Chapter 81: chapter 78 +18
This can't be it. I can't let him win. I can't let it end like this. There has to be a way out.
But as Yaroslav pulled him closer, his calm, almost amused expression etched into Beom's memory, a suffocating hopelessness began to settle over him.
"Yaroslav leaned over Beom-ki, his imposing frame casting a dark shadow over the battered agent. His fingers gripped Beom's chin with bruising force, tilting his head up so their gazes locked. The cold, predatory glint in Yaroslav's eyes was enough to make anyone shudder.
"Beom-ki," Yaroslav said, his voice eerily calm, the calm before a storm. "I gave you a chance. A chance to leave this behind, to walk away and live your miserable life in peace. And what did you do? You wasted it. You destroyed everything—everything I built. My home. My empire. My pride." His voice dropped lower, each word laced with venom. "You blew up my mansion."
Despite the danger, Beom-ki's defiance burned bright. He spat out the words with venom of his own. "Because you deserved it. You and your entire operation deserve to burn in hell. That's where monsters like you belong. Hell."
For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with tension. Then Yaroslav's lips curled into a chilling smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. His soft chuckle reverberated in the room, the sound sending ice through Beom's veins.
"You're amusing," Yaroslav said darkly. "Bold, even. I almost admire your nerve. But boldness without strength is nothing but foolishness."
Without warning, his fist came down like a sledgehammer, connecting with Beom's face. Pain exploded in his jaw as he was slammed into the ground. Stars danced in his vision as Yaroslav loomed over him, unrelenting. Beom tried to strike back, his fists swinging wildly, but Yaroslav blocked each move effortlessly, his strength far superior.
"You bastard," Beom snarled, teeth gritted as he struggled beneath Yaroslav's iron grip. "Let me go!"
Yaroslav smirked, amusement flickering across his face. "And miss the opportunity to teach you a lesson? No, no, my dear Beom-ki. You've earned this."
In one fluid motion, he grabbed the front of Beom's shirt, the fabric ripping audibly under his hands. Beom gasped, his face flushing with a mix of fury and humiliation.
"This is what happens to stubborn fools who refuse to listen," Yaroslav said coldly, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. With one brutal thrust, sending Beom's body jolting as the impact left him gasping for air.
Beom glared up at Yaroslav, his vision swimming but his resolve unbroken. "You think… this will stop me?" he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're a dead man. I swear I'll kill you with my own hands."
Yaroslav chuckled darkly, leaning closer until their faces were mere inches apart. "Oh, Beom-ki. Your hatred is delicious. But threats mean nothing without power to back them up."
Beom's breathing grew ragged as he pushed against Yaroslav with all his might, his muscles straining, but it was futile. The weight of his opponent was unyielding. Yaroslav's hand shot out, gripping Beom by the throat. Beom's eyes widened, panic flickering across his face as he clawed at Yaroslav's wrist, desperate for air.
"You should know by now," Yaroslav whispered, his voice chillingly soft. "I always win.
Beom's vision blurred, his strength waning as he gasped for air. Yet, even as darkness threatened to consume him, his resolve burned brighter.
Yaroslav tightens his grip around Beom's throat, choking him until Beom's strength fades and he loses consciousness. As Beom's body goes limp, Yaroslav revels in the moment, savoring the defeat of a once defiant adversary. He whispers that Beom will understand when the time is right, indicating that this isn't the end, but merely a part of a larger plan to break Beom completely.
With a sinister smile, Yaroslav leaves Beom's motionless form behind, confident that when Beom regains consciousness, he will be shattered and finally see things from Yaroslav's perspective. Time is on Yaroslav's side, and the true destruction of Beom's resolve will come when Beom finally understands the truth.
In the sterile, pristine office of the lead surgeon, Yaroslav Vyshnevsky sat composed, his piercing gaze fixated on the doctor seated across from him. A slight frown played on his lips, but his expression betrayed little of his thoughts as he processed the groundbreaking information being presented to him.
"This is one of the rarest cases we have ever encountered, Mr. Vyshnevsky," the doctor began, his tone professional yet tinged with awe. He adjusted his glasses and placed a detailed report on the desk between them. "After conducting extensive tests and scans, it has been confirmed that the patient's anatomy is... extraordinary. Not only does he possess a functional womb, but his entire reproductive system is intact. This means, biologically speaking, he is capable of both impregnating someone and conceiving a child himself."
Yaroslav's eyes darkened slightly at the words, though his posture remained unshaken. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as if pondering this revelation. "Go on," he said, his voice low and commanding, urging the doctor to continue.
The doctor cleared his throat, clearly aware of the weight of his audience. "Given the unusual circumstances, we believe the patient would greatly benefit from bottom surgery to ensure functionality and comfort. The procedure is delicate, but with our expertise, we are confident it can be executed with precision." He paused, gauging Yaroslav's reaction. "Should we proceed?"
Yaroslav's lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. The answer was already clear in his mind. He had no intention of leaving any detail to chance, especially where Beom was concerned. "Yes," he said with an air of finality. "Box on with the surgery."
The doctor nodded, jotting down notes and signaling to the team nearby to prepare for the procedure. "We will need to keep the patient under observation post-surgery for recovery. The process will require—"
"I trust you know what's at stake here," Yaroslav interjected smoothly, his tone leaving no room for error. "Ensure that everything is done to perfection. No mistakes."
"Yes, Mr. Vyshnevsky," the doctor assured him, though there was a nervous edge to his voice. He understood that failure wasn't an option when dealing with someone of Yaroslav's reputation.
Yaroslav rose from his chair, buttoning his tailored suit jacket as he looked down at the report once more. A flicker of something—possessiveness, perhaps—flashed in his cold eyes. "I'll leave him in your hands, Doctor," he said before turning on his heel and exiting the room, his presence as commanding as ever.
As the door clicked shut behind him, the doctor released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He turned to his notes and began detailing the next steps for Beom's surgery, the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. Meanwhile, Yaroslav strode down the hospital corridor, his mind already plotting the next stage of his intricate plans.
Beom, unconscious and unaware of the decisions being made on his behalf, remained at the mercy of Yaroslav's will, his fate intertwined with the cold determination of the man who controlled his life.
Beom's eyes fluttered open, his vision still blurry from the lingering fog of sedation. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. The first thing that struck him was the sheer opulence of the room he found himself in—a bedroom so luxurious it could rival a royal suite. The walls were painted a soft cream, adorned with intricate gold detailing. A massive window stretched nearly from floor to ceiling, draped with elegant, velvet curtains tied back with golden cords, allowing the morning sunlight to spill into the room.
As Beom pushed himself up on the plush bed, the silk sheets slid off his body, and he took a moment to absorb his unfamiliar surroundings. The furniture was exquisite: a carved mahogany dresser, a velvet chaise lounge, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. For a moment, he thought he might be dreaming. But as his fingers brushed the soft fabric of the sheets beneath him, the reality of the situation began to set in.
"Where am I?" Beom muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse and groggy. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the haze clouding his mind. As he moved, he felt a dull ache in his lower abdomen, a strange sensation he couldn't immediately place. Before he could dwell on it, another, more pressing sensation took over—he needed to pee.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood unsteadily, his bare feet sinking into the thick, luxurious rug. He noticed two doors on the far side of the room and instinctively moved toward them. The first door opened to reveal a walk-in closet filled with clothes he didn't recognize, but the second door led to a bathroom that could only be described as extravagant. Marble floors gleamed under the light of another chandelier, and gold fixtures adorned the sink and shower. The bathtub was large enough to swim in.
Beom stepped toward the toilet, his focus singular. He reached for the waistband of his pants, pulled them down, and was about to relieve himself when his hand froze mid-air. His eyes darted downward, confusion spreading across his face. Something was missing—something important. His mind raced as he frantically looked down again, his breath quickening.
There was nothing there.
Beom's heart began to pound, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. The haze of sleep vanished in an instant. He stumbled back from the toilet, his legs weak beneath him. "No… no, this can't be…" he muttered, his voice trembling. He rushed to the mirror above the sink, his hands shaking as he lifted the hem of his shirt.
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