Ministry of State Security
1:00 PM — Beijing
The rotors cut the air like blades, whipping dust and paper across the Ministry's landing pad. Haoran Yue Darius stepped out of the chopper, the wind lashing against his hair and tugging at his jacket. His boots struck the concrete with precision, not the casual pace of a passenger, but the measured stride of a soldier.
He exhaled once. The heavy silhouette of the Ministry of State Security headquarters loomed before him — cold, angular concrete, lined with reflective windows that gave nothing back but silence. A place where truth was swallowed, secrets lived, and only shadows walked out.
Waiting for him at the entrance stood Chang, one of the Deputy Chief's aides — an omega. His presence here, Haoran noted, was unusual. Omegas weren't typically used as escorts unless the higher-ups wanted to exert subtle psychological pressure.
"啊,浩然.你来了." ("Ah, Haoran. You've come a long way.") Chang greeted with an obsequious smile, then in clipped English added, "Please, follow me."
Haoran's eyes narrowed faintly. Of all people, they sent him? What game are they playing at?
Without a word, Haoran adjusted the strap of his duffel and fell into step, his boots echoing in the sterile corridor as Chang led him deeper inside. Every turn felt heavier, the air staler.
Finally, Chang stopped at a door with a brass plate:
Chief Deputy Office — 1
Haoran frowned, his hand hovering just above his side. Deputy Chief's office? But it was Chief Bo who called me. Why here?
Chang pushed the door open with a perfunctory bow.
"请进." ("Please, go in.")
Inside, two men looked up.
Chief Bo, relaxed in his seat with his signature fox-like smirk.
And beside him, impossibly, the First Deputy Chief himself, posture ramrod straight, eyes sharp with the kind of authority that pinned a man in place.
Haoran's spine straightened instinctively, his body slotting into a stance of controlled ease. But inside, his thoughts were sharper than his expression: Chief Bo alone was one thing. But the Deputy Chief sitting in the same room? That's trouble. What the hell are they scheming, dragging me into this circus?
"啊,浩然,进来,进来." ("Ah, Haoran, come in, come in.") Chief Bo's smile spread like oil on water.
Haoran stepped forward, saluting crisply before letting his arms fall behind his back.
"I heard you completed your mission in Shenzhen," Chief Bo began, almost conversationally.
Haoran's gaze was steady, voice flat. "I did my best, sir."
"Oh yes, yes, I know, I know…" Chief Bo waved a hand lazily. "But that's not why I called you here."
The Deputy Chief leaned forward, his voice colder.
"虽然你在任务中制造了比所需更多的混乱,但比起让情报被泄露,这不过是小小的代价,对吧,Chief Bo."
("While you did stir up more commotion than was necessary during your mission, that's a small price to pay compared to preventing our intel from leaking, isn't it, Chief Bo?")
Chief Bo nodded in smug agreement.
Haoran's jaw tightened. Annoying little shit. Always needs to remind me that he's higher up. If he had been there in the field, he'd be a corpse already. His eyes rolled slightly before he caught himself, his posture still perfect.
Still, his mind was restless. Why are these two sitting together, smiling like conspirators? What the hell do they want from me?
Chief Bo slid a sleek black tablet across the polished wood desk.
"Here. Take a look."
Haoran's hand closed over the device, cold glass pressing into his palm. He powered it on — and froze.
The document glowed against the dimly lit room. His pupils dilated. His breath caught.
"This is…" he murmured.
Chief Bo's smirk widened.
"Yes. It's special intel we obtained recently."
The Deputy Chief's voice cut in, clipped and precise:
"虽然传言已经流传了一段时间,但这是我们第一次获得确凿的证据.三年前,中国与俄罗斯携手开发一种新型武器.据说这种武器与其他国家所见过的任何东西都不同.一些人甚至推测,如果它能成功制造出来,将彻底改变全球力量的平衡."
("Though rumors have been circulating for a while, this is the first time we've obtained solid evidence. Three years ago, China and Russia joined hands to develop a new weapon. It's said this weapon is unlike anything the other nations have ever seen. Some even speculate that, if successfully created, it could completely shift the global balance of power.")
"Project Tamara," Chief Bo added, savoring the name like fine wine.
The Deputy Chief continued:
"We're not sure if that name belongs to the weapon itself… or the alliance… or even the designer. We don't know if it's been completed. We need to find out."
Chief Bo leaned back, eyes glinting.
"A lack of information leads to an imbalance of power. And if Tamara hasn't been completed yet, and it's within our power…" He paused, smile darkening. "…we must stop it from seeing the light of day."
The Deputy Chief's gaze was steel. "It doesn't matter how."
Bo's voice dripped satisfaction, the kind of venom Haoran had learned to despise.
"If a small act of evil is necessary to prevent a much bigger one, then so be it. We'll have to do a bit of stealing."
The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Haoran lowered the tablet slowly, his reflection warping in the glass. His thoughts coiled like smoke.
In other words, they want me to find out what this weapon is. And if I can, steal the blueprints and intel. If not… destroy it completely.
His jaw clenched. His hands tightened. But his expression — still calm, serious, unreadable.
Happy birthday, Mama. Looks like I won't be coming home after all.
Haoran's gaze stayed locked on the tablet, his reflection warping in the dark screen. His fingers tapped against the edge once, steady, measured — the only sign that his mind was racing.
I've been dispatched overseas many times. After joining the MSS, I forced myself to become fluent in Japanese, Korean, even Russian. Every language mastered through sweat, bruises, and isolation. So there's no reason I can't go to Russia. His eyes flicked briefly toward the Deputy Chief, then back to the desk. But they must know — field experience is what decides whether a man returns alive. That isn't in a language book. That's in blood.
Chief Bo leaned back, eyes half-lidded, the picture of arrogance. His words, however, were deceptively mild.
"Technically speaking, you're not the most eligible person for this job."
Haoran's jaw tightened. His voice came out cool, clipped.
"Then you should assign it to the most eligible person."
A small silence fell. Chief Bo's smirk deepened.
"Of course. Actually, he was already dispatched."
Haoran's eyes narrowed. "And?"
Chief Bo scratched the side of his temple, feigning discomfort. The Deputy Chief shifted, his gaze sliding away, suddenly fascinated by the paperwork stacked neatly on his desk.
"Ahem." The Deputy Chief coughed into his fist. "I suppose… well, it didn't work out."
Haoran's mind sharpened, gears turning. Didn't work out. That's the bureaucrat's way of saying someone died. Conveniently vague. They're testing how I'll react.
Chief Bo dropped the pretense, his smirk folding into something colder.
"Logan Hughes. Elite CIA agent. He was dispatched to Russia on a solo mission. Four days ago, he was found unalive by a riverbank."
Haoran's eyes darkened, though his face stayed expressionless.
"At the time, he was working to uncover intel on Project Tamara," Chief Bo continued. "Russian officials marked him down as an unregistered civilian. Which was to be expected, since he entered under a false identity. But…" Chief Bo's fingers drummed on the table. "…it's doubtful they simply brushed him off as such."
The Deputy Chief gave a slow nod, his tone low. "The Kremlin doesn't make accidents. They make examples."
Haoran stood in silence for a long moment. His thoughts churned like stormwater. A CIA agent. Dead in Russia. Dumped like trash. If even the Americans couldn't cover his tracks, that means surveillance there has sharpened. Tightened. A rat cannot cross without being seen. So why me?
Finally, his voice cut the tension, flat as steel.
"Surveillance in Russia must've become stricter after that." His eyes flicked between the two men. "So… does the U.S. want us to do their dirty work?"
Chief Bo's teeth flashed in a grin, sharklike. "You're always so quick to take a hint. This is why I like you."
He leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to feel conspiratorial.
"Since China is also involved, we're technically at risk here. This isn't just about Moscow and Washington playing their usual game. If Pyongyang gets their hands on Tamara… well, imagine what the peninsula will look like then."
The Deputy Chief's gaze was a hard line, but his silence was telling.
Bo spread his hands, smirk never fading. "We can't just stand by and do nothing."
Haoran's lips pressed into a thin line. So that's it. They're sending me into the lion's den. Because no one else came back alive. Because when all else fails, they toss the hardest missions onto the ones they know will bleed for it. Even if it means they won't return.
"You just said Logan was found unalive four days ago… and now you're sending me to follow his footsteps?" Haoran's voice was sharp, his tone edged with disbelief, though his expression remained unreadable. His eyes narrowed slightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "You yourself said I'm not even qualified for this job, Chief."
Chief Bo exhaled, folding his hands on the desk. His gaze lingered on Haoran with the sort of weariness only years of secrets and bureaucracy could carve into a man. "Because you are the best we have left, Haoran. Don't misunderstand me—I wasn't questioning your abilities. I've seen you leave for missions no sane man would volunteer for, and I've seen you come back alive when logic said you shouldn't. That is why you are still here, and that is why I am entrusting you with this."
Haoran's eyes darkened. The best we have left? That's not the same as being the best. It means others have already fallen, or they don't dare risk them. So in the end, it's me who gets sent to clean up the mess no one else wants to touch.
Chief Bo leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "This is your job, Haoran. You are an agent. Agents risk their lives not for glory, not for recognition, but because we protect what others never even realize is in danger. You know this better than anyone."
Haoran didn't answer immediately. His mind flickered back to countless assignments—overseas black ops, surveillance runs in hostile cities, firefights that ended with him bleeding in foreign alleyways. He had survived them all, but each mission carved something away from him. Protect, protect, protect… but who protects the protectors? he thought bitterly.
Bo's tone shifted, softer now, almost manipulative. "Besides… I heard you knew Agent Logan Hughes. From our joint training camp with the U.S., wasn't it?"
At that, Haoran's face remained stoic, but something flickered in his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, speaking flatly. "That was the only time we got along. A month at most. Nothing more."
"That is exactly why you are the best choice." Chief Bo smirked faintly, that maddening little curve of lips that Haoran had come to associate with his superior's way of boxing people into corners. "You don't let your feelings interfere with your work. You never have."
Ugh. He's changing the subject. Haoran's thoughts snapped like a whip. Whenever he corners me with logic, he covers the rest with sentiment, as if it matters. He knows I won't take the bait, yet he still throws it.
The room fell into a brief silence, broken only by the vibration of Deputy Chief Lin's phone on the table. The man excused himself, stepping out into the hallway, leaving Haoran alone with Chief Bo.
The atmosphere tightened immediately. The fluorescent lights above hummed faintly, a mechanical buzz that seemed to underscore the weight of the conversation.
Bo's gaze didn't waver. He laced his fingers together, leaning forward slightly. "Agent Haoran Yue Darius…" He spoke Haoran's full name with deliberate gravity, each syllable pressed into the air like a seal. "…continue Agent Logan's mission. Go where he couldn't. Uncover Project Tamara."
"Am I really the best for this job... i'm sure there must be someone better suited than me.there has to be at least one person in the mss... ...or not. i guess i really am the only choice." Haoran thought...
"is this really such a difficult proposition? i'd imagine this would barely even faze you," chief bo said ...
"Yeah right" haoran thought annoyed
"Am I really the best for this job?" Haoran thought, his eyes narrowing as he studied Chief Bo. There has to be someone better suited than me. Someone in the MSS with stronger political connections, more experience in Russia. At least one person... His lips pressed into a thin line. …Or not. I guess I really am the only choice.
Chief Bo seemed to read his thoughts before they were spoken, leaning back in his chair with that irritating smirk.
"Is this really such a difficult proposition? I'd imagine this would barely even faze you."
Haoran almost scoffed but caught himself. Outwardly, he remained stoic. Inwardly, his thoughts snapped. Yeah, right. Says the man who's never had a gun to his temple in a freezing Russian alleyway.
He let out a dry breath, his words cutting sharp with sarcasm.
"Besides the fact that an elite agent was found dead overnight, this mission doesn't sound dangerous at all."
Chief Bo chuckled — a low, deliberate rumble, as if amused by Haoran's grim wit.
Haoran's gaze sharpened, but his thoughts were more complicated. From the moment I joined the MSS, Chief Bo took me under his wing. He taught me the ropes, molded me into the agent I am today. Now we're close enough to trade sarcasm, to joke in moments like this… but none of that changes the reality. He's still my superior. If he gives an order, I have no choice but to follow. I'm in no position to disobey him. Not without consequences.
Chief Bo leaned forward, his hands folding atop the desk, his tone shifting into something smoother, coaxing.
"I'll give you as much support as you need. I'll even prepare a team for you, exactly as you want."
Haoran didn't hesitate. His voice was firm, flat.
"I prefer working alone."
"I knew you'd say that," Chief Bo replied, a knowing glint in his eyes. He opened a drawer and retrieved a thick, sealed file, placing it on the desk with a deliberate motion. "But this isn't your typical mission. It's going to be quite dangerous this time around, and that's why I don't want to drag many people into this." He slid the file across the polished surface. "Still, here is your gift."
Haoran's eyes flicked down at the label, and his expression hardened.
"Kim Bora," he muttered.
Chief Bo wasted no time, his voice measured as he explained, like a professor lecturing a stubborn student.
"I hear a major petrochemical complex construction contract has been signed between a Korean energy conglomerate and the Russian state-owned oil giant, Rosneft. Its expected profit is several billion dollars. Naturally, such a lucrative deal demands celebration. The project group is set to host a gala in Russia, a party that doubles as an opportunity to survey the facility site. They've invited officials from major banks financing the project, along with representatives from international trading firms. And to make things even more interesting…"
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"…prime ministers from both Korea and Russia, as well as key political and economic players, will also be attending."
Haoran's brow furrowed as he processed the implications. A party crawling with international elites. Layers of security. Hidden agendas. It's not just a celebration — it's a battlefield dressed in champagne and crystal chandeliers. One wrong step, and the whole thing becomes a bloodbath.
He raised his head, voice heavy with restrained irritation.
"Wait. So I'm to dress and act like this woman?"
Chief Bo smirked, almost gleeful. "Don't behave as if you haven't dressed as a woman for your other missions. And besides…" He tapped the folder with two fingers. "…she's a dominant alpha. See for yourself."
Haoran exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyance flashing across his features. "Does that make it any better?"
Chief Bo chuckled again, clearly enjoying Haoran's discomfort.
"You'll manage. You always do."
Haoran clenched his jaw. He enjoys this. Every order, every manipulation — he finds humor in watching me squirm. But this isn't a game. Russia isn't a playground. If I slip up, I won't come back. And all he'll have left of me is another sealed file in a drawer.
Chief Bo's tone hardened again as he continued.
"Anyway," he said, gesturing to the documents, "from what I heard, an international trading firm by the name of Hanseong International played a critical role in sealing this contract. Kim Bora is an employee in the European department of that company. You can find her name on the official list of invitees."
The file sat between them like a loaded weapon.
Haoran's eyes lingered on it, his mind already racing ahead. Kim Bora. Hanseong International. Billion-dollar contracts, oil giants, prime ministers, and dead CIA agents. And now… me. Dressed as her. Dropped into the lion's den with nothing but my instincts to keep me alive.
His face betrayed nothing, but inside, the gravity pressed down on him. This wasn't just another mission. This was stepping into the same darkness that killed Logan Hughes.
And he was expected to walk out alive.
Chief Bo leaned back in his chair, his tone smooth, calm, reassuring—but Haoran knew better than to take comfort in it. "Relax. As long as the real Kim Bora doesn't show up, your identity will be safe. Kim Bora is scheduled to leave one day before the rest of the Korean delegation. Of course, an agent in Seoul will prevent her from leaving the country. And don't forget—our disguise specialist even managed to fool your own mother."
That last line, delivered with a touch of smugness, might have drawn a laugh from anyone else. For Haoran, it only drew silence. His eyes dropped once more to the open file resting in his lap, his expression still and unreadable.
The glossy photograph of Kim Bora stared back at him. Polished. Perfect. Untouchable. Haoran's gaze flicked down the page, scanning the physical details that had been meticulously recorded.
"She's one seventy-six centimeters…" he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost beneath the faint hum of the ceiling fan. He paused, measuring the number against his own height, calculating. "…Almost my height. Just a little shorter." His thumb brushed the edge of the page, his brows furrowed in thought. "Most people won't notice, right?"
But then his eyes caught another line further down in the personal notes, and he stilled.
Footwear preference: formal heels. Average height increase: five to seven inches.
A beat of silence. Haoran's dark eyes narrowed slightly. His inner voice spoke with quiet irritation. Oh. Right. She wears heels.
The reality settled in like a cold stone in his chest. That means I'll have to wear heels too. His lips tightened, his face carefully neutral, though inwardly his thoughts coiled with dry sarcasm. Perfect. That makes it even better.
He closed the folder partway, staring at the faint reflection of his face in the glossy cover. A shadow of himself, sharp and cold, staring back at him.
NORMALLY, I wouldn't worry about a job like this at all, he thought, his mind weighing duty against reluctance. I've gone deeper than this before. Worn other faces. Buried my own name until even I forgot it. This is just another mission. Just another cover.
He inhaled deeply, holding the air for a heartbeat before letting it go. His body was calm, disciplined. But his thoughts did not quiet so easily.
I have no right to refuse my superiors, he reminded himself, the principle engraved in him from years of service. Unless I plan to quit altogether—and that is not an option.
And yet, the words that should have come so easily—the simple acceptance of the mission, the acknowledgment of his orders—caught somewhere inside him, lodged like a stone in his throat.
So why… why is it so hard for me to say I'll do it?
The question lingered in the silence, heavier than the Chief's words, heavier than the file in his hand. His eyes remained lowered, fixed on Kim Bora's photograph, the elegant mask he would soon be forced to wear.
And for the first time in a long time, Haoran found himself hesitating.
Chief Bo leaned back in his leather chair, eyes narrowing with amusement as if he'd just moved the final chess piece across the board.
"This is a matter that could bring about a power shift for the entire world. If you pull this off, Haoran, it'll be a huge plus for your reputation as well." His lips curled into that familiar smirk, the one Haoran hated because it always meant Bo had already decided his fate.
Haoran slipped the thick folder into the inside pocket of his jacket, his face blank, his voice flat.
"I'm not interested in things like power and reputation. They tend to be way too exhausting to deal with."
Bo arched a brow. "Yet you're still agreeing to go on this mission?"
Haoran gave the smallest of shrugs, his tone edged with ice.
"Chief, how could I refuse my superior's order? It's an order from the great Chief himself."
Bo's smirk widened, his gaze sharp like a knife carving through silence.
"Are you sure that's the only reason?"
Haoran paused, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint sigh, he leaned back against the chair, tilting his head as though bored.
"Well, if I walk out, my career of having a 100% success rate will crumble."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Bo let out a low laugh.
"Hahaha… yeah, good point. I almost forgot how proud you are of that perfect record." He flicked his wrist dismissively, as though brushing away smoke.
"Can I go now?" Haoran asked, voice calm but clipped.
Bo held up a hand. "Ah, yes. But keep one thing in mind… "
The Chief's smirk deepened, his tone dropping into something darker.
"Bes Vorontsov."
Haoran blinked. "Bes Vorontsov? Is that even a real name? Bes means devil."