“Zagh, are you okay?”
With a mocking laugh, Zagh shot back,
“Oh, totally great! You know, spending six hours in the Altai Mountains in torn clothes, getting snow dumped on your head—it’s a dream vacation!”
His mind drifted back to everything that had happened. He thought about the princess and her people, just lying around like lost puppies with their ripped shirts. Luckily, his buffalo-leather coat, a hybrid design, still had its buttons. He’d managed to close it up.
After a long walk, another ambush from the Eagle agents, a few rounds of gunfire, and nearly getting caught in an avalanche, he finally contacted his private helicopter pilot, Jae-hyun, at 9 p.m.
He laughed to himself bitterly and promised: never again would he rescue someone just because they had a pretty face.
If he hadn’t had that twisted sense of humor, he’d have lost his mind a long time ago.
He sighed, turned to Jae-hyun with that same sarcastic tone and said,
“Bro, if you had a sniper squad chasing you and a damn avalanche about to bury your face, you’d feel just like me. Only thing missing was a bear to make it the full Russian wilderness experience.”
Then a sudden memory flashed. Back when the avalanche hit—he’d felt a presence. Eyes. Watching him.
He focused. It was a bear. One that had been about to attack… but the avalanche had scared it off.
He froze. Then, a few seconds later, burst out laughing.
“Nope. Scratch that. That was the full Russian experience!”
Jae-hyun glanced at him, clearly confused by Zagh’s sudden mood swing, but said nothing. He just kept flying while Zagh doubled over laughing in his seat.
Once the laughter faded, Jae-hyun asked cautiously,
“Should I…?”
Zagh, a faint smirk still tugging at his lips, replied,
“I don’t know… Just call Gina right now.”
Without a word, Jae-hyun picked up the phone and dialed.
Gina’s voice came from the other end, sharp and already annoyed,
“What now? What mess did you make this time?”
Zagh replied in his usual playful tone,
“Oh, Gina. No mess at all. In fact, I did something pretty heroic!”
Sensing trouble, Gina snapped,
“Ugh. What now?”
Still as calm and smug as ever, Zagh said,
“You won’t believe it. I saved the boss’s precious pet! And let me tell you—our organization’s ‘pets’ are straight-up Godzillas. This one had to be at least two meters tall! And even after I saved his life, the bastard still tried to kill me.”
He paused, voice turning colder:
“So tell the boss if he wants me working with this princess again, he can forget about it. I’m out. Bye.”
Without waiting for a response, he hung up.
Gina stared at her phone, eyes wide in shock. After a long pause, she whispered to herself,
“But… the boss doesn’t have a pet…”
A heavy silence fell over the office.After ending the call, Zagh turned to Jae-hyun and said,
“Take me to Moscow.”
Jae-hyun just nodded.
“Got it, bro.”
The scene shifts.
Zagh walked alone near the Kremlin, a small bottle of vodka in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. In one of the quiet nearby streets, he sat down on a bench. Slowly, he took a sip from the vodka, lit a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and leaned back.
He closed his eyes.
Memories rushed in like a movie playing behind his eyelids…
—
A tan-skinned woman with long jet-black hair and warm green eyes held the hand of a little tan girl with striking blue eyes, clearly her daughter. She was carrying a grocery bag. Her voice was soft, motherly:
“Zagh, sweetheart, come on now. Don’t do this.”
The girl, around nine years old, frowned and replied with a scolding tone,
“Mom, you need to make dinner. If you don’t, Dad’s gonna freak out again. Stop upsetting him!”
Nearby, a small boy—seven at most—stood, pale-skinned, with messy black hair and piercing emerald eyes. Drowned in an oversized winter coat, he clenched his tiny fists and shouted, choking back tears:
“No! I don’t want to go! I want to look at the palace! It’s so pretty!”
Their mother sighed and gently walked toward him. The girl quietly stood by her side. The woman set down the grocery bag, knelt beside her son, and softly ran her fingers through his hair.
Her voice was warm, a little tired, but full of love:
“My little one, I know it’s beautiful. But sometimes… we don’t get to look at beautiful things for long. Sometimes we only get a moment. I know it hurts… but even those tiny moments can bring us joy. That’s enough. It really is. We have to go now.”
The girl sighed. The little boy—Zagh—looked up at her, gently touched her hands with his small fingers, and gave a soft, fragile smile.
“Okay, Mama.”
She smiled back, eyes shining with pride and sorrow.
“Thank you, Zagh.”
Then she took both of their hands, picked up the grocery bags, and the three of them crossed the street together, hand in hand—smiling through the gray cold of Moscow.
Zagh’s eyes remained shut as a single tear slipped quietly down his cheek.
The streetlights flickered.
Rain began to fall, soft and slow.
He crushed the cigarette between his fingers, sat up straighter, wiped the tear away, and stared out at the street.
For a fleeting moment, he swore he saw it—like a memory playing out in real time.
His mother, his sister, and his younger self… crossing the street just like they had all those years ago.
He stared for a while, frozen.
Then slowly, he turned away.
He walked in the opposite direction.
And disappeared quietly into the crowd.
⸻
Somewhere near the rain-flecked windows, tucked in the narrow alleys of Moscow, sat a tiny bar. Its walls were stained with smoke and time, painted in warm yellow light and old burnt wood. It barely had room for six people.
Zagh sat on one of the creaky stools, drinking slowly.
The bartender placed another glass in front of him. Zagh picked it up, took a sip, and smiled with a bitter edge.
“You know,” he said, “I bet a lot of people come in here and spill their tragic or wild stories after a glass of whatever you serve.”
The bartender—a 35-year-old man with ash-brown hair and warm amber eyes—replied in a cool, familiar tone,
“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot of stories… But you, Zagh—
you never tell me anything.”
Zagh gave a tired smile, downed the rest of his drink, and sighed.
“I know. I don’t usually share. But today was weird enough, maybe I should.
Today I jumped off a moving train to save a two-meter-tall princess. Ended up getting left behind in the snow, nearly eaten by a bear, chased by cavalry, and almost buried under an avalanche.
But hey—my horse showed up and saved my ass.
What do you think?
Good story?”
The bartender sighed, took the glass from his hand.
“I think that’s enough for tonight.”
Zagh laughed.
“That bad, huh?”
The bartender looked at him.
A moment passed—
Then they both laughed together.
Still smiling faintly, the bartender muttered,
“You’re impossible, Zaj.”
Zagh frowned slightly.
“It’s Zagh.”
The bartender, unfazed:
“Sure thing, Zaj.”
Zagh let out a sigh, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“They never get it right… Tell him what it means.”
Just then, the bar door creaked open.
Zagh, still leaning back on his stool, didn’t even glance at the newcomer.
A man stepped in—about 6’1”, with light brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and sun-kissed skin. He walked in quietly, took the seat beside Zagh, and ordered a drink in a calm, almost cold voice.
Zagh twirled the empty glass in his hand, still not looking at him.
His voice was dry, mocking.
“What the hell are you doing here, Jordy?”
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