The air in the training sector didn't just smell of ozone; it tasted like copper, the metallic tang of fear that lived in the back of every thief's throat. For anyone else, this facility was a oppurtunitistic place. For Seol-wol and Junseo, it was a high-tech slaughterhouse where Borislav was sharpening them into blades before they were thrown into the fire.
Borislav's voice crackled over the intercom, sounding like grinding stones. "Remnants, to your stations. Today's drill: Physical synchronization under duress. If you fail to meet the 85% threshold, you skip dinner. If you fail to meet 70%, you lose your sleeping quarters. I do not feed or house failures."
Seol-wol felt a familiar chill. Beside him, Junseo adjusted the straps on his training vest, his knuckles white. The vest was lined with sensors that mirrored every movement, every heartbeat, and every mistake.
" Hyung," Junseo murmured, his voice tight with a tremor he couldn't hide. "Don't let the machine get into your head today. Just focus on the rhythm. Think of the alleyways back home. Think of the shadows we used to hide in."
Seol-wol nodded, though his heart was already beginning to rabbit in his chest. "I know, Junseo. Stay sharp. Don't let them see you hesitate."
The course was a brutal stretch of shifting floors, high-tension wires, and thermal sensors. They were tethered by a five-meter cable—a physical and digital leash. Every time Seol-wol breathed, he felt Junseo's lungs expand through the haptic feedback in his suit.
"Begin," the voice commanded.
They moved. Seol-wol vaulted over a waist-high barrier, his boots hitting the floor with the silent grace of a cat. He checked his periphery; Junseo was moving in perfect parallel. Then came the "duress" part of the drill. A series of high-speed swinging pendulums, each rigged with pressure sensors.
Swish. Swish.
Seol-wol dived, rolling across the cold floor.
He felt a sharp, agonizing sting in his left arm—a jolt of electricity. Junseo had been clipped by a pendulum. Seol-wol's own muscles locked up in sympathy, the "Sync" forcing him to feel his brother's pain. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurring.
"Keep... moving..." Seol-wol hissed, pulling on the cable to urge Junseo forward.
They reached the thermal wall. They had to climb a vertical surface while avoiding heat-seekers. It was a thief's nightmare.
Seol-wol's fingers ached as he gripped the narrow ledges. Just as he reached the top, the "Neural Residue" from Miran Konstantinov began to flare.
It wasn't a hum anymore; it was a roar. A phantom image of Miran's face—the way he looked when he was leaning in close—burned in Seol-wol's mind. The sync was malfunctioning, pulling data from the morning session. Seol-wol's heart rate spiked to 140.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
"Hyung! Your heart!" Junseo screamed from below, struggling to keep his grip as the alarm blared.
Seol-wol forced himself to blink, his sweat stinging his eyes. He saw Miran's shadow in the observation gallery, a dark silhouette looking down at him. With a desperate growl, Seol-wol hauled himself over the edge and pulled Junseo up with a strength born of pure panic. They hit the finish mat just as the timer turned red.
As the brothers slumped onto a wooden bench, gasping for air, Kyla approached them. She looked exhausted, her fingers trembling as she tried to fix a frayed wire on her own gear.
" help me with this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the cooling fans. "If the supervisors see it's broken, they'll say I sabotaged it to avoid the drill."
Seol-wol leaned in, his fingers moving with surgical precision despite his exhaustion.
"Hold it steady, Kyla. I've got it." He focused entirely on the small wire, using his body to shield her from the cameras. He was kind to her—she was a fellow partner , someone who understood the terror of being a "Remnant."
Thud.
The air in the room suddenly felt ten degrees colder. A heavy training bag was dropped onto the bench right next to Seol-wol's hip, forcing him to scoot over.
Miran Konstantinov sat down. He didn't look tired. He didn't look like he had just spent the day in a high-stress environment. He looked like a king sitting among ruins. He leaned back, his bare, muscular arm pressing firmly against Seol-wol's shoulder.
"Your technique on the wall was sloppy,"
Miran said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to bypass Seol-wol's ears and go straight to his spine. "You were distracted. A thief who gets distracted is a dead man."
Kyla paled, pulling her hands back and scurrying away before Miran could even look at her.
Seol-wol turned his head slowly, his jaw set.
The 98% sync flared to life instantly. He could feel Miran's pulse—it was slow, steady, and utterly dominant. It was the pulse of a man who owned the room.
"We aren't all born with your status, Konstantinov," Seol-wol snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something he refused to name. "Some of us have to fight for every breath."
Miran leaned closer, his eyes darkening. He didn't care about the supervisors. He didn't care about the rules. "Is that what you're doing? Fighting? Because it feels more like you're begging for someone to notice you.
Why give your attention to a girl who can't help you, when I'm standing right here?"
The jealousy was thick, suffocating. Miran wasn't just being mean; he was marking his territory. He shifted his weight, his thigh pressing against Seol-wol's, a move that sent a wave of "Neural Residue" crashing through Seol-wol's system.
"hyung."
Junseo's voice was like a gunshot. He was standing a few paces away, his face a mask of cold fury. He didn't like the way Miran was looming over his brother.
"We are done here. We have to report to the equipment room," Junseo said, his voice dripping with formal authority. He stepped forward, his eyes locked onto Miran's with a defiance that was almost suicidal.
Seol-wol stood up so fast he nearly tripped.
He needed to get away from the magnetic pull of Miran's body. "Junseo is right. We're leaving."
As they walked away, the silence between the brothers was heavy. They reached the narrow, dimly lit corridor that led to the dorms. Junseo suddenly whirled around, shoving Seol-wol against the cold metal wall.
"What are you doing, hyung?" Junseo hissed, his face inches from Seol-wol's. "Do you want us to end up like our parents?
Dead in a ditch because we got sloppy?"
"It's the sync, Junseo! I can't turn it off!"
Seol-wol yelled back, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
"Then break the machine!" Junseo barked.
"If Borislav thinks you're becoming loyal to a man like Konstantinov, he'll see us as a liability. He'll discard us both, hyung. He'll erase us."
Junseo's eyes were wet with a rare, desperate fear. "We are thieves. We stay in the shadows. We don't get 'tangled' with the elite. Our parents died so we could be free, not so you could become the favorite pet of a Russian prince. If you don't snap out of it, I'll find a way to end this myself. Do you understand?"
Seol-wol looked at his younger brother and saw the terror of a boy who was about to lose his only family.
"I understand," Seol-wol whispered, his heart breaking. "I'll fight it."
But as Junseo walked away a little, Seol-wol stayed slumped against the wall. He could still feel the phantom warmth of Miran's arm on his shoulder. He was a thief, , a survivor—but he was starting to realize that the most dangerous thing you can steal is the heart of a man who refuses to let you go.
The brothers hadn't even caught their breath when the atmosphere in the hall shifted from professional to predatory.
The leader was a hulking guy named Marek, whose eyes were full of the bitterness that comes from being second best. He hated that the "twin Brothers" had the highest sync scores.
"Look at them," Marek sneered, loud enough for the supervisors to hear. "The little rats are shivering. Tell me, seol-wol, does the machine hurt, or are you just crying because your brother is a dead weight?"
Junseo's body went from exhausted to lethal in a split second. He didn't use his formal " hyung" tone now. He just moved. Before Seol-wol could grab his arm, Junseo had stepped into Marek's space, his chin tucked, his eyes cold.
"Say it again," Junseo challenged, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "Say my brother's name again and see if you can still use that tongue to beg Borislav for scraps."
Marek laughed, but it was a nervous sound.
He shoved Junseo's shoulder. "What are you going to do, thief? You're nothing without the cable tying you to him."
Junseo didn't wait. He threw a lightning-fast jab that caught Marek right in the solar plexus. The hall erupted. It wasn't a clean school fight; it was a street brawl. Junseo was smaller, but he fought like a man with nothing to lose, using his elbows and knees with the vicious efficiency of someone who had survived on the streets since his parents' funeral.
"Junseo, stop!" Seol-wol shouted, lunging forward to pull his brother back.
But as he moved, a familiar, paralyzing heat washed over him. Miran Konstantinov was standing by the lockers, watching the fight with a look of pure boredom—until Seol-wol entered the fray.
Through the "Sync," Seol-wol felt a sudden surge of Miran's aggression. It was like a wave of adrenaline that didn't belong to him.
His vision blurred, turning the edges of the room a dark, fiery red. Instead of pulling Junseo away, Seol-wol found himself grabbing Marek by the collar and slamming him against a equipment rack with a strength that shocked everyone in the room.
"Touch my brother again," Seol-wol whispered, his voice sounding deeper, almost mimicking Miran's own terrifying tone, "and I'll make sure you never walk another drill."
The room went silent. Marek scrambled away, his eyes wide with genuine fear.
Junseo stood panting, looking at his brother with a mix of gratitude and deep suspicion.
He had never seen Seol-wol act that way—that wasn't his brother's anger. That was Konstantinov's shadow moving through Seol-wol's limbs.
Seol-wol let go of the rack, his hands trembling. He looked toward the lockers, and for a brief second, Miran gave him a slow, approving nod. It was a silent praise that felt more like a brand on Seol-wol's skin than a compliment.
"Hyung..." Junseo started, his voice back to its formal, worried state. "Your eyes... they were different."
"Let's just get back, Junseo," Seol-wol muttered, his heart feeling like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest. "Before the supervisors report us."