Capítulo 119: chapter 114

The silence in the room stretched on, thick and heavy like an oppressive fog. Beom shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of their earlier conversation pressing on his chest. He wasn't sure what to say next, and the quiet was beginning to gnaw at his nerves. Yaroslav seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed on some invisible point beyond the window.

Finally, Beom couldn't take it anymore. He stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor. He cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension. "Uh… do you have, like, games or something? We could play, maybe drink a little, chat or… I don't know, do something?"

Yaroslav turned his head slowly, his sharp blue eyes meeting Beom's with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Beom thought he'd get shot down, the man's typical dismissive smirk already forming. But to his surprise, Yaroslav simply tilted his head slightly, considering the suggestion.

"Games?" Yaroslav repeated, his voice low and thoughtful. He let the word hang in the air before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, I have a few."

Beom blinked, caught off guard by the agreement. "Wait, really? You… actually have games?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Yaroslav said with a chuckle, standing and stretching his arms over his head. "Even someone like me knows how to unwind. Come on."

Without another word, Yaroslav turned and headed toward the door. Beom hesitated for a second, his mind racing to process the sudden shift in tone, before quickly following him.

Yaroslav's long strides carried him downstairs, his boots thudding lightly against the polished wood steps. Beom trailed behind, his bare feet making almost no sound in comparison. As they descended, Beom found himself glancing around the space. The house—if you could even call it that—was enormous, its decor screaming wealth and power. Dark wood panels lined the walls, accented by intricate carvings, and the chandeliers overhead cast a soft, golden glow across the expansive hallways.

They reached the main floor, and Yaroslav led Beom toward a room Beom hadn't been in before. Yaroslav pushed open the heavy oak door, revealing what looked like a lounge or recreational room. The space was just as opulent as the rest of the house, but it had a more relaxed vibe. A pool table dominated the center of the room, flanked by a fully stocked bar in one corner. Shelves lined one wall, filled with an eclectic mix of books, board games, and even a collection of video game consoles that looked surprisingly up-to-date.

Beom's eyes widened as he took it all in. "This is… unexpected," he muttered, stepping further into the room.

"Why? Did you think I spent all my time plotting world domination?" Yaroslav teased, moving toward the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, setting them on the counter before looking back at Beom. "Pick your poison—pool, cards, or something else?"

Beom raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the edge of the pool table. "You're being oddly accommodating. What's the catch?"

Yaroslav smirked, pouring the whiskey into the glasses. "No catch. Just trying to keep the peace. Besides," he added, holding out a glass to Beom, "I'm curious to see what you're like when you're not plotting ways to escape."

Beom took the glass hesitantly, eyeing Yaroslav with suspicion. "Fine. Pool it is," he said, setting his drink down and grabbing a cue from the nearby rack. He wasn't about to let his guard down completely, but maybe—just maybe—he could use this moment to gather more information. If nothing else, it was better than sitting in awkward silence upstairs.

As Yaroslav set up the table, Beom couldn't help but notice the relaxed way the man moved, as if this was just another casual evening in his world. It was strange—almost unsettling—to see Yaroslav like this. But Beom pushed the thought aside. If this was a game, he'd play along. For now.

Yaroslav grabbed the whiskey bottle from the bar, his movements smooth and deliberate. He poured a glass for Beom, the amber liquid swirling before settling in the glass, and then another for himself. He handed one to Beom without a word, the quiet clink of the glass in Beom's hand signaling the beginning of a more relaxed atmosphere.

They returned to the pool table, the tension of earlier conversations melting away into a semblance of camaraderie. Beom took a sip of the whiskey, the burn traveling down his throat and warming him from the inside. He leaned over the table, lining up his shot, when a thought crossed his mind.

"You know," Beom began, aiming the cue ball carefully, "you haven't really told me much about yourself. For example, your age or your birthday." His tone was casual, but his curiosity was genuine. He struck the ball, watching it glide smoothly across the green felt before sinking into a pocket with a satisfying clack.

Yaroslav smirked, resting his cue stick against the floor as he considered Beom's question. "I'm twenty-five," he said, finally, his voice calm and measured. "June 20th."

Beom raised an eyebrow, straightening up and leaning slightly against the table. "Twenty-five, huh? You look older," he teased, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

Yaroslav chuckled, the sound low and rich. "I'll take that as a compliment." He stepped forward, lining up his shot. "You told me you were twenty-nine, but you never mentioned your date of birth. What is it?"

Beom adjusted the cue in his hands, preparing for his next turn. "August 8th," he replied simply, taking his shot and watching as the ball narrowly missed the pocket. He let out a soft groan, stepping aside to let Yaroslav take his turn.

Yaroslav nodded thoughtfully, positioning himself for his next move. "Ah, August. I see," he murmured, his tone almost contemplative. He leaned over the table, his focus steady. "For some reason, I thought you were an Aquarius," he added, shooting and sinking a ball effortlessly.

Beom chuckled, shaking his head as he walked around to get a better angle for his next attempt. "Aquarius, huh? I wish," he said with a small laugh, his expression softening.

"And why is that?" Yaroslav asked, his gaze flicking to Beom with mild curiosity as he swirled his whiskey in his glass.

Beom shrugged, aiming again. "I heard Aquarians are supposed to be free-spirited, unconventional, and all about independence." He took his shot, this time successfully sinking a ball. "Doesn't really match my situation, does it?"

Yaroslav's lips curved into a faint smirk. "No, I suppose not," he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "But you're resilient, I'll give you that. Maybe there's a bit of Aquarius in you after all."

Beom snorted softly, stepping back to let Yaroslav take his turn. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, echoing Yaroslav's earlier words. For a brief moment, the room seemed lighter, the heavy air dissipating as their conversation flowed naturally.

As Yaroslav prepared his next shot, Beom sipped his whiskey, watching him closely. The man seemed more at ease than usual, his typical sharp edges dulled by the game and the alcohol. It was a rare glimpse of Yaroslav that Beom wasn't sure how to feel about. Relaxed or not, Yaroslav was still a complicated puzzle—one that Beom was determined to piece together, even if it took every ounce of patience he had.

The game continued, the rhythmic clinking of the balls and the occasional clink of their glasses filling the room. In the midst of the casual conversation, Beom found himself momentarily forgetting the circumstances that had brought them together. For now, it was just two people, playing a game and sharing a drink, their burdens set aside, if only for a little while.

Beom leaned against the pool table, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the smooth wood as he watched Yaroslav take his shot. The rhythmic sound of the balls clinking together echoed softly in the room, creating a surprisingly tranquil atmosphere. Beom took another sip of whiskey, the warmth of the drink providing a sharp contrast to the cold reality of his situation.

He set the glass down, his thoughts churning. The game had eased some of the tension between them, but Beom wasn't one to let his guard down entirely. Yaroslav might have been showing a more relaxed side tonight, but Beom knew better than to assume it was genuine. This man—this enigmatic, calculating man—was far too complex for that.

As Yaroslav lined up his next shot, Beom decided to break the silence. His curiosity, fueled by both genuine interest and a desire to understand his captor better, finally pushed him to ask. "So," he began, his tone casual but probing, "are we on your private island or something? You said I'm far away from everyone. What exactly does that mean?"

Yaroslav's hand paused mid-movement, his blue eyes flicking up to meet Beom's gaze. For a moment, he studied Beom, as if weighing whether to answer honestly or deflect the question entirely. Then, with a faint smirk, he straightened and leaned on his cue stick.

"Private island? Not quite," Yaroslav replied, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "But you're not wrong to think you're isolated. Let's just say you're in a location very few people know about—and even fewer can reach."

Beom raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "So what, some kind of secret fortress?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Should I be expecting sharks with laser beams next?"

Yaroslav chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No lasers," he said, his lips curving into a smirk. "Just sharks."