpening his words. "My passport. My fucking papers. I don't even know how to—"

"You can get them reissued, yeah?" Ogata countered.

Vasily's breath hitched. "I… I don't know."

Earlier, he'd been so damn clever—slipping under the radar, dodging the scrutiny of immigration office. He was not encouraged to leave the U.S territory. Now? Without it, he wasn't just stranded. He was going to face consequences.

Vasily wiped the cold sweat from his face, then fixed Ogata with a helpless stare that sent an uncomfortable prickle down the other man's spine. "How bad?"

His pleading eyes searched Ogata's face. "Can I... stay with you a little longer?"

Ogata's expression remained unreadable in the dim light. After a long pause, "Fine." he finally ground out a reluctant, "Hope we're talking days, not longer."

As the acrid smoke outside stabilized into a thin, steady haze, Ogata pushed to his feet. "I'm calling the insurance," he muttered, already turning away to make the unpleasant call.

Vasily remained crouched on the floor long after Ogata left, frozen in place until the shaken shop employees came to check on him. With a grunt, he finally collapsed into a chair, his eyes landing on the melted ice cream cone splattered across the tiles. What a waste.

The whole situation made no sense. The car shouldn't have exploded. The car hadn't been in a collision, and it wasn't like the weather was hot enough to induce spontaneous combustion. His earlier argument with Ogata now seemed eerily prescient. He needed to recover the black box data before insurance investigators or police arrived.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Would this make the evening news? The last thing he needed was his face plastered across media outlets. With practiced paranoia, he pulled his mask back up.

The questions kept multiplying. Just an accident? Unlikely. Could someone be after him, for the things he had done? But it could also be Ogata's shady corporate. Or it could be…

His phone buzzed weakly in his hand—still not fully charged, the cable helplessly dangling from its charging port. He typed out a quick message to Asirpa to explain they couldn't make it for their meet-up, for the progress she had mentioned. If her theories about the ink artist were right, this might only be the beginning.

And then there was the Thailand trip Shiraishi had talked about. He made it sound like some tropical escapade, an adventure—white beaches, luxury yachts, a "cool friend" who showed him around. But Vasily had done his homework. That man wasn't just dealing in coconuts. It was likely the casino he had rescued Shiraishi was actually owned by himself.

Vasily rubbed his temples. The entire situation was exhausting him already.

Outside the shattered shopfront, the wrecked vehicle continued smoldering, still emitting an acid foul smell. Local security had scrambled to set up traffic cones and tapes around the scene. Ogata stood rigid on the sidewalk with his phone pressed against his ear.

"Yes, I understand the two-claim limit applies to at-fault incidents." He dragged a hand through his hair, the normally slicked-back strands now falling loose from days of travel. "I've already reviewed the policy guidelines. This is a manufacturer defect, not collision—" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his free hand formed a tense claw, "You're applying the 30-day waiting period incorrectly. That's for comprehensive claims after collision payouts, not—"

A passing firetruck's siren drowned out the next exchange. Seeing Vasily's approach, Ogata glared him, unfairly raining down his rage on him. He turned away, "Just send a goddamn adjuster here."

He hang up the phone abruptly.

Vasily looked at him in in amazement at Ogata's grown-up stunt, letting out a faint "wow".

Ogata waved at him, "I know, right? Having to deal with this." He let out a mild groan, "It's brand new…"

Vasily crouched beside the wreck. Twisted metal collapsed under the weight of battery cells, their chemical innards still hissing faintly. Across the street, a cluster of firefighters debated how to contain the simmering blaze without water.

"We need the logs," Vasily suggested, watching as yellow caution tape stretched across the street. His eyes darted between the approaching security team and the wreck. "Once they impound this, we'll never know what really happened."

Ogata disapproved, "I'd try not making excuse for the insurance company."

"Not taking anything—just copying." Vasily pointed to the exposed charging port, its protective flap dangling by one hinge. A faint LED still pulsed deep inside the socket. " I've done this before—just give me sixty seconds."

"With what?" Ogata retorted, "Your laptop's ashes back there. And," he added quickly, "It's…it's not safe."

Funny to see how uncomfortable he got when he showed a little care. Vasily retrieved his phone, its charging cable still connected to an adapter. From this setup sprouted a collection of converters—USB, Type-C, Lightning, and even some outdated protocols from as far back as the Shōwa era. Ogata's eye twitched at the sight.

The cracked dashboard screen flickered to life, casting a sickly glow over their faces.

SYSTEM RECOVERY MODE
DATA TRANSFER: 18% COMPLETE ██░░░░░░░░

Vasily crouched awkwardly, only his head and shoulders inside the wreck, poised to bolt at any moment. "Come on..." he breathed, fingers drumming against the doorframe.

"It won't speed up just because you ask it to," Ogata snapped, though he was just as anxious. Standing by the window, his eyes were locked onto a police cruiser as it rolled past the barricade.

DATA TRANSFER: 89% COMPLETE █████████░

"That's enough!" Ogata grabbed Vasily's belt. "They're—"

Vasily could feel the car's vibration beneath him before he swiftly pulled his head out of the cockpit. He jerked backward.

But still, he wasn't quick enough. Caution tape surrounded the vehicle, limiting his movements—and then it happened.

A sharp crack split from inside the car. Then, in a violent heave, the vehicle seemed to expel him. Vasily was hurled through the air before crashing onto the street, the impact driving the breath from his lungs.

Fuck. Shards of wreckage had sliced into his face. At least not the eyes, he thought dully. At least the phone was still tightly clutched in his hand. At least— He tried to turn his head, but pain seared through him as broken glasses slid sideways. Still, he forced himself to look—Ogata. Where's Ogata? Is he—

His vision blurred. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

When Vasily clawed his way back to consciousness, the world was shaking. Earthquake? His thoughts slurred.

He tried to shout—his words spilled out in Russian. Wait. Wasn't he in Japan? He fumbled for Japanese next, to tell everyone to run, to hide—and realize he could not spell all of them in hiragana. Then he tried English—Ogata would understand that—right? But his lips moved soundlessly, numb as rubber.

And the darkness swallowed him again.

Later, a voice yanked him upright. He obeyed like a puppet on strings, limbs heavy, mind adrift. His steps were stumbling, and his knees hit something solid—and he collapsed.

Everything felt distant, muted, when his senses was dulled by the lingering haze of anesthesia. It was like a surreal dream, the kind of fevered vision that had haunted his teenage nights.

The bullet grazing his face, the man with black eyes looming over him. A smile, not of joy, but from cruelty. To spare his life, to brand him with shame. To leave a permanent mark, so that every glance in the mirror would sear him with the memory of defeat. So that everyone across his path would be scared away by the scars, leaving him utterly alone.

The man leaned closer, his fingers tracing Vasily's face with mocking tenderness before pressing into the half-healed wounds. His nails dug deeper, burrowing into the punctures, tearing them open anew. Fresh blood welled up, and a bolt of pain shot through Vasily—white-hot, electric—shattering the numbness, dragging him back into the raw, screaming present.

Vasily fought to push himself upright, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. At least his vision was clear.

Where's the place, a hospital? He vaguely recalled the tremor—or had it just been the jostling wheels of a hospital bed? He then belatedly came to the memory of the explosion.

He tried to shout for help, but only a choked groan escaped.

"Don't talk," came a voice, calm, familiar. Vasily turned his head, and even that small motion sent a dull throb through his skull—and saw Ogata.

The sight of him eased the tension coiled in Vasily's chest. This wasn't a hospital. The soft light, the rumpled sheets—he was in Ogata's bedroom.

Ogata sat propped against the headboard in pajamas, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a laptop balanced on his knees. When Vasily tried to swallow, the pain flared sharp enough to make his eyes water. He managed only a garbled sound.

With a sigh, Ogata set the laptop aside and leaned in. "How is it?" he asked, then seemed to remember. Wordlessly, he grabbed Vasily's phone and handed it to him.

The screen's glow illuminated the time. Great. He'd been out for half a day. It's midnight already.

A few more hours, and dawn would break, and the holiday would be over.

Vasily's fingers drifted to his face, brushing against thick bandages.

"Don't touch it," Ogata warned, his voice dry but edged with something sharper. "Shattered glass got you. If your mask hadn't absorbed some of the blast, you'd be a lot worse off." A pause. "Still, it's bad."

Vasily swallowed, the motion sending a dull ache through his jaw. Then, slowly, a realization crept in. He tested his tongue—moving it cautiously. It was uncooperative, but at least it was still there.

He exhaled slowly and typed quickly, then turned the screen toward Ogata. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I guess." Ogata didn't shift his gaze, "But something's off. The readings were normal before the explosion. It doesn't add up." He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up before rubbing his tired eyes.

"We can check later," Vasily typed, "Tomorrow."

Ogata let out a humorless chuckle. "It is already tomorrow." But he relented, shutting the laptop and setting it aside. Exhaustion weighed on him like a blanket, and he sank into the pillow, the day's chaos finally claiming him.

Even after days of sharing a bed, lying in his room, his space, felt different. Vasily glanced down. Someone had changed him into borrowed clothes. The pajama top fit well enough—Vasily was slender and taller, just balanced out the difference of Ogata's stocky frame. The trousers, although, were pooled around his shins.

He curled closer, letting Ogata's warmth seep into him. For a moment, the quiet intimacy almost lulled him back to sleep. Nightmares might come, but even they were better than the gnawing ache in his cheeks.

He waited for sleep to take him, but minutes slipped by, he was still adrift in the dark. Just as he resigned himself to a long night, Ogata's voice cut through the silence.

"Can't sleep?"

A quiet hum was his only reply.

A sigh, and then the nightlight clicked on. Ogata's face was half-buried in the pillow, features pressed out of shape. Vasily longed to turn toward him, to meet his gaze properly, but the threat of pressure on his wounds kept him still.

"It'll pass," Ogata muttered, tapping his own chin. "Mine ached for a week. After that, it's just the healing process, keeps you itchy." He paused, then added, "You'll need to be careful shaving. Work around the scars."

Vasily hummed in reply, almost bored.

Ogata's lips twitched into a smirk. "When the stitches come off, if you look terrible… you're not staying with me."

This time, Vasily's hum was questioning.

Ogata continued, "You know why I let you into my hotel room that day? You looked desperate. And, well… kind of hot, in that way, I suppose." His fingers traced idle patterns along Vasily's collarbone. "But if you turn ugly? I'm not keeping you around."

Is he dead serious? Vasily wondered, just as a soft hand slid down his chest, combing through the trail of hair from sternum to stomach.

Ogata's voice dropped to a velvet poison, "So, what are you going to do, Vasyusha? Hmm?" His fingers traced slow circles on Vasily's hipbone. "No home to return to, no place to hide, no money..." Then, a cruel smile, "No one to love you, now you're not pretty anymore."

Vasily's retort burned on his tongue—I don't need to be pretty, I have skills. I'll survive, I'll figure out—when Ogata's hand suddenly plunged into his trousers, fingers closing in a vise-like grip around his cock. Vasily's breath hitched as Ogata hissed against his ear, the words came out of his clenched teeth. "You. Only. Have. Me. Now. Do you understand?"

He marked each word with quick, hard stroke. Vasily's protests dissolved into broken whimpers—pathetic, shuddering little sounds. It only seemed to amuse Ogata further.

"Well," Ogata pressed closer, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin layers of their pajamas, "at least your cock still works." A chuckle, "Hmm. Maybe I'll keep you just for that."

There was no gentleness in his touch. His grip was punishing, dry strokes fast and unrelenting, dragging Vasily's foreskin up and back with such brutal efficiency that the friction burned. The skin was stretched taut, almost too much, almost tearing up. Vasily arched, caught between pain and unwilling pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Ogata watched, unmoved, the corner of his mouth twitching in something too cold to be called a smile.

The smile was cruel. Beautiful. Almost like the one from that dream.

Vasily's head spun. No—he was going to finish too fast—

Then, Ogata's phone rang. Perfect timing.

Ogata stilled, hearing it too. A low, dissatisfied noise escaped his nose. "Who the hell calls at this hour…?" Reluctantly, he pulled away to grab the phone.

Vasily's mind still teetered on the edge, but even through the haze, he registered something unusual. He turned his head, listening intently.

At the sudden screech from the other end, his brow furrowed. Shiraishi? What could that idiot possibly want with Ogata?

Ogata held the phone slightly away from his ear as the shrill voice pierced through, "Ogata-chan! You're the only one I can ask about this!"

Though visibly irritated, Ogata was curious about the strange phrasing. "I simply can't imagine," he drawled.

There was an awkward pause before Shiraishi's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, you see... what exactly does one do... afterwards... you know, with another man?"

Ogata's eyebrow arched sharply. He turned to Vasily with a look of utter disbelief. "I can't fucking believe this."

Vasily merely shrugged. Not his fault he was the more insightful one.

On the phone, Shiraishi's voice wavered near hysterics. "What do I dooo?"

Ogata's tone turned dangerously calm. "Tell me he didn't force you."

"No! It's not like that—"

"Do you happen to use a condom?"

"I... don't think we can...?"

Ogata dragged his hand down his face with a muffled groan. "Get PEP. Now. You absolute fucking moron."

"But what—where—how—"

Somewhere in the background, another voice called out. Shiraishi turned away from the phone, mumbling something in agreement before returning with renewed cheer. "Gotta go! But thanks, Ogata-chan~ Always good to have a neko friend!"

The moment the call disconnected, Ogata's grip tightened around the phone, like he was imagining Shiraishi's neck.

Vasily didn't understand. Isn't that word mean cat or something?

Notes:

if i don’t silence va rn he’d sound more&more like that kind of tech bros sorry i have to keep my boy pure

Chapter 7

When Ogata asked Vasily to register his fingerprints in the smart lock, it felt… weird. Like sliding a ring onto his finger.

Vasily wanted to smile, but his stitched-up face wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he made a vague, garbled noise. Ogata stared at him, brow furrowed, as if having just recalled something important.

"Right," Ogata started digging through his laptop bag. He pulled out a card-holder and thrust a credit card at Vasily. "Take it."

Vasily blinked at the card, hesitating. It's not that that urgent. Though it might take some time, he could still withdraw some money and then exchange—

"Just take it," Ogata insisted, flapping the card impatiently. "I've got a bus to catch." He groaned at the thought of squeezing in beside strangers—standing, sitting, breathing the same recycled air. "Can't believe I have to do this again…"

He was complaining, but it felt like a flimsy cover, as if he didn't want anyone to know how much he liked having Vasily living under his breath.

Vasily carefully plucked the card from Ogata's fingers. His pride could take a little damage, when it had to do.

Before leaving, Ogata shot him a glance—still in his pajamas, barefoot, looking utterly out of place—and smirked.

"Don't go wild with it," he said. "The bank will let me know."

He didn't need to worry about it. Yet. The real concern had started since Vasily got his hands on that credit card, all that information within a tiny contactless chip—which, at this very moment, he was sprawled on the sofa scrolling through, inspecting Ogata's recent purchases.

Nothing interesting. Just groceries. Gas. Rent. His eyebrow twitched at the number.

Is a normal paycheck supposed to cover a place like this?

He tapped into the repayment history, hoping to trace the source of the deposits. But his hands were tied. All he had was an outdated phone. He could probably dig something more if he could connect to a database, or find a broken-access bank interface.

He pushed himself up and started rifling through the room.

Ogata had taken his laptop, but Vasily was sure there had to be more stashed somewhere, although probably password-protected. Then again, even the smartest people could use the simplest passwords. He'd already got the Wi-Fi password—some date in the year 2000, maybe a birthday? But wasn't Ogata born in January?

The bedroom had bookshelves and a workstation, both empty. None of the books he had found on Ogata's shopping list were here.

Had he forgotten to pack them? Strange. It felt like he had left Tokyo in such a hurry that he didn't even bother.

Under the bed, he found two suitcases. The first one was the luggage Ogata usually carried in his trips. Ogata had clearly been in too much of a rush to properly unpack—the hospital, the insurance, and now his job—Vasily ran his fingers over the yukata inside. The fabric was smooth and silken, and on closer inspection, it looked handmade. He lifted it to his face. A faint trace of perfume lingered—something floral and strong. Almost aggressively feminine. Not exactly what he thought would suit Ogata.

The second suitcase was locked.

Vasily always thought any four-digit combination would be pathetically short. He could've brute-forced it in seconds with a rainbow table—on a computer, though. But this was just a tiny, stubborn dial. He fumbled with the gears, finding it too small for his fingers. And then he hefted the case. It was too light for a laptop, almost empty.

He shrugged, and put the case back to its place.

Next was the closet. He looked at Ogata's outfit, which was split into two distinct halves: one side dressed for work, all white shirts and ties, and the other side was casual. He sniffed at what seemed to be a gym shirt, but Ogata had already washed it.

He knew how this looked—rummaging through another man's underwear like some kind of stalker—not exactly something he could plausibly deny—but the search proved just as useless as the rest.

The room was barren, exactly as Ogata had claimed, just freshly moved in.

Vasily couldn't explain why he started to poke around like some burglar. No rush, though. He should probably eat. He'll need something soft that didn't require chewing.

The fridge was disappointingly empty, except for some beer and mineral water.

Vasily was struggling if he should get to a convenience store in Ogata's pajamas, or raid Ogata's closet, or just wear his own smoke-stained clothes, looking like a beggar—when the doorbell chimed.

He swung the door open before the delivery boy could drop and dash. The delivery guy stood there, crisp in his uniform, looking Vasily up and down, between his bandaged face and the name on the package.

"Mr… Ogata?" The postman's tone dripped with skepticism.

Something about it felt off, but Vasily couldn't quite place why. He gave a vague hum of agreement, but the postman seemed to take it as language barrier and just shoved the pad at him to sign. When Vasily scribbled his actual name, the postman squinted at it, muttered something under his breath, and hurried off.

Copycat?

Vasily blinked. What was that about?

When he texted Ogata about it, the reply didn't come right away. By the time Ogata finally responded, he'd already returned from his convenience store run, sipped his juice, and even started pouring it over his cereal.

His phone finally lit up. "That's gotta be the dildo." He could almost see the smirk through the screen. "Have some fun with it. Just send me a pic."

Vasily didn't bother opening it. He stepped out to walk around the city. He'd have to get some stuff like clothes, a bag, deodorant, the basics.

The air in Sapporo in early May carried the gentle warmth of spring settling in. The last cherry blossoms had faded, and the trees were now fully dressed in new leaves, casting dappled shadows on the pavement. Wandering on the street, Vasily found cafés chalked up iced matcha lattes and strawberry daifuku. He stopped at a bakery just to watch the steam rise from freshly baked melonpan, its sugary crust crackling as it cooled.

But he had to keep his mask on at all times, and after all this time, it felt uncomfortable, the fabric pressing insistently against his bandage.

Sitting on a park bench, he gazed up at the branches where birds flitted about—sparrows, tits, and an occasional jay hopping along the lower branches. That familiar feeling returned. If only he could capture the sharp, graceful movements of their wings as they took off. He pulled out his phone and aimed it, trying to follow a bird's movement. The shutter clicked, but when he checked the image, it was just a blur of leaves and a smudge of brown.

He sighed, and began to type, "Did you get anything from the car log?"

Ogata's reply came slowly, "Nothing goes to the explosion." with an attachment followed. Vasily squinted at his phone, straining to read the tiny text.

His credit card was declined at an electronic store.

Over the phone, Ogata let out a humorless sound. "I'm in a meeting. But go ahead, spend my money. I'm expecting a hot meal waiting for me when I get home."

Vasily doubted Ogata should be expecting anything resembling proper cooking. On his way home, he grabbed a frozen ready-made chicken noodle soup—one of those lazy yet genius inventions from the modern food industry. The package contained broth, veggies, and noodles all sealed together. He just needed to thaw it, add water, and boil, and Ogata would never figure it wasn't made from scratch.

Still, it felt strange when he tossed the frozen block into the sink to unfreeze. He'd never done anything even remotely close to cooking, much less for someone else.

As he began assembling the new laptop and setting up the environment, the TV news droned in the background. Their explosion had made the headlines—the top story of the hour.

Vasily paused mid-task, eyes fixed on the footage. It was captured by a traffic cam, showing only the car before it vaporized. Their faces weren't visible, but he could see his own stupid figure being flung across the street by the second blast wave.

"The car owner declined to be interviewed," the reporter announced. "There was one injury, though not directly from the explosion. The damage was minor, non-fatal."

Vasily's phone vibrated, not from a message, but a call. Not Ogata, then. He picked it up, half-expecting Ilya. Had the news gone international? Had he recognized him? If so, he could just hang up and say it wasn't a good time for him to talk.

But the caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.

Vasily hesitated. Could be anyone. He needed to be careful. Quickly, he traced the number's origin. It was Ukraine.

That could be—he answered, only to hear his mother's voice on the other end.

"Is that you, Vasyusha?" she asked. "I called Ilya. He said you'd left."

Vasily mumbled vaguely. The anesthesia had worn off, but even if he could move his face now, he didn't want to risk tearing any stitches. His muffled response only made her more anxious. She repeated the question, voice tightening. So he texted instead.

Yes, but I can't speak right now. Hurt my mouth.

"Oh—was it from the accident? I thought I just saw—why are you in Japan?" Her voice crackled through the speaker. Vasily knew she meant well, but even in her concern, she could be terrifying.

Why are you in Ukraine? He snapped back.

"I had to stay with Lera. She's too frightened to go to school." A tired sigh. "I planned to bring her back, but that would leave your grandparents alone here. I can't convince them to leave. It's... difficult. They keep questioning us where are you" she hesitated, "you know, after what you did."

Vasily exhaled sharply. It wasn't fair. He'd done it because he—

"It's just—too much, all at once. This war, you, your grandmother's minor stroke..." Vasily could practically see the deep furrow between her brows, a shared feature in their weary distress. "And Kateryna's getting a divorce. Can you believe it?"

Oh, Vasily could believe it. After everything their sister had witnessed between their parents—

He responded with a noncommittal hum, then typed. "I'll send money soon."

That was usually why she called. They weren't close—not really, when he'd been shipped off to that special school so young. He would pay off the debt as soon as he could.

"No, no—that's not why I called!" Static crackled through the line, the connection threatening to fail. "What are you doing there? Why did your car explode?"

Vasily massaged his temples. Not "Are you hurt?" Not "Are you safe?" Accusations, accusations—

"To stay with this guy I've met." He thumbed into the phone. "I'm living with him right now."

The line died mid-breath. His mother didn't redial, and Vasily didn't bother to text back.

He didn't hate his mother. He simply preferred keeping a distance. He knew exactly how much he looked like his father.

The system had rebooted, and in the black screen's reflection, he saw those same animalistic blue eyes, that same sharp nose—features of the monster she'd had to bury with her own hands. Let her believe he was the same cold, brutal creature. Staying away was the only peace he could offer her.

Text fragments flickered across the screen, casting jagged light over his wounded face. Then the system finished loading, and the silhouette of a white dragon materialized. Vasily plugged in his phone and got to work.

The room had grown so dark he could no longer see the keyboard, startling him upright from the dining table he was working on. He fumbled for his phone and saw a message waiting for him

"I have business dinner. Eat without me."

The terse message felt emotionless. He sank back into the chair, thumb hovering before replying with a bare "Okay." Should he share his discovery now, or wait until they were face-to-face?

Abandoning the laptop, he dumped the soup noodles into a pot. As boiling water bubbled, he rummaged through the cupboards, only to find display plates, pristine and unused. And they were fake—glue to the holders and made of plastics, models for the show room. Ogata must have never used the kitchen and never planned to that he never bothered to buy any.

In the end, Vasily ate straight from the ceramic stew pot. He's good at improvising.

Vasily slumped on the sofa, idly playing games as he waited, oblivious to the late hour. Was this revenge game serious? He switched to something simpler, just some mindless shooting to pass the time, wondering when his Player Two would return. If being with Ogata meant enduring nights like this, maybe he should just go back sooner rather than later.

He was stalling, avoiding the tangled mess of paperwork waiting for him. Why couldn't things be as straightforward as they were a century ago? Back then, if he wanted to go somewhere, he just went. No one ever stopped him for illegal entry. Then it hit him—he had been the one guarding the border. If anyone caused trouble for crossing, it was him who stopped them, not the other way around.

He shifted uneasily. This world's rules were suffocating. As a cyber ghost, he was free, but living an ordinary life here meant shackling himself to bureaucracy. Although, if he didn't bother to replace his documents, he doubted that Japanese authorities would come knocking to deport him. But he couldn't stay forever, live off Ogata's income. He could imagine the kind of ridicule Ogata might have thrown at him. Yet again, what was shameful about it? In the old days, many women focused on taking care of their families. He could do the same if he let done his—

He understood this was just fantasy. Ogata wouldn't put up with him forever. He'd have to figure things out… before he got kicked out for good.

He heard voices at the door and wondered if Ogata had returned. There seemed to be a delay. He walked over and opened the door, only to freeze in place.

Two strangers stood outside, dressed in office attire, supporting a visibly drunk Ogata.

One of the men, with dark circles under his eyes like a raccoon, looked up at Vasily and asked his colleague, "Did you get the right place?"

The other man, wearing his tie on his head, waved dismissively, "I guess so?"

Vasily stood stunned, noticing how Ogata hung limply between them, too close for comfort. For some reason, he felt uneasy. He was all too familiar with this man's vices. Was Ogata intentionally got drunk and brought these two guys home? Was he really that drunk?

He grunted incoherently and pulled Ogata's arms off their shoulders.

"Looks like we got it right," said the man with the tie on his head, smirking. The raccoon-eyed man eyed Vasily suspiciously, "Who's this guy?"

Vasily slammed the door shut in front of them.

He then helped Ogata towards the living room, noticing that he wasn't pretending. Leaning in, he caught a whiff of sake with decent alcohol content. He'd seen enough drunkards in his college days to tell the Ogata now wasn't that terrible. He practically submitted to his guidance, quietly letting himself be supported.

Last time, Ogata had passed out after just a few shots but recovered quickly, though still tipsy to run at the mouth. He felt at the slightly warm forehead and found no significant flush to his face, but it was hard to tell if he was completely fine or might suddenly throw up.

Vasily decided to keep an eye on him for now. After a failed attempt at getting some juice into Ogata, he simply carried him off to the bedroom to lie down. Leaning over, he started to undo Ogata's tie and the top button of his shirt, figuring it would help him breathe better when lying down.

However, as soon as he began, Ogata suddenly flailed, mumbling in his mother tongue, "No, no," his arm flailing weakly before dropping back onto the bed. "Don't do that…"

He ignored his protests and continued to unbutton the shirt. Ogata let out a soft, almost whimpering sound, but once Vasily tucked a plush pillow under his head, he instantly quieted, slipping into unconsciousness

Vasily knew he had to stay awake, just in case Ogata vomited in his sleep and got choked. So, he leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone.

Asirpa hadn't given up yet. She mentioned that she had tracked down some of the convicts through memories from her past life, though it wasn't always accurate. Some willingly showed their tattoos, while others needed more persuasion. Most were tricked by her innocent appearance and the story about an art project, but not all. One man she talked out of suicide had already mutilated his tattoo. Others seemed to have vanished entirely, as if they had never existed. Perhaps they hadn't reincarnated, unwilling to return to a world that had exhausted them.

Asirpa sent after a sighing gif, "Vasily-san, do you know what reincarnation is? It's a Buddhist concept where everyone is reborn after death, but what they become depends on their actions in their previous life. Those convicts were such terrible people, and according to Buddhist rules, they might have been reborn as rats. How could I possibly find them?"

But there would always be someone else, as long as the marks were in some form. Still, he replied, "Really? Ogata and I have killed many people. Why are we still human?"

Her reply seemed playful, "How do you know this is your first reincarnation? Maybe you were really good cats and redeemed yourself."

Beside him, Ogata began to stir, curling instinctively toward Vasily like a cat seeking warmth. Vasily couldn't resist running a hand through his hair, suppressing a shiver as Ogata nuzzled closer, molding himself against him and pillowing his head on Vasily's chest.

A sober Ogata would never do this.

So Vasily didn't pull away. He let him paw clumsily, fingers slipping beneath his shirt to knead at his ribs. Ogata mumbled something, his voice muffled, face half-buried in Vasily. Leaning down, Vasily tried to catch the words—maybe his Japanese was not that good, but the request was unmistakable. He wasn't asking for water.

"Mom..."

A strange, hollow ache settled in Vasily's chest. And so he didn't stop Ogata when his lips sought out his nipple, closing around it in a slow, drowsy suckle.

Vasily only ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't really sensitive there, but the rhythm of it was oddly soothing. By the time Ogata's breaths evened out against his skin, Vasily had already slipped into sleep.

When he woke, morning light spilled through the curtains. Ogata was already gone.

He found a message. "Wash your dishes. Disgusting, man."

Vasily stared at the congealed soup remnants in the sink. It would be a nightmare to rinse it off. He would be a terrible stay-at-home husband. Fine. He'll start working on the paperwork from today.

His laptop sat slightly askew on the table. Ogata had clearly tried to unlock it. Vasily snorted. He couldn't even blame him—they were alike that way. And he wasn't that stupid to use a fingerprint lock, not when Ogata had definitely kept the one from the door.

"I found something yesterday," Vasily told him. "Did you know the logs weren't complete? There's a cron job running in the backend. Looks like a recursive rm command, probably wiping logs periodically. Can't recover though."

"I knew that," Ogata replied. "Usually just the manufacturer. They clear local storage after cloud backups. Just checking with this guy at our legal team about getting a copy. International data protection bullshit."

"Alright. Just send me a copy."

"You know," Ogata's message appeared, "You should worry about yourself. If there really were some secret agents, you'd be on the first flight back. Just focus on your damn visa."

So that's how it was. Ogata couldn't wait to be rid of him. Vasily's fingers hovered over the keyboard—I'll miss you, he wanted to say. Then he deleted it, tapped the OK emoji and hit send.

Vasily waited in the convenience store for his prints when Sugimoto walked in, dressed in staff uniform. His eyebrow lifted—did Sugimoto work this close to Ogata's apartment? Then again, it made sense. He had hit Ogata while riding his delivery scooter.

The memory of Sugimoto juggling two jobs as a student struck Vasily as vaguely pitiful. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought of Sugimoto being here now, so near to Ogata's place, when he himself would be gone so soon.

He recalled an idle talk between waves and wind during their trip. Vasily had said it plainly, "You still got a shot. He's at least bisexual. You're just too intense. If you really want him, try being nice for once."

Ogata had been crouched on the beach then, skimming pebbles across the water. "You're saying I should change myself for him? No thanks."

"Then don't expect him to change for you."

Ogata shot him a sidelong glance. "That's alright. Let him stay as he is. It's not that important. He's not that important. I want more than just… relationships. Hook-ups are alright, but I'm not putting in extra work for anyone."

He was talking about Sugimoto—or maybe he wasn't. Maybe he was just making sure Vasily understood where he stood.

Sugimoto spotted Vasily and nearly jumped. "Vasily-san? What happened to your face?"

Vasily pulled out his phone, explaining briskly. He had an accident, and now he was leaving Japan.

"Is that so?" Sugimoto scratched his head, then sighed. "We should have a farewell meal… Ah, never mind. Asirpa's not around." His expression darkened, almost accusatory. "She's obsessed with whatever idea you put in her head. And she didn't tell me a damn thing!" He gritted his teeth. "I know she talks in riddles, but I could've helped. Did she say anything to you?"

Vasily could guess why Asirpa had cut Sugimoto out of her plans. This version of him was nothing like the battered survivor from before—no scratches marring his pretty face (his mood turned sour at Ogata's earlier comments). Asirpa probably wanted to keep him clear of trouble, tucking him safely away like a mother hen shielding her chick.

So he typed, "Just technical. She's making progress."

Sugimoto crossed his arms. "Even you…" His gaze lingered, sharpening as if piecing something together, maybe recognizing Vasily as the guy he'd once flipped in a bar fight. "You're still staying with Ogata, right?"

Vasily gave a single nod.

"Great. Then take this." Sugimoto strode to the convenience store's package rack, retrieving a box and thrusting it into Vasily's hands. "He ordered it off some shady website. Word of advice? When a box is packed this carefully to hide what's inside, you know it's nasty."

Vasily shook the box. Layers of foam and wrapping muffled any hint of its contents. He frowned. Hadn't he already received his delivery?

Sugimoto read Vasily's question from his screen in confusion, "Dunno. Maybe it's another shipment?" His voice trailed off, "Or he bought two…"

When he got home, Vasily tore into the package right away. Ogata had told him to make himself at home, making use of the toy—hadn't he?

Inside lay an assortment of toys—silicone, plastic, the usual fare from adult shops. He picked one up, turning it over in his hands. He didn't find anything unusual about it. With this set of arsenal already at Ogata's disposal, why would he need another order?

Then what was in the second package?

Vasily's hand was shaking when he went to open another parcel. He didn't realize until now it was too small for anything like a dildo. It's almost too slim for anything substantial. He didn't see a sender's name on it.

Now came to think about it, he wasn't sure that cheerful delivery boy was wearing any logo he ever recognized, but it might just be his ignorance. And then he recalled his own uneasiness from earlier when the delivery boy read Ogata's name from the package. Ogata never used his real name anywhere.

He almost ripped the flimsy packaging apart.

A single flash drive lay inside.

Notes:

Ogata’s not a generous person but he gotta pay off all those rabbits Vasily caught and brought home from all those post canons🤣

Chapter 8

Vasily was stirred awake by the hushed voices. He thought Ogata was talking to him, but the bed was empty.

Sunlight streamed through the balcony, the day already well underway. He then realized it was the weekend—another rare occasion to have Ogata all to himself, not sharing him with anyone.

Ogata's voice carried in from the balcony, but for some reason, it was sharp and urgent. Though Vasily couldn't make out the exact words through the closed door, it was obvious from the rapid speech and impatient interruptions that he was engaged in an argument.

By the time Vasily dragged himself out of bed and stepped outside, while rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the call had already ended.

Ogata turned, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his wrist resting on the balcony railing. His eyes flicked toward Vasily before he took a slow drag and exhaled, and returned his drifting gaze back to the city below.

As if only to register Vasily's silent presence in the doorway, he asked, pulling out his phone. "What do you want for lunch? I'll order takeout."

He thumbed through the apps and scrolled absently—until something caught his eye. A soft chuckle escaped him, and he tilted the screen toward Vasily. "Did you mean it?"

It was a message Vasily had drafted earlier. He had typed it into the text bar, but he'd never actually sent it. He had no idea when it had gone through.

I'll miss you.

Under Ogata's burning gaze, Vasily fumbled for words, starting to make meaningless sounds.

Ogata grinned casually. "It's fine. It'll pass." He reached out, flicked ash over the railing without a care for who might be below, and added, "I just don't want to owe you anything."

Vasily wondered why Ogata would think that way—he was the one who actually owed him something. As Ogata showed him his phone screen, he leaned in closer, peering at the screen for a long time before pointing at a very cute cat shaped curry omurice.

"It won't stay like that," Ogata said flatly. "It's just the plate."

The takeout arrived just as he predicted. The promised cat shape now just a sad, shrunken lump of rice in the plastic container. Ogata observed closely at Vasily's frowning, smiling, as if he enjoyed letting Vasily find out the reality for himself.

"How's your visa progress?" Ogata asked, chopsticks tapping against his container. "When are you leaving?"

Vasily showed him the submitted status and queue. Ogata shrugged. "Guess you'll have to find something to do in the meantime."

Vasily figured that to Ogata, just hanging out didn't count as doing something. But he wasn't spending his stay here idle either. He grabbed his laptop from the other end of the table—it had become his makeshift office—and turned the screen toward Ogata to show what he had been working on.

Asirpa had sent him all the tattoos she could find. Some were taken in photos, others were just text descriptions of the patterns she had seen. Vasily was running combinations, matching each possible English translation of the Kanji characters against the existing leaked databases to see if any matches came up.

"You two have been in touch this whole time?" Ogata raised an eyebrow, and then leaned closer to the screen, squinting slightly. Vasily had long suspected he was a bit farsighted.

"Can't believe you had actually matched a few. But," Ogata muttered, pointing to one on the screen. "But this seed has only twenty words. Wouldn't it be faster if you filtered by length first?"

Vasily was well aware of that. But if the matching rules were too strict, nothing might come up at all. He didn't want Asirpa to think he wasn't doing anything or that he wasn't willing to help.

Ogata shoved Vasily aside and seized his laptop. "What are you even writing? You didn't even check if these translated English words are in the dictionary. And how do you know it's an English dictionary?" He scoffed. "I don't know how you do it in Russia, but there is one in Japanese, and these kanji characters themselves can be used as mnemonics." He shot Vasily an accusatory glance.

Vasily dodged from his gaze, face heating up. Did Ogata realize he was talking to a guy who got his millions of digital assets frozen?

"Let me handle this." With a dismissive wave, Ogata added, "Besides cracking the combination, we need to trace any funding chains that might lead us to the address." He tossed the laptop back at Vasily. "You focus on bypassing the login—that part doesn't interest me anyway."

With that, Ogata forwarded the files and pulled out his own laptop. Vasily sat there, dumbfounded. Was work Ogata always this bossy? Or it was because he was paying for everything? They could at least finish their curry first.

In no time, Ogata seemed completely absorbed in the thrill of the investigation. Vasily reluctantly cleared the table and then began downloading tools, frameworks, and setting up the environment. This was the boring part that would take a lot of time. If his old computer and backup hard drive hadn't been destroyed in the explosion, he could have started right away. He even had some ready-made injection scripts for dynamic analysis, but now he had to start from scratch.

By the time Vasily had finished installing the tools and finally connected his phone to the computer, it was late.

He glanced over at Ogata and was almost startled by his appearance. Ogata had his pale complexion, and now with cold sweat trickling down his face, he looked he might collapse at any moment.

Vasily then realized that Ogata hadn't moved at all during this time, unlike him, who had taken a trip to the convenience store during the waiting. Sugimoto wasn't on duty today, which gave him a strange sense of relief.

He walked over and touched Ogata's forehead. His temperature seemed normal. But Ogata's intense focus was finally broken.

"I'm fine," Ogata muttered, though he immediately grabbed the juice Vasily handed him and drank it down. After getting some sugar into his system, he looked a bit more composed, though he promptly frowned at the ingredient list on the bottle and pushed it away. "Did you find anything?"

Vasily shrugged. He hadn't really got anything done yet.

Ogata's face twitched slightly, but he turned his gaze back to the screen. Vasily followed him and studied the diagram filled with a complex network of connections, linking one address to another.

His voice was cracking. "There must be incoming transactions... they have to converge into a vault somewhere. I'm scraping through every pattern, every trace, but—" His breath hitched, fingers clawing at his hair. "There are too many. What if—what if there's more? What if they hide the origin with mixers?"

The way he trembled was rather alarming. Vasily steadied him by the shoulder and realized that his t-shirt was also drenched. At this rate, Ogata could easily catch a chill, and it would be nearly impossible to get any work done.

Vasily pulled Ogata up from the table and led him to the sofa, threw a jacket at him, then went into the kitchen to whip something up. When he emerged from the kitchen carrying the steaming pot, he found Ogata had slumped back into his seat to look at the transactions. It was already evening, but the living room light remained off. Only the glow from the screen reflected on his face, casting an unsettling, sickly hue. He stared listlessly at the graphs.

The food finally pulled Ogata from his trance, his brow furrowing as he eyed the small pot Vasily set before him, along with paper plates and forks looking suspiciously like those saved from cup noodles.

"Dumplings," Vasily offered. He supposed one glance was enough to tell they were straight from the freezer.

Regardless, Ogata picked up a small plastic fork and fished out a dumpling from the pot. The two of them ate in silence, without a word or a pinch of seasoning.

"I don't know what I was imagining earlier," Ogata finally broke his silence, speaking with a newfound calmness.

Vasily carried the leftovers to the kitchen. And when he returned, Ogata's warning glare stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to finish scrubbing sheepishly.

"Much sexier," Ogata commented lightly, but not really meaning it, because when Vasily attempted to wrap his arms around him from behind the chair, he groaned in frustration, "Leave me alone, I'm getting somewhere."

But Vasily had no interest in working on this beautiful weekend evening. It wasn't that he particularly cherished his free time. He just knew procrastination was usually from uncertainty. If he was had a higher success rate, or had no question about what he was doing, he would also throw himself into the task without hesitation, working tirelessly until it was solved.

At this point, he saw little reason to keep going. Surely, wallet software was fortified with layers of security. He could bypass certain safeguards, like lifting the attempt limit and spoofing device fingerprints to generate authentic requests, so Asirpa could give her best shots, once she gathered enough intel.

But realistically, he doubted such valuable assets would even be stored that way.

He hadn't mentioned about the flash drive. He wanted to study it more when Ogata wasn't around.

Although the drive was a bit outdated, but it wasn't entirely impossible to function as a cold wallet. The model supported software passwords, hardware keys, and PINs. Five failed attempts would trigger a permanent lock, reversible only with an admin PIN. And if the admin PIN was wrong five more times, everything inside would be wiped.

The stakes were high, for the actual seed phrases might be stored in this very drive, and failed attempts could mean ruining it, jeopardizing everything they had been working towards. But this's what he's good at, infiltrating into heavily guarded old systems. He couldn't wait to find out Ogata's reaction when he got it first.

So rather than backing down, Vasily grabbed Ogata's arm and tried to yank him out of his chair.

It was baffling how fixated Ogata had become, once he got over his earlier lack of interest. He resisted, twisting in Vasily's grip, struggling to break free, looking like he was about to start a wrestle.

Then—the chair suddenly tipped over. Vasily yelped in pain as the chair leg jabbed his bare foot and the back hit his unhealed wound. Ogata wriggled free from Vasily's loosened grip, rolling nimbly to the side.

He let out a tired sigh. "What are you even doing?"

Before Vasily could answer, Ogata took his arm to steady him as he pulled him upright. Wordlessly, he fetched the bandages and ointment, peeling away the old dressing to inspect the injury beneath.

Vasily tried to steady himself while the disinfectant stung his wound and the cold ointment was applied again. They were close enough that he could feel Ogata's breath when he leaned in. It's ridiculous he could still blush from his proximity, after all the things they had done.

"All done," Ogata said as he put things away.

He looked at his handiwork with satisfaction, not only the neat bandage but also Vasily's uneasy state. He moved his hand from Vasily's face to the back of his head, holding it firmly, much like a cat mother controlling a wriggly kitten.

"What a pity," he said, lowering his voice as he moved in closer. "We could have had a lot more fun."

Vasily tried to keep his mouth open when Ogata's lips pressed against his. But this time, Ogata wasn't in a hurry to slip his tongue in, to draw Vasily's tongue into his own mouth the way he usually liked. He was being so cautious, so unlike himself. Too slow—so slow that it bordered on maddening. Vasily had always thought he was the gentle one, that Ogata didn't like it this way. But now it turned out Ogata could draw things out like torture if he wanted to.

A hand slipped beneath fabric. Ogata touched him as if soothing the very hurt he'd inflicted on him, fingers tracing the delicate space between the thin layers of muscle on Vasily's back. For once, he was initiating a tenderness that wasn't rushed into heat, just savoring the texture of skin under his palm, rough in some places, smooth with body hair in others. His fingers skimmed the edge of his waistband… then lingered there, taking its damn time.

Somewhere in Vasily's pants, something shifted. Ogata smirked, knowingly.

However, Vasily just reached in and retrieved his phone. It was a text message.

It showed a location. Vasily raised his eyes and saw that Ogata was also looking at the screen. He didn't say much beside voiced the question they both had.

"What is she doing there?"

They took a taxi for a long time before reaching a cemetery.

The graveyard at night was quiet and still, lit only by the faint glow of streetlights from a distance. Behind the fences, rows of tombstones, some old and worn, others newer and polished, stood in neat lines across the grassy field. The air carried the scent of wet soil and freshly cut flowers left by visitors earlier in the day.

No one would visit at this hour, except perhaps for secret rendezvous.

Vasily figured they would need to search for a while, but then they saw Asirpa's big truck at the corner. It had been a few days since they last saw her, and she looked utterly exhausted, dozing off by the window. But when she saw them approaching, she roused herself and climbed out.

She looked at Ogata, face twisted, "Why did he come too?"

Vasily's response was an ambiguous grunt. She should have anticipated that.

Ogata quipped, "He's an injured man. I have to take care of him."

"Yeah," Asirpa said, "I heard about your accident. It's been a bit unsettling..." Vasily waved his hand, signing he was fine, but she continued, frowning, "...feels a bit familiar."

Memories of her past life had left her acting and talking a little strangely, so much so that it didn't even seem too out of place when she visited the graveyard at this time of the night.

"So, what do you want?" Ogata asked, pocketing his hands and looking around as if he was worried they might be caught.

"Well, I've been on the road for a few days. I did find many tattoos, but…It feels wrong." She crossed her arms. "I have connections with people who might have it, but not all of them actually do. Some of the characters I found aren't what they… used to be. You know how often kanji are used in tattoos, even when people don't understand their meanings? I stopped looking once I've got more than thirty tattoos like that. I even—"

She shook her head, "I even found someone to hypnotize me, see if she can send me back into my past life to check details."

"Past life—?" Ogata choked on the words. He whirled around toward Vasily, eyes sharp with accusation. "I—I don't get it. When you said you were helping her, I believed it. Hell, I even bought into that story—worked my ass off looking. But now it's clear she's out of her damn mind, isn't she?"

Vasily bowed his head under the reprimand, but Asirpa ignored it and kept going on. "I know. Even in my past life, I never collected them all. But back then, we didn't need them all to put together the map—Aca knew some people would always remain beyond our reach."

Ogata said coldly, "You do realize a seed phrase can't afford to miss a single word?"

"Well, I've been thinking about these questions while on my way. Why did he hide the password like this? Why did he think I could decrypt it? What did he want me to use that money for—to save our culture that had already been preserved in a museum? I don't think so, not this time."

She chuckled, almost mockingly at herself.

"Then it hit me—maybe I'm just delusional, like you said. My father is really, simply gone. I've just been haunted by the past. I just need to accept it. My purpose was utterly selfish. I... I just want to confirm one thing—whether his grave is actually empty."

As Vasily stared in disbelief, she grabbed a folding shovel from the back of the truck.

"You can disable security cameras and pick locks, right?" she asked casually. "I've seen hackers do that in movies."

Ogata snorted. "That's a stereotype."

Vasily, at a loss for words, silently pulled his laptop out of his bag and began to sniff signals.

Ogata didn't bother hiding his disgust for the graveyard, his face contorting as if something there truly repulsed him. Or perhaps he was simply afraid, like any normal person would be, but was too embarrassed to admit it. Still, he followed as they slipped through the side gate.

As they were trailing behind Asirpa, she started, "Aca disappeared not long after I was born. My mother always said he only married her to get Japanese citizenship."

Before Vasily's mind could wander its way into some ideas, Ogata sneered behind them. "Ah, another deadbeat dad."

Asirpa opened her mouth as if to defend him, then thought better of it.

"Some people are just born that way, I suppose—carrying the weight of things bigger than family," she said with a bitter smile. "That's what I used to tell myself. So when we learnt he'd died in an accident, years after, I even thought... maybe it was better that way." Her voice grew quiet. "Lately I've been haunted by this thought—if he's alive, it means he abandoned me again, maybe for some grand picture. And now, chasing his password... am I just being used as another tool in his plans?"

She stopped mid-path, taking deep, steadying breaths. Ogata caught up to her.

"Pretty standard father material, if you ask me," he remarked, then shot a glance at Vasily. "Right, Vasily? Back me up here."

Vasily froze for a moment at his words, then remembered he had indeed once mentioned how his father drank himself to death. He gave a slight nod, though he was certain Ogata didn't know the full extent. Not that it mattered. He had gotten what he deserved. Now he supposed he understood Asirpa. If his own damned old man crawled out of the grave, he'd probably put him back in himself.

The tombstones stood low and close together, each with its own distinct style. Worn stone markers sat beside polished modern slabs, while moss-covered lanterns tilted between them. The cramped rows felt like a small neighborhood for the dead people.

They found the modest grave at the heart of the cemetery. The unadorned headstone stood in stark contrast to the elaborate surrounding tombs with their carved Buddhas and elegant calligraphy. It bore only a name and dates.

Vasily hesitated. The burial plot was sealed with a stone slab. How were they supposed to open it?

Without ceremony, Asirpa swung her folding shovel off her shoulder, flipping it to wield the pickaxe end as she began prying at the edge.

Vasily moved to assist, bracing his boot against the slab's edge for leverage.

The stone groaned in protest as their combined weight pried it upward. Asirpa adjusted her grip, sweat glistening on her forehead under the moonlight. A hollow echo sounded beneath as the seal finally shifted, releasing a whisper of stale air from the darkness below.

Ogata raised his hands up. "Count me out." he said, already backing away, and then wandered off between the tombstones.

Vasily sniffed the air cautiously but detected no telltale stench of decay.

Asirpa shrugged, shovel still in hand. "Mandatory cremation these days," she remarked. "Best we'll find is an urn."

They peered into the darkness below, switching on their phone flashlights. Beams of light pierced the gloom, illuminating swirling dust, like ghostly mist. Asirpa instinctively pulled her sleeve over her nose while Vasily cursed himself for not carrying spare masks.

"Ugh, what the—" Her frown deepened as she lowered her arm, dissolving into coughs. Vasily's gaze followed the light—there, nestled in the shadows, sat the unmistakable dark silhouette of an urn.

The discovery stunned her into stillness. "But...this can't be..." Her voice trailed off as she crouched motionless, then suddenly lunged forward with startling determination.

Fingers closing around the urn, she started to wrench it upward. Years of accumulated dirt clung stubbornly to its base, the container half-fused to the earth. Vasily had to grip her by the jacket, or she might fall in.

As the relic broke free in a cloud of dust, her face turned even grimmer.

"There's definitely something inside," she murmured gravely, shaking the urn. "Powdery."

Maybe she should give up now. Or maybe she was relieved.

What Vasily didn't expect was her suddenly twisting the urn's lid open. His breath hitched as she poured a small heap of powder onto the ground, dipped her finger in, and—slowly—brought it to her mouth.

"This—" Asirpa's face twisted. "It's disgusting. Are ashes supposed to taste like this?" She looked at Vasily as if he should have the answer to that.

But then she gagged, spitting violently. Vasily watched in alarm—until she burst into laughter between coughs.

"Vasily-san, it's lime! Just lime!"

Vasily tensed as he watched her leap with joy, hugging him—hadn't she just said she wanted her father dead? He stood frozen, realizing his mistake, unable to unravel the intricate emotions at play. And she'd better quiet down before they attracted the groundskeeper.

Catching his warning glance, she carefully resealed the urn and slid it back into place. Together they lowered the stone slab carefully.

"Ugh, that taste was disgusting," Asirpa whispered, brushing dirt off her knees. "Let's go get yakitori—I'll call Sugimoto."

As they walked, Vasily's neck craned, scanning the moonlit graves. Where had Ogata gone? There were no figures moved among the tombstones. Maybe he's bored, or maybe he's scared after all, and got out already.

Vasily had texted Ogata, but no reply. His muscles coiled tighter. Logically, nothing dangerous should be here. And there should be no such thing as vengeful ghosts coming after him for some reasons.

Yet doubt slithered in. If reincarnation's real—if he could be been reborn human, cat, rat, just as the sutras say, couldn't others spiral into the realm of the ghosts?

The cemetery wind hissed through stones, rattling the bordering trees like whispered curses. Their shadows stretched long and gauzy across the path—translucent, lengthy, the kind of shapes that no way resembled men.

Vasily hit dial—and immediately heard a muffled ringtone vibrating nearby.

He followed the sound, footsteps crunching on gravel, until he spotted Ogata crouched in the shadow of a tombstone, intently examining something on it. The blue glow of his phone screen cast eerie highlights across his sharp features, but his expression remained unreadable in the dark.

Vasily moved closer without a sound, only to startle Ogata. The man jerked backward, catching himself on one hand before smoothly rising to his feet.

"Well?" He asked, dusting off his pants with forced nonchalance. "Find anything interesting?"

Asirpa, ignoring the question, tilted her head. "More importantly—what were you looking at?"

Vasily directed his phone's flashlight where Ogata had been looking—then he was caught in confusion.

Ogata's voice came from behind him, "Enlighten us—are there folk rules for engraving tombstones? Like why some characters are painted in different colors?"

Asirpa gave a slow nod. "There is a custom, if a couple wants to be buried together, and only one of them is gone, the other one's name would be painted red until they pass, too, and then the paint can be removed."

Her flashlight beam fixed on the characters before them: a single crimson kanji, stark as fresh blood against the stone, along with the plainly colored family name and the spouse's.

The red looked almost wet.

Asirpa trailed off as she began scrolling through her phone. A moment later, her hushed voice cut through the dark.

"...This character... it's in the tattoos we found."

Ogata let out a quiet, knowing hum. "Just as I thought." He then turned, eyes glinting like a predator's in the moonlight. "I've found three like this—all single-character names. Do you think that could be coincidence?" A dry chuckle escaped him. "There's one widow, her husband had died thirty years ago. Yet the paint is… quite fresh."

"Could you just—" Asirpa reached for his phone, but Ogata pivoted away.

"Thought you didn't need my help," he said, voice slick with something sharp. "You've got him, after all." A nod toward Vasily, who was blinking—was that jealousy lacing Ogata's words?

"He's useful, right?" Ogata continued, smiling thin as a razor. "Helped you find dear old Dad?"

Vasily let out an irritated grumble, then caught himself—why bother playing along with Ogata's childish tantrum? He stepped forward and made a grab for the phone.

To his surprise, Ogata's grip was ironclad. The phone didn't even budge.

Behind them, Asirpa observed dryly, "Well... can't say I'm shocked. We just confirmed the ash is fake."

For the second time that day, Vasily found himself stunned by Ogata's sheer, unyielding stubbornness. He glared at him for a moment, but Ogata was just smiling at him, not flinching away. When the man didn't want to, there wasn't even a hint of compliance in him.

Fine. The cemetery wasn't going anywhere. The characters were right there on the tombstone. They could look for themselves.

With a quiet exhale, Vasily stepped back and turned away, his hands now groping through the oppressive darkness of the graveyard instead. The cold stone markers rose around him like silent judges as he began his search.

In the distance, fragmented voices drifted through—perhaps Asirpa and Ogata were still arguing, or someone was talking to themselves, whispering into the wind, or a phone.

Or perhaps it was the dead who were talking. The wind carried the sounds in broken syllables, making it impossible to tell which world they came from.

Notes:

it would be much more fun if this is a fic where they drive across Hokkaido, sightseeing, meeting people, collecting pass phrases one by one… but author does not have the patience to write another 100k words for it, shame

Chapter 9

Notes:

cough cough, author’s dodging technical details with smut again

Vasily watched as Ogata came back with a stack of GPUs and started setting them up, wondering where the hell they had been hiding. He wasn't about to admit he'd already turned the whole place upside down looking.

"It's best to have a backup power supply," Ogata said, screwing in the components. "Extra cooling fans, too. But this will do for now."

He then looked over at Vasily. "Unless you have a better idea."

Yes, he did. Vasily almost stumbled over his words about the mysterious package. But really, he was burning with curiosity about Ogata's plan to crack the infinite combinations. The man had thrown himself into the work with unshakable conviction since they got home, despite it was technically impossible. Even with all the computational power at their disposal, finding the correct sequence was still a task that could take forever.

Ogata either didn't grasp the gravity, or he was so arrogant to believe everything would work out in his favor eventually. Either way, he had already finished crafting a brute-force script using the kanji they'd uncovered at the graveyard.

Twenty-four, no more, no less, each from a single-character name.

There could be no other explanation.

"No." Vasily replied shortly.

The script started running. Ogata was still standing there, staring intently at the monitor. A few more searches completed in the local node, yet the progress bar didn't seem to move at all. Vasily gave him a nudge, but he didn't budge.

So he typed, "You should get some rest."

But Ogata shook his head. "Let me see if I can optimize the algorithm a little more." Then, with a dry smile, he added, "If they figure it out before we do, it'll be embarrassing."

By "they," he meant Asirpa's think tank in their living room. She'd somehow gathered a whole crowd, some old friends, people she'd met along the way, and others who had apparently knew her from before.

They had come up with all sorts of ridiculous interpretations, tirelessly testing them on the cracked app. Vasily had helpfully removed the attempt limits, just as promised. He really wished someone could appreciate that this seemingly simple task required more effort than it appeared.

He wasn't sure how they might actually help, but they'd certainly made themselves comfortable. The living room had become a temporary war room, scattered prints, half-finished equations, and takeout containers. Some were still in discussion, actually trying to solve the problem, while others were just there for the vibes—loud, snacking, making use of the game console, and generally treating the place like a party.

Ogata looked like he was one interruption away from snapping, as he dropped rigidly onto the bed. Still, he must have still counted on them—at least a little—that he hadn't kicked them out.

Vasily went to shush them.

As soon as he got out, someone hailed him. Walking over, a kebab was thrust into his hands. Sugimoto was munching away a skewer while saying, "Vasily-san, what's your take?"

Vasily glanced back at the sketches pinned to the fridge door—names of widowers from tombstones, with some details already annotated on sticky notes.

Yeah, but what would that—

"I'm thinking about the birthdays," Sugimoto said out loud. "See, twenty-four, just like the hours in a day. Perhaps the sequence is determined by their birth hours. Don't you think so, Sensei?"

"Or the months, don't you think?" That's some new guy here, chewing his gum.

"Or their zodiacs. Do you think you can find…Vasily-san?"

Sugimoto turned around, but Vasily had pretended he didn't hear it and walked away.

He found Asirpa and an old man hunched over some prints on the floor. She was piecing together what looked like grave positions. Vasily slide behind them, peering over their shoulders.

Asirpa noticed him and let out a sigh.

"Sorry about the mess," she said, "but we haven't gotten far yet. This is Hijikata-san." She gestured to the old man, then added quietly, "He...was there last time."

Vasily had no recollection of him.

He typed quickly and showed them, "Can you tell them to keep it down? Ogata needs to sleep."

The old man smiled at him. "Ah, you're the boyfriend Ogata's been seeing. He mentioned you at work."

Vasily turned a bit uneasy. Why would Ogata—

"No, no, he didn't admit it!" A voice cut in. Vasily turned—somehow, the two colleagues from the other night were here too. The raccoon-faced guy pointed at him. "Boss, when you walked in, he was threatening me!"

The other guy smirked. "That's what happens when you blackmail him. Go on, let him see." He nudged his work buddy. "We caught him slacking off, mooning over your pictures!"

Vasily nearly dropped the damn phone when they handed it over.

The photo showed Ogata in a rooftop garden, cigarette in hand, staring at his screen. Although, that probably couldn't count as "mooning". If anything, Ogata was glaring, like the picture had personally offended him.

"It was definitely a nude." They were still babbling, unaware that Vasily had crossed his arms and stared at them coldly.

As if sensed the silent threat, the old man rose up from his seat, "I think that's it. We've troubled you for too long—we should get going."

The door swung open and shut a few times, and the voices did gradually die down. Vasily took a look at Sugimoto, who was cleaning up the mess, and left him be.

Bedroom door clicked shut behind him. To his surprise, Ogata was still awake, lying motionless except for his lips forming a question, "Are they gone?"

Confirmed with a short hum, Vasily sank onto the edge of the bed, plastic takeout container in hand. Ogata's nose twitched before he pushed himself upright to accept it.

"It's already cold," he grumbled around a mouthful of food.

Without a word, Vasily showed him the photo—the one he'd taken from the picture taken by Ogata's colleagues, where Ogata himself was caught looking at him in yet another image. Like an endless loop.

Ogata cleared his throat awkwardly. "It's not what it looked like—I was just... cleaning out my phone." As if had realized his mistake to admit that the photo was there in the first place, he quickly added, "It was from the travel. You were blocking the scenery."

Meanwhile, Vasily had no such reservations. He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his own collection of Ogata photos—all candid shots, never posed, yet each one strikingly good. He offered it to Ogata, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Maybe once he knew that he also did it, he won't be so embarrassed and defensive.

Ogata's expression darkened as he took in the sheer volume of the gallery.

He snatched the phone from Vasily's hand. His body went tense as he scrolled. "Why are there photos in bed? How did I never notice?" he demanded, shooting Vasily a murderous glare.

Truth was, he'd been too blissed out to notice anything at the time.

Vasily raised his hands in surrender. He'd never planned to let them been seen by anyone else. And hey, didn't Ogata have nude shots of him too?

But then Ogata started deleting them. One after another.

Vasily was almost stunned there, then instantly lunged for the phone. But Ogata held him off with ease, ignoring his pitiful whines.

He scoffed. "What did you save these for?" He eyed Vasily's squirming with disdain. "...Actually, knowing you, it's probably just wank material." Then, as if remembering something important, he asked with a sharp sense of alertness. "You didn't back these up on cloud drive, did you? Tell me you're not this stupid."

Vasily shook his head, bitterly. Those photos had taken months to collect—every stolen glance, every unguarded moment, one and only for his eye only. When Ogata finally tossed the phone back, even the innocent shots were gone, like those of Ogata by the ocean, windswept and lost in thought.

Vasily's grip tightened. Did he even realize what he'd just destroyed? Those weren't just—they were art.

In a sudden burst of frustration, Vasily grabbed the hem of Ogata's shirt and yanked it upward. By the time Ogata processed what was happening, his arms were already halfway out of the sleeves. He twisted to break free. But Vasily was quicker, pinning him down with practiced ease.

Soon enough, Ogata would feel too good and go too far to care about anything else happening around him. And then Vasily could rebuild that album properly. He'd make sure to make up every loss, from every angle.

"Don't think I don't know what you're planning," Ogata panted, still struggling beneath him. "Take more photos and I'll delete every last one."

But Vasily was prepared this time. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. And even if Ogata wiped them all clean, well, once he was back in the States with his paints, he could always recreate him from memory. And he'd decide exactly how Ogata would look on canvas.

And just like that, they were going back to square one.

With a bitter taste in his mouth, Vasily released him and rolled onto his back.

All these years, he'd survived on fantasies—sketching a ghost he could never truly know, never really reach. And now? That distant figure had slipped through his fingers again, dissolving back into ink and paper.

Ogata studied Vasily's trembling lips with mild bewilderment. "You're getting this upset over some photos?" He raked fingers through his disheveled hair, propping himself up on one elbow. He appeared to be amused by this childish outburst of despair. "That's just photos. I'm here."

Even now, hair mussed, bare chested, he looked the very picture of casual seduction. But the real man was nothing like the one in the painting.

Before meeting him, Vasily had revered the figure from his dreams like some divine oracle. But after coming to know him as flesh and blood, he saw how foolish he'd been—how could he cling to such blind worship when what he'd loved was only a phantom, a mere subject to be captured on canvas?

He now learned that Ogata is flawed, human. He learned to accept it. He's trying to reacquaint himself with him, leaving behind all his previous preconceptions. And then, he realized—

The thought that soon he wouldn't get to see this for some while twisted like a knife in Vasily's chest. He dragged Ogata close, burying his face against the warm solidity of that shoulder, breathing him in like it might be the last time.

He wordlessly opened his phone.

"...Huh," Ogata murmured at the email glowing onscreen. "They can be actually fast for once."

The electronic confirmation showed Vasily could leave as scheduled next week.

Yeah, Vasily thought bitterly. That's probably why he's holding onto the drive. The key must've been hidden there, for whatever reason that had it ended up at their door. If he took it now, Ogata might figure it out soon or later. Sure, the man would be pissed, but at least that meant Vasily mattered. He could imagine Ogata even chasing him across the ocean just to rip it from his hands.

Then again, he could see him. Ogata would be thinking about him, angry about him, hating him even—but not forgetting him.

Vasily knew by doing this, he was actually holding them back. He felt a pang of guilt when he thought of Asirpa. She was desperate for the truth. She didn't care about that money. He didn't care about that money, neither. He was doing it because that meant he and Ogata could work on something together. If he played this right, Ogata would have to rely on him to solve the mystery.

"Have you ever thought about what you'd do with the money, once you get it?" Once, Ogata had asked him on the road.

Vasily hadn't considered it before—was it even his to spend? He didn't even spend his own money properly when he could have done it.

Ogata had rambled on about his plans back then. First, he'd need to clean the money, maybe through some NFT investments, then acquire stakes in a few companies. Live off the dividends, sure, but more importantly, use those shares to gain real influence. As an afterthought, he'd added that Vasily might get a cut too, since he'd helped.

Ogata was probably just kidding. At that point, he didn't even believe in the story yet, and he had no real idea how much money they were even talking about.

If Asirpa was right, if this haul was anything like the hidden gold—it would be massive. Enough to make entire organizations come gunning for them. There'd already been blood spilled over fortunes like this. Good men and bad, all ending up the same way.

Vasily's fingers twitched. What would happen, he wondered, if he was the one walking around with the linchpin of it all in his pocket?

Beside him, Ogata's fingers still traced idle patterns on him, probably thinking he was sulking like some heartbroken teenager.

"Don't take it so hard," Ogata murmured, lips curling into a half-smile. "I just don't like…" His hand slipped beneath Vasily's shirt, pushing fabric up over heated skin. "If you'd miss me that badly, just call. Fuck, I'd miss this too. Just...don't forget to check in."

Ogata's mouth found his in no time. Vasily let him climb atop, settling heavy over his hips—that familiar weight, solid and grounding, pinning him in place. A low thrum of want stirred beneath his skin, even as the lingering ache of melancholy clung to him. His hands moved on their own, sliding down to grip the firm swell of Ogata's ass, kneading with the ease of habit.

These past days had left him too used to this—to the heat of Ogata's body, the way they fit together.

"Haven't done anything properly since the accident," Ogata muttered, working open his pants. "Think you can handle this?"

Yeah, of course he could—the painkillers might be dulling things, but that didn't mean he was out of commission. He just needed... some encouragement.

Although, a minute later, Ogata's disbelieving stare burned into him. Normally, just the weight of Ogata straddling him would be enough to get him rock-hard. However, as the cool fingers wrapped around his flaccid cock, giving a few practiced tugs, Vasily's stomach dropped. His body responded sluggishly, the weak twitch of arousal pathetic compared to his usual eager readiness.

"I can't fucking believe this," Ogata growled, but his hand never stopped moving. If anything, the words seemed to spur him on. He dipped his head, tongue flicking against the tip before sealing his lips around Vasily in a teasing, experimental pull.

Vasily could only shudder, his hips giving an involuntary twitch. His cock lay half-hard against his thigh, swaying slightly with each ragged breath, as if too exhausted to even stand at attention properly.

Ogata pushed himself up, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. His gaze locked onto Vasily's, and Vasily felt it, that molten heat crawling under his face. Pathetic. He could even manage to get more useless than ever.

But then Ogata laughed, breathless and bright. "Look at you," he managed between gasps, "Alright, let's try something that doesn't require your cock."

Vasily's eyes lit up—Gosh, he'd always wondered what Ogata would be like when he topped. Would he be tender? Would he be brutal? But a man could have multitudes. Was it too greedy to ask for a featherlight kiss one moment and a filthy, punishing thrust the next? Ogata absolutely could—

He didn't anticipate Ogata went to fish out the set of sex toys.

The box was one of those overly elaborate Valentine's Day gift sets ordered by the premise that Ogata would keep himself occupied during lonely nights. Vasily found an odd comfort in that realization. It meant Ogata would have other options rather than just picking up any random guys when the mood struck. Maybe, just maybe, he'd think of Vasily while using it.

—He'd make sure of it.

In one fluid motion, Vasily scrambled from the tangled sheets and began sorting through the items beside him. The set contained far more than just a dildo—suction toys, what appeared to be nipple clips, handcuffs, and even a miniature whip. Ogata picked up the latter, testing the leather between his fingers before giving a dismissive shake of his head.

Vasily's mind raced as he took in the assortment. Did that mean Ogata was quite familiar with the...

But Ogata ignored the other items, going straight for the cleaner to disinfect the silicone. Once finished, he returned with a bottle of lube and handed it to Vasily with a raised eyebrow. "Well, maybe you can do the honors?"

Vasily was happy to oblige. He slicked his fingers and began working Ogata open, eyeing the veined purple toy, thicker than him, a bit intimidating in this proximity as Ogata was holding it nearby his face. With deliberate provocation, he dragged his tongue along its tip while keeping the eye contact.

Ogata's breath hitched. "You nasty..." He shifted his knees, spreading his legs wider. "Ugh, that mouth of yours…too bad you can't do something more with it. Then again," he sank deeper onto Vasily's fingers with a shiver, "sometimes I like it that you can't talk. Just listening. Not arguing. Holding me tight and—" his voice caught as Vasily crooked his fingers just right, "—fucking me senseless."

Vasily leaned closer to seal his mouth over Ogata's. He couldn't risk reopening the wound—but he could still taste. The salt of Ogata's sweat, the pulse drumming beneath his skin, the way Ogata had drag his bottom lip between teeth, sucking it raw, biting just shy of breaking skin.

He heard Ogata hissed in his ear. "I'm ready—put it in."

Vasily wanted to remind him he was now actually ready to go, returned to his former glory. But come to think of it, he would like to look at it from a different angle.

He rolled the condom over the dildo, applying more lube than necessary.

The weight in his hand was deceptive, lighter than its substantial appearance suggested. A deep violet, almost bruise-colored, with a thickness that bordered on absurd. At least the tapered tip offered some mercy, making it easier for the user to put in. Still, he knew from experience that it would still hurt like hell if he wasn't going slowly.

Vasily wondered if Ogata would treat himself as gently as this.

As expected, Ogata wasn't happy with Vasily's cautious approach—just circling the tip, teasing the rim, dipping in only to withdraw too soon. In the past, Vasily might have done it deliberately to edge him, to drag out that delicious frustration. But now it might actually hurt him, if shoved in too quickly.

If it were his own cock, he'd know instantly if something tore. This lifeless object offered no feedback. One wrong thrust, and Ogata could be bleeding.

He didn't want him to bleed just because of a mistake.

"Tch—you're just—" Ogata's retort dissolved into a groan as he shoved Vasily back into the pillows. He braced his knees wider, hips canting back to meet each shallow thrust, but the angle had made it a bit difficult.

After a moment's thought, Vasily acted immediately, pulling Ogata to turn around and hover over him—there, now he had that ass displayed before him perfectly. He couldn't resist pinching it over and again. The new position allowed him to wield the toy deeper, and he had to keep reapplying the lube to ease the way as the thick girth stretched the little pucker open. A glistening trail dripped down Ogata's inner thigh, and Vasily's cock twitched, visibly.

Ogata didn't miss it. He just reached down and took it, cradled the base in both hands while humming with satisfaction. He didn't bother with performative slow licks, for no one could see it when he was face-down, ass-up to have a toy buried deep inside him. He swallowed Vasily down in smooth, swift one go. Vasily nearly lost his balance. His hand stilled as that familiar heat clenched around him, tight and greedy.

His ears buzzed, but beneath the static, he could still hear it—his own stuttered breaths, the wet smacks on the flesh, in between Ogata's ragged moans escaped from his throat. He could hear it, the relentless whir of the GPUs in the background, churning through the endless decryption that would outlast the universe itself. He wished it could last forever—as if while the script was running, and as long as it didn't break the code, they would never have to stop it, and the fragile chain between them would never be broken.

Ogata shifted, twisting just enough to glance back at Vasily without breaking contact. He cast a questioning look, so Vasily gripped the toy tighter, driving it in before pulling back, then sinking deep once more. He watched, transfixed, as Ogata's thighs shuddered, the lean muscle beneath that smooth layer of fat quivered, his cock swaying in time with every thrust.

He saw Ogata arched even forward, taking him deeper, choking on him with a gasp. He was stretched to the limit now, spit roasted, overwhelmed, but still pushing for more, groaning at the sensation of being penetrated from both ends.

That's when it hit him that this was all his doing—a complacent grin began to spread all over his face—He knew Ogata, knowing his hunger was no different from every other thirsty man he'd ever met, always chasing the next high, the next body. Whether Vasily was on his knees or forcing Ogata onto his, there'd always been space for another cock in that equation.

But not anymore. Vasily had rewritten the math. Now when Ogata arched against the sheets, it was Vasily's name tearing from his throat. When he gasped for air, it was Vasily's hands leaving bruises on his hips. The only thing inside him now was what Vasily allowed—and he'd made damn sure there was no room left for anyone else.

Something warm and wet brushed against him, and at first, Vasily assumed Ogata had finished too soon. But soon he realized he was wrong. These were tears. Ogata was weeping, eyes screwed shut as if he could force the tears back inside, but it spilled out anyway.

Vasily scrambled to recall the last time he'd seen Ogata cry, maybe during another sex. But his mind dragged up another night when Ogata was drunk and vulnerable, sucking his nipple like he was starving for comfort. Now here he was, sucking his cock in the same hunger, perhaps for the same thing.

Unclear words were stuck in Vasily's throat. But even if his face wasn't aching, he would struggle for the words to say. Maybe he should encourage him—let Ogata drown in this pleasure he'd called a sin. Or maybe he should craft something filthy, the way Ogata had taught him.

Or—worse—maybe he'd lose control entirely. Maybe he'd choke out I'll miss you, or something worse, like a fool, over and over, until the words meant nothing and everything at once.

As the slow, coiled heat crept through Vasily's abdomen, he tried to pull out, but Ogata had seemed to take that in another direction. Pushing up from where he lay, he tossed the dildo aside and crawled back, his legs hooking under Vasily's hips, dragging him free from the tangled sheets.

Vasily let himself be led down to bury deep inside that scorching heat, and not until he had already begun thrusting in frantic, uneven strokes, did he realize there was no condom between them. He tensed, trying to break free, but Ogata's thighs locked around him, holding him in place.

A muffled protest caught in Vasily's throat. He remembered Ogata had made it clear that he despised unprotected sex, how he had said it would remind him of disease, of death, of forcing life into existence against its will. He didn't know he would be like this, breath ragged, voice unsteady, "Don't go," he didn't know Ogata would plead. "Don't go."

The way Ogata was almost begging, so uncharacteristically needy, so uncharacteristically desperate, almost made Vasily lose his mind. He knew he might shatter the moment, but he still asked—he just had to know—"Really?"

"Yeah," Ogata's words tumbled out between gasps. "Why don't you move here? You…" he kissed on Vasily's chin, "you don't have to actually live with me. Just somewhere I can see you. Or—" As if suddenly aware he'd revealed too much, he turned his face away. "Or maybe not. Forget it."

The way Ogata tried to hide his face made Vasily shift nervously. Was he just lost in the heat of the moment, careless with words? Or did he actually mean it?

Ogata had always been clear about their arrangement—this was nothing more than a situationship built on mutual convenience. It's just convenient how they fit: their bodies, their vibes, their similar minds, the way Vasily's dramatic intensity bordered on obsession, and the way Ogata reveled it in not so secretly that he liked being worshipped as the most important thing in someone's world.

Maybe Ogata was just sorry that such a compatible person was going to leave him, and then he would feel a little bit lonely again.

His mind flooded with fragments of their time together: Ogata's arms outstretched, ready to catch him as he climbed down the rocks; the way Ogata had turned to look at him when he was captivated by the sky of stars; the raw panic in his voice when he'd screamed for medics as Vasily faded from consciousness; those careful fingers tracing his wound before he left in the morning, tender enough not to wake him.

And only now, in this moment, did Vasily realized.

He prided himself on being observant, noticing the finest details in the natural world, detecting the slightest flaw in any man-made system. Yet he couldn't see behind it. He couldn't interpret the meaning if it wasn't spelled clearly, word by word, that he had basically pushed Ogata to voice it out, however against his reluctant nature.

That he wanted him to stay, that he wanted him around. That he had fallen, too, unwisely, undignifiedly.

And then, for the first time in two lifetimes, Vasily found himself utterly swallowed by euphoria.

This was not something to be found in physical union alone, nor from a fleeting thrill of unexpected happiness. It was as if his mind had conjured up a fierce intoxicant that coursed through his veins, lifting him into a dizzying rapture in an instant.

The sensation was too thrilling, too dangerous, but he couldn't stop, like an addict chasing a high. He couldn't stop—not until his body gave out, leaving him crumpled and heaving, breathless and spent.

I will consider. Vasily mouthed the words against Ogata's temple as their sweat cooled, lips shaping silent syllables.

Ogata must have felt it as there's a smile curled at the edges of his mouth. His breathing had slowed to that contented rhythm he always fell into after good sex, lulled by the gentle touches on his skin and through his hair.

The room held a drowsy, cozy calm about it, that Vasily was nearly asleep, Ogata a warm heap in his arms, but then he heard a murmur. "Don't you think it's too quiet?"

It took him a groggy moment to realize—the GPUs had gone silent.

"Damn, did the plug—?" Ogata untangled himself, raking hair back as he strode to the workstation.

The power light still glowed. He frowned, jostling the mouse to wake the screen. As he leaned closer, the monitor glare sliced his face into stark planes of light and shadow. "It cannot be…"

On the screen, the script's final output blinked:

Process finished with exit code 0.

No, it couldn't be. Vasily surged to his feet.

There had to be an error in the script—they'd optimized the algorithm, comparing probability matrices, clustering likely paths, but brute-forcing 24! ways of probabilities didn't usually manifest a result this fast. Not in mere hours.

It felt wrong. It felt like the answer had been given to them.

Beside the workbench, Ogata sat uncomfortably, still naked, still leaking, but he ignored it and had already started scrutinizing the scripts. But his code was neat, and there wasn't a lot of room for discussion. When he finally gave up, he typed the ouput combination into his phone to see if it would really work.

For one breathless moment, the login interface loaded. Then with a flash—the access was granted.

Vasily crouched behind Ogata's shoulder. His eyes grew wider. He couldn't believe it.

Couldn't believe it had been so easy, like they had actually bent the rules of the universe together—until he saw the balance.

The account was empty.

Chapter 10

Notes:

🚨🚨🚨warning: this chapter contains non-con elements that could cause emotional distress. you can skip to the end note for a wrap-up.

Vasily hadn't been staying with his mother and sister since he'd been whisked away by some guy deluded into thinking he'd be the next Euler. The poor old math teacher should have lived to see the day Vasily betrayed the pure, raw theoretical math, or betrayed the government who had paid his tuition.

His holidays were spent solving problems at the old man's house, while choking down his so-called handmade "healthy" ice lollies. He'd caught him staring. It baffled him now that no adult seemed concerned about a grown man obsessively keeping little boys around.

On one rare occasion, he managed to take the train home—only to find Kateryna sitting at the dining table, rubbing something into her elbow, a half-empty bottle of vodka in front of her.

Kateryna turned, startled to find him home. Vasily didn't see his sister often, but he knew her so well. She should be fierce as a tigress. The idea that this terrifying young lady was capable of crying had never crossed his mind. Yet there she was, eyes red and swollen.

"Don't tell Mom." That was her first reaction.

Vasily blinked, uncomprehending, until his gaze dropped to her ankle, where angry red marks bloomed from what looked like a brutal grip. And then he saw the blood.

He recoiled so sharply his back hit the doorframe, his height then nearly brushing its top.

But then he realized—the blood wasn't hers.

It streaked her arm, smeared under jagged, claw-like nails. Her red polish was chipped, some nails broken. It was impossible to tell whether the crimson came from the ruined manicure or the person she must have mutilated.

"What happened?" he asked, already afraid of the answer. After all, she was their mother's daughter…

Kateryna paused mid-motion, the bloodied cotton pad hovering in her hand. "Just… listen." Her voice was low, still raw from all that crying. "Don't ever mistreat a woman. Don't."

She then took him in—the way he stood there, awkward and stiff, too green, too shy, in a way that was almost too delicate for a boy his age. "And don't let anyone mistreat you, either."

Ogata went to make the call. He stepped onto the balcony, cigarette in hand. Evening had settled, and only in his pajamas, he shivered.

Asirpa was shocked by the result. "But, but—could there be more than one combination?" Then she muttered, "Though, this one does make sense. It was in the tombstone's clockwise order."

Ogata exhaled smoke through his nostrils. "I know. That's why it was prioritized in the algorithm. We weren't trying it blindly."

"But is it even technically possible for another combination to work?"

Ogata's humph was brittle. "Maybe. But I'm not betting on it."

When he returned, his face was clouded, as if weighed down by thought. Vasily had been standing there waiting for him—and by now, he knew exactly what to do.

Vasily showed him what's in his hand.

Ogata stiffened almost imperceptibly. "What is this?" He plucked the flash drive, turning it over in his fingers. Just a cheap, plastic, old model. His thumb brushed the connector, as if checking for traces of tampering.

Why don't you tell me about it?

Vasily held his gaze, silent.

He had his suspicions. He'd tried to crack it, the strange date that was Ogata's Wi-Fi password, his birthday, and hell, he was even so self-assured to try his own birthday. Nothing. After five failed attempts, the drive would lock him out.

He might be able to force an override at the hardware level. But that's not the point.

If the actual key were stored here, then there's someone who wanted Ogata to figure out the PIN for them. One of Ogata's secret liaisons, perhaps. So secretive that they had to send a fake delivery man.

He let his stillness suggest he already knew what was going on.

Ogata just looked at him. His brow furrowed, lips pressing into a thin line, before finally relaxing into a smile, as if relieved.

"Go on." He held the drive out to Vasily and nodded toward the laptop. "Show me."

Vasily took it, plugged it in. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting, never quite settling. At last, he lifted his gaze and met Ogata's silent question lingering between them.

Ogata then turned away, leaving Vasily to figure it out on his own, and shortly came back with two beers from the fridge. With a sharp crack, he popped the tab and took a long swig. Between sips, his eyes flicked back to Vasily and then the blinking counter, letting out a humorless hum. "Maybe you should keep trying. Wipe it clean."

Why would he—? Vasily stiffened, bewildered. This was important. So why did Ogata act like he didn't care?

Why did he act like he already know what was inside?

"Come on, three more." Ogata draped his arms over the back of the headboard, leaning back lazily. "Here's a hint—check inside its shell."

Vasily wouldn't anticipate anything like that. He'd been so focused on its locking mechanism that he hadn't bothered to take a closer look at the casing.

Carefully, he plucked the drive free and turned it over. There was actually a faded sticker clung inside the retractable case. The writing was nearly erased by time.

He squinted, barely making out the smudged characters.

Input your name.

His fingers twitched, nearly dropped the drive. It was that simple. He shot a wary glance at Ogata before reinserting the drive and typing Ogata's full name.

HYAKUNOSUKEOGATA.

The screen flashed "incorrect" in red letters, reminding him of his decreasing chances.

Ogata snorted. "Ever occur to you that family names might come first?"

Vasily felt like an idiot.

He tried again—OGATAHYAKUNOSUKE—but the screen flashed red once more. Wrong again.

It made no sense. Was it just the first name, or just the family name? He didn't dare waste the last attempt. But then—was the name even Ogata's? The drive had been meant for him to view… unless it wasn't.

Ogata had already knew about the sticker without even inspecting it.

A cold realization prickled at the back of Vasily's neck.

What if the USB wasn't for Ogata?

What if it was from him?

Vasily cast a glance back, but Ogata had clearly misinterpreted it. With a smug grin, he slicked his hair back.

"Seems our OS expert can't quite crack it, huh?" Ogata cut off Vasily's muttered objections with a dismissive shrug. "Want another try? Nothing to regret about. I was going to wipe it anyway."

He leaned closer, voice dropping to a taunting murmur. "Unless you really want to see it."

Vasily gave a sharp nod. He cast a pleading look his way, hoping that would help.

"Well, you asked for it."

Ogata took the laptop from him, fingers flying across the keyboard. Vasily noticed the faintest tremor in his usually steady hands, almost imperceptible, if only Vasily hadn't the sharpest observation.

He typed, a long string of characters appeared on the screen before dissolving into asterisk symbols. Starting with H, then an A—Vasily tried to follow, but soon he lost track of his flicking fingers, overwhelmed by the speed and his unfamiliarity with spelling out Japanese names.

Finally finished typing, Ogata's hands hovered above the Enter key. He looked at Vasily. Vasily didn't understand why he looked like a man parting with something precious. But that was only one brief moment before Ogata pressed the key.

The folder contained one single file. Ogata clicked it on and leaned back into the pillows, his knuckles whitening around the beer can.

Vasily stared at it, confused. This wasn't what he expected—not a private key at all. A video.

"Enjoy," was all he said as it began to play.

Vasily was on the verge of asking—what did he mean by—but the shifting images on the screen seized his full attention.

A hazy figure emerged in a dimly lit space, probably recorded on a phone. The person seemed younger and gentler, lacking the undercut and the faint beard, just loose hair framing a more boyish face. But there was no doubt that it was Ogata.

His pulse quickened. Why was Ogata in what appeared to be a dusty storage room? Something felt off. He knew Ogata's eyes were usually dark, but on the screen, they were even wider, almost unnatural so— pupils dilated, absorbing the dim light in the room. He was on the floor. What's going on here.

Vasily turned sharply to look at the grown-up Ogata beside him, searching for answers, but the man only sneered.

"Just watch it," Ogata said, having drained his beer too fast and went snatching Vasily's untouched can. He cracked it open and drank in urgent gulps. "Or stop now. It's not nice."

Vasily kept watching, or at least, he did until several arms suddenly filled the screen, dragging Ogata up from the filthy ground. The hands grabbed his hair too tightly, and he sobbed inconsolably. Someone outside the frame spoke something beyond Vasily's comprehension.

Ogata supplied the translation calmly, "That means Nazi. And that means whore."

Somehow, he could watch with complete detachment as he shifted to get more comfortable. "Well," he said flatly, "here it comes."

When a hand appeared on screen, stroking a half-hard cock toward Ogata's face, Vasily slammed the pause button. He'd meant to stop it completely, but the frozen frame only suspended the moment, where Ogata had stoke his tongue out, reaching out in anticipation.

Vasily's stomach turned—He couldn't breathe, he couldn't—He tried to speak, but the words were mangled by the stiffness of his wounded face. "Who—did—this—to—?"

"Easy. Don't tear your stitches." Ogata steadied him. Before Vasily could protest, he tapped play again. The footage lurched back to life. He looked at it, and suddenly smiled helplessly. "Don't misunderstand," he said, voice low. "I wasn't forced. Look, I was enjoying it."

Vasily could tell. If he didn't know Ogata better, he might've mistaken it for some seedy porn he had stumbled upon. He could almost imagine the title, Japanese Twink Destroyed in Gangbang, the kind of thing that'd rack up views.

And then suddenly his head got heavy. He was almost transported into the footage, that Ogata was on his knees, cocks in both hands, stroking in frantic motions, with someone's palm grinding his head down to choke on another. He…he looked unholy. He looked surreal.

"See how good I am." Ogata's voice slurred beside him, sloppy and drunken, barely audible over the video's static. "Wasn't bragging… about taking more at once."

Ogata must have seen the horror in his eyes. Vasily knew his expression must be terrible. How could Ogata sit there so calmly? How could he let anyone do this to him? Let them abuse him, let them… film it... Was it uploaded on the Internet, was it the reason Ogata—He felt terrible, thinking about how upsetting he might have made things for him.

And yet, this recording had been saved on Ogata's own drive. And who was meant to see it?

Vasily forced out a single, broken word, "How?"

Ogata contemplated, as if he was searching for the right words. Then he found them. "How much do you know about the Lüshun business?"

Vasily froze. The sudden shift sent a jolt through him.

What could this possibly have to do with the recording? His skin prickled with discomfort. He knew there was a political scandal, Ogata couldn't possibly mean this was the exact—

It didn't look like that sort would cause a chain reaction to the suicide of a high-up.

"So you didn't actually know." Ogata sighed. "Just as I thought. You wouldn't..." His hand floated between them in a vague gesture. "Still," The can crumpled in his grip. "I'd never have known he had it... if you hadn't told me."

In the darkness, the laptop's glow caught only the wet glint of Ogata's eyes and the sharp white of his teeth. He was actually smiling.

"You must be dying to know." His voice dropped to a croon. "How did poor little Ogata end up like this? Fine, let me satisfy you."

He dragged him back to the bed and leaned closer, that Vasily caught the stale beer on his breath. When Ogata's arm slid around his shoulders, he didn't pull away.

"This was a few years back, when we were still in college." Ogata paused, exhaling slowly. "And when I say we... I mean there was this guy. Same age with me. Don't get ideas—we weren't like that. He was straight. Probably."

Same age. Vasily's pulse stuttered. He and Ogata were the same age, yet separated by years and centuries. Someone, probably whose birthday still lived in Ogata's passwords, was now crawling into the picture.

A shadow crossed Ogata's face as memories surfaced. He continued, voice flattening.

"His father was some political heavyweight." Ogata's fingers drummed a slow rhythm against Vasily's shoulder, "So it mattered that he had the right resume—not just some internship at some random bank. You need... specific experience to inherit that kind of legacy."

His hand stilled abruptly. "When the exchange program came up, he brought me to China." A dry chuckle escaped him. "The whole thing was theater. Smiling for cameras at friendship events, shaking hands, you can imagine all that fucking pageantry."

Ogata's fingers started picking at invisible threads. "Yuu—" He caught himself before the name came out. "He had to speak at some memorial park, kind of battlefield from the old days. They've planted cherry blossom trees, to make the dead feel like home, I guess." His lips curled around a smile that never reached his eyes. "The irony was almost poetic. All those blossoms swirling over bones of men who'd slaughtered each other. And him standing there..." The fabric tore slightly under his nails. "So pristine. He was always like that."

There was something disturbingly intimate the way Ogata spoke—along with the past tense he used to describe the other man. Vasily turned to study the way Ogata's eyelashes trembled between prolonged blinks, as if fighting to keep some vision at bay.

"And when it was over," Ogata continued. "We went to see the city. The historical sites—Qing dynasty, Japanese occupation, Russian occupation," His gaze flicked to Vasily, lingering. "Churches. Prisons. Perfectly untouched, as if time had stopped there."

His voice grew distant. "By evening, we went to a bar by the harbor. Just a harmless little place where you drink cheap cocktail and pretend to enjoy off-key folk music." A humorless smirk. "Boring. But Yuusaku—" The name escaped. He realized and cleared his throat. "—he loved it."

"Later that night, we drank and rambled about nothing. He went on about some marine biology elective he wanted to take." Ogata's eyes darkened. "The idiot was obsessed with fish. But his father had already mapped out his life—economics, politics, the family legacy." A sharp exhale. "I told him he was being naive. Dreams like that were for children."

His fingers drummed restlessly. "Then this group flooded into the bar. Looking back, they were probably just university kids—the schools there put freshmen in military uniforms and march them around like soldiers." A dry chuckle escaped him. "But right then? All I could think was, gosh, young men in uniforms, that's just so, so hot. And Yuusaku—" Ogata's voice hitched slightly, "—he actually went to talk to them. Showing off his Mandarin, that one. His mother was some linguist professor. She's very good, but she had to quit her job to homeschool him until I—until he had someone to go to school with. He was a bit autistic."

Ogata tapped his temple, likely suggesting that there was something wrong with his friend. Yet to Vasily, it almost looked as though Ogata had been the one to accompany him all the way. Vasily could see the subtle change on his face. He began to sweat as he continued to tell his story.

"But he couldn't fool anyone. Maybe your westerners can't tell us apart, but those students knew instantly. They looked friendly enough, so I joined them. And I didn't refuse the drinks they bought us."

His lips twisted, "At the time I was even thinking, maybe he really could become a politician one day. Politics is all about charm, isn't it? He could have those foreign strangers at his feet, in a city where our grandfathers might have killed each other."

Ogata sighed. "Anyway, the next thing I found was…" He gestured vaguely at the screen, still playing on the desk. "This."

"Hey." Vasily's hand tightened slightly on Ogata's, still resting on his shoulder. He wished he could say more—It's not your fault. It's over. They can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to talk if it's too much. But the words stuck in his throat.

Ogata met his gaze, then looked away. "Well then, sorry to dump that on you," he said coolly, shifting as if to pull back.

Vasily gripped Ogata's arm tighter, refusing to let go. He had Ogata settle back into the pillows, curling against him. He caught his hand, hesitating for a second if it was alright to touch—then guided it between them, letting Ogata tuck himself neatly under his arm.

Ogata murmured, rubbing his chin against Vasily's chest. "Maybe it was something in the drink. Or maybe it was just... me." A dry laugh escaped him. "But it surely woke something up in me. Being used, being spat on, people taking turns. Sometimes I still have dreams about it."

On the screen, the hands tightened around the ankles—that would leave marks, Vasily thought.

He'd seen it before, on his sister. His vision flickered back to the red stain on her hand, the same color of the blood that had dripped from their mother's fingers, and the same color of blood he'd spilled with his own gun, a lifetime ago.

He wanted to kill again.

Ogata must have noticed the way Vasily's arms locked tighter around him, the tremor running through his body, because then his hand rose, fingers threading gently through Vasily's hair. The touch only made it worse. This was wrong. Vasily was supposed to be the one comforting him, not the other way around.

He was cooing, "I know how it looks, but… it wasn't that bad. Hell, I even got off on it." His voice was detached, his eyes fixed on the shifting images flickering across the screen. "I've never felt that good since."

His face then went still, with a lifeless look in his eyes as they locked on the screen. Slowly, his lips parted. "This is the worst part."

Vasily looked up. He didn't know since when had his vision blurred. His throat tightened as another figure was dragged into frame.

Behind him, a whisper, faint as a breath against his neck.

"—I didn't even realize he was there then."

Ogata's lips trembled, his usual mask fracturing into something real, something painful." Yuusaku was there, in the same room. They did the same things to him." His fingers dug into Vasily's back, desperate, as if clinging to him with his life. "And he didn't enjoy it." Something wet spilled from his eyes. "I know, I know. I'm fine. It's just—he's not like me, alright? I'm just the son of a teenage whore, and he—he—there's a fucking Nobel Prize in his family, do you understand what that means?" His voice shattered into something jagged—laughter, sobs, all tangled together. "How ridiculous is that? And there he was, kneeling there, sharing my fate, screaming my name. And I... I..."

On screen, Ogata looked dazed, almost intoxicated in ecstasy. He reached for the crying boy, then, as if to smother the sound, he seized him by the throat and crushed their lips together.

Ogata's gaze pinned Vasily. "Disgusting, wasn't it?" Then, too quickly, "He was my half-brother." He paused for a moment, and then, "He'd killed himself."

It took Vasily a few seconds to look at Ogata. The overwhelming emotions that enveloped him had made his mind too sluggish to put the pieces together.

He thought about the flash drive, which seemed intended for someone—Hana... Hanazawa, the name was all over the news a few years ago.

"It wasn't an accident, you see," Ogata said, his voice now drained of all energy. "Someone tipped me off that it was planted. And so I followed the trail and retrieved the tapes before they got leaked. Had everything wiped clean... But I kept this one." He nodded at the drive, lips twisting into something like a grimace. "Do you know why?"

His eyes locked onto Vasily's, bright with something feverish.

"That's when I learned the old man plan to leave me nothing. He was always so mad at me, so afraid that his precious reputation might be stained by his little secret—a bastard from some underage schoolgirl. Could've gotten rid of me earlier if not for his wife." A wet laugh escaped him. "She... she promised to include me in her will if I kept Yuusaku company. Said her son needed me. And even now, after everything, she still sends money. Says Yuusaku would've wanted it. Calls me... calls me the closest thing to a son she has left."

His voice cracked then, a single tear breaking free. "I don't deserve this kindness. I'm the real murderer. If I hadn't listened to…if I hadn't kept evidence to blackmail the old man, Yuusaku would still... he was getting help, he was in therapy, he was—"

Vasily had never learned how to handle raw emotions, or what to do when someone bared their deepest, worst self to him. He had always wanted to know Ogata better, but now that the moment had come, he realized he didn't know what to do with it. He was lucky, really, that if he wasn't wounded, he would have struggled to looking for the right words. He was lucky Ogata had trusted him with this at all.

But perhaps it was enough that he could offer a silent, warm and steady presence.

Vasily drew Ogata in, holding him by the shoulder. A kiss to his forehead, then stillness, just letting the rise and fall of his chest steady itself.

After a moment, Ogata seemed to regain his composure. But he pushed Vasily away and got out of the bed.

Vasily paused, then went to close the laptop. Maybe he should stay by Ogata's side, ward off his nightmares, kiss away the tears—or maybe he should keep his distance, spending the night at the couch, if that was what made Ogata feel safe. This was about him, after all. The other things didn't—

The other things lingered in the back of Vasily's mind. There was something strange about Ogata's story. There always seemed to be guiding hand behind his actions. He didn't say how the drive reached Yuusaku. And what had Ogata done to get it back?

He was sure the questions would sound like an interrogation if he spelled them out.

Ogata hadn't left. He was shuffling something from under the bed, and a moment later, he returned carrying what looked like a small notebook—the one Vasily hadn't found while searching the room earlier, locked inside the second suitcase.

Ogata walked over and sat gingerly beside him, the old scrapbook in hand. His fingers brushed over the cartoon dragon on the cover before he turned to the first page—a spread of childlike scribbles, more clipped hiraganas and numbers than anything coherent. One page was filled with jellyfish, drawn over and over with infinite patience. Ogata almost snorted at it before flipping further.

The next page held a small Polaroid, its edges yellowed with time. Someone had tried to preserve it with transparent tape, but the colors had faded regardless.

Two small boys were in the picture, one staring at the camera nervously, the other was clapping his hands, eyes squeezed shut in laughter, with a tiny paper crown perched precariously on his head.

"Brother & Me!" declared proudly the terrible handwriting beneath.

In the corner of the Polaroid, a date stamped in 2009. A moment stolen from childhood, before the world could collapse around them.

Ogata bowed his head, lost in thought for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and raw.

"Do you believe in love—the kind that asks for nothing in return?"

Vasily almost answered without hesitation—yes, that was how he felt for him. But then he stopped himself.

Did he, really? He wasn't that selfless. He was greedy. He wanted Ogata, but he knew it was in a demanding, possessive way. Of course, he wanted something in return. He almost died the moment he found Ogata might have something for him. But he could never love him like a brother would. Not like children, in their innocence, where love was handed out carelessly and for free.

"I thought so." Vasily didn't know what his silence had conveyed, but Ogata appeared to have his own judgment. "Me neither."

A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. "It used to disgust me—the idea that someone would need another person to be happy. Like inventing a new basic need beside air or water. Like drugs. You can live perfectly fine if you're never exposed to them."

Vasily let out a low hum. He wanted to protest, it was all worth it—

"And it disgusts me, watching people lose themselves like addicts. Especially when the other person just… took it. Didn't reject it, didn't return it. I've known too many like that—Usami, this guy I worked with… my mother. And—"

His gaze snapped to Vasily. "You. I never asked you to do this. I don't even know why you're doing this. But it… it feels too good." His voice turned brittle. "I don't know if I'm even capable of…of giving anything back." And then, a cold snicker hit on him. "You made me feel like a bloodsucker. You made me feel like my father."

Notes:

chapter summary: Vasily showed the flash drive but its content was not the encrypted key but a recording where Ogata was roofied and SA-ed. Along him was another person who he later explained was his half-brother Yuusaku, they grew up together, and Yuusaku killed himself after the incident.

Chapter 11

They lingered in the morning bath longer than necessary. Vasily worked up a layer of lather on Ogata's skin, quietly relishing the silky feel of it beneath his palms. He loved the way his fingers sinking into the firm flesh, though the soap kept them slipping.

Ogata remarked, "I haven't been to the gym once since you got here."

Vasily snickered, certainly Ogata had gotten all the exercise he needed—

A groan escaped Ogata as he flexed his biceps, water spraying from the motion. "You're a bad influence. Do you know how hard it is to maintain this?" He gestured at his arm. "We're the computer guy. It's not like we carry weight for hours every day."

Yeah, an extra effort for an extra vanity. Vasily hummed, kept stroking Ogata's hair, which dripped like a wet kitten's fur.

Not that Ogata seemed to mind being handled like a cub. After last night's revelations, he'd grown oddly emotionally pliant, allowing Vasily to cuddle and fondle him. He adored this side of him. He could've kept at it forever—if only the world wouldn't interrupt. The thought that Ogata still had to go to work didn't even cross his mind.

Over morning coffee, Ogata asked casually, "Now thinking about it… I never got why you approached me that first day." He took a sip. "I was just some office mule in a plain shirt and a badge. What even caught your eye?"

Vasily searched for words that didn't sound absurd. "Destiny," he offered, hoping Ogata would find it romantic rather than ridiculous.

As soon as the word was out, Ogata's lips curled into that signature smile of his. But then, to Vasily's surprise, he conceded, "Yeah, I guess so."

He took another slow sip of coffee, unhurried, as if weighing his next words. "It sounds insane, but… sometimes I see it too. I've had dreams. We were in a forest—" His gaze flicked up, locking onto Vasily.

A jolt of tension shot through Vasily's body. Did Ogata share the same dream about the duel in the forest?

But to his surprise, Ogata leered. "Yeah, just like what you're thinking—started nasty, just like what we were doing the other night. But it was a forest forest, you know? Vast. It was…" He trailed off, and the next wasn't what Vasily had anticipated at all.

"We were making out when suddenly, it caught fire. Everything burned. We turned to ash almost instantly." He set his mug down with a soft clink. "Then, we got absorbed by the trees. Felt like taking an elevator—rising up into the sky, becoming part of the tree. I kept looking for you, but…" A dry chuckle. "Every leaf looked the same. Every damn tree, identical. Know how I found you?"

Just then, his phone buzzed. The moment was ruined.

Ogata arched an eyebrow, glanced at the screen, and thumbed in a reply. Then he checked the time and groaned. "Fuck, I gotta go. Can you believe these assholes threw a weekend rager at my place and still expect me to show up the next day?"

Ogata left the apartment, but Vasily followed. He also had his own things to deal with. They stopped at a convenience store for breakfast.

While the microwave hummed, heating a rice ball, Vasily spotted Sugimoto emerging from the employee's room, hair mussed, looking every bit like he'd crashed there overnight. He was distractedly tapping at his Tamagotchi, feeding his virtual pet with the air of a man barely awake.

Vasily hailed casually.

Sugimoto muttered something in reply, but his expression flickered.

Ogata appeared just then, swirling a freshly blended veggie smoothie from the machine. He eyed Sugimoto, then threw a question. "What time did you leave last night?"

A crimson flush slashed across Sugimoto's face. "I was there cleaning up when you two started—"

Ogata's mouth twitched into a leer. But Sugimoto wasn't the only one shifting uneasily—Vasily, too. He didn't know Sugimoto hadn't left when they began making out. Nor did he know when Ogata would outgrow his habit of needling Sugimoto endlessly.

Though the microwave let out a cheerful beep, so Vasily had to fumble with the steaming rice ball, its plastic wrap clinging stubbornly—until Ogata came to support and instructed him how to peel the wrap away.

"Hold it—no, like—" But it was too late. The rice ball disintegrated into a grainy slope in Ogata's palms. He stared at the wreckage, sighed, then flashed a grin. "Come on. Eat out of my hand."

Sugimoto let out an insufferable groan and turned to straighten the shelves. Before walking off, he paused, shooting them a suspicious glance.

"Right—you did crack that code last night?" He crossed his arms. "Asirpa-san told me. Didn't believe it was empty until I checked myself."

Ogata stilled mid-motion, fingers sticky with rice. "What?" His voice sharpened. "She sent you the phrase?"

Sugimoto blinked. "Yeah. Why wouldn't she?"

A bitter twist darkened Ogata's expression, but he kept his palms upturned, waiting for Vasily to finish munching down the rice. His gaze flicked to him as if told him to hurry up, and then returned to Sugimoto. "How many others has she shared it with?"

Sugimoto didn't understand why Ogata was making such a fuss. "Does it matter? There's no money in it anyway." He faltered under Ogata's glare. "Alright, fine—just me, Mr. Hijikata."

Then, as an afterthought, he added, "ah, and also I told Sensei. He was there at your apartment yesterday. I invited him, cuz he just knows everything." His voice warmed with unmistakable admiration for the man.

Ogata's jaw tightened. "Which Sensei?" Yesterday he'd locked himself away to work and hadn't met half the people who showed up later.

Vasily watched him, puzzled by the sudden intensity.

"Kikuta Sensei," Sugimoto replied. "He's a visiting professor at our college this year. Really great guy."

At the name, Ogata's face twisted. He wiped his hands clean with swift motions and grabbed his phone. "I gotta go," he said, and started to call for a cab.

Vasily didn't understand Ogata's urgency. He exchanged a glance with Sugimoto, finding a similar confusion reflected back. All he could do was to state the obvious.

"The account shouldn't been logged in by too many people from different devices." He typed, "It might get locked."

Sugimoto shrugged. "Yeah, but it's empty. Who cares?"

Vasily had to explain to him. "We might still need it to trace the account's origin, like who had set it up, whether there were former transactions. That might be crucial for finding Asirpa's father."

Sugimoto then stammered, "But… we already have—"

Vasily waved it off. "It's fine for now. Ogata just said he'll put on another signature as soon as he gets to work, and it'll be safe. Only he can log in then."

Hijikata's firm specialized in digital trades, which probably explained his immediate interest upon Asirpa's request. Vasily's nose wrinkled at the coincidence that Ogata worked for them. But it wasn't a big deal, right? Just destiny weaving them back together—like Ogata moving to Hokkaido and stumbling into Sugimoto and Asirpa almost right away.

The thought settled uneasily in his chest as he trudged toward the bus stop.

The embassy visit had gone surprisingly smoothly. His emergency passport was ready, and the clerk helpfully reminded him it had limited validity and he needed to apply for a standard one—though he'd need to finalize it back in the States. Yeah, sure.

He boarded the bus again, the hum of its engine drowning out the static in his head.

He needed to wrap this up quickly—get his paperwork sorted, then bounce right back. Maybe even apply for a local job. Ogata had joked about old man Hijikata needing more security experts, though doubted Vasily's black mark on Bitcoin investment would do him any good in the interview.

But—at least he could take a look at where Ogata was working, right?

The bus rolled toward the office district, and Vasily caught himself imagining it, clocking in at the same building with Ogata, sharing coffee breaks in the lobby, walking home together when the streets glowed amber under evening lights. They wouldn't need to say good bye to each other ever again.

A beautiful café sat a block away from the office building, but its charm was lost on the lunchtime crowd. They looked exhausted, didn't seem really care how the quick bite tasted like.

Vasily nursed a small cappuccino in the window seat, half-expecting glares for lingering too long. But no one even glanced up, even when he pulled down his mask to sip. They were too busy chugging huge cups of coffee while engaging in their own conversations.

Before setting up his solo studio, Vasily had briefly endured the glass-walled corporate cages in Saint Petersburg. But back home, people were more relaxed, still knew how to enjoy food, enjoy life, unlike here.

"And this is just Sapporo," Ogata had once remarked, "Try surviving Tokyo. Not as a tourist, but living it."

Hadn't Ogata always lived this way? Would Vasily have to learn to live this way, if he was going to stay?

Around him, lunch was less a meal than a makeshift pause. Some were still scrolling through reports between bites. At a nearby table, one of Ogata's colleagues leaned toward a young man—they might look casual, but the young man's stiff nods betrayed this might be a casual interview.

Or was it? The way the colleague tilted his head, fingers tapping nervously at the rim of his iced coffee… Vasily might've mistaken it for a date.

Then the colleague spotted him.

"Ah! Vasily-san! Come, join us!" He waved, grinning. He announced to the interviewee, as if introducing a local attraction. "This is Ogata's boyfriend I told you about."

The young man muttered something under his breath, then turned. Vasily's frozen in place.

This was the delivery boy that day. The same one who'd shown up at his door with the mysterious package.

Recognition flashed across the delivery guy's face too, followed by a flicker of nerves before he steadied himself. "So this is him, Kadokura-san?" He gave Vasily a once-over, lips quirking. "Never thought Ogata could land a boyfriend, being… well, himself. Gotta admit, he's got a type."

Vasily blinked. A type?

The young man barreled on, oblivious to Vasily's comprehension of the language. "Ogata's such a copycat! I shaved my head last year, and next week, he did it too! Then when Tsurumi-san grew his out, and suddenly Ogata's got a similar one! And right after we met Tsurumi-san's Russian wife?" He jabbed a finger toward Vasily, a bit rude for someone with this innocent, sweet face. "He got one too!"

Kadokura almost choked on his coffee.

"I think it's just a coincidence," Kadokura rubbed his temple, then gestured. "This is Usami. He was Ogata's work buddy. He's here running errands. And he…" He shot them both an exasperated look. "Gosh, everyone keeps asking about Ogata lately. Why not just text him?"

Usami offered a sheepish smile. "I... actually care about him. But I'm not letting him know."

Vasily's expression darkened. He could feel his own face twisting into something vicious. His fingers jabbed at the text on his phone screen. "What about the flash drive?"

Usami read the words, his reaction flawless. Either he was telling the truth, or he'd rehearsed this lie until it fit like second skin. "Tsurumi-san helped retrieve it. Nice of him, right?"

"Do you know what's about it?"

Usami's gaze flicked up, sharp. "Do you?"

Vasily stepped back, shaking his head. Usami hummed, tapping his straw against his teeth. "Could be nothing. Could be..." A deliberate pause. "Important. Why else would Tsurumi-san want me to hand-deliver it?"

Vasily wasn't buying it. His thumb kept moving under the table, typing blind.

This Usami guy wouldn't linger for days just to deliver a package. Not unless he wanted something, like surveillance and reconnaissance. And now he was cozying up to Ogata's colleague—Kadokura, who'd been to their apartment for the little decipher seminar, although he had barely contributed anything, only sprawling on their couch playing Ogata's games—

The message flashed on his screen.

"Done co-signed it." Ogata replied, "Where is he?"

Five minutes later, Usami was mid-laugh, hand theatrically pressed to his mouth as if Kadokura's pun had been genuinely funny—when his gaze abruptly snapped toward the door.

Ogata strolled in, hands tucked casually in his pockets. Contrary to Vasily's expectations, he didn't seem rushed at all. He waved at their table like this was all terribly amusing before joining the sandwich queue. When he returned with his tray, he slid into the empty seat with an air of ease.

"Ha-ha. Small world." He took a slow bite, eyes flicking between Usami and Kadokura. "Say, Kadokura-san… which year were you born, by the way?"

Kadokura bristled. "The hell's that matter?"

Ogata's smile sharpened. "Just seeing if you meet Usami's criteria. If you were born after '85, I'm afraid you're out of luck."

Usami's laugh died in his throat.

Ogata's grin abruptly turned rigid, and he let out a pained yelp. Vasily glanced down to find Usami, in a pair of elegant pointed-toe high heels, ruthlessly stomping on Ogata's foot with a look of sheer malice on his otherwise angelic face, hissing like a viper.

Kadokura, however, cleared his throat, cheeks pink, scratching his head, "Ahem, actually, I'm not that young. Such a charming young man wouldn't—"

Despite the agony, Ogata squeezed out a few words between clenched teeth, "Trust me, if you don't give him what he wants, he'll stick around."

Kadokura suddenly stammered, "Ah, w-what does he want?"

Ogata managed to pull his foot back with effort. "Hasn't he asked you for anything yet?" He strategically shifted his position so Usami couldn't lash out without drawing attention in the café. "I'm not just talking about your number, your money. Maybe… some little secrets?"

Kadokura looked bewildered and anxious.

Usami threw his head back with a laugh. "Ogata, look at yourself, always rushing things. I'm a patient, polite man who takes things slowly. How could I pry into private matters, that we've barely finished one cup of coffee?" He tapped his temple, eyes glinting. "I haven't even started asking anything."

Kadokura, blissfully oblivious, nodded. "Yeah, you've barely asked me anything. It's all about Ogata!"

Usami's face clouded over, but he couldn't stop Kadokura's incessant chatter. "You asked how he's been since got here, whether he gets along with boss and Sugimoto, is he seeing someone—" He ticked each point off on his fingers, his voice dipping into something almost plaintive. "Ogata, could you try being less of a mess? Everyone worries about you. Meanwhile, who even asks about me?"

Something in Kadokura's words seemed to strike a nerve with Ogata. His eyes flickered, and he covered his mouth, glancing cautiously at Vasily.

Moments later, Vasily received a text message under the table. He might not know we've already cracked it.

Vasily had many questions, like why Ogata's former employer would have that flash drive, and why he was so concerned about the seed phrases. But for now, he needed to remind him of the danger.

He's the one delivered the flash drive.

Ogata glanced at his phone, his complexion turning more serious. Suddenly, he stood up, gestured for Vasily to remain seated. Turning to Usami, he said, "Let's step outside. We need to talk."

Vasily hesitated a bit, but Usami was already sauntering after Ogata. The two had disappeared into the café's tiny courtyard, leaving Kadokura and Vasily at the table. The atmosphere grew awkward.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Kadokura asked, "How did you hurt your face?"

Vasily typed his response. Over the past few days, he had grown accustomed to typing in his note. However, Kadokura, who seemed to be struggling with his eyesight, squinted to read the small text, so Vasily increased the font size for him. "A car accident?"

Vasily nodded.

"Ohhh~right! That time Ogata's car just… exploded. Freaky shit. Brand-new too—he'd been showing it off when he drove it to the office." He chuckled. "I thought he'd be livid if anything happened to it, but he seems quite composed. Guess that's just how rich-kids are like."

Vasily hadn't really considered how wealthy Ogata might be. Ogata had mentioned inheriting, and with his younger brother deceased, their father would likely leave everything to Ogata, unless—unless the will hadn't been updated before Councilor Hanazawa's suicide. In that case, most of the family's wealth would still be under the control of the lady. How much Ogata could access would depend on her mood. It seemed Ogata wasn't particularly happy spending money that came with such conditions.

Although Kadokura's words made Vasily realize that his loose lips could be made useful. It seemed he could easily be coaxed into revealing information without needing Usami's charm tactics.

The question was, among all the things, which should he ask?

Glancing out the window, he saw Usami and Ogata each holding a cigarette, deep in conversation. Time wasn't on his side, so he needed to ask the most crucial one that could easily be forgotten later.

"How does Usami know about Sugimoto?"

Kadokura mumbled some slang under his breath like "jealous husband", but he soon replied, "Don't know, maybe they knew each other from school?"

He seemed to have no concept of age gape of people way younger than him. And he snapped his fingers, "Yes, I remember he mentioned a professor who is teaching at Sugimoto's school. Usami had also asked if I ever saw this guy in contact with Ogata. That must be it. You've seen the guy."

Yes, but that doesn't explain why Ogata would get all agitated when he found out the professor had learnt the correct combination. Vasily noted thoughtfully.

Taking a moment to formulate his next question, Vasily typed carefully on his phone. "Why is Hijikata also interested in solving the seed?"

However, it seemed Vasily had chosen the wrong question. Now that his boss was involved, Kadokura grew cautious, shooting a glance at Vasily, "W—well, because the little girl asked, of course!"

He then straightened up in his seat. "Before we got there, we were just hanging out at the old man's place, drinking beer, playing ping pong. Do you know Ogata always joins us?" Suddenly, he forgot about complaining, looked at Vasily expectantly. "You can come! Unless, we old-timers are boring to you."

Vasily had never been a people person, and he had assumed Ogata wasn't either. But it turned out Ogata already had plenty of people in his life, those who hung out with him, looked out for him, even more complicated than those of the average person. It was just that Vasily hadn't stayed with Ogata long enough to know everything about them.

A nervous thought crept in. Did he really have to follow Ogata everywhere, meeting all these strangers? And then, with a spike of panic—and that stepmom—

Suddenly, he thought he heard something. People in the café were standing up, craning their necks to look outside. Vasily followed their gaze, and froze in disbelief.

There, in the courtyard, Usami and Ogata had somehow caught in a fight.

Though fight wasn't quite the right word, because Ogata wasn't putting up much of one. Usami had him locked in a tight armlock, squeezing until Ogata's face flushed purple. Ogata's breath came in ragged gasps. He clawed weakly at Usami's arm, but it was no use.

Vasily rushed outside, desperate to intervene. Usami shot him a glance, lips curling into a cold sneer before turning back to Ogata.

"Well?" he taunted, tightening his grip. "Aren't you scared now? Scared I'll tell your dear boyfriend what kind of monster you really are?"

Vasily stopped mid-step. Usami didn't sound like he was just pointing out something about Ogata's impolite nature, his family, or the secrets about that flash drive where Ogata had been the victim. Usami spoke like he knew something worse.

Ogata's eyes locked onto Vasily, disbelief flashing across his face—how could he just stand there? Gasping, he slammed a fist against Usami's arm. "Let—me—go—"

Vasily clenched his fists but didn't move. His gaze fixed on Usami. Waiting.

Usami cast him a glance and smirked triumphantly, as if witnessing the betrayal of Ogata's last trusted person. His curvy lips parted slowly.

"Do you know how his little brother died? By suicide, yes—but why?" He let the question hang, savoring the moment. "Just one day before he killed himself... he received that flash drive. Guess who delivered it?"

His eyes flicked back to Vasily, his smile widening with cruel delight. "Did Ogata tell you he lost that drive? That someone else stole it and gave it to Yuusaku? Nothing could be further from the truth." A pause, as if he's savoring the panic escaped from the man struggling beneath. "Ogata handed it to him personally. More than that—he orchestrated the whole thing. He's the one who drove his own brother to death."

Ogata struggled violently, choking out his denial. "No, it was Tsurumi who—"

Usami's patience snapped. He released Ogata abruptly, letting him crash to the ground. "There you go again," he sneered, grabbing Ogata by his collar and tie, "always blaming Shirou for everything—" He hauled Ogata upward until their faces were inches apart. "Why couldn't you just say, 'I don't give a damn, family comes first'? You grew up together! Yet you're still this cold-blooded."

A cruel laugh escaped him as he tightened his grip. "Then again, what else can you expect from a high-school dropout's bastard? Too stupid to see the obvious. If Yuusaku had gained influence, naive as he was, you could've simply pulled his strings from the shadows. But now?" His voice dripped with mockery. "His mother's going to donate the entire family fortune to autism research! You get nothing. How fucking poetic."

Usami's voice was unsettling, so loud and manic that even passersby began to stop and stare. Security officers nearby seemed to take notice, but Usami either didn't realize or didn't care. His eyes were fixed on Ogata's face, feeding off the pain from it with visible delight.

"Who could ever trust someone like you?" he sneered, tightening his grip. Then, turning his gaze at Vasily, he suddenly started laughing and said, "All this pretense just to play house with some white guy…"

The security officers clamped a hand on Usami's shoulder mid-sentence. Cursing violently but obediently, Usami rose to his feet and was led away. He didn't forget to turn his head back and take a final look. He was smiling before he was pushed into the back seat of a car.

Ogata remained motionless on the ground for a long moment before finally pushing himself up. His face was rigid, unreadable.

When he finally spoke to Vasily, his words seemed deliberately inconsequential. "They'll probably put him in a facility for real this time."

He turned around to find people were staring at him. Kadokura stood frozen, half-drunk coffee in one hand and an unfinished sandwich in the other, his mouth slightly agape.

Ogata's eyes flickered to Vasily. "Don't take it seriously..." he muttered under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. Then louder, with forced composure. "Go back. I'll come find you after my shift."

During those months after Ogata left California, among Vasily's countless fantasies was one simple wish: to share a proper dinner date, just the two of them. He never imagined its fulfillment would be...different.

The establishment was perfectly decent. The live band was actually quite skilled. But the atmosphere between them was utterly somber.

Vasily shoveled spoonful after spoonful of soup into his mouth, mechanically. His face looked so thunderous that nearby servers were getting anxious, wondering whether the food was terrible, while the way he was hungrily devouring didn't look it.

Ogata swiftly instructed the waiter, "Just a little less sugar in the tea, please." The effortless way the Cyrillic syllables rolled off his tongue caught Vasily off guard.

Vasily picked up an eyebrow at him, while stirring his soup absently.

The question had been burning in his mind since he found out Ogata had bought the Russian textbook. Before, he had fantasied Ogata was learning it for him. Now, that naive hope had curdled into something more desperate. He found himself now praying that Ogata learned it for him because that would be the simplest explanation.

"That's right. I used to have some Russian clients. My manager forced me to learn it." His face twitched, "But I've forgotten most of it. That bit is pretty much all I remember."

His gaze drifted to Vasily's plate, watching him eat for a moment before asking, "How do you like the food here?"

Vasily nodded. The restaurant billed itself as Russian, but its signature dishes leaned more toward Ukrainian home cooking—simple, hearty, the kind of food his sister might make. He thought of her tumultuous marriage, now inevitably ending in divorce.

When he looked back up at Ogata, the man was in his tie and shirt from the day, faint traces of dust still clinging to the fabric from Usami's assault. Vasily turned his spoon in his hand, wondering how to even begin it.

"About... about what happened earlier," Ogata cleared his throat, "I think there was a misunderstanding. Usami wasn't actually involved. Tsurumi just fed him some lies, and he pieced together his own version of events based on that."

That might have taken him an afternoon to cook up. Ogata reached for Vasily's hand, but Vasily pulled away, typing out his response on his phone:

"You can just tell me the truth."

Ogata let out a weary sigh. "... though I'd admit, I shouldn't have let Tsurumi manipulate me on so many things." He paused, swirling his tea absentmindedly. "The truth is, he was my benefactor. After my mother died, I was living with my grandparents, but he somehow found out about my situation. He contacted social services and forced my father to pay child support."

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "And here's the ironic part—when Yuusaku's mother learned about this, that woman... Well, she had her own peculiar way of thinking. Took me in and raised me alongside Yuusaku. I'd get the same allowance, go to the same private schools, and all I had to endure was to stay in the same house."

He gave a little shrug. "Sounds like a happy ending, right? Well, except when Tsurumi and the old man didn't see eye-to-eye on China policy, he made me think it was a good chance to get back. He's good at suggesting things. He never has to push anyone to do anything."

He laughed bitterly, "That flash drive? I gave that to the old guy. I was hoping the contents would give him a heart attack on the spot. But guess what?" He sneered, "Instead of dropping dead, he went to Yuusaku. I haven't a clue what was said, but the next day, Yuusaku tied his tie to the bed frame and—"

Breathe in deeply, he said, "Not long after, the old man killed himself too. Tsurumi later said to me, 'Hyaku, you're the most capable young man I've met, not because you always do what you're told, but because you come up with the most unpredictable and ingenious solutions', that he wouldn't have done it as well as he did himself. Turns out I'd been fooled. He'd kept the evidence the whole time."

A waiter passed by, cheerfully refilling water glasses. Ogata went silent for a while, waiting.

Vasily's fingers tightened around his phone before typing sharply. "Why did he return it to you now?"

Something flicked through Ogata's eyes. "Can you still believe me?"

He looked Vasily in the eye, then touched his hand with his little finger carefully. He didn't find any resistance, so he grabbed it firmly, not letting him get away.

His hand was dry and warm, not at all clammy as it would have been if he were nervous, the way Vasily had learnt throughout these few days of company.

Vasily tensed up when he realized this, and he felt a cold dread well up in his chest.

He was scared, really scared, that Ogata might actually blurt out the truth, for better or worse. He had no idea how bad it could get, or how much he could take it. He didn't know how much fight he could put up against that part of himself that refused to quit, no matter what Ogata did, no matter how much worse he let himself become.

Why couldn't it just be easier?

"Look, I don't always fill you in on everything because it just didn't seem like a priority. I don't want to ruin your mood. You were clearly enjoying yourself here." He held Vasily's gaze, then added with a sly edge, "Or maybe I just like surprising you."

The restaurant's hum faded into static. Vasily could just about make out a few words from Ogata's lips. He had to read them—the lips, the face—

"Tsurumi only gave it back because he wanted something in return." Ogata hurried over before Vasily could react. "Yeah, I might've suggested I'd give him the combination once I got it. That's one of his tricks, showing he's good with his word by doing what he says, so I'd probably be so grateful and I'd be all over it."

Then, with a hint of triumph creeping into his voice, he added, "He's got no leverage over me now. And even if he somehow gets his hands on the seed phrase, the extra protection I added today had made sure only me can reopen it."

That still didn't make sense. "Why does he want an empty account?" Vasily pressed on, searching Ogata's face, watching as it as his expression shifted from smug satisfaction to something approaching manic glee.

"Because the transfer hasn't cleared yet," he said, eyes glinting with bright fever. "Once it does? Every last bit of it will be ours."

Chapter 12

He's at the airport, yet he lingered in the cab, slow to move. Only when the driver cleared his throat did Vasily finally push the door open.

Travelers stream past in steady currents, some brisk, others hesitant, their luggage wheels rumbling over the polished pavement. Overhead, muffled announcements drift through the terminal, half-lost in the hum of voices. There's a subtle tension here, in the way boarding passes were clutched a little too tightly and farewells were stretched a few seconds longer than necessary.

Then, at the sound of another door opening, Vasily turned to see Ogata stepping out as well.

"Well," Ogata glanced at him, then checked his phone, "still got some time."

"Not much," Vasily replied slowly. The bandage was removed now, but the stitches remained, raw and waiting to dissolve into scar tissue. He had to be careful with each word. The doctors had informed him about scar revision surgery but he doubted that would be necessary.

Ogata just watched him. He was wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and carrying a laptop bag. The wind blew past, ruffling his neat hair. Vasily had been told many times not to draw too much attention in public, but he still stepped forward, wanting to fix the strand.

But Ogata had clearly misinterpreted it and opened his arms. He grabbed Vasily by his arms and pulled him close in a hug that left him with no choice but to put his arms around Ogata's body too. He felt warm and he smelt nice. Vasily buried his face in his neck and breathed in.

"Don't make me wait too long, alright?" Ogata's whisper was in his ear. Vasily turned and saw Ogata's slightly flushed face and heard him mumbling as he fought his own inner reluctance. Then he stared into Vasily's eyes and added quietly, yet his tone was firm, "Once I get this sorted out, there will be nothing to worry about."

He was talking about the complex financial system. He had sounded so resolute that night, as if everything was under control.

"I've looked into it. The transfer orders had been created. I just need to figure out how to trigger it." he said, sitting on the sofa while addressing Vasily. Seeing Vasily's strange look, he reassured him, "You don't need to worry. Just follow your schedule. I'll handle this."

Then, as if tempting Vasily with a promising future, he lowered his voice and said, "Once I finish this job, let's go traveling. Don't you want to live freely, go wherever you want? As long as you stick with me, you can spend the money however you like, whether it's for fun or anything else. Aren't you going to look for you sister? We can hire the best mercenaries—"

Oh, for a moment, Vasily was really tempted. It wasn't about the money itself. He didn't know what's the point of looking out for so much money. He just wanted a place for themselves. Two people living an ordinary life would be happy enough. He had had money and lost it, but what the experience had taught him was that having money or not didn't make much of a difference, as the things he cherished most couldn't be bought.

He just kind of liked the idea of being included in Ogata's plan.

It was not like he could be talked out of it. Vasily knew what would happen if he made him choose. Even when he pointed out more complications, such as the source of the money, the potential for confronting even more dangerous adversaries, Ogata remained resolute and grew a bit impatient.

"Yeah, I understand, but I need this." He turned his head to look out the window. "I've always been a fuck-up, but with this, I can be something different. I can make something of myself. Finally."

So instead of arguing, Vasily held him tighter and murmured a few words of reassurance.

He planned to get back ASAP once the paperwork was sorted. Ogata might need help. He might've got into trouble. He wished he could stay longer here when he needed it. He wished he could be stronger for him. Ogata had decided to go for a tougher path, and he didn't want to be left behind.

The plane wouldn't depart for another two or three hours. They could have lingered in the airport a little longer.

But Vasily didn't want to let go.

It might only be a few days apart. But who really knew? Maybe longer. Maybe much longer. And when, if ever, would he get to hold and touch him like this again?

He stroke Ogata's hair, and Ogata hummed the same quiet sound he always made when petted like this. That, at least, hadn't changed. But so much else had.

Ogata had once been nothing more than an illusion, fleeting like the shape of the clouds until Vasily reached up and dragged him down to earth, desperate to figure him out. What emerged from the mist was a solid man as moody as he was cunning, who had brought with him equal parts fear and fascination.

This torment was of Vasily's own making.

Then, Ogata eased out of the embrace, "I... I should go," he said, fidgeting with the strap of his laptop bag for a moment, as if stalling.

Vasily watched him, feeling the tension in the air, knowing there was something they were both thinking but not saying. "There's still time," he said.

Ogata smiled. "What's the point of dragging it out?"

He walked through the airport doors and turned back to see Ogata still standing in the same spot, hands in pockets, face a blank slate. Even as he looked back, Ogata showed no reaction.

And so, without further ado, he carried on his way.

Standing at the security check, Vasily kept typing, updating Ilya on his return. Ilya's messages came through with a detached tone, questioning if Vasily had finally gotten his fill. He's unsure how to explain that this time he was back only to leave for good.

Vasily had to pack all his possessions. The most valuable among them was the rifle. He decided to hand it over to Ilya, after all it didn't mean as much to him anymore, and it would again be an international logistical nightmare. He's not keen on the idea of his stuff being seized by customs.

At the security checkpoint, the attendant inspected his temporary ID for what felt like an eternity, before offering numerous apologies, explaining that his case required special handling and manual verification. Vasily simply shrugged and waited. Eventually, a staff member signaled him over, indicating that an interview was necessary.

The request struck Vasily as unusual, but he couldn't be certain if this was standard protocol. Without protest, he followed the uniformed attendant through a maze of administrative corridors until they reached a nondescript office.

"Please wait here," the staff member said, avoiding direct eye contact. "We need to bring in a specialist for your case."

Vasily offered a silent nod. The sterile office smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee. He checked his watch—3:42 PM. Even with this delay, he should still make his flight comfortably.

Twenty minutes later (he'd been counting), the door handle turned with a decisive click. A woman entered, early forties, blond hair pulled into a severe bun and wearing a suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent. When she spoke, her Moscow accent was unmistakable.

Vasily's fingers twitched against his knee. A translator? Unlikely. The way her sharp eyes assessed him suggested something far more complicated.

"Relax, Mr. Pavlichenko." She settled gracefully into the seat opposite him, nudging the fruit plate across the table while its sad contents of shriveled oranges and energy bars were barely qualified as hospitality. "Let's discuss how to handle your situation, shall we? You may call me Fina."

She slipped on her reading glasses and scanned the information on her screen. "Let's see... Entered the country on April 28th, lost your documents on May 6th, replacement processed by May 12th..." she murmured, almost to herself. Then, with a faint smile, she added, "But of course, we already know all this, don't we?"

Vasily stiffened slightly. He wasn't sure what she meant, or what game she was playing.

The woman before him carried herself with polished propriety, yet there was something about her that felt oddly familiar to him. He seemed to have dealt with people like this before—proper and efficient, appearing ordinary, yet they operated on behalf of those who preferred to remain behind the scenes.

"How awkward," she chuckled behind her hand, a habit perhaps acquired during her time in Japan. "I'm not sure how to put this." Her voice trailed off suggestively. "But you have to forgive me. Your reputation precedes you."

Vasily uncrossed his legs, his feet coming to rest flat on the floor. Every muscle was now primed for flight.

The woman named Fina continued flicking through her tablet, pulling up documents and images that hadn't been there before. She studied them with something like admiration. "Look at these… what magnificent work."

Then her gaze lifted, eyebrows pinching in quiet accusation. "But how could you destroy them?"

Vasily's eyes locked onto the screen. There were blueprints for drones and schematics for flight control systems, those he had once designed and had made him his first real fortune.

His expression darkened. "I didn't know..."

He was about to explain that he had no idea the buyer had links to the government, but soon the words left his mouth, he wondered why he had bothered. If Fina had access to these files, it was clear where her allegiance lay.

His jaw snapped shut, teeth grinding as he studied the deceptively pleasant woman. Just how deep were her connections?

His eyes flicked toward the door. He might still make it. If he sprinted, how fast would security respond? The more terrifying possibility coiled in his gut—was there really any issue with his identification at all? What if this wasn't an 'assistance' as they put it, but a prelude to interrogation?

Fina looked at him and waved her hand dismissively. "Forget it, it's nothing to make a fuss about. Though I'm sure some people won't be happy. Just think how much it would cost to rebuild. They're strapped for cash as it is. Desperate, really."

She paused, studying at him. "Actually, you might already know what happened. The military controls a certain fund that, well, didn't start off clean. Confiscated from criminals, if you catch my drift. Ring any bells?"

Vasily flinched. Did this mean he could finally be sure? The high powers had really seized his money, against all the transparent policies.

But why was she telling him this? He waited in silence. Strangely, she seemed even more patient than he was.

"Mm. Thought so." She smiled, her tone almost smooth. "You've spent all these days chasing that money just trying to get your hands back on it, right? Totally understandable. And if the military took it…" She shrugged. "Well, we both know they'd only spend it on something you'd hate."

Vasily studied her tone, a flicker of doubt crossing his mind. Was this really about his past actions, or, no—his thoughts raced—was it about the fortune itself? His lips pressed into a thin line. But he already knew. It was never just about him. The money. Always the damn money.

A cold realization slithered in. He had no idea how tight-lipped Asirpa's allies were. They might have talked. Or someone made them. He should've known better. And if that were true, then Asirpa, Sugimoto, or anyone with knowledge, was in danger.

Ogata could be in danger. He, he needed to reach out to him and tell him—

How could he message Ogata without alerting them? But even if he did, would Ogata understand? Or would he misread the warning and charge straight into danger instead of laying low? The moment that thought struck, Vasily's hand froze mid-motion.

"Get to the point," he growled.

Fina nodded, as if she'd somehow expected this impatience. "It's simple, really. You give us what we want… and you walk away. With a clean record." She gestured with an open palm, as if signaling him to be released. "Don't you miss home?"

Home... Yes, someday he'd find his way back. But not like this. Not by becoming what he hated.

Besides, once they figured out his key was worthless without the second authentication, he didn't think they'd simply let him go.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to." He said.

She shook her head. "Must I spell it out? We know you cracked it. Look," she leaned in closer, "you might get a portion of your money back. Though I can't promise anything. Frozen assets require processing, and there are... variables before any transfer clears."

That's when Vasily understood. He schooled his features into blankness. "I'm still not following," he said carefully. "Are you saying that after I give you the key, the military will unfreeze the assets first, then deposit them into this account?"

She smiled knowingly. "Yes, I know you tech types might find this surprising, like how could it possibly work? Honestly, I don't understand all the details myself. My husband handled that part." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Apparently, some of his boys created transfer records through the exchange's backend system. But since the original funds were frozen, the transactions couldn't complete. Once unfrozen, the transfers go through immediately. Quite clever, don't you think?"

He froze. After several agonizing seconds of silence, he finally spoke. "Your husband... wouldn't happen to be named Tsurumi, would he?"

The pieces were falling into place with terrifying clarity. If this was what he feared it meant... then Ogata had been involved from the very beginning. He hadn't just "stumbled upon" this operation out of curiosity or competitive drive. No—he'd been helping the Russian government launder dirty money all along.

The woman neither confirmed nor denied his suspicion. "You can rest assured. He's a man of his word. We both are. Think about it, I'll wipe your slate clean, he guarantees your payment. Doesn't that sound like the perfect arrangement?"

Wait, something’s off here. His mind raced. If she's really with the military, why does it sound like the money wasn't going to her handlers?

Then it hit him that, if the military sent her, why would they need this charade? The wallet was theirs to begin with. They'd already have the keys.

He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, if I walk out that door right now, will anyone actually stop me?"

Fina watched him rise, folding her hands together on the table. Her lips curled. "Don't think so poorly of us. Anyone could film this for social media... these days. Of course you can leave." A theatrical sigh. "But you understand… we always have alternatives. You're not the only option."

Vasily stood stubbornly as she waved him off and started dialing a number. The moment the call connected, she said, "Not much luck here. You?"

A man's weary voice responded, "In progress. Patience, dear. Remember we're doing the right thing here."

She sighed. "Don't push yourself too hard. This should have been simple task, if not for Usami's failed—"

Though the man on the other end disagreed. "The fault is on me. I thought I understood them better." A pause weighted with regret. "I watched those kids grow up, but forgot...they're grown-ups now. Can't control them. Have to work with them."

"You still believe that?" She chuckled. "Look at you, always overthinking things."

"No," the man replied simply. "I have a feeling there's more to this. If Hyakunosuke isn't hiding something, I'd be surprised." He paused. "Although I haven't told him about that matter yet. Once he knows... he'll listen."

When that name reached his ears, something inside Vasily withered. He took a step back, bumping into a chair. The noise made Fina turn, her expression flickering with surprise, as if she hadn't expected him to still be there.

"What about him?" he demanded, voice tight. "What are you planning to do with him?"

"Who?" She seemed genuinely confused.

Then it struck Vasily that she wasn't as informed as he'd assumed. She had no idea the two men they were manipulating even knew each other.

So he pretended his question had never been about Ogata. "Your other option," he clarified coolly.

The person on the other end must have heard him. "Could you put me on speaker, darling? Thank you."

Fina tapped her phone, and the voice came through crisp and clear.

"Just yesterday, when I rushed to bail Usami out, he told me about you." The man's tone was deceptively gentle. "And don't worry, I only look for cooperation."

Right, Vasily thought bitterly, recalling Ogata's words. He never forced anything. Instead, he guided people by whispering ideas into their minds until they mistook them for their own.

The man continued, his voice now carrying an almost inviting warmth. "I understand your concern.You think we'll use this money for something terrible." A pause, then a sigh. "I've heard about what you did before. Admirable, really. A young man with principles, and such nerve. If you knew what we're truly doing… well, you might reconsider."

Vasily tensed. The relentless praise—was this the same tactic Ogata had warned him about? The honeyed words before the trap snapped shut?

"We're almost at the airport," the man added smoothly. "Darling, bring Mr. Pavlichenko along. He might be interested." After a beat that's been carefully crafted, "Oh, and do tell him Hyakunosuke is here too."

Vasily climbed onto the shuttle after Fina, and he seemed to be moving as if he was still dreaming. He should've been getting ready to catch his flight back to the US by now, not getting on a different vehicle and heading to a private jet. He thought he'd have to wait a long time to see Ogata again.

And there he was, relaxing in a cozy seat, a flute of champagne at hand. Vasily's breath caught.

Ogata glanced up, his gaze flickered away almost guiltily before he took another sip. "I didn't expect this either," he whispered behind the glass.

Vasily crossed the cabin and sank into the seat beside Ogata without speaking. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, almost overwhelming.

A voice cut through the silence from behind them. "If I were you," it drawled with familiar mocking sweetness, "I'd start explaining. Someone seems... displeased."

Vasily didn't need to turn to recognize the signature brand. Usami was drapping over the headrest, his chin propped on folded arms.

"Where exactly are we going?" Vasily kept his voice low, the question meant for Ogata alone.

Vasily's grip tightened on the armrest as Usami chirped, "To Russia! We've been practicing our Russian for months." The cheer in his voice made Vasily's skin crawl.

Ogata set down his champagne flute with a sharp clink. "That's not the full story," he interjected quickly. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tsurumi came through with new intelligence."

Vasily slowly turned to face Ogata. The cabin's dim lighting carved sharp shadows across Ogata's face as his expression darkened, but not with guilt, but something more unsettling.

The plane's engines hummed to a gentle rhythm as Ogata continued. "Just I was about to deliver the key to him, you know, when he didn't know there's an extra layer protection, he said that won't be necessary. Said that's just a decoy. We could only deciper it only because someone wants us throw the military off the scent, and when they unfreeze the funds, the transaction get routed to the real address."

"Asirpa's dad?" Vasily asked unbelievably.

"Indeed!" A voice rang out, bright, magnetic, from the jet's entrance. "What a brilliant, cunning man he was."

Usami immediately dropped into a deep bow, his forehead nearly touching his knees. "Tsurumi-san!"

Tsurumi waved him off absently. "Apologies for the wait. Just finalizing our route with the pilot." His gaze slid to Ogata, smile widening. "Ah, Hyakunosuke. It's been too long."

Ogata didn't move. "Mm."

Unfazed, Tsurumi strode to the opposite seat and settled in smoothly. Then, as if noticing Vasily for the first time, he tilted his head. "What do you want for a drink?"

Vasily shook his head stiffly. He wasn't about to let his guard down until he understood exactly what game was being played here.

Before he could speak, Ogata cut in sharply, "On the phone you said you'd figured out who blew up my car. Explain."

Tsurumi's smile widened, eerily reminiscent of his wife's. It was impossible to tell which of them had learned that particular expression from the other. The charismatic middle-aged man radiated charm, yet something about his friendliness set off quiet alarms.

"Well now, I should actually be thanking you," Tsurumi said smoothly. "If we hadn't followed this particular thread, we never would have uncovered the bigger picture." He produced a slim dossier from his jacket. "Take a look. The culprit's already under investigation. Turns out he's quite the repeat offender."

The photograph showed a long-haired man with piercing eyes that seemed to burn through the grainy, surveillance-camera quality of the image. Vasily frowned, as there was something unsettlingly familiar about that intense gaze, but the memory danced just out of reach.

Tsurumi tapped the photo knowingly. "When I saw this man was involved, I immediately knew Wilk must be pulling strings behind the scenes." He gave a theatrical sigh, shaking his head with mock regret. "What a shame about these two...to chase some ideal and abandon their wife and children? I wouldn't do that."

Ogata's patience finally snapped. "I fail to see what this has to do with the explosion," he said, his voice dripping with barely contained irritation.

Tsurumi's smile didn't waver. "Ah, but I suspect we'll understand everything once we meet him in person—the bombing, the real key, even how he managed to disseminate information while locked away in a political prison." He held up a cautionary finger, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "Though let's remember, we're just there on 'business'. Getting access to him won't be that simple."

Tsurumi beamed at them with disquieting cheer. "I'll be counting on both of you, then."

Vasily's gaze flicked between Ogata and Tsurumi, his expression hardening. This wasn't his fight. "I'll pass," he said flatly.

Tsurumi steepled his fingers, as if weighing his next move. "But I haven't mentioned compensation yet." His voice took on a sly edge. "Fair game, no?" Then, leaning slightly forward, "Let me put it this way. If that money reaches Russian military, it'll fund invasions. If Wilk intercepts it? Just as bad. His group has militants. He'd buy weapons in a heartbeat."

He let the words hang, watching Vasily closely. "So tell me—do you want to see that happen?"

No, but... Was Tsurumi telling the truth? Or was this just another layer of deception? The man had to have his own agenda. Did he really expect Vasily to believe he'd return the money out of altruism?

"And you'd handle it... better?" Vasily challenged, voice wavering.

Tsurumi stroked his neatly trimmed beard, considering. "Hmm... 'Better' is subjective. Money is power, and power is inherently corruptible, especially when wielded for personal gain." He sighed, almost wistful. "I don't expect a foreigner to grasp my... noble intentions. But Hyakunosuke here might."

Ogata, slouched against the window, let out a derisive snort. "I'm here only for the fifty percent cut," he deadpanned. "But by all means, continue."

Tsurumi exhaled heavily, his breath fogging the whiskey glass the server had handed to him. The amber liquid caught the cabin lights as he swirled it absently. "That moment when victory is within your grasp..." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Only to watch it dissolve into nothingness. I've been there."

Vasily's grip tightened on his armrest, tendons standing out like bridge cables. Ogata didn't even blink. He just stared at the safety card in the seatback pocket. "Get to the point," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Twenty years ago," Tsurumi continued, ignoring them both, "I'd stay up until dawn tracing Japan's economic decline on whiteboards." His free hand sketched graphs in the air. "Not the young people's fault, of course. They simply need..."

"A guidance?" Ogata interrupted dryly, finally looking up with dead-fish eyes. The champagne bubbles had all died in his glass.

Tsurumi's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A compass." He turned to Vasily. "Then I met Wilk. Dial-up internet days, just two tech enthusiasts exchanging ideas in chat rooms." A faint, nostalgic smile played across his lips as he swirled the ice in his glass. "He was always an extremist, though. Ranted about purging all Russian influence from his homeland." Tsurumi's gaze sharpened, locking onto Vasily's. "And it got me thinking—isn't that exactly what Japan needs too?"

The cabin fell silent except for the hum of engines. Usami leaned forward eagerly, while Vasily's jaw clenched at the dangerous implication. Ogata merely looked at him, his expression unreadable.

"Naturally, I'm powerless to change anything. Just a humble investor helping... influential people make important decisions." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped Tsurumi as he adjusted his cufflinks. "No matter how flawless my strategies, how meticulously crafted my plans, ultimately it's the great men who decide whether to act."

His gaze slid meaningfully toward Ogata. "Take Councilman Hanazawa, for example." His voice took on a pedagogical tone, "If only he'd shown some backbone in that failed IPO instead of pulling our decade-long China investments..." He made a sudden grasping motion in the air before letting his hand fall limp. "Can you imagine the control we'd wield over the entire country by now?"

With a theatrical sigh, he set down the glass slowly. "Too late for that, of course." A smile appeared as he straightened up and declared. "But this is a new age, where technological innovation reshapes the world overnight, whether in Shibuya or Silicon Valley." He's getting more and more restless and electric. "And more than that, this is an era of chaos. A new world order is forming, and no one is watching out." A breathless laugh escaped him. "Who would have believed tech startups could grow so powerful they shake the foundations of elections, or even nations themselves?"

Vasily's combat-honed instincts flared as Tsurumi's cadence accelerated, his Japanese occasionally fracturing into English tech jargon. He noticed with clinical detachment how Tsurumi's gaze had slid past him entirely and focused on Ogata.

And there was Ogata...he sat motionless, but Vasily recognized that stillness, with the same focus Ogata had exhibited during stakeouts, when a particular interesting item had crossed his scope.

"This is beyond any one man. All this capital, all these possibilities..." Tsurumi's hands sliced through the air like a conductor of mayhem. "I don't need just an assistant. I need a true partner. Someone who comprehends the scale..." His gesture went upwards, beyond the cabin, and to the sky above, "...this new frontier we're mapping."

Then, he extended his hand. "Do we have an understanding?" His gaze locked onto Ogata, expectant.

Vasily watched him too. Ogata's face was still, but Vasily could see the tension in his jaw, for the way his teeth clenched so hard the sutures along his chin threatened to split.

The plane's engines growled low, and mournful. They were running out of time. If they stayed any longer, the choice would be made for them.

No. He couldn't let this play out.

Vasily stood abruptly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "We should go." He tugged at Ogata's arm.

But the man didn't budge.

Ogata remained motionless in his seat. His eyes flicked up to Vasily, lips parting briefly as if testing unspoken words, before they finally slid past him, although meant for Tsurumi. "Just let him go."

Tsurumi kept his hand suspended, tilting his head slightly as if waiting for an answer. Ogata pressed his lips together, then grasped it in a firm clasp.

"Now this is the man I knew you could be," Tsurumi said, satisfaction bleeding into his voice. "Your true potential. I can hardly wait to see it."

But Ogata merely bared his teeth in something too sharp to be a smile. He still hadn't looked at Vasily when he spoke the final word. "Go. Or you'll miss your flight."

Vasily sat by the plane window, gazing down at the vast shimmering expanse. It reminded him of those foolish days when he got to the beach, he'd dreamed of swimming all the way across the ocean, convinced that on the other side waited something—someone—who could make life feel lighter.

Back then, perched on the rocks by the shore, he never truly saw the sea or the sunsets. His eyes were always fixed on the horizon, searching for what his longing had painted there, something precious enough to justify the weight of existence. He thought he could share it with someone, or they could escape from it together, to the edge of this mundane world or to each other.

For a brief moment, he'd been certain he'd grasped it, like cupping a butterfly in his hands. But when he dared to look, all he found was a lifeless husk, wings dulled to dust.

The saltwater reached his cheek before he noticed the tears. A sharp sting bloomed across half-healed wounds, but Vasily didn't lift a hand to wipe it away. In the shuddering cabin light, he let the pain linger. This fleeting burn could be a reminder, for what could have been and what would never be.

Outside, the Pacific stretched endlessly beneath the wing under the starless night. On this side of the ocean, the sun had set; on the other, it was already rising. An endless cycle that would continue until the star itself burned out, unaware of humanity's fleeting existence for those mere millions of years. How much less would it notice one man's lifetime, or the exact moment a heart broke?

Vasily kept his eyes closed in waiting, for dawn to find him again.

Ending Theme

Notes:

Lights up, credits rolling, theme playing…the story has reached its ending. Sorry to make you sit through it. The chapter 13 will be just epilogue and trailer!

Chapter 13: epilogue

The melancholic hum sounded as though it came from a distant valley, drifting on the breeze. With headphones on, he could block out even the slightest clack of keys, letting his thoughts to become completely absorbed. One part of his mind focused on debugging the code, and as for the other half, well, he hoped the soothing tunes were enough to keep it occupied.

But suddenly there was a distracting murmur. He brushed it off initially as part of the sampled nature sounds, experimental music that sort. But the noise drew closer and closer, until he noticed a person standing beside him, almost yelling directly into his ear.

"What?" Vasily tugged off his headphones to address the guy hovering nearby. Leon was having his arms folded and looked a bit annoyed.

"I was just saying," the shorter man yawned, "I'm starving. Lunch time. What do you feel like, Mexican? Curry? Sandwiches? Or should we just hit the cafeteria?"

Vasily's mind was still sluggishly processing things when he stood up. His vision went dark for a moment, nearly causing him to stumble. Glancing at the coffee pot on his desk, he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything yet. He shut his laptop as both split-screen monitors went into screensaver mode.

"Let's go for curry then," he said. "I could use a stroll."

February was the chilliest time of the year, but Vasily wore only a light jacket. Back home, this would be early summer attire. This winter had been particularly mild and dry so that he had almost forgotten what a proper winter felt like. As the automatic doors slid open, and a cool breeze brushed against his skin, it felt almost pleasantly refreshing after being in the air-conditioned office for so long. He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed Leon out of the building.

They skirted parks and car parks, wandering down the road. The surrounding structures were so modest in size that their six-story office was called a tower, and the coconut trees could easily make the highest point, towering above the signs of the legendary tech companies that Vasily had only heard about as a young boy.

Leon rambled on and on about the concert tickets that he couldn't get his hands on, to the point where he had to resort to the black market. Vasily gave an absent hum, signaling he was still paying attention to some extent. Sensing his lack of interest, Leon changed topics.

"I see you're finally going to use up your PTO before it expires. Any plans?"

Vasily nodded, "I'm going sketching."

Leon deflated, "Isn't that what you do every weekend anyway?"

Vasily shrugged, "True, but this time I rented a cabin in the national park. I can also hike, maybe do some fishing, and sketching will only be a part of it."

Leon narrowed his eyes, "Why do I get the feeling you're doing this for work-related reasons anyway?"

Vasily could guess why Leon got suspicious, and truth to be told, he couldn't completely deny it. The game they were developing featured several wilderness survival scenarios, and Vasily wanted to verify for himself whether it was actually doable to catch fish with a simple handmade fishing rod, or to build a fire, following all the right steps. He wanted to capture every detail to ensure that no basic errors were made in their game. Besides, he kind of did want to go off the grid for a few days for some peace and quiet.

So he said, "This is just what I like doing."

For some reason, Leon let out a sigh wistfully, "Oh man, you live like an old man. If only you had a hobby that involved interacting with people..."

Vasily could guess where this conversation was going, but fortunately, they arrived at the eatery. The place was packed, so they had to wait for a bit. And then he ordered Naans and butter chicken, as expected of every white person.

Leon, tearing at the pillowy bread, said, "Honestly, I'm not too optimistic about this project. If only I could find a better job, I'd have jumped ship by now." Seeing Vasily raise his eyebrows, he quickly added, "Not that I have any problem with the game itself, but our development cycle is just way too long. Indie studio, and what a project, sure, we could hit it big if it succeeds, but, well, what the odds, and I've got student loans to pay off, you know."

This made Vasily feel a little down. "I thought you liked it," he said. "And the demo got positive feedback..."

Leon scoffed, "Definitely not enough. I overheard Boss on the phone with an investor last week in the elevator. Sounded pretty desperate, if you asked me, like she was begging." He then shook his head, "At this rate, who knows how many copies we'd have to sell just to break even..." Making a face, Leon said, "Honestly, what's the market for a game like this? Just two guys shooting each other."

Vasily was ready to argue that there were indeed people who would play it—he himself, for starters—but then shut himself up. He wasn't exactly in the normal category.

"Hear me out," the other guy went on, "unless we stir up some controversy, something really sensational to break the Internet. I've given it serious thought, and it's actually pretty easy. For a hardcore dudebro game like this—and wait for it—when the player finally takes down the opponent," he suddenly gave a sleazy grin, "a dialogue box pops up. Just hear me out, hear me out! One option is 'kill him,' and the other is 'fu—'"

The giggles of the owner's granddaughters echoed through the restaurant, accompanied by the disapproving look from the owner as he brought their sodas. Vasily kicked Leon under the table.

Leon grumbled, "It would have been a great idea."

Vasily didn't say it wasn't, just thinking about how to bring this up with the Boss as if casually. She had always been open to his ideas, but such changes would involve a lot of work and risks. The last thing they needed right now was a bad decision that could cause their small, struggling studio to fall apart completely.

As he was lost in thought, Vasily felt a sudden sting on his face. He then realized that he had been absentmindedly picking at his scar.

The injury had long since healed, but sometimes it would flare up for no apparent reason. And it would often get itchy, tempting him to touch it. If he scratched it too hard, it would hurt again. The doctor had examined it and confirmed that there was no tissue overgrowth, so the itch was likely just a lingering residue from the healing process. He had been warned that even if the itch became unbearable, he should resist scratching it.

"A simple procedure could have it removed." He had been told. "Not just for appearance. Isn't it a bit inconvenient?"

Vasily never said that this was precisely why he wanted to keep it. He didn't want to be accepted just for being conveniently attractive, while there were no deeper interests beyond it. He bared the scar, so he could keep a distance from people. So he could be reminded every morning when he looked in the mirror. A mark, a souvenir, for something he believed he had overcome.

It was just a minor episode from two years ago, and now he had bounced back, living his own life, doing what he enjoyed with a bunch of cool people. Who would have thought that knowing a bit about art, coding, weapons, and history would combine so perfectly for game development? He was content with his simple, busy life. Keeping himself focused and occupied made him feel as though he had gone back to the days of working alone.

He—he didn't dare dwell on it, he knew that if he took a moment from the intense game development to think, he'd start questioning his choices.

He could keep asking himself questions, especially during those half-awake moments when his mind wasn't as well-guarded. What if he hadn't stepped off the private jet that day? Was the freedom to live as he pleased really worth it, if what he lost was—

Walking back, Vasily sniffed as the chill wind started to bite a little too sharply.

He admitted that sometimes, before making a decision, he often relied on his intuition rather than carefully considering all possibilities. But more often than not, this approach had proven right, whether it was about deciding what to pursue or what to let go.

Having already known what loneliness felt like in a previous life, it's really no big deal. It's worse to hang out with the wrong people. He couldn't wait for the vacation when he could finally escape into the wilderness, undisturbed by another soul in the world.

They took a stroll around the neighborhood for a bit, had a smoke, and then headed back to the office.

As they entered, several workers were moving in and out, carrying items from a truck into the lobby, seemingly busy assembling something. Vasily wasn't particularly interested, but Leon walked over to ask what was happening. Soon he came back, and Vasily was just casually asking, "What's up?" while pondering whether to have more coffee or maybe tea later.

Leon looked thoughtful, "Huh, didn't see that coming."

Vasily hummed and pressed the elevator button, waiting for Leon to elaborate.

Sure enough, his colleague didn't wait for a question and kept talking, "Someone snagged a famous painting at auction and turned it into an NFT. But to boost the NFT's price, they intend to destroy the original piece. Brutal, man. They're going to authenticate it and then destroy it in front of everyone. I've just checked, it's our new investor's idea."

Vasily had heard of this tactic before but hadn't expected to see someone actually employ such an extreme measure. Those who hadn't gone through the creation of art wouldn't realize that paintings can be touched and smelled as well as seen, something that couldn't be replicated and preserved digitally. But this wasn't the first time that modern ideas had led to the destruction of good things, and he was just curious which unfortunate artist's work would suffer such a disgraceful fate.

However, the mention of a new investor brought a bit of surprise.

So it seemed that Boss's relentless campaigning had finally paid off. She had practically kept them holed up in the office over the holidays to finish the demo, and then spent a lot of time promoting it after its release. Perhaps there was still reason to hold onto some hope.

No sooner had they reached their floor than the shrewd woman took the notice. She was in the pantry, waiting for her sandwich to finish heating in the microwave while she was still busy replying to messages. The instant she saw them, she left her things behind, and headed their way.

"...Hey, what's the deal, Boss?" Leon asked cautiously. But she ignored him completely and made her way straight to Vasily.

"I was literally about to call you!" she blurted out, tugging at Vasily's arm. "Quick, go grab your laptop. The new investor's doing a surprise drop by, and I've been scrambling for two hours to pull everything together. I dug up the tech specs—engine optimization, cross-platform stuff—from your old docs, but you'll need to walk them through that part. "

She looked like she was on the verge of being sick from nervousness, while Vasily doubted that any investor would really care about these project details. They were probably just coming to inspect the premises, confirm they weren't being scammed, and maybe take advantage of the venue for the NFT event.

But despite acknowledging this, she still shook her head emphatically, "I don't want anything to go wrong. We've already had to gloss over quite a few issues to land this deal. If we're caught unprepared, it could be a disaster. I'm asking you to be serious."

Alright, if she insists. Vasily conceded, returning with his laptop to make the necessary adjustments to the co-editing slides. While doing so, she didn't stop yapping about how to structure his presentation to make it sound proficient and investment-worthy, while avoiding overwhelming his audience with details.

"I think that's it," he finally said, but Boss still seemed far from pleased. But then her phone rang, and after answering it, she abruptly shot up, looking apologetic. "Looks like you'll have to go on your own, Vasily."

Vasily gaped in surprise, but she ignored him and continued quickly, "I need to head to IRS office—I've completely forgotten about the appointment. They're having a few questions." Her face was stern, then softened a bit. "But you know this content better than anyone else in this building, besides me, of course." She added and then took on a tone that was laced with coaxing. "Try to be a bit more charismatic—it's not that difficult, is it?"

She then quickly hurried off. Left alone there, Vasily silently scrolled through the slides, double-checking for any errors until the receptionist came to fetch him. He sighed, stood up, and followed her.

"What kind of person is it?" he asked.

The receptionist shrugged, "Pretty standard, really."

"Standard" could have a ton of different meanings in this industry. The receptionist left when they reached the meeting room door. Vasily took a deep breath, knocked once, and upon hearing no response, turned the handle to open it.

Someone was seated at the far end of the meeting room, their swivel chair turned towards the window for the scenery outside. They seemed to have heard him enter, but remained unresponsive. Vasily cleared his throat, realizing belatedly that he should have prepared an opening introduction to explain the situation rather than jumping right into the details.

This was not his field at all. He felt like he was hit by a mental freeze. His mind struggled to fabricate the appropriate pleasantries, even though he was completely unpracticed in this sort of thing. The paralysis seemed to have spread everywhere, preventing him from moving away from the door. Even when the chair finally rotated slowly around, his feet felt glued to the floor, despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to bolt in panic.

The man in the chair was all too familiar, sitting comfortably with his back against the chair, sizing Vasily up with a look that was beyond just a hint of satisfaction, especially after he noticed the way Vasily was holding onto the doorframe for support.

Vasily felt like he was going to be sick.

"What's the matter?" Ogata's familiar, low, and gentle voice came through, extinguishing Vasily's final shred of hope that this was all just a hallucination. "I've been waiting."

With a clear intention of crushing whatever sanity Vasily had left, he winked—but his open eye looked oddly off.

As if had just been released from a frozen enchantment, Vasily moved into the room and closed the door behind him. A moment later, the door latched shut with a soft click.

-end-

Notes:

If they can have their happy ever after so easily, how do I cook up another 100k words of gay drama *evil laughter* but since it’s supposed to be set in like, 2027, let’s just wait and see alright? maybe then anime season 5 and/or Netflix show would boost up the fandom so my weird-ass AU could sneak in without looking so out of place

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of to start a (bitcoin) war in hokkaido