Bab 87: chapter 84
The room went still. Yaroslav's gaze snapped to Maksim, his once-cool demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the storm brewing beneath. His face remained straight, but his jaw tightened imperceptibly, and his fingers curled around the base of his wine glass, gripping it with controlled force.
"Shut the fuck up, Maksim," Yaroslav said, his voice low and cold, each word like a blade slicing through the tension. His piercing blue eyes locked onto his brother, unblinking and fierce. "And so what if he resembles him?"
Maksim chuckled darkly, a humorless sound that was more mocking than amused. "Oh, so what?" he repeated, his tone dripping with derision. "It seems your precious feelings are clouding your judgment again, Yaroslav. First love or not, he's a threat to this family, to our operations. But of course, you're too sentimental to see that."
"Enough, Maksim," Vanya interjected, his voice firm but not as sharp as the others. He glanced nervously between his brothers, sensing the powder keg about to explode.
But Maksim wasn't finished. "Sentimentality is weakness, little brother," he pressed, his smirk widening. "And weakness is something this family cannot afford. Or have you forgotten what happened the last time you let your emotions dictate your decisions?"
The crack in Yaroslav's composure deepened. He set his wine glass down with deliberate force, the sound of glass against wood echoing through the room. His stare was unrelenting, a sharp contrast to Maksim's smug grin.
"I haven't forgotten anything," Yaroslav said, his voice now edged with anger. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as if to ground himself. "But don't mistake your petty provocations for wisdom, Maksim. You talk about weakness, but it's your jealousy that blinds you. You couldn't eliminate him yourself, so now you hide behind words, hoping someone else will clean up your mess."
Maksim's smirk faltered for a brief second, but his sneer returned, bolstered by his pride. "You're deflecting," he said, leaning back in his chair with false confidence. "Just admit it, Yaroslav. You're still pining for a ghost. Pathetic."
Yaroslav stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The force of his presence was palpable as he loomed over the table, glaring down at Maksim. His fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body taut like a predator ready to pounce.
"Say his name one more time," Yaroslav growled, his voice low and dangerous, "and I will make sure you regret it."
The air grew thick, the silence deafening as the brothers stared each other down. Vanya rose from his seat, stepping between them once again. "Enough, both of you," he said, his tone firmer now, his gaze flicking between them. "This isn't the time or place for this."
"Maksim," Mikhail began, his voice calm but laced with steel, "leave Yaroslav's affairs to him. You might find satisfaction in provoking your brother, but you waste precious time with your petty games. Time is not a luxury we have."
Maksim opened his mouth to retort, but Mikhail raised a hand, silencing him with a single gesture. "Enough. This is not about your rivalry or your insecurities. This is about the family, the organization, and the survival of everything we've built. So, Maksim, stand down."
Mikhail then turned his full attention to Yaroslav, his gaze piercing and unyielding. "Yaroslav," he said, his voice heavy with expectation, "this agent has already caused significant damage to our operations. The longer he remains alive, the greater the risk he poses—not just to you, but to all of us. If the agency learns what he knows, they will stop at nothing to dismantle us."
Yaroslav stiffened but didn't look away from his father's gaze. Mikhail's tone grew colder, more deliberate. "If you are incapable of handling this, if your emotions are clouding your judgment, then I will have no choice but to assign someone who can. You may think you're protecting him for reasons I don't care to understand, but let me make one thing clear. If that agent remains a threat, he will be eliminated."
Mikhail's words hung in the air like a heavy weight, but he wasn't finished. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze darkening. "And if the agency discovers the truth, that we hesitated, that we allowed one agent to destabilize our network, do you know what they will do? They will find every weakness, exploit every opportunity, and burn us to the ground. They will turn their focus onto him—this Beom-ki—because they will see what you see: a vulnerability. And they will stop at nothing to destroy him to get to us."
Yaroslav's jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Mikhail noticed, his lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile. "If you think you are protecting him by sparing his life, you're mistaken. The longer you let this go unresolved, the more danger you place him in. The agency will not hesitate to turn him into a pawn—or a corpse."
The room fell into a tense silence as Mikhail let his words sink in. He folded his hands on the table, his expression unchanging. "So I will say this once and only once, Yaroslav. Either handle this matter swiftly and without hesitation, or step aside and let someone else clean up your mess. But understand this: if the agent continues to breathe and this family suffers for it, his blood—and the consequences—will be on your hands."
Maksim, still simmering with anger, let out a scoff but stayed quiet, for once not willing to challenge their father. Vanya, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up cautiously, his voice steady but firm.
"Father is right, Yaroslav," Vanya said, his calm tone a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere. "We can't afford to let sentiment cloud our decisions. If this agent poses a threat, we need to neutralize him before the situation escalates further. You know the stakes."
Yaroslav's icy gaze shifted to Vanya briefly, but he said nothing. Instead, he straightened his posture, his mind racing behind his impassive expression. His father's words had struck a nerve, not because of their harshness but because of their truth. He had spared Beom-ki not just out of hesitation but out of something deeper, something he couldn't—or wouldn't—acknowledge.
"Fine," Yaroslav said at last, his voice low but steady, his eyes meeting his father's once more. "I'll handle it."
"You'd better," Mikhail replied, his tone final. "Because if you don't, you will have more than just the agency to answer to."
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the Vyshnevsky family garden, the sprawling estate quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds and the crunch of gravel underfoot as Vanya and Yaroslav strolled side by side. The manicured hedges and bursts of vibrant flowers were beautiful, but their conversation weighed heavy against the serene backdrop.
Vanya walked with his hands in his pockets, his steps slow and deliberate. He glanced sideways at his younger brother, who had remained stoic, his sharp features set in an unreadable mask. Yaroslav's silence wasn't new, but Vanya knew how to read the tension in his jaw and the way his hands remained clenched at his sides.
"Yaroslav," Vanya began, breaking the silence, his tone soft but firm. "You heard what Father said. His threats weren't just for show. You need to make a decision before it's too late."
"I've made my decision," Yaroslav replied without hesitation, his voice low and cold. "I want him alive."
Vanya sighed, stopping in his tracks as he turned to face his brother. His calm demeanor remained, but there was an edge to his voice. "And why is that, Yaroslav? Because he reminds you of Alexei? Do you really think keeping him alive will fill that void? Alexei is gone, and keeping this agent alive won't change that."
Yaroslav stopped as well, his icy gaze locking onto Vanya's. "I'm not assuming him to be Alexei," he said, his voice laced with irritation. "I know exactly who he is. But that doesn't mean I'll treat him like a disposable pawn."
"Treat him however you want," Vanya countered, his voice rising slightly, though he quickly reined himself in. "But be realistic. Father doesn't make empty threats. If the agency becomes a bigger threat because of him, they won't just come for you. They'll destroy him too, and you won't be able to stop it."
Yaroslav's expression hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn't respond immediately, his mind swirling with thoughts he didn't want to voice.
Vanya's voice softened again, a hint of sympathy creeping into his tone. "Yaroslav... I know you've never truly moved on from Alexei. None of us expected you to. But Beom-ki isn't Alexei. He's another person entirely. You're projecting onto him because of what you lost. But that's dangerous, for both of you."
Yaroslav's grip on his emotions slipped for a moment, his icy demeanor cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of vulnerability. "Do you think I don't know that?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "I'm not delusional, Vanya. I know he's not Alexei. But that doesn't mean I'm going to throw him away like everyone else seems so eager to do."
Vanya held his ground, his expression steady as he absorbed his brother's words. "No one's asking you to throw him away," he said, his voice calm but resolute. "But you can't keep him alive just because you think it's what Alexei would've wanted. If you care about him, if you truly want to protect him, then you need to handle this differently. Keeping him alive while the agency closes in won't save him. It'll only make things worse."
The brothers stared at each other for a long moment, the tension between them palpable. Yaroslav's jaw worked as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him. He turned away abruptly, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
"I'll figure it out," he said finally, his voice quieter now but no less firm. "But I'm not killing him. No matter what Father says."
Vanya let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly but choosing not to push further. He placed a hand on Yaroslav's shoulder, his grip firm but not forceful. "Just remember, Yaroslav," he said, his tone almost brotherly, "you're playing with fire. And if you're not careful, you'll both get burned."
Yaroslav didn't respond, his mind already turning over Vanya's words. As the two resumed their walk, the silence between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts, each man lost in his own calculations. The garden, for all its beauty, felt colder than before, the weight of their conversation casting long shadows over the path ahead.
Beom stood there, his bare skin prickling in the cool air of the bathroom. His gaze traced his reflection in the mirror, lingering with both fascination and frustration. He had stared into this mirror a hundred times before, but now it was like he was looking at a stranger, someone with parts of himself that he couldn't fully understand, parts that felt out of place and foreign.
He leaned closer, his fingers ghosting over his stomach as if he could somehow feel the newness beneath his skin. The upper half of his body was the same as ever—lean, toned, familiar. But below, it was as if his very identity had been altered. "How the hell did I end up like this?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.
For a moment, he felt the absurd urge to laugh. It was surreal. Here he was, standing in front of a mirror, confronting a body that should have been his own but wasn't entirely. He let out a small, shaky laugh, a sound that felt hollow in the quiet room.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone