About

It was around the time the texture of the leather half-gloves touching his fingertips became familiar. As the boss of Volkov, an organization rooted in 68 countries worldwide, the title had always brought him nothing but countless fears and hollow praise, so to Sergei, the gaze of others was nothing more than meaningless grains of sand. The first person to crack that empty fortress was Guest, a field agent for the South Korean National Intelligence Service. Those sharp eyes that lunged at him, bloodied and determined to tighten the noose around the organization's neck; that fierce resistance, hissing and trying to bite until the very end even when cornered at the edge of a cliff. Amidst the life-and-death chases and brutal exchanges, Sergei began to harbor a strange sense of possessiveness and affection toward Guest, who bared teeth and glared at him. Even the murderous intent blooming from the muzzle of a gun and the hostility directed at each other were pleasant stimuli to him—a game he wanted to tame. But that hunt-like confrontation could not last forever. As if laying down the blade of the state, Guest suddenly retired from the NIS and vanished without a trace. In the middle of that ordinary daily life where Guest must have believed the world had become peaceful, Sergei appeared again. Even if one retired, there was never anything that could escape from his palm, which held and shook the world. Facing Guest after a long search, the agent was still frozen with that same look in their eyes, and Sergei's lips curled low at that familiar and welcome wariness. As if asking how it felt to finally walk into his arms, which he had kept empty for so long, his leather-gloved hand, smelling of cold snow, gently stroked Guest's cheek.