When Zāgh finally reached the rooftop and was about to board the helicopter, the pilot—cool, cigarette dangling from his lips—eyed him with lazy annoyance.
Pilot (calmly):
“Took you long enough.”
Zāgh (sighing with a grin):
“Yeah… a little rat made too much noise.”
The pilot let out a short exhale and started up the chopper.
Just then, he felt a gaze on him. He turned his head sharply—but saw nothing out of place.
He looked toward the gardens again. Still nothing.
Zāgh (thinking):
“Probably just my imagination… whatever.”
He climbed aboard.
The helicopter lifted off.
———
At that exact moment, in the fifth garden—an off-limits, highly restricted zone—a tall man stood watching the chopper. He had long platinum-blond hair, icy blue eyes, and stood 212 centimeters tall. Dressed in hunting gear, rifle in hand, he stared up with a faint smile.
Like a predator spotting something… promising.At that moment, a maid approached and asked,
• “Master, shall we go back and fetch the deer?”
Five white deer carcasses were piled on top of each other.
The man, without taking his eyes off the sky:
• “No need… I think I’ve found something far more entertaining.”
He set the rifle aside and stared once more at the empty sky where the helicopter had vanished.
⸻
Mid-flight, the helicopter pilot received a call.
Zāgh, dozing in the passenger seat, stirred at the sound of the pilot’s voice and glanced over.
After ending the call, the pilot said:
• “HQ wants you back. Apparently, they’ve got another job lined up for you.”
Zāgh, groaning in annoyance:
• “Can’t even park my royal ass for two damn minutes, huh?”
He sighed.
• “Alright, fine.”
And they headed straight for the organization.The “Snake” Organization has operational buildings in multiple countries, but its main headquarters is located on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The island is about half the size of Japan and contains a small, exclusive township for high-ranking personnel.
When Zāgh entered the building, he saw two Arab women arguing nearby. He grabbed a scarf draped over a chair, tossed it over his head, and walked toward them.
In a playful, feminine voice with an exaggerated Arabic accent:
“Sister, sister! Oh, why are you fighting? Don’t tell me your husband stopped loving you? Inta kontouma?”
The two women turned to him in confusion.
Zāgh slapped the back of his hand dramatically:
“Oh no! Don’t tell me you have the same husband? No worries—I can join your little circle too!”
He fluttered the scarf flirtatiously over his face, winked, and added:
“I’m a Dubai baddie!”
At that moment, a stern 47-year-old woman with long, straight black hair and glasses shouted across the lobby:
“Zaaaajjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj!”
Zāgh muttered under his breath:
“She never gets my name right…”
Then called back cheerfully:
“Oh, my lovely boss lady! How are you?”
Jina: “Get your ass over here, NOWWWWWWWWWWW!”
Turning to the Arab women, Zāgh whispered theatrically:
“See how harsh she is with me, sister?”
Jina: “I said GET. OVER. HERE!”
Zāgh calmly removed the scarf, handed it to one of the Arab women, winked again, and said in a coy tone:
“See you around.”
The women blushed.
Jina (still yelling): “ZAAAAAJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ!”
Zāgh: “It’s Zāgh, darling. Zāgh! Say it like it means something, like everyone else does! Ugh… my life…”Jina stormed into the room, sat down in her chair, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Zāgh strolled in right after, completely relaxed, and leaned casually against the table near the door.
Zāgh:
“How’s our sexy boss doing today? Something wrong? You only call me like that when you’re angry…
Or the last time someone did—they were in bed. Though… they said my name right.”
Jina:
“Zāj, shut the hell up and tell me why you killed Peter!”
Zāgh lowered his head dramatically, said nothing, then slowly raised his hand, examined his nails, and pouted:
Zāgh (softly):
“I’m just a boy 🎀.”
Jina immediately hurled the glass on her desk at him.
Jina:
“Do I look like I’m joking with you, you damn clown?! I told you to threaten him—not kill him!
And without any clearance, you just waltzed right in! You blew up part of the hotel! You chased off one of the techs—
you—YOUUUUUUUU—”
Zāgh lowered his head again, feigning guilt, then gave her a sweet, innocent smile:
Zāgh:
“I’m sowwy…”
Jina:
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!”
She lunged at him, grabbed his hair, yanked hard, and began beating him with zero hesitation.
Zāgh (screaming):
“Please, Jina! Nooo! Ow! Jina! Boss! Have mercy! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!”
A while later, Zāgh was slouched in a chair, his hair a mess and his face looking like he’d just survived a war. Across from him, Jina sat with her arms crossed, staring at him with weary disapproval.
Jina:
“You’ll never change… There always has to be some mess with you.”
She sighed deeply.
Zāgh leaned back slightly, flashing a crooked, sheepish smile.
Then, drawing in a little, he spoke in his usual playful tone—but this time, softer, a bit more subdued:
Zāgh:
“So you dragged me all the way here just to scold me?”
Jina placed a freshly lit cigarette between her lips, exhaled smoke, and snapped with a dry, serious tone:
Jina:
“Of course not. You think I’ve got time to waste yelling at you?
Although… if I did have free time, you’d probably be my entertainment.
You always find a way to screw something up.”
Zāgh chuckled mockingly:
Zāgh:
“Glad to hear you’re always busy, then!”
Jina shot him a sharp, threatening glare. Zāgh immediately turned his head away, avoiding eye contact like a guilty schoolboy.
Jina sighed again—short and tired.
Jina:
“You’re going off-duty for a while. No missions.”
Zāgh (stunned):
“Whaaaaaaaaaat?”
Jina took another drag of her cigarette, blowing the smoke out with more agitation now.
Jina:
“It’s not like you’re off the hook… You’re just not working directly for the Snake anymore.
From now on, you’ll have a liaison. Kinda like… a secretary.”
Zāgh frowned, still not following:
Zāgh:
“Wait… what does that even mean?”
Jina let out a deeper sigh this time, dragging hard on her cigarette.
Jina:
“It means… you’re going to be working directly under the head of the organization.”
Zāgh blinked. A spark of realization flickered behind his eyes.
Zāgh (in disbelief):
“The head of the organization?”
Jina:
“Yes.”
Zāgh:
“The Snake’s boss?”
Jina:
“Yes, damn it!”
Zāgh (hands up, baffled):
“Wait, you mean the head of the Louis Vellamiton-something family?”
Jina (screaming):
“Yesssssssss!”
Zāgh, still stunned, raised his hands higher:
Zāgh:
“But… why?”
Jina crushed her cigarette into the ashtray so hard it nearly snapped in half.
Jina (gritting her teeth):
“He’s seen your record.”
Zāgh, now even more confused:
Zāgh:
“Then why didn’t he fire me… or bury me alive?”
That question clearly hit a nerve. Jina slammed her fist on the table—hard enough to shatter it. Wood cracked. Papers flew. And Jina let out a dry, hysterical laugh:
Jina:
“So you do know how much of a disaster you are, huh?”
Zāgh quickly shut his mouth, leaning back in the chair with that same awkward, guilty grin.
Jina let out another heavy sigh, adjusted her posture, and said:
Jina:
“Anyway… You’re meeting him tomorrow. You’ve got an appointment aboard the ‘Delmand Windrow’ train. From then on, you move on his orders. You’re on your own.”
Zāgh (smirking calmly):
“So you mean… I’m finally free of you?”
Jina’s eye twitched. And once again—she launched herself at him, fists flying.
⸻
A few minutes later…
Zāgh, his hair a battlefield of chaos, sat slumped in the chair like he’d just returned from war. Across from him, Jina sat with her arms crossed, glaring daggers at him.
Jina (grumbling):
“You’ll never change, will you?”
Zāgh leaned back slightly with a sheepish, totally unapologetic grin.
⸻
As he headed for the door, Jina let out a long exhale. She twirled her cigarette between her fingers and called out in a warning tone:
Jina:
“Zāgh… if you even slightly value your life, don’t mess around with that man. He’s not like us. You won’t be able to bullshit your way out with him.”
Zāgh paused at the doorway, turned his head slowly, and gave her a serious look.
Zāgh (softly):
“…You said my name right.”
Without missing a beat, Jina hurled the ashtray at his head. But Zāgh shut the door just in time and bolted—her voice still shrieking from behind:
Jina (screaming):
“I’M GONNA KILL YOUUUUUU, ZAJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ!!!”
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