The chill of night-time Lyran was unique—not icy, but alive, smelling of salt and rusty railings.
Ryu Sungyeon walked the street quickly, as if running late to a place where no one expected him. His body hadn't cooled down since the hotel—a residual heat buzzed in his blood, and the metallic taste of an alien pulse still lingered on his tongue.
It was dangerous.
Just a little more—and he would have lost control.
He cursed under his breath and, passing a concrete wall, briefly struck his forehead against it—to shake off the lingering haze. Between his ribs a familiar sensation itched, one he had learned to recognize: a mixture of desire and revulsion, hunger and the echo of pain.
Sometimes, human blood smelled wrong—like temptation. Sometimes, even the touch of alien skin could trigger a hunger that he then had to quell with pain.
Sungyeon knew he had been too close to the edge today. He should have disappeared immediately, but he lingered—because of Kang Jihan.
Just remembering Jihan's gaze—cold, but not indifferent—made his lower abdomen clench.
He smirked, looking at his reflection in the dark shop window glass.
If it had been a woman... it would have ended differently.
But he wasn't the kind of person who could afford "differently."
To cool his blood, he took a detour—a long way through wet alleys where the neon trembled like a breath.
By the time he reached his apartment, the night had breathed its last.
He took an ice-cold shower, put on a loose t-shirt, opened the refrigerator, and took out a bag of warm synthetic plasma. He drank quickly, without tasting it.
The TV turned on automatically, catching Oh Rian's profile. On the screen, a man and a woman, illuminated by soft western light, touched each other—not so much with their bodies as with the rhythm of their breathing.
Sungyeon squinted. The actor had the same arch in his brow as Jihan.
Just a few features—and it was enough to ignite something inside again.
He clenched his fist, hitting himself on the cheek.
— Get a grip, — he mumbled.
But his thoughts resisted. He downed a second bag of plasma, turned off the screen, and sat in the darkness for a long time. When sleep finally came, it felt like falling into black water.
Sungyeon woke up beneath a weight. Something wet, cold, and dead was lying on top of him. The air was still; he tried to move—his fingers encountered tangled hair, sticky and coarse.
Three bodies.
Brothel slaves.
He pulled himself out from under them, and only then realized he was bleeding himself: a deep wound gaped on his neck.
White snow lay everywhere, but he felt no cold. His body felt alien—too hot inside, too dead outside.
Bodies were scattered throughout the brothel garden—gisaengs, overseers, guards, even officials. Blood saturated the ground.
Sungyeon walked barefoot until he reached a hill where a man in a black cassock stood above all the remains.
Matteo.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. Tears gleamed in his blue eyes, and fresh blood glistened at the corners of his lips.
— Sungyeon... — he whispered, his voice trembling. — Lord, You allowed us to meet after all.
He fell to his knees before him, hugged him like a child, and wept.
Sungyeon did not reply. He just looked into those alien eyes and felt a red flame ignite within him.
— You... — Matteo didn't finish. — Lord... what have I done...
Sungyeon tore himself from his arms.
— A lie! — burst from his lips. — You abandoned me!
The snow gave way to heat. The sun blinded him. He was a boy again, running on the sand, and Matteo, burning in the flames, smiled.
— Forgive me. I am too tired.
Ashes scattered in the wind. Only the cross remained.
Sungyeon fell to his knees and howled.
The phone rang persistently. The numbers on the screen: 20:04.
He had slept sixteen hours.
Name: Oh Rian.
— ...Yes, — Sungyeon said dully, covering his eyes with his palm.
— Hyung, are you alive? Are you okay?
— Why the panic?
— The bar has been cordoned off by some people since morning. Not the police—but they're acting suspicious. Maybe it's because of yesterday?
— I don't know anything. I'll figure it out, — he said and ended the call.
The feeling after sleep was vile—as if someone had left ice beneath his skin.
He pulled on dark clothes, stuffed a cardigan, gloves, UV cream into his bag, and went out.
Outside, the neon burned steadily, as usual, but there was something else in the air—a gaze.
Invisible. Heavy.
Someone was following him.
Sungyeon turned into an alley, dove between warehouses, then through a narrow courtyard onto a roof. His heart beat steadily, like a metronome. As he jumped off the parapet, the air whistled behind him—and a dart struck his shoulder.
He crashed down without even having time to curse.
He woke up on a cold floor. A ship hummed somewhere in the distance. The air was damp, smelling of salt and fuel oil.
His arm—bloody, his shoulder hurt, but intact.
He stood up. There was almost no light, but the eyes of the bloodsucker had enough reflection to make out: rows of metal containers, boarded-up doors, a rusty staircase leading up.
Someone knocked me out. But why?
He tried to recall: Rian's call, the street, the alley, the impact—and blackness.
No traces. No signs of hypnosis. So, not Jihan.
Maybe someone found out the truth about me?
The thought was unpleasant. He had pretended to be human for too long to become a target now.
He wiggled his fingers. No ropes, no shackles.
They only took his knife, wallet, and phone.
Too clean for a random attack.
— Whoever you are... — Sungyeon muttered, — you're playing dangerously.
A thud came from afar, followed by the smell of blood.
Fresh.
Alive.
He moved towards the sound, quietly, stepping barefoot. Through a couple of doors, he found himself in a cramped room. In the center—a man lying in a pool of blood, with a severed leg.
Everything inside him clenched. The smell was too strong.
He covered his nose and mouth, knelt down, checked his pulse—alive.
— Shit... — he breathed out.
On the ceiling—a camera.
He raised his head, glaring into the lens, and said, barely growling:
— Hey! Help him. Right now!
The red light flickered, then went out. A minute later, footsteps were heard.
Two people burst through the door—a curly-haired guy in his twenties and a slightly older girl in a simple cardigan.
Sungyeon turned, his eyes still burning:
— You—call an ambulance. You—call the police.
— We don't have phones, — they replied, bewildered.
— What? — Sungyeon narrowed his eyes. — Then who are you exactly?
— We... were watching you, — the guy said. — Through the cameras.
— Why?
— We were ordered by... I Hun.
The name hit him like a shock.
— Did he shoot me?
— Yes.
— Why?
— We... don't know. He said—to test you.
Sungyeon stepped closer.
— Who told you?
— Lee Kanyn.
The name sounded for the first time. Something inside Sungyeon twitched.
— Is I Hun his man?
— Yes.
Sungyeon straightened up. Blood dripped from his nose. He wiped it with the back of his hand.
— Damn it...
He took a deep breath.
— Listen, — he addressed the guy. — Your name?
— Lo Dan.
— Excellent. Tomorrow at eight in the evening, you will come alone to the "Vermilion." I need to know everything about Kanyn. Understood?
— Understood.
He swayed. The world was spinning. The tranquilizer finally caught up to his system.
Sungyeon leaned against the wall, opened the door—and met the gaze of the one he least expected to see.
Kang Jihan.
He stood calmly, as if nothing had happened.
— Sorry, — he said softly. — But Lo Dan isn't going anywhere today.
The glint of steel. An injection in the neck. A burning sensation.
Sungyeon tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't obey.
He saw Jihan catching his body, as if afraid to drop it, and whispering:
— That was close.
The earpiece in Jihan's ear blinked green.
— You just did something foolish, — the even voice of So Raon said.
— Next time prepare a dose for an elephant, Raon-hyung, — Jihan replied wearily.
— Lee Kanyn is displeased, — came the reply.
Jihan smirked.
— Tell Kanyn I acted according to the circumstances.
He looked at Sungyeon's face—lifelessly calm, with closed eyelids, as if he were merely sleeping.
— He's strange, — Jihan said quietly. — Too... human for a bloodsucker.
Raon replied dryly:
— That's exactly why Kanyn wants him alive.