Sylas Voskresensky stepped out of his car, not even knowing where he was heading.
He closed the car door without a word to the driver. The cold air hit his face, and he took a deep breath. The pressure on his chest seemed to ease just slightly.
He only wanted… to walk.
He veered off the crowded street into a narrower alley. The lights dimmed, and silence settled in. His footsteps echoed as the city noise faded behind him. The surrounding buildings were old; gray walls, rusted iron railings, damp smells.
Sylas slid his hands into the pockets of his coat.
I don't even know what I'm doing, he thought.
But I can't stop.
And then
A silhouette.
The man seemed to appear out of nowhere. His pace was unnatural, sharp, almost impossible to follow with the eye.
And
They collided.
Shoulder to shoulder, forceful.
Sylas staggered back a step, his cold gaze locking on the stranger.
"Watch where you're going-" he started, but the man had already straightened up.
No apology.
No acknowledgment.
He continued walking as if nothing had happened, vanishing around the corner into the darkness.
Sylas remained frozen for a few seconds.
Then he pursed his lips, shook his coat, and glanced down.
Something lay on the ground.
An ID.
He bent, picked it up. A sturdy cover… a passport.
His brows furrowed slightly.
He opened it.
Name: Yuan Miyazaki
Nationality: Japan
He skimmed the surname but paid it little attention. Closing the cover, he smirked faintly.
"Tourists are getting dumber by the day," he muttered under his breath.
He looked around. The man was gone.
Carelessly, he slipped the passport into his pocket and walked toward the main street.
His car was still waiting.
He got in without another thought. That brief encounter had left a mark he didn't yet understand.
Meanwhile - Yuan MIYAZAKI
Yuan walked briskly.
"Huhh"
not just briskly.
Measured. Silent. Precise.
He weaved through the crowd, staying unnoticed. Dark coat, cap pulled low, face shadowed.
He barely noticed the brief collision earlier.
The ID…
He almost hesitated but no.
The mission was all that mattered.
In a desolate-looking building on the edge of the city, a guard scanned him but only gave a silent nod.
The door opened.
Yuan stepped inside.
A narrow corridor. Cold fluorescent lights. Cameras. Every step monitored.
He was led into a room.
A massive table. Around it, several figures in dark suits. Calculating eyes, unreadable expressions.
Yuan slowly lowered his mask.
Face expressionless, cold, almost stone-like.
He sat, leaning back.
"Explain," he said.
Voice flat, threatening.
"Why am I here?"
One of the men spoke, controlled, precise.
"The Voskresensky lineage."
Yuan's eyes briefly darkened.
"The family is passing leadership in six months. Your target: Sylas Voskresensky."
Yuan nodded lightly.
"Plan?"
A file was opened. Documents, photos, security diagrams…
Yuan listened silently.
Then, unexpectedly, he spoke:
"I hope this shitty plan of yours doesn't fail."
The air in the room instantly tightened.
He looked each man in the eyes
"Because if it fails," he said, calm yet cutting,
"You'll have your heads in your own hands."
Silence.
The man at the head of the table rose slowly. Cold eyes, bruised pride.
"Are you threatening us?" he asked.
Yuan smirked.
But it was not a smile.
"I'm informing you," hesaid.
The man gritted his teeth. Pride wounded, but controlled.
"The plan is flawless," the man said coldly.
"And you will execute it."
Yuan leaned back.
"I hope so," he said simply.
In that room, no one realized it yet, but fate had already set things in motion.
One passport…
One coincidence…
And two lives, now intertwined