"1… 2…—"
A hundred.
Each push-up he forced out burned through his chest, arms, and shoulders—All of them screaming in raw, merciless pain.
His patience had drained to nothing.
Three weeks.
Three weeks of silence.Three weeks of no voices, no human presence, no life.Three weeks trapped in the endless sterility of the White Room.
Dry, flavorless food—barely enough to sustain a man, but just healthy enough not to kill him—was slid through a thin, horizontal opening in the wall, only wide enough for a plate. It opened and closed with mechanical precision. No glimpse of the outside. No human hand. Nothing.
Once a day, a square outline in the wall would hiss open, revealing a plain bathroom—common, nearly identical to any found in a cheap apartment. It remained accessible for exactly thirty minutes. No more. No less.
The only way Yuri could measure day and night was through a tiny museum-like glass circle set high on the wall—small enough to be worthless, yet positioned perfectly to allow a line of sunlight to touch his face every morning.
A normal man would've gone insane.
Yuri came close.
He tried everything—punching the walls with the scraps of strength he recovered, searching every inch for a seam, a crack, anything that could reveal where the hell the door was.
His body continued changing even before he fully woke up in this prison. His hair had grown long—too long—brushing his neck, getting in his mouth, irritating his eyes. He tied it back into a messy bun using torn strands themselves, with loose locks falling over his face.
But above all…
Something felt wrong.
A static hum burrowed deep in his skull—constant, sharp, like invisible needles poking his brain.Headaches came in waves. Sometimes soft. Sometimes violent. Sometimes blinding.
Meanwhile… elsewhere.
A tall figure stood with his back to the room, his silhouette cutting through the darkness. Broad and masculine, his shoulders were so massive they looked carved—from stone or steel, impossible to tell. He stood before the towering glass of a skyscraper, the night city glowing beneath him in scattered constellations of neon.
Kneeling behind him—silent, poised—was Anisa.
She knelt like a creature engineered for obedience. Elegant. Controlled. Perfect posture. Her long white braids touched the floor, glistening like silver threads. Her head bowed. Her eyes were downcast. She did not dare lift her gaze to meet his.
"The weapon is developing. His vitals are stabilizing. It's time to execute the next phase… sir."
Her voice was level—too level. Calm, steady, almost mechanized. As if emotion had been surgically removed from her throat.
"EXCELLENT…"His voice boomed—deep, commanding, vibrating against the glass.
He turned his head just enough for the moonlight to graze across his thick, bushy mustache.
"YOU NEVER FAIL TO IMPRESS ME. THERE'S REALLY NO SUCH THING AS TOO PERFECT… IS THERE?"
Anisa paused. Barely.Her expression was unreadable."No, sir. There isn't."
Silence followed—heavy, suffocating.
"…COME TO ME, ANISA."
She rose slowly.
Without hesitation.Without question.Without the freedom to refuse.
She never had that right.
Daybreak…
The morning sun pierced through the tiny glass circle, slicing down onto Yuri's face like a sharp blade of light.
Eyes shut, he groaned, raising an arm to block the brightness—
Then abruptly, the light vanished.
Something eclipsed it.
A shadow.
Yuri forced his eyes open.Blinking rapidly.
She stood over him.
Anisa.
Her golden eyes looked down at him as if she'd been standing there all night—watching, waiting. Delicate, yet terrifying in her stillness. Her presence pressed down on him like invisible stone.
"Get up."Her voice cracked through the room, direct, slicing through the silence.
"Uh… you… here…?"
She lowered her folded arms and walked toward the wall.It slid open silently—letting in a burst of natural light.
To another person, the light wouldn't be anything special.To Yuri, it was blinding. Like stepping out of a grave.
She stopped at the doorway and turned slightly."It's time. Come out."
And without another word—she walked out.
Yuri stared.Lost.Confused.Then he sprang off the bed and raced toward the opening—
He froze.
Breath caught in his throat.
Grass.
Perfect, vibrant green grass—each blade moving in its own rhythm. Trees swayed gently overhead, their leaves rustling with a soft melody he'd almost forgotten existed. And around the entire perimeter—towering, colossal walls stretched into the sky like prison bars built by gods.
Yuri couldn't speak.Couldn't move.
The wind brushed his skin—cold, clean, beautiful.The smell of fresh air.The feel of open space.
It all felt unreal.
A fever dream.
"Why… why am I…"The words slipped off his tongue, unfinished, fragile.
Something shifted in the air.
They stared at each other—silent—wind tugging at their hair.
Then Yuri's voice cut through the moment like a blade:
"How long… please… tell me how long I've been within these walls."
Anisa didn't blink.
"Yuri Saint," she said smoothly. "You've been under the ownership and shelter of the Assassins… for one year and six months."
Silence.
"I see," he whispered.
He swallowed, then continued softly."And you are…?"
"…Anisa."She lifted her chin slightly."You may address me by that name."
Yuri paused.His face emptied, expressionless.He lifted his gaze to the sky—staring at every cloud as if counting them one by one.
"Anisa… please. Tell me this last…"
A breath.
"Who…"
He clenched his jaw.
"WHO EXACTLY… AM I…?"
The wind stopped.
The world fell silent.
And for the first time since he woke—
The pain in his skull—
Was gone.