"Good work, Zoya."

Had the baby cried? Her ears were ringing too badly for her to be sure. Having spent every ounce of strength, she collapsed onto the floor. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the baby’s pink fingernails, wrapped tightly in cloth, growing distant—then turned her head away.

When Ligai came rushing in, breathless, she told him the child had died. He couldn’t say a word. He just wept for a long time, and only then did he cast a pitying glance at her abdomen.

Ju Seolheon wished her swollen belly would deflate quickly, but it didn’t shrink as fast as she’d hoped. The shape of it looked just like a grave.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Zoya... Because of me... I..."

Ligai’s tears poured without end, but she could see it clearly—relief rising over his irises.

Amid the pain twisting through her intestines, Ju Seolheon bit down hard on her tongue. Ligai was still a dangerous asset, and her mission wasn’t over. She couldn’t let anyone else take her place as his wife.

"If you’re done crying, then come back home. I need you..."

She would return to Korea triumphant, no matter what. She would not be like her parents, who had birthed child after child and still never escaped poverty. Even as she felt as though her insides were falling out, Ju Seolheon thought only of what she would gain.

After hearing that the child had entered the Sakhalin monastery safely, she never asked another question about it.

She hadn't prepared a single item for a baby. She looked around the barren house and walked with strained, deliberate steps.

Even while recovering under her husband’s attentive care, her milk leaked constantly and without warning. Every dawn, she sat dazed on the toilet, squeezing it out by hand.

Everything was slowly returning to how it had been before the pregnancy. Her husband no longer stayed out overnight, and her belly had flattened again.

The woman she had mistaken for Ligai’s mistress turned out to be Ivan Solzhenitsyn’s wife—a young couple already raising a son. Even after realizing that Agent Damon had lied to provoke her, she felt nothing in response.

They patched things up as though none of it had ever happened. But Ligai still couldn’t breathe whenever he heard the shrill cries of infants, and Ju Seolheon would scowl.

She furrowed her brow like the noise annoyed her, but she had developed the habit of staring at those tiny pink fingernails for a long time.

And so she remained by Ligai’s side as the years passed. New fine lines appeared on her face, and now, even when she saw children, her nipples no longer ached.

"The circus?"

She stared blankly at the invitation Damon handed her. It was said to be a form of amusement enjoyed by the siloviki, composed of former KGB elites, and the oligarchs, the wealthy business class.

The siloviki—military, intelligence, and defense industry power players—and the oligarchs, who had grown into massive conglomerates with influence over politics and organized crime, were infamous for their corruption and decadent pleasures.

And a circus, favored by such people...

The two of them entered a mansion, each wearing an ornament that covered their eyes. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the endlessly tall and deep ceiling.

A classical painting of baby angels flying among white doves... And then the curtain rose.

"......!"

Ju Seolheon bit her lip, struggling not to gasp. It was a grotesque spectacle—too horrific to watch.

Even as screams rang out from the stage—limbs torn from bodies—the invited guests sat in perfect posture and applauded. She {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} wanted to bolt from her seat, but Damon pressed down firmly on her knee.

“――”

His gaze warned her: If you run now, they’ll only become suspicious. She forced herself to endure the revulsion, straightening her back.

The carnage, masquerading as entertainment, finally came to a close. The blood-slicked stage was wiped down with oil. Then, as fire erupted and rose to the second floor, the guests gasped in delight.

Two children appeared, suspended on aerial swings from the ceiling. A burst of noise—cheering or jeering, it was hard to tell—shattered her ears.

The children, identical like twins with lovely faces, showed no fear as they flung themselves toward each other over a stage that resembled an incinerator.

"――!"

Just watching made her feel like her heart would give out.

Under that painted ceiling of cherubic angels, children that looked just like them soared from trapeze to trapeze.

How old were they?

They looked to be about five or six, but from the way they twisted mid-air repeatedly, perhaps they were older.

How long had they trained to move with such precision and grace? Ju Seolheon watched, spellbound, as the children performed in perfect sync.

When one child began to fall from weakened momentum, the other caught them. They soared upward again like reborn phoenixes, then separated—only to find each other’s hands again. Applause and gasps echoed through the room.

Suddenly, her eyes caught the calloused, almost leathery soles of one child’s feet. From that moment, nothing else mattered. Her entire attention locked onto those blackened, charred soles.

One of the children hooked their ankle around the trapeze and extended themselves toward the audience.

"――!"

In the instant their eyes met—child reaching a hand toward her—Ju Seolheon felt time slow to a crawl.

Black hair. Black eyes. A small face like polished pebbles.

But the eyes... The eyes were bottomless, lifeless voids, far too dead for a child. A flicker of fire caught their clothing, but the eyes remained calm—utterly unshaken.

Could that really be called a child?

The cinders clinging to the hem of their skirt drew arcs like falling stars, and the children spun in wide circles.

A strange anxiety prickled at her, but she clenched her fist, showing nothing on her face.

Then—whoosh—carried by the air, one child soared to the edge of the audience and held out a flower to her.

Even as others stretched out their arms like greedy beasts, the child’s expression remained serene.

"Ah..."

She instinctively took the burning flower. The hand that brushed hers was shockingly rough.

What kind of life had they lived, for a child’s hand to be rougher than her own?

More than the flower, she wanted to grab that hand. It was close enough—she could’ve easily pulled the child into her arms. Her gaze was locked onto them now, completely transfixed.

"Are they... that skilled because they’ve been trained?"

"It appears so."

The children flew with astonishing ease. Ju Seolheon stared upward without blinking. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

"Those children are third-generation Koreans raised in the Sakhalin monastery."

"......!"

What... did he just say...?

Her heart plummeted.

"Remember what I said about North Korea? They send female agents overseas to get pregnant and produce offspring with diverse racial features. Those seeds will eventually grow up to become spies across the world. But Russia? Russia couldn’t give up on its dreams of Eurasia either."

"......."

"Now imagine—rather than rugged Siberian features, these children’s black hair and black eyes blend seamlessly into the Asian population."

"......."

"That’s why Russia sees them all as assets."

Suddenly, the elegant guests who had been sipping tea and nibbling cookies reached under their seats and pulled out long sticks. With graceful movements, they hurled them like spears or poked them at the children.

Damon handed one of the sharpened sticks to her as well, but Ju Seolheon couldn’t move.

She just clutched the flower, burned black down to the stem.

"To scatter them across Asia someday, they have to be raised strong from now. The whole nation is caging up future agents and taming them."

"......."

"They’re small now, but imagine when they grow up. By then, they’ll be perfectly brainwashed operatives."

"......."

"They’ll infiltrate every corner of Asia, moving on Russia’s orders. But among them—one seed we planted will be there too, Zoya. A truly artistic trap. I believe that single hole could ruin Russia’s entire plan."

Damon applauded the children as they bowed atop their trapeze swings.

"Zoya, you’ve accomplished something tremendous."

Ju Seolheon clenched her fists. She should’ve felt proud. She should’ve stood tall.

"When you return to Korea, you’ll be given a position worthy of it all. A rapid promotion won’t be hard either. Congratulations. You survived this godforsaken frozen country."

Only then did Ju Seolheon realize—

The one who wasn’t even human... was me.

She had yearned so desperately for that high place. But when she looked up—angels floated there.

And what had bloomed... was something far more monstrous than she ever imagined.

Small, pitiful monsters who would someday return to judge her.