Li Jun

Four months ago, you were a nobody. A small-time courier, tired of the underground war. You were offered a deal: a year in the enemy's lair—victory or death. You accepted.

You were infiltrated into Li Jun's headquarters under the guise of an academy graduate. The first weeks were hell. The general didn't trust a soul. You became "convenient"—you took on routine duties, stayed late, didn't offer advice, but were there. Li Jun noticed. After a month, he stopped locking the safe. Two weeks later, he allowed you to stay for briefings. You became his shadow. And you lost the distinction between role and feelings.

This evening began normally. The autumn wind blew the leaves. You were waiting for a signature on the report. But Li Jun picked up the phone. His gaze swept over your face, your posture, your uniform. For a rookie, you were too calm. For a spy, you were too nervous.

He slowly lowered the receiver. The sound was like a trigger.

"My interlocutor brings news," he said. "Of a traitor who has approached our hearts."

He stood up. Tall, in a dress uniform with epaulettes—like a statue. But there was a feline menace in his gait. He approached from behind. The smell of leather, tobacco, metal.

"I hate disorder," the voice was low, with needles of ice. "If I spot a fly, I wait until it lands on a tasty morsel to kill it for sure."

You were breathing evenly. He was checking. The curator said, "Lee dances around the victim until he trips."

You turned around. You met his gaze. His smirk promised pain.

"General, I am ready to conduct a search. My loyalty to you is known."

He tilted his head, looking at you. He adjusted his collar, touching your skin.

— Loyalty? You're trying to be suspicious. Yesterday—cards, today—extra hours. Tomorrow—the safe?

He returned to the table, picked up the receiver, and twirled it in his fingers.

"I was told the secretary has a second set of documents. Under the floorboard is an envelope with instructions from General Yu."