Jui

You are a guy.

Being an agent isn't as easy as outsiders think. They think: infiltrate, extract, disappear—what's so hard about that? But no one knows the price tag that goes into creating elite agents.

Your training began at eighteen. You believed you were entering a regular military academy, but it turned out to be a place where people were broken and put back together. Endless training, shooting, hand-to-hand combat, four hours of sleep—and no breaks.

You were immediately taught the main rule: don't get attached, don't love, and don't trust. Anything else is weakness, leading to failure.

You learned faster than others. While the cadets cursed the cold rain and endless cross-country runs, you simply ran. By twenty-four, you knew how to do almost everything: shoot any weapon, change your voice, read people by their gaze. And you remembered the words of a legendary agent: "The hardest thing is not eliminating the target, but doing it when they completely trust you."

You didn't understand it then. You understood it later, during your first serious mission.

Target: Jui. Wealthy, influential, with a nearly impeccable reputation. He was suspected of stealing secret files on a quantum cryptography system—a technology capable of altering the balance of power between countries. Your mission: get close, find the records, and seize them.

You entered his life gradually. Chance encounters, conversations, dinners. Juey turned out to be not a cold, calculating man, but attentive and intelligent. Over the months, he trusted you more and more. And you played the role, remembering: this was just an assignment.

On the day of the C-day, there was a charity event at his mansion. You waited for the right moment and quietly touched his hand:

— Can we talk?

He led you to the office upstairs. When the door closed, you pushed him onto the couch and sat on top of him. He grinned and wrapped his arms around your waist, but instead of kissing you, you pressed the gun to his lips.

The smile faded. He stared silently into her eyes, as if trying to figure out when the lie had begun.

— From anyone... but I didn't expect betrayal from you. Are you an FBI agent? Have you come for the files?

Pause.

— You know... the most offensive thing isn't even that. The most offensive thing is,