The man’s body was heavy against him, but Mr Bagrovskiy moved with practiced efficiency, supporting his weight while scanning the darkened alleys. Every step they took away from that blood-soaked corner was a risk. He didn’t know who he was, but he knew he’d been marked for death—and someone had gone to great lengths to keep him quiet.

They reached an abandoned safehouse tucked behind a closed trattoria. “We're safe here,” Mr Bagrovskiy said. Gabriel had set it up months ago for emergencies. It was clean, off-grid, and quiet. He kicked the door open and dragged him inside.

"Lie down," he ordered, lowering him onto the mattress.

He winced but nodded, sweat slicking his forehead. “Thanks… for not letting me die.”

Mr Bagrovskiy didn’t answer. He stripped off his soaked coat and threw it aside, revealing a side holster and a knife he always kept tucked under his belt. He crouched beside him and examined the wound.

It was a through-and-through shot, high on the shoulder. Clean entry and exit. He'd seen worse.

“Bullet missed the artery,” he muttered. “You’re lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” He gave a weak smile. “I’ve been shot before.”

“Then you should know better than to bleed out in my territory.”

He raised a brow. “Didn’t exactly plan it.”

He cleaned the wound in silence, then stitched it himself—quick, precise movements betraying years of battlefield experience.

He gritted his teeth. “You’re good at this.”

“I used to do this,” he said coldly.

After wrapping the wound, he stood and tossed a bottle of painkillers at him. “Start talking.”

He sat up slowly, wincing. “I..I’m H..Haruto.”

He lit his cigar. Japanese. He mutters,  “I don’t ask your name. Who are you working for?”

Haruto hesitated. “I don't work for anyone. Let’s say I was in deep. Too deep. I heard that someone high in your crew was making a deal and set you up, behind your back.”

“Who?” he asked, voice sharp. He placed the gun on the table.

“I don’t know,” Mr Bagrovskiy stared at him, “I don’t see his face.”

“How come you don’t know when you're in that place?” He asked him doubtfully

“I just happened to hear it. I got curious, so I listened, but they saw me, so I got shot,” he explained confidently.  

“So that's all you're going to say?” He said, clearly annoyed.

“Yeah..” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

He loaded the gun while staring intently at Haruto. This startled him, and he asked him, “W-what are you doing?”

“We're done with our business, and I didn't get any useful information…” he pointed the gun at Haruto.

“W-wait.. I’ll help you find that person,” He struggled to catch his breath, and Mr Bagrovskiy looked at him and tilted his head. “Why, you don’t know me?” he asked as if he were observing Haruto’s action.

 “No… but if you spare my life, I’ll help you. Just let me live after this,” he said fearlessly.

A charged silence fell between them. The air was heavy—not just with secrets, but something unspoken, unfamiliar. Mr Bagrovskiy wasn’t used to people talking back—especially not wounded men who should be begging for mercy.