---
Rin didn't open the file.
He stared at the name—Rin 2.0—until the letters blurred and the meaning crawled under his skin like rot. Whoever had sent it—Kieran, maybe, or someone trying to twist the knife—knew exactly what that name would do to him.
He didn't click it.
He powered the laptop off.
But that didn't stop his mind from imagining what it might contain: blueprints, evaluations, emotional data. Notes on how to rewire a person into someone more obedient. Less difficult. Less... Rin.
He sat in the dark until morning came.
---
"Don't go quiet on me now," Kieran said the next day, sliding into the booth across from Rin at a bakery in Sathorn. "You wanted the truth. This is part of it."
Rin stirred his coffee without drinking it. "Where did you get the file?"
Kieran's expression shifted. "You think I sent it?"
"Did you?"
Kieran leaned forward. "No. But I think Than wanted you to believe I did."
Rin's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because the one thing he hates more than betrayal—" Kieran gestured to the untouched croissant, "—is losing the version of you that needs him."
Rin let the silence settle like dust. "You don't understand him."
"Don't I?" Kieran's voice sharpened. "I watched Jun chase ghosts trying to figure him out. And it got him killed."
That word still stung. Killed.
Rin exhaled slowly. "Than didn't kill Jun."
"No. He just made sure no one remembered who he really was."
Rin stood. "I can't do this today."
"Then don't do it alone," Kieran said, standing too. "Let someone else help carry the weight before it crushes you."
But Rin was already walking away.
---
It wasn't a conscious decision to go to Than's office. It was instinct, habit—whatever toxic gravitational pull they still had between them. The receptionist didn't stop him. No one ever did.
He didn't knock.
Than looked up from his desk with that unreadable stillness, as if he'd already calculated this moment down to the second.
"You got the file," he said.
Rin closed the door. "So it was you."
"I sent it to remind you what happens when I'm forced to act."
"You don't get to remake people."
Than stood slowly. "I didn't want to remake you."
"But you planned to."
"I had to. You were slipping away."
Rin swallowed. "So you were going to build something that looked like me. Talked like me. A version that wouldn't fight back."
Than's voice lowered. "No version of you doesn't fight back."
"That's the problem, isn't it?"
Than circled the desk, slow steps like a predator measuring distance. "You think this was about control. But it was about survival. My survival."
Rin's chest rose and fell sharply. "You think that justifies everything?"
Than stopped in front of him. "No. But I think you've spent more time being angry than asking why I did it."
Rin's laugh was bitter. "Why? Because you're afraid I'll leave?"
"I was afraid I'd already lost you," Than said quietly. "And the only way to keep you near was to burn the parts of me you couldn't stomach."
There was something dangerous in that softness—more devastating than his usual sharpness. Rin flinched, but didn't move.
Than stepped closer. Not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. "You want me to apologize?"
"I want you to stop pretending this is love."
Than looked at him for a long, unreadable moment.
Then: "It is love."
Rin's heart stuttered. "No, Than. It's obsession. It's ego. It's survival. But it's not love."
Than's voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. "Then why are you still here?"
Rin didn't answer.
Didn't know how.
Because the truth was—he didn't know why either.
---
Later, when he returned to his flat, Rin found a package slipped beneath his door. No label. No sender.
Inside: a single printed photo of Jun.
But this time, Jun wasn't alone.
Than was beside him—smiling.
Arm draped across Jun's shoulders.
Rin stared at it, frozen, until the rage finally came.
Not because of jealousy.
But because he realized Than had always known how to make someone disappear... and still look like the hero afterward.
---
To be continued...